But no Apaches showed themselves.
While they were waiting, Cayuse told of his trailing, of the way Jacobs and McGowan had passed him, of his search for Nomad, of his hearing the pistol-shot, discovering the two horses, and watching the white man and the Indians carry Buffalo Bill and the baron to the old mine. He finished with an account of how he had taken the two animals and rode off with them.
Cayuse never wasted words. His recital was terse yet graphic, and Nomad listened with profound admiration for the little Piute’s pluck and resourcefulness.
“Ye’ve done well, Cayuse,” said Nomad, when the boy had finished. “From what ye say, Buffler an’ Schnitz aire in some ole mine-shaft whar this hyar Bascomb fixes ter keep ’em pris’ners all durin’ ter-morrer. But you an’ me’ll fool Bascomb an’ his reds, Cayuse. Jest as soon as we’re shore the Apaches hev given up lookin’ fer the missin’ cabyos, we’ll make headway to’rds thet ole mine an’ snake Buffler an’ ther baron out o’ et quick.”
“Wuh!” said Little Cayuse.
For half an hour longer they watched the gully, and as the Apaches failed to appear, they reasoned that the redskins had given up the horses and had gone away about their own business, whatever that might be.
“I reckon we kin hike out now, Cayuse,” said Nomad, “an’ feel purty safe about Bascomb an’ his Injuns. Straddle yer pinto, boy, an’ lead ther way ter this hyar ole mine. Ye don’t reckon any o’ Bascomb’s reds aire watchin’ et, do ye?”
“All come away,” answered Cayuse. “Me see um.”
“Kerect. Mount an’ ride, Cayuse, an’ we’ll soon put Pard Buffler inter ther game ag’in.”