“Probably not; although one must have joined, or Geronimo wouldn’t have the come-alongs.”
“Are they the same cuffs that were put on Bascomb?”
“They look like them, but I wouldn’t take my oath that they’re the same. When the man from Bowie met the escort and asked me to come here, in view of possible Indian troubles, we hadn’t been long on the trail to Apache.”
“I see.” Markham had got up and was buckling on his belt and army Colts. “Coming with us, Buffalo Bill?” he queried.
“To the blind gully off Tres Alamos Gulch?”
“Sure. We’ll make a quick run of it. I don’t hope to find the scoundrelly renegades there, but we may be able to pick up signs and give them a run of it between here and the border. They’ll be trying to head the fugitives off at Fort Huachuca, and there’s a chance—if luck’s on our side.”
“Of course I’m coming,” answered the scout. “There’s a chance, as you say. Let’s make the most of it. You’ll take Chico?”
“Naturally. If he’s running us into any sort of a trap, he’ll be along to enjoy it with the rest of us. Sabe the burro, Chico?”
The Apache nodded sullenly, hunched his shoulders and rubbed his lacerated back gingerly.
“He’s straight goods,” muttered Markham, “and I’ll gamble on it.”