Little Cayuse had determined that his first work should be the release of Pa-e-has-ka and Wild Bill. He had understood that they were under guard in an abandoned mine, and he had no doubt that it was the mine where Bloody Ike had taken refuge. He knew, too, that Skibo and old Nomad were in the mountains, and he hoped to find them before morning.
Cayuse thought of his loved Navi, but the little pinto had been left at the hotel stables, and the Piute did not believe any one would dare remove him. The penalty for horse stealing in that part of the country was greater than for killing a man, red or white.
The Piute pard of Pa-e-has-ka decided to make the trip on foot, and set off at the easy lope of the Indian, and with the instinct of a homing pigeon.
“Hol’ on dar, ye red-an’-yeller debil, er Ah’ll be ’bliged ter send some sinkers ober ’mong yer ribs,” explained a voice, after he had been one hour on the way.
“Ugh! Heap fool, Skibo; don’t know Cayuse.”
“Bress mah soul, if it ain’ de little red pard hisse’f!” and Skibo grasped Cayuse’s hand in a grip that threatened to crush it. The darky insisted on waking up old Nomad to tell him the news, and the veteran trapper was as warm in his greeting as Skibo had been.
“Waal, by ther ’leven-foot horns ov ther old Obadiah! Look et thet thar walkin’ arsenal! Whar ye been, Cayuse, ter pick up thet conglomeration o’ pepper boxes?”
Cayuse briefly related his story and what he had learned of Pa-e-has-ka and Hickok.
Old Nomad was in a frenzy of rage and determination to buckle on his guns and dash into the mine shooting right and left.
Skibo was helpless in his lack of grasp of such a situation. He had no idea of the best method of procedure.