“Id vass der golt she hat vat I voller—der golt on her pridle unt sattle, unt on her dress; she vas vair shinin’ mit golt unt silver. I seen her ter tay before, ven she bass me py; but I tidn’t see no chilt. Unt den in der moonlighd, ven I vake me oop, I seen her vonst again, unt a man’s mit her, unt she shine more as efer like golt mit dem moonlighds. Unt I t’ink varefer dat golt peen so blentiful iss der blace for me; unt I voller, unt I come here by der drail. Yaw, dat iss der troot. Unt id vass you, unt diss golt vomans. See here!” He hammered again the window bars. “Golt varefer you loogk; gold door latchges. Inchins mit gold earrings unt praceleds, mit golt breastbins unt hairbins, mit gold gollars on der necks, mit golt arrow beats unt golt on der lance boints. It make me grazy as a loonadicks, so mooch golt varefer I loogk.” He stopped, almost breathless. “But I tidn’t see no Puffalo Pills follerin’ diss vomans unt you.” “He and his pards are out in the hills now, but they’ll be captured. I hope they will get away, but I don’t see how they can. It’s no country for a white man to come into.” “Yid you vass here—huh?” “That’s different.” “Vy iss id tifferend?” “I couldn’t make you understand, but it is. You see, I am the husband of this woman. We quarreled and I left her, years ago, but she never forgot me, and she doesn’t want me ever to go away again.” “Unt you ain’d goin’ do?” “That’s not the point. I came here just to tell you to cheer up; that I’ll get you out of this to-night, unless all my plans fail. I’d like to get you to Buffalo Bill, with a message from me, telling him to backtrack.” “Bud der chilt?” said the German. “He vouldn’t go mitout id. Uff you vass his bard peen, you know dot. Puffalo Pill gids all der time vat he hass came for.” Conover looked troubled. “Yes, that is so,” he admitted. The baron faced him. “Dell me,” he said, “vy is diss golt vomans vant der chilt? I subbose id iss pecause she hass god none uff her own.” “Not exactly that,” said Conover evasively. “No?” “She had another reason altogether.” “Der chilt iss to pe kilt—saccerivized? I haf heart uff der ligkes uff dat.” “No, not at all; it will be treated well.” The baron looked puzzled. “I’m your vriend, eenyhow,” he said, striking Conover familiarly on the shoulder, “uff you gan gid me oudt uff dis, unt vare Puffalo Pill iss now. Der Inchins ton’d gid him. Nein! Puffalo Pill iss doo smardt vor eeny Inchuns vatefer. I know him; me, Baron von Schnitzenhauser, know Puffalo Pill petter as he knows me.” He stood up very straight, drawing himself to his full height, with a clatter of the wooden shoes, and hammered his breast much as he had hammered the gold bars.