Following the two Cheyennes, behind whom were the prisoners, rode another white man. This white man Cayuse recognized as Andy. Andy brought up the rear of the little procession.
“Hyer’s a how-de-do!” exclaimed Hank Tenny. “Is thet Lawless an’ his gang, kid?”
“All same,” said Cayuse. “White men git um guns, muy pronto; then we make run to top of cañon, ketch um Lawless, save Nomad and Wild Bill.”
“All the guns we got,” answered Lonesome Pete, “are strapped on us. Them fellers has rifles.”
“At close quarters,” put in Blake, “our six-shooters are better than rifles. I’m plumb anxious ter try out these new barkers o’ mine. Then, too,” he added darkly, “I owe Lawless somethin’, an’ here’s my chance ter even up. Couldn’t let it slip, nohow. Follow me, you fellows!”
Blake took to the rocks, with which the country contiguous to the top of the cañon was covered, and worked his way swiftly toward the point where the path Lawless and his men were following came over the edge of the wall.
Pete, Tenny, and Little Cayuse leaped briskly after Blake. The lust for combat was running hot in the veins of all, and this, in particular, was true of the Piute boy.
The latter’s grief over the fate of Buffalo Bill had given place to a feeling of hope. Nomad and Wild Bill were alive, and there was a possibility that the scout was equally well off.
The hope was slight enough, for Cayuse remembered the talk he had overheard between Lawless, Clancy, Coomby, and Tex, and from that he had gathered that the flood was to do the work for the scout. But, in spite of appearances, it might be that the flood had failed.
The thought was enough to take Cayuse out of his gloom and dejection and to send him eagerly into a pitched battle with the outlaws. Whatever else befell, at least Nomad and Wild Bill could be rescued.