“Wuh!” answered the Cheyenne; “me know um for long time.”
“When did he give you this?” The scout held up the piece of birch-bark.
The Indian pointed to the sky, indicating the place of the sun an hour before.
“Where?” went on the scout.
“On trail to Pass Dure.”
“I reckon I know what ye’re gittin’ at, pard,” said Hank Tenny. “Some Cheyennes hev been helpin’ Lawless, an’ ye think mebby thet the Hawk ain’t straight. But I know him, an’ ye kin take my word fer it thet he’s straight goods. What’s the matter, anyways? ’Pears like thar was somethin’ unusual goin’ on hyer.”
At that moment, Wild Bill and Nomad came galloping around the hotel from the direction of the stable. They rode their own horses, and were leading the scout’s big black, Bear Paw, and Dell’s cayuse, Silver Heels.
“My pards will tell you what’s up, Tenny,” said the scout, and turned and went into the hotel office.
Dell was just coming out of her room, spurred, “heeled,” and ready for her ride with her pards.
“Here’s something, Dell,” called the scout, dropping into a chair by a table and laying the piece of birch-bark in front of him. “A Cheyenne just rode in with this and said Little Cayuse gave it to him.”