“Nary. I reckon ther reds thort they had ye bottled up fer keeps down thar, an’ thet thar wasn’t no way fer ye ter git out without help. ’Course,” laughed Nomad, “they didn’t opine noways thet ye was goin’ ter git help.”
“I can’t understand that play of theirs at all. They snagged the baron and me with riatas, dumped us out of our saddles, drugged us, and then lowered us into that old shaft. If they had wanted to put us out of the way, why didn’t they use their guns, or their knives? It isn’t like a pack of reds to go to all that extra trouble.”
“Thar was a white man with ’em, wasn’t thar?”
“Yes.”
“Waal, them Injuns was bein’ bossed by ther white man. All ther pesky white varmint wanted ter do was ter hang ye up, hard an’ fast, durin’ ter-morrer.”
“Why was that?”
“They hev a mill clean-up at ther Three-ply ter-morrer, an’ Bernritter an’ Jacobs an’ them reds aire plannin’ ter git away with more’n forty thousand in bullion.”
The scout stared at the old man in astonishment.
“Where did you get next to all that, Nick?” he asked.
“By doin’ what ye told me ter do an’ follerin’ Jacobs.”