Dell ran into the hotel to make ready, and just as the scout was turning away he saw a fog of dust down the street. Two riders soon broke out of the fog, and had evidently ridden into camp from the upper rim of the cañon.
One of the riders was Hank Tenny, and the other was a Cheyenne Indian.
Both horsemen drew to a halt in front of Buffalo Bill.
“What’s to pay, Hank?” queried Buffalo Bill, staring at Tenny’s face keenly. “Got something up your sleeve?”
“Not me, Buffler,” replied Tenny, “but the red has.” He turned to the Cheyenne. “Out with it, Hawk,” said he. “Here’s the scout, the feller ye was wantin’ ter find.”
The Indian leaned forward from the back of his horse, jerked a strip of birch-bark from his girdle, and thrust it into the scout’s hand.
“Little Cayuse send um,” said he. “Me heap good Cheyenne, all same friend Little Cayuse, Buff’ Bill. Me bring um.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
PICTURE-WRITING.
As renegade Cheyennes had been helping Lawless in his criminal work, Buffalo Bill was not taking offhand this Indian’s word that he was a friend.
“You know Little Cayuse?” queried the scout.