The scout and the girl were soon at Nomad’s side.
“How big a cave is it, Nick?” asked the scout.
“No more’n twenty-five paces one way, Buffler. I walked cl’ar through ter ther end wall an’ back ergin. Not hevin’ no matches I couldn’t light up; but ef thar had ben Injuns in ther place, I’d shore hev heerd from ’em. Got any fire-sticks yerself?”
“Yes.”
“Then ye mout scratch a few an’ look ther cut-out over more keerful than what I did. Mebbyso ther reds left a can o’ water, er a piece o’ jerked meat behind ’em. I’m hopin’ they did, kase I’m gittin’ dryer an’ dryer right erlong. I kin stand et ter be hungry—pullin’ up yer belt a hole’ll fix thet—but when ye’re thirsty, somethin’ takes holt o’ yer throat fit ter strangle ye.”
Buffalo Bill, with Dell and Nomad at his heels, entered the cave. It widened out quickly, a few feet from the entrance.
Halting well within the opening, the scout struck a match. The glow of light was feeble, and pierced the gloom for only a few feet in advance. Holding the light in front of him, he passed on into the darkness.
Perhaps he was half-way to the rear wall when a cry from Dell brought the scout to an abrupt stop.
“What is it, Dell?” he asked, letting the burned match fall from his fingers.
“There’s some one lying on the floor,” said Dell, “off here to the right.”