Cayuse was more gifted with the hand-talk than he was with English. He was extremely brief, but his information—concerning, as it did, the letting loose of the waters of the lake—was most valuable.
“He don’t star hisself none,” commented Hank Tenny, “but I bet ye he was a hull lot of a hero, all the same.”
“He always is,” said the scout.
“Me lose um gun,” mourned Little Cayuse.
“I’ll get you another, boy, silver-mounted,” said the scout, and Cayuse’s eyes sparkled.
The scout now plunged into the run of events, and wound up the recital.
“Ain’t et astonishin’ what things kin happen ter a feller?” remarked Nomad, who had been neglecting his meal to listen, open-mouthed, to his pard’s yarn; “an’ ain’t Buffler ther boy ter git things ter comin’ his way, right in ther nick? Jest s’posin’, now, anythin’ had gone wrong with thet thar stone curtain at ther top o’ ther shaft. Why, ef thar had, us fellers could hev gone fishin’ in ther Forty Thieves.”
“Fishing for me,” added the scout grimly.
“By gorry, yes!” exclaimed Wild Bill. “But the rock curtain worked like a charm, the flood covered the ore-dump, and rippled over the top of the curtain, and Buffalo Bill, Dell, and Wah-coo-tah were as dry as if they had been here in the Lucky Strike. A little thing now and then makes a heap of difference in the run of events.”
“It was a lucky thing for Cayuse,” spoke up the scout, “that Tenny, Blake, and Pete took it into their heads to ride down the gulch. If they hadn’t—— Well, I don’t like to think of what might have happened if Tenny’s rope hadn’t helped Cayuse into the mouth of the gully. I don’t know how Buffalo Bill & Company could get along and do a successful business without their Piute pard.”