“Then you will quit the trail and go away from this part of the country as soon as you capture Bascomb?”
There was a touch of sadness in Dell’s voice.
“Yes; duty, probably, will call Nick and myself to other places, and, of course, where duty calls we have to go.”
“Then, I reckon, you’ll be losing your girl pard.”
“And mighty sorry I’ll be for that. In a fight, or in any sort of trouble, Dell, I couldn’t ask for a better side partner than yourself. Ah,” the scout finished, “there’s Nomad again. He has come out of the cave.”
Nomad, standing in the entrance to the cave, shouted to his pards behind the spur.
“Come on, Buffler, you an’ Dell. I reckon we got hyar too late; thar ain’t er single red erbout ther place.”
An exclamation of disappointment escaped the scout’s lips.
“Tough luck, Dell,” said he, as he started around the spur. “There’s no telling, now, where this trail of Bascomb’s will lead us, nor how long it will take to get to the end of it. The fellow, I reckon, was not so badly wounded in that ambush as Cayuse thought.”