“Hyar, Skibo, doan’t bring ther varmint back this way till yer tie ’is feet. Quit it, yer dar-devil!” called Nomad.
“Yah, yah! Nick; take yo’ ole beah; Ah ain’ done los’ no beahs.”
In the laugh that followed Tootsie’s exuberance of spirits got the best of him, and he suddenly blew a loud and long series of toots on his bugle.
The bear stopped, looked up at the group, sniffed the air suspiciously, and started to investigate.
“Hyar comes yer coon, Cayuse! Now’s yer time ter ketch ’im. Recomember, papoose, no foul holts now, but fair ketch-es-ketch-ken, an’ ef yer gits ’im yer welcome.”
Nomad gave Hide-rack a slap and dashed out on the plain.
Buffalo Bill and Hickok sat on their horses a little apart from the others, enjoying the chase. They were ready to take a hand at any time their services might be needed, but were inclined to wait and see what the others would do.
Nomad, too, was inclined to take revenge by not raising a rifle against the enraged grizzly.
Little Cayuse’s pinto would not face the bear for a moment, but dashed madly away.
Tootsie was the only one left, and the bear made straight for him and his trembling horse. The boy blew a stiff blast at the advancing beast and then dashed away, with the bear in pursuit.