“The way you tell me the dope acts,” said Doyle, highly pleased with himself because of his theory, “sounds sort of fishy. Don’t mistake me,” he went on hastily; “I don’t doubt your word, in the least. It’s only that I never heard of any weed growing around these parts that would act on man and beast in the way you describe.”
“I presume there are medicinal herbs that would have such an effect,” said the scout, “if properly stewed up and mixed with drinking-water. Something had the effect, anyway, no matter whether it was herbs or something else.”
“Of course,” said Doyle. “Anyhow, I and my men will go dry in the valley, you can bet heavy on that. When we get to the top of this rise, Cody, you’ll be looking down on the place,” and Doyle waved his gloved hand to a slope in from of them.
The moment the scout and the girl had topped the crest, and had flashed their eyes over the valley, they recognized the scene of their weird experience.
“There are horses down there, all right,” observed Doyle; “more than a dozen of them. But I can’t make out a single human being.”
“I can see Bear Paw and Navi,” said the scout, much gratified. “They appear to be in the same place where they were picketed last night.”
“And there’s Silver Heels!” cried Dell, clapping her hands. “More luck, Buffalo Bill.”
“For which,” laughed the scout, “we’re to thank Geronimo.”
“I reckon, Buffler,” put in Nomad, who had been steadily eying the group of horses, “that I’ll pick out thet big buckskin. I never seen a better hoss than thet among these hyar Southwestern Injuns.”