There was a bench near the front door of the cabin. Here Perry and Buffalo Bill seated themselves. Little Cayuse sat just inside the door, his head bowed over and his arms folded. Suddenly he broke into a crooning chant that came weirdly to the ears of the rancher and the scout. “What’s that?” asked Perry; “what’s the boy doing, Buffalo Bill?” “He is calling on his fathers and his Piute gods. He wants the Great Spirit to be kind to Nate Dunbar and the white squaw. Listen!” “Ta-vi kwai-nant-si ya-ga-wats Si-chom-pa kung-war-ru Tu-yung-wi-ra-vats.” The strange words floated out of the door, not unmusically, although they were little more than a whisper. “What is it?” queried Perry. “What’s the chant about?” “It’s the ‘Eagle Tears’ song-- “‘At morn the eagle will cry, On the farther shore of the sea, And the rainbow will be in the sky.’” “A rainbow,” murmured Perry, “is a sign of hope.” “Exactly,” smiled the scout, “and Little Cayuse is doing something which, he believes, will bring Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar a happy day. He has a song for everything--for sadness, for victory, for bringing courage to a warrior’s heart. The boy thinks a lot of Mrs. Dunbar. She has been mighty kind to Cayuse, while we have been staying at your ranch, Perry, and kindness is something the Piute boy never forgets.” “You and your pards are all our good friends,” said Perry, “down even to Little Cayuse. Well, if we do get out of this, it will be Buffalo Bill and his pards who makes the strike for us. I’ve been wondering if we couldn’t send word to Bloom over at the H-P ranch and demand that he come here and keep this mob away.” The scout shook his head. “It would be foolish to try such a move as that,” he declared. “Bloom can not be depended on to do anything for law and order when you and Dunbar are concerned. If we sent Cayuse after him he wouldn’t come. Even if he did come, he wouldn’t be a help, but a hindrance.” “If he should come here and demand that we turn Nate over to him----” “We’d tell him mañana, Perry. We’ve got to keep Nate out of Bloom’s hands entirely.” “A nice state of affairs this range has dropped into,” fretted Perry, “when honest cattlemen can’t look to the legal authorities for protection against mobs of lynchers. If we----” He broke off abruptly and jumped to his feet. The scout also started up. Old Nomad and Sam Pierce had broken into sight along the timbered trail, running at top speed toward the house. “I reckon we’re close to a show-down,” said the scout. “They’re on ther way, Buffler,” puffed the old trapper, as he and Pierce came to the front of the cabin. “Who, Nomad?” It was Hattie’s voice from the door. “The punchers from the H-P ranch gal,” answered the trapper. “How many are there of them, Nick?” inquired the scout. “Fifteen.” “Did you recognize any of them?”