“True enough. This road, winding around the mountain, appears to be a military road. Perhaps if we follow it, it will lead us to Bowie.”
“But our horses!”
“As for finding our horses, I haven’t the least notion which way the valley and that drugged pool lies from this place. I have my six-shooters,” the scout added, looking down at his belt and holsters; “and, while that is surprising, it is certainly an agreeable surprise.”
“I have mine, too,” returned Dell. “We must have retained enough of our wits to carefully guard our revolvers.”
“That may have been less a matter of wits than of mere chance. However, we have them, and——”
“Buffler!”
The scout’s body grew rigid. A voice—the familiar voice of Nick Nomad—had suddenly called the scout’s name.
“Did you hear it, Dell?” Buffalo Bill muttered.
“Yes.”
“I—I thought I might be imagining it; that, perhaps, it might be a part of the mystery we are trying to unravel.”