“As well as ever.”
“An’ Schnitz—hes he got any bones broke?”
“Nod dot I know anyt’ing aboudt,” the baron answered for himself.
“Hooray! I was thinkin’ mebbyso ther reds had damaged ye some when they sprang their leetle trap. I’m goin’ ter throw down the end of er rope. Lay holt o’ et, you two, an’ we’ll snake ye out with one o’ ther hosses.”
The scout and the baron stepped back into the drift until the end of the rope had come swishing down; then they went out and laid firm hold of it.
“All ready, Nick!” shouted Buffalo Bill.
“Gee-haw with thet pesky cabyo, Cayuse,” called Nomad to the Piute boy; “git him a-goin’, son, an’ stop ther minit I sing out.”
The rope tightened, then straightened out under the weight of the scout and the baron. Up and up they went at a smart clip until they reached the mouth of the shaft. At a quick command from the trapper, Cayuse stopped the horse; then Buffalo Bill and the baron climbed out on top of the old ore-dump.
“Howlin’ painters,” jubilated Nomad, grabbing his pard’s hand, “but et’s good ter see ye, Buffler, an’ ter know ye pulled out o’ thet trap without so much as moultin’ er feather.”
“Weren’t there any Apaches on guard around here?” inquired the scout, sitting down on the rocks.