“Pernritter shleeps by der bunk-house, und Chacops shleeps in der laporadory glose to der cyanit-danks.”
“Good. Cayuse, you and the baron come up this hill with me. Nomad, keep your eye on the horses.”
The scout, followed by the Dutchman and the little Piute, gained the crest of the hill. The camp lay below them, with all lights extinguished save those in the mill. The stamps were still pounding away, powdering ore and releasing gold which Bernritter, Jacobs, and their gang were planning to get away with on the following day.
“Where’s the office, baron?” went on the scout. “Point it out to me.”
“Dere,” said the baron, stretching out his hand. “Id iss dot leedle puilding oop der site oof der hill.”
The office, being of whitewashed adobe, stood out plainly against the dark slope of the hill.
“You see it, Cayuse?” asked the scout.
“Wuh!” said the boy.
“I want you to go down there, Cayuse, and wake up McGowan. Do this quietly, so that no one in the camp finds out about it. Tell McGowan that Buffalo Bill wants to see him at once. Then bring him here.”
“Wuh.”