“Bosh!” said the scout.
“Speakin’ pussonly,” pursued old Nomad, “I’d like ter dip inter ther puzzle, jest ter prove whether er not a bunch o’ reds aire really foolin’ with McGowan’s gold.”
“Go out and dip in,” advised the scout. “When you get through, come on to Fort Apache. You’ll find me there, if I’m not away on business.”
Nomad looked startled.
“Nary, pard,” said he, with emphasis. “Ye don’t find me tanglin’ up with any job in which Buffler ain’t consarned.”
“Then,” returned the scout, “this bunch of warriors will hike for Fort Apache about dew-fall.”
“Ain’t ye goin’ ter wait fer ther baron ter show up?”
“The baron has had three days to show up. Evidently he has taken a cross-trail of some kind, and we’re not going to wait for him. If we should happen to——”
“Beg yer pardon, Buffalo Bill, but I’d like a word with ye.”
The scout dropped his chair down on the veranda with a thump, and looked around.