Complete rest, assisted by the cooling draft, soon caused Patterson’s wits to return.
“Where’s the despatches?” were his first words.
“They’re safe, sergeant,” said Dell reassuringly.
“I’ve got you to thank for that, Miss Dauntless.”
“We’ve both got Little Cayuse to thank for it.”
“Who’s Little Cayuse?”
“The Indian boy beside you. He is Buffalo Bill’s pard.”
“Then he must be the clear quill,” muttered Patterson. “Any pard o’ Buffler Bill’s is ace-high with me. How did he happen to be around that hogback?”
“That’s just what I want to know,” said Dell. “From the despatch the colonel received, I supposed that Buffalo Bill, Nomad, and Cayuse were with the escort taking Bascomb from Phœnix to Fort Apache. That despatch said that all the escort had been killed by Geronimo and his hostiles, but I had a feeling that the murderous work could not have extended to the scout and his pards.”
Little Cayuse gave a disgusted grunt and squatted on the ground by the water-hole, his knees up under his chin and his hands twined about them.