He whirled on the scout.
“You still think you go to mine, stay there for three sleeps?” he demanded.
“Certainly I’m going.”
A look of woeful resignation crossed the boy’s face.
“Pa-e-has-ka die,” said he, “then Little Cayuse die, too—but not till Little Cayuse take Lawless’ scalp.”
All this talk of the Piute’s rendered Nick Nomad mighty uneasy.
“What was et thet ther spirit said, Cayuse?” asked the trapper.
Cayuse shook his head and did not answer.
“What was et ye said ter ther spirit?”
Still Cayuse kept a still tongue.