“’Paches come,” answered Cayuse fiercely. “’Paches kill um pony-soldiers, take away Bascomb, make um Wolf-killer prisoner. Cayuse he run!” The boy released his hands, doubled his fist, and brought it savagely down on the ground. “Cayuse run,” he repeated, as though, by so saving himself, he had stretched the score of disgrace to the uttermost.
“That was the proper thing for you to do, Cayuse,” returned Dell.
“Cayuse warrior,” grunted the boy; “him ought to stand by Nomad until him die. Cayuse think um Wolf-killer get away, too; but him captured. Ugh!”
“Ye’re a queer little imp,” remarked Patterson. “Used to be in the army, didn’t ye? Bugler ’r somethin’?”
“Wuh. No like um army; rather stay with Pa-e-has-ka.”
“Cayuse thinks the world and all of Buffalo Bill, Patterson,” said Dell. “For Cayuse the sun rises and sets in the king of scouts. It’s a knack Buffalo Bill has of drawing his pards to him.”
“Pa-e-has-ka big chief,” said Cayuse curtly; “biggest chief of all the Yellow Eyes. Him my chief, all same, always. Wuh.”
“When did the Apaches attack you, Cayuse?” went on Dell.
“Last sleep.”
“How many were there?”