“Mean Nomad heap tired; stick head in sand; mebbeso crazy.”
The scout began to have hopes that somehow his fears had been groundless.
“See here, Cayuse,” he began, with a little laugh, “what are you driving at? Hasn’t Nick met with an accident?” And the scout advanced around the corner far enough to view the grewsome relic lying against the opposite wall.
“Wuh; him fall down hole, git ears full sand; sand in hair; sand in eyes; sand in nose—mebbeso eat um bushel sand.”
“What is that?” asked Buffalo Bill, pointing at what he had taken to be an arm of the trapper.
“Nomad call it ‘ketchumnappin’,’ me call um ‘fool war club.’”
The scout’s spirits rose.
“Where is Nick?” he asked.
“Over by Hide-rack. Him snore keep Navi ’wake.”
“Well, now where are the bad men?”