CHAPTER IX.
OLD NOMAD FINDS EXCITEMENT.
After Buffalo Bill and Little Cayuse had left their pards and the prisoner near the old mine in the mountains, old Nomad found time hanging heavily on his hands. He felt just a little hurt that the scout had not selected him for a companion on this trip instead of the Piute.
“Waugh! Ov all ther tarnation picnics yourn truly ever stacked up erginst this is ther plumb wust—jest leanin’ up ergin er rock fer erbout er month o’ Sundays ter see ’f ther pesky thing rises er sinks.
“I’ve been propped up here for two hull hours sence Buffler rode out er sight, an’ I hain’t so much ez seen er bird. I’m gwine ter huntin’ rattlers round this hyar mounting, an’ see ’f I can’t stir up some ’xcitement.”
“Are you uneasy, Nomad?” asked Hickok.
“Now, lookahere, pard! D’yu ever yank er catfish out on ther sand an’ then watch ’im flop? Waal, whut d’yu think erbout his bein’ oneasy an’ lonesome?”
“Why don’t you and Skibo wrestle?”
“Huh? Who—Skibo an’ me? Say, Hick, yer jokin’. When I wrassles I want a man ’cordin ’ter my strength, an’ science, an’ good looks. Now, thet thar Skibo, he ain’t in my class, noways. He might wrassle with a bull thet girted ’bout eight feet, but ’f I sh’d git holt er him I sh’d break ’im in two.”
“Yah, yah! Mars’ Hickok, an’ den dar’d be two niggahs in de rock pile.”