“When Kit fell, a big shell come into cave,” continued Cohoon, “and it make big noise. Kill heap Modocs, and put fire out. Cohoon see Artena fall, and he jump down into cave, pick her up and run. He tried to pull ’Reesa from Kit, but him hold too fast, and Cohoon had to run on.”
“Then you don’t know any thing ’bout ’Reesa!” said the scout, with a sigh.
Cohoon shook his head.
“Mebbe she’s dead and mebbe she isn’t. Where are the Indians now?”
“They go down black hole there, and now stand in big cave near the hidden river. They ’fraid of shells here. Blue-coats not shelling now. Donald withdraw his braves while shells fly.”
“I know he was to report this midnight,” said Kit. “Cohoon, shall we go to camp?”
“Not till we find ’Reesa.”
“That’s so, boy; give me your hand. I don’t see General Gillem again until I know what’s become of my gal, and kill Baltimore Bob. I swear it, by hokey! I do.”
The scout soon discovered that he could walk, and when the Warm Spring Indian pointed out the effects of the shell, he suddenly turned to him:
“Look hyar, Cohoon. Let us turn ourselves into Modocs,” he said. “Hyar’s the trinkets to do it with, and plenty of paint.”