“Chipper as a cricket,” said Wild Bill. “All he needed to make him a happy Indian was a glimpse of the scout, alive and hearty. Cayuse has had it, and he’s feeling fine, thank you. And we hope,” he added, turning a sympathetic glance upon Wah-coo-tah, “that you will soon be feeling fine, too. You’ve done a heap for the scout and Dell—Cody has told us about it—and the whole possé of us feel like we couldn’t do enough for you. We’re going to carry you up the hill, Nomad and me, so you’ll be able to travel just as soon as the horses come along.”
“You plenty good to Injun girl,” said Wah-coo-tah.
Never before in her whole life, perhaps, had she been treated with such consideration. The lot of an Indian woman is a hard one, from the very time she begins it, on a papoose-board, until she leaves it, and is wrapped in her best blanket and hoisted into some tree, or buried deep under a pile of rocks.
Lifting Wah-coo-tah gently, old Nomad and Wild Bill carried her up the steep path, taking care to make the journey as comfortable for her as possible.
When they reached the top of the wall, Cayuse, Pete, Tenny, and Blake were coming with the horses. Bear Paw threw up his head and whinnied at the sight of the scout, and Navi, Cayuse’s pinto, and Silver Heels, Dell’s white cayuse, likewise seemed to recognize their owners; but Hide-rack, Nomad’s mount, didn’t seem to care a particle whether his owner was around or not.
“Pizen old critter, anyway,” said Nomad. “Honest, he’s so plumb full o’ pizen ye kin scrape strychnin off’n his neck with er shingle. But he’s so blame indiff’rent ter me thet I like him fer et. Et shows character; an’ I ain’t got no tender feelin’s when I gives him er wallopin’. Whoa, ye onnery, knock-kneed, gangle-legged ole speciment, you! Ye’ll never know how nigh ye come ter losin’ me, an’ I reckon ye don’t keer. But hyar I am, big as life, so don’t ye git sassy.”
As soon as Buffalo Bill was astride Bear Paw, he took Wah-coo-tah up in front of him.
The return to Sun Dance was then begun.
For a time the riders picked their way along the rim of the cañon among the boulders; then, striking the Montegordo trail, they had a better course, and rode faster.
From time to time the trail gave them glimpses of the bottom of the cañon. The flood had almost entirely subsided, save in one place where the down-grade struck the rise that continued to the foot of the “flat” on which the mining-camp was perched. In the low place a lake had formed, extending for a mile up and down the gulch.