“Find out for me,” he said earnestly and sternly, “if it is a Piute boy. If it is, it is Pa-e-has-ka’s loved pard, and he must be saved if Pa-e-has-ka has to give his own life.”
“Me come back,” said the Crow, and moved away swiftly.
Buffalo Bill awaited impatiently as the minutes lengthened into hours.
At last there was a slight rustle and White-man-runs-him appeared.
“All same so many prisoners,” he began, holding up three fingers. “So many palefaces”—holding up two fingers—“and so many Piute boy”—one finger.
“Palefaces have paper talk from Sitting Bull, no die yet. Piute die at stake when sun looks over hills.”
CHAPTER XXV.
THE RESCUE OF LITTLE CAYUSE.
In four hours it would be daylight, and, as the sun appeared above the eastern hills, the Indian celebration was to have its climax in firing the pile of dry wood that was to torture Little Cayuse.