“Can’t do it without a file.”
“A key gin’rally op’rates things like them. Who’s got ther key?”
“I did have it in my pockets, along with the cuffs. Go through my clothes carefully, Nick, and see if you can find it. I took a look, a while ago, but I couldn’t do it very well with one hand fastened to Dell’s.”
The trapper looked through his pard’s pockets thoroughly, but without result.
“I reckon,” observed the scout, “that Dell and I are hooked up to stay until we get back to Bonita. Do what you can to take care of that wrist of yours, Dell. See if you can’t get a handkerchief around the wrist, under the cuff.”
Dell groped for her handkerchief, and finally found it in the breast of her blouse. As she jerked it out, a small object flew from it and dropped on the cliff, within an inch of the edge. The scout gazed at the object as though fascinated.
“Thar’s a key now!” cried the trapper.
“Right, old pard,” said Buffalo Bill; “it’s the key to the handcuffs. It was in my pocket last night. Will somebody please explain how it comes to be in Dell’s handkerchief this morning?”
“More mystery,” murmured Dell. “One more incomprehensible thing to be added to the night’s list. Some time and somehow I hope we shall be able to understand all that has happened.”