“White squaw all same dead,” said Cayuse.
A husky groan came from the dark, and Gentleman Jim staggered through the bushes and caught the boy’s arm in a convulsive grip.
“Where, where?” he asked.
“Under stone,” said Cayuse. “You go there you find um.”
“De Bray! Wild Bill!” groaned Gentleman Jim, sinking down on the ground and covering his face with his hands. “You go—I—I can’t! To think,” muttered the stricken gambler, “that I should be too late, after all! Too late, too late! Where’s Lawless?” he cried, looking up as the word, pulsing with murderous hate, came through his lips. “Where is the scoundrel who——”
“Thar, thar, Jim,” interposed Nomad soothingly, “don’t be in sich er takin’ till we make sure. Et’s darker’n a stack o’ black cats in this gully, an’ mebbyso Cayuse has made er mistake.”
“He hasn’t made a mistake,” returned the gambler. “I have felt in my bones, for the past week, that something was on the cards to make or mar me. This is it! Allie, my wife, was to come to me, and—and we were not destined to meet.”
Forgetting about Lawless, in his great sorrow, Gentleman Jim once more flung his hands over his face and crouched on the ground.
“You watch him, De Bray,” whispered Wild Bill to the Denver man. “Nomad and I will take a look into this cave under the rock.”
All three outlaws were badly wounded and beyond stirring up any more trouble. Little Cayuse made it his business to watch them, while De Bray kept a solicitous eye on Gentleman Jim.