“Waugh! Le’s try ’em out, boy. Ef they’s thar an’ see us make er dash ’zif we’s goin’ ter ride ’em down, they’ll like ernough try us er shot ’fore we gits too nigh.
“One, two, go-o-o!” yelled Nomad, as they dashed away at full speed.
“Yip-yip-yar-r-r!” he yelled, as they tore along.
The men in ambush heard the oncoming charge and peered out. Then, as Nomad had predicted, they each tried a shot.
“Thet tells ther story, papoose—they’re thar an’ waitin’ fer us,” said Nomad, pulling up and turning in close to the wall where both he and the horse were screened from reach of probable sniping. Little Cayuse also pulled in out of range, and the two conferred.
“They’ve stacked ther cyards ergin us, pard,” said Nomad. “’Tain’t no use ter play when t’other feller hol’s all ther trumps.”
It was decided to await darkness, now scarcely more than an hour distant, and then attempt to steal up to the enemy’s position.
Nomad had a plan for surprising the rascals, and he proceeded to put it into execution, setting forth his intentions to Cayuse as he worked. He began by taking off his shirt and tearing a sleeve out of it.
“Ugh!” grunted Cayuse. “Nomad plenty crazy prairie dog. Him cut off Hide-rack’s tail, mebbe.”
“Looky hyar, yer Piute papoose, ole Nick hain’t shot so fur f’m ther mark uv common sense ez some little Injuns I’ve seen, ner I hain’t goin’ ter whittle off Hide-rack’s tail, nary one. Ye see thet hoss needs ’is rudder ter steer with, but ole Nick don’t need this aire shirt sleeve fer much er northin’, fur’s I know—’n it’s gittin’ whar et needs er soak in ther river, anyhow.”