“Buffler! Whar ther tarnation aire ye, anyways? Whoo-ee!”
“This way, Nick!” shouted the scout. Half a minute later old Nomad and his horse took form in the moonlight, and galloped up to the barricade.
“Waal,” cried old Nomad, “what ther blazes hes been goin’ on, Buffler? Hyer I’ve been hidin’ out in the chaparral fer three mortil hours, watchin’ a letter an’ a five-pound bar o’ bullion what I’d placed, with exceedin’ keer, on the top o’ ther ore-dump at thet ole minin’-shaft. Then, all ter oncet, erlong comes Dell in a buckboard with a gal beside her.
“‘Thet you, Nomad?’ says she.
“‘Ther same,’ says I, ‘but chase yerself off kase ye’ll skeer erway ther man I’m expectin’.’
“‘The man will not come,’ says she, with er laff.
“‘Fer why won’t he come?’ I says.
“‘Fer ther reason,’ she expounds, ‘thet Buffler hes got him erbout es good as captered.’
“‘Now, what d’ye think o’ thet?’ says I. ‘Who’s thet with ye?’ I goes on.