Little Cayuse stepped into view and hurried toward the scout, who arose quickly and extended his hand.
“I feared you had made your last trip with me, little pard,” he said.
“Ugh! Me ’fraid bad men get away. Keep eye on rock all night, make um listen.”
“Sleep ketch um.”
“Poor old Nick!” murmured the scout.
“Ugh! Make um snore, scare pony.”
“How did it happen?”
“All same lie down, no put um head in bag.”
“What do you mean, Cayuse?” demanded the scout somewhat sternly. He had begun to note the twinkle in Cayuse’s eye, and failed to reconcile the Piute’s quiet levity with the seriousness of the occasion.