“He looks like the fellow, all right,” said De Bray, bending down and pushing his hands into the dead man’s pockets, “but he isn’t wearing the same clothes.”
“Him Lawless, all same,” spoke up the voice of Cayuse; “paleface that rob stage him not Lawless, only look like um and wear um clothes.”
“Hey?” cried the startled Nomad, whirling on the boy. “Come ag’in with thet, Cayuse.”
Cayuse repeated his words, adding: “Me crawl in here, try find white woman. No find white woman, find um Lawless, instead. You sabe? Think um Lawless white woman, all same dead. Ugh! Him plenty dark, Little Cayuse in heap big hurry, make um mistake.”
“It’s all right, the way it has turned out, Cayuse,” said Wild Bill. “Under the circumstances, the mistake was only a natural one to make, but it gave Gentleman Jim quite a jolt. How about the outlaws?”
“Two of um gone to happy place,” said the boy; “other one him live, mebbyso.”
“‘Happy place,’” grunted Nomad. “Thet ain’t what I’d call et’, hey, Wild Bill?”
“Not exactly,” said Wild Bill. “Suppose we use up our matches trying to help De Bray locate his money?”
They searched for an hour, but fruitlessly.
“They’ve buried it, or something,” said De Bray, when the search was given up. “In the morning it might be a good thing to ride to this Chavorta Gorge place, and see what’s going on over there.”