“Of course,” the scout went on, “I am not dropping into Lawless’ plans because I want to dare him to do his worst, or because the mine lures me to it, but simply and solely because this promises an opportunity for capturing one of the worst trouble-makers in the country. If the mine comes to us, it will be incidental to our main purpose. What is there in your letter, Gentleman Jim?”
“Nothing, except that I am to keep the deed and hand it over to you after you have passed the three days and nights in the mine, providing you are alive and able to claim it.” An apprehensive look crossed the gambler’s face. “It’s a gift with a string to it—and I’d give a hundred, this minute, if I knew exactly what the string was.”
“Well, Gentleman Jim,” said the scout, rising. “I give notice that to-night, at six o’clock, I and some of my pards will go down into the Forty Thieves. This is Monday, and I shall not come to the surface until Thursday afternoon, unless the capture of Captain Lawless makes it necessary.”
Silence followed the scout’s words. It was broken by a long-drawn-out and mournful cry, coming from no one knew where:
“Wa-hoo-ha-a-a! Pa-e-has-ka go to Forty Thieves, Pa-e-has-ka die! Nuzhee Mona! Nuzhee Mona!”
It was a soft voice, as it might have been the voice of a sighing spirit, and the echoes breathed sobbingly through the room.
While Buffalo Bill, Dell Dauntless and the others stared at each other in bewilderment, Little Cayuse flung himself into the center of the room. Crouching there, and peering about him with eyes in which there was an unearthly light, the boy breathed huskily:
“Geegoho! Geegoho!” Then he listened, rapt, entranced erect, and rigid as a statue.
“Nuzhee Mona! Nuzhee Mona!” breathed the voice, the last word dying away in a whisper.
Little Cayuse flung his hands to his face, groaned aloud, then rushed to the door, tore it open—and vanished.