“My horse strained a tendon coming from Sill,” said he, showing the bottle, “and I’ve got to take care of him.”
“I got a Mexican that kin do it fer ye, Buffalo Bill,” said Spangler.
“I never let any one take care of Bear Paw but myself,” the scout answered, as he started for the stable.
So far as the scout could discover he was not watched by any one. The camp, as usual during the day, was quiet, and he could not see any one in the vicinity of the hotel.
When he got into the stable he stood for a moment looking around. Wah-coo-tah was not in evidence, and he turned to go out again. Before he could leave, however, the low, musical voice of the girl floated to his ear:
“Pa-e-has-ka no go. Wah-coo-tah make talk with him.”
The voice came from overhead. Buffalo Bill looked up and saw Wah-coo-tah gazing down at him through the brushy thatch that covered the stable’s roof.
“Why don’t you come down here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout.
“Wah-coo-tah ’fraid. No can take chances. Me stay here; when me through talk, me crawl back through bushes to bottom of cañon.”
“Have you seen anything of Big Thunder? Has he bothered you any since you got away from him?”