“Here, too,” added the scout.
“Waal,” put in the trapper, “how ther key happened ter git from Buffler’s pocket inter Dell’s handkercher is er hocus-pocus thet don’t matter much, seein’ as how ther key is ther main thing, an’ we got et.” He stooped and recovered the key from the rocks. “Hyar’s whar I bust this combination an’ git you two separated. Stand up er minit.”
The scout and the girl got to their feet, and Nomad unlocked the old-fashioned iron bracelets. He was about to fling them over the cliff when Buffalo Bill stopped him, took the cuffs and the key, and returned them to his pocket.
“Now,” said the scout, “we’ll hunt up a scrap of shade and try to understand how you got here, Nick, along with a few other details that are easier to comprehend than the mysterious things that happened to Dell and me last night.”
“Jest er minit, pards, afore we dip inter thet,” said the trapper.
Bounding off down the trail, he disappeared from sight behind the turn.
“Where has he gone?” queried Dell.
“To look after those two Apaches who came down on us while we were hung up at the brink,” the scout answered, leading the way to the stone on which he and the girl had found themselves when their senses returned.
“Ah, yes,” mused Dell, seating herself at the scout’s side, “I had forgotten the Apaches. I saw them while I was swinging over the cliff. Did Nomad frighten them away?”
“No. They came down the trail on all fours, acting like a pair of coyotes. When they reached me, they sprang over and went sniffing and snarling down the trail. They acted as though they were locoed.”