The little Piute’s attitude was rapt and ecstatic. His eyes were raised to the darkening sky, where the stars were already beginning to shine dimly. But what he meant, or what he was trying to get at, was altogether more than the scout or the girl could fathom.
“There’s the music,” said Dell. “That’s Geronimo; he’s furnishing the music.”
“Good boy, Geronimo!” cried Buffalo Bill, clapping his hands. “Give us another! Where’s your fiddle?”
Little Cayuse dropped his arms and stood scowling at Buffalo Bill and Dell.
Suddenly the scout sprang erect and struck his clenched fist against his forehead.
“Merciful heavens!” he gasped hoarsely. “Dell! What’s the matter with you, with me, with Little Cayuse? Let us get the horses and ride—ride, do you hear? This valley is bewitched, bewitched!”
He ran toward the horses, conscious that he had a lucid interval in the midst of a horrible, uncanny madness. Midway between the pool and the horses he stopped, staring.
Bear Paw was backing slowly around in a circle at the end of his picket-rope, backing with the methodical rhythm of a trick-horse, stamping his hoofs as he went.
Silver Heels appeared to be trying to up-end himself on his fore feet, while Navi was giving an exhibition of what is technically known as the “bedpost buck.”
The scout staggered, dug at his throat and twisted his fingers in his long hair. What was this sensation that filled him and robbed him of reason? Even as he tried to fight against it, the last thin barrier of sense was broken down. He burst into a loud laugh, and whirled back toward Dell and Little Cayuse.