“That proves,” declared the scout, “that the speaker was in the basement.”
“What did the speaker mean by those words, Nuzhee Mona?” asked Dell.
“Give it up, Dell,” replied Buffalo Bill. “Mere gibberish, perhaps, although they suggest the Omaha tongue, to me.”
“To me, too,” put in Wild Bill.
“And what was that Little Cayuse said? And why did he groan and run away?”
“The boy’s an Indian,” said the scout, “and his blood crops out in queer ways, now and then. I don’t know what he said, nor why he ran away. But he won’t stay away for long, we may be sure of that.”
“He knows,” said Nomad, “thet Injun spooks was speakin’. Et skeered him, an’ he lit out.”
“Then it’s the first time,” said the scout derisively, “we ever saw the boy scared. But we can’t lose time here, pards. We must cut for the Lucky Strike and get our share of that red maverick that came so near proving the death of Blake. After dinner there will be some preparations to make, and by six o’clock, sharp, we must be down in the shaft and level of the Forty Thieves.”
“Buffalo Bill’s mine!” laughed Wild Bill. “Come on, Cody. That three days’ stunt looks easy to me, in spite of our ‘spirit-warning’ and the evil intentions of Captain Lawless.”
“I try to be square,” said Gentleman Jim, as he followed the scout and his pards to the front of the Alcazar, “and if you stay in the Forty Thieves for three consecutive days and nights you get the deed. If you don’t, Buffalo Bill, I shall have to burn it up.”