Hendricks watched Cayuse moodily as he climbed the slope.
“What ye goin’ ter do with us, Buffalo Bill?” he asked.
“Take you to Phœnix and turn you over to the sheriff,” said the scout promptly. “Cover Banks, Dell,” he added, “while I get Hendricks in shape to travel.”
Dell was loaded down with the four revolvers taken from Banks and Hendricks. Kneeling in the sand, she laid the extra weapons beside her, and drew a bead on Banks.
“If Banks makes a move to bolt,” instructed the scout, “shoot him. Get on your horse, Hendricks,” he went on, to the other man.
“Look here,” demurred Hendricks, “can’t we fix this thing up somehow?”
“The only way you can fix it up,” snapped the scout, “is by taking your medicine. Get on your horse, I said!”
Muttering to himself, Hendricks got astride his mount. Taking the prisoner’s riata off the horn, the scout bound his wrists at the back and his feet under the saddle-girths.
There were several feet of rope left, and this the scout ran up to the pommel, where he made a half hitch, then on along the horse’s neck and through one of the bit-rings. From the bit-ring he led the rope to his own saddle and made it secure at the horn.