“We’ll have to abandon the horses,” said the scout, when they had ridden rapidly on for a half mile or more down the river, finding the way growing rougher, and the cañon walls contracting until the stream became a walled torrent.
“Or go round, which may be a long journey!” said Pawnee Bill.
“And would be likely to let the rascally redskin slip through our fingers. We’ll have to keep to the river, even if we are forced to swim.”
As they talked, they heard Nomad approaching rapidly. He had finished his work of burying and protecting the body of John Forest, and then had followed hard on the trail of his friends.
It took but a few words to convey to him all that the scouts knew.
“We want you to ride to the town for help,” said Buffalo Bill to him. “Raise a strong force, and come on as fast with it as you can. We’ll stick to this trail. But we’re likely to get into trouble, and we’ll need fighting men, in my opinion, before we accomplish much. The rascal had beaten us temporarily, by taking to the water here; and unless we can get a boat we’re going to have hard work to overtake him.”
“I’m bettin’ it’s Crazy Snake!”
“So we think, though we don’t know it. Spread the news of the rising of the Blackfeet, and hurry with a force to help us, or avenge us.”
The last were ominous words from Buffalo Bill, and proved that he appreciated the dangerous character of the undertaking upon which he now thought of entering.
Nomad wheeled old Nebuchadnezzar in the trail.