“Where’s Buffalo Bill an’ the rest o’ his pards? That’s what gits me. D’ye think they was caught by the flood?”
Little Cayuse turned over on his back and looked up.
Hank Tenny, Lonesome Pete, and Henry Blake were beside him, each with an arm hooked through the loop of his bridle.
Cayuse rose to his knees and struck one hand fiercely against his forehead. His eyes were on the tumbling waters which, by then, had filled the valley from wall to wall and were creeping slowly up toward the gully.
“Whar’d ye come from, kid?” asked Hank Tenny.
“Whar’s Buffler Bill?” inquired Lonesome Pete.
“What’s the matter with ye?” demanded Blake. “Have ye gone plumb daft?”
Staggering to his feet, the boy made his way to the side of the gully’s mouth and began to climb.
“What ails the kid?” muttered Tenny. “’Pears like he didn’t hev no sense at all.”
“Whar ye goin’?” Pete roared after Cayuse.