“Well done!” cried the scout. “Dell Dauntless, you’re a plucky girl.”
“That wasn’t so much,” Dell answered deprecatingly. “He had only a knife, and you had already wounded him at that.”
“His first wound did not interfere very much with his ability to attack you. I only shot to wound.”
“That was the way with me.”
“These Apaches are the tools of Bascomb and Bernritter. They ought to be rounded up and driven back to their reservation. Why Apache got such a bad heart?” the scout asked, halting beside the wounded Indian.
The Apache made no response, other than to try and sink his teeth into the scout’s leg. The scout stepped back quickly.
“Look out for him, Buffalo Bill!” exclaimed Dell. “He’s as venomous as a tiger-cat.”
Dell’s bullet had struck the Apache in the thigh, making walking impossible.
“We can’t bother with him,” said the scout. “There are four more reds around here, and they’ll probably happen along and take care of him. We’ll mount and keep on until we find Little Cayuse. I can’t understand what’s become of the boy. The Apache he was following was joined by four others; if he still continued to follow the Apaches, he ought to be somewhere in this vicinity.”
“I should think,” hazarded Dell, “we ought to have met him before this.”