“See hyar, Hick, I don’t want you never ter dew northin’ like thet ergin. Ov all the caterwaulin’ lunkumsluices, an’ snarlin’ molwallopuses thet ever scared a Injun’s hair white, yer ther plumb wust. Why, when thet thar tarnal kihootin’ begun I thort er sidehill lounger, w’th feet ez big ez bundles o’ hay, hed bruk loose an’ wuz go’n ter gobble ther hull pot an’ kittle ov us. What d’ye mean by such kerryins on, anyhow, Hick?”
The scout and Hickok were laughing quietly at old Nomad’s badinage, and the trapper wound up with:
“I was so mightily scart thet I plumb fergut ter leave my address with ther feather pates. Cyant seem ter git over thet yowlin’ nohow.”
“Where is Cayuse?” asked Hickok, when they had come up to the horses.
“He’s er-callin’ on ther big Injuns,” answered Nomad.
“I think we had better wait here a while for Cayuse, and then if he doesn’t come we’ll take his pinto with us and leave the odd pony for him if he shows up here after we are gone.”
“Which way do you intend to move?” asked Hickok.
“I guess the long gully is about as satisfactory as any,” answered the scout.
“I think I can beat it, and right under the Indians’ noses,” said the Laramie man. He then described the place where he had passed the night before.
“Good grazing and convenient to water?” asked the scout.