“By the picked-tailed honey bees I warn’t, wor I? Must er been thet measly red hoss thief thet gut erway ’th Hide-rack I’s thinkin’ ’bout.” “Mebbeso Nomad thinkum ’bout ‘ketchumnappin’,’” suggested Cayuse. The scout laughed and Hickok and Skibo asked for information. They hadn’t heard the joke. Nomad galloped on ahead and the scout told of the trapper’s attempt to fool Price and Bloody Ike in the cañon, by tearing out a shirt sleeve and filling it with sand to throw in the darkness for them to shoot at. “Did they shoot at it?” asked Hickok. “No, they threw some sort of a torch that Ike fixed up, and which lighted up the whole place so that Nomad had to skedaddle.” The pards laughed so heartily that Nomad looked around and shook his fist at them, and then put spurs to Hide-rack and came up with the boy. “What shall we call the boy for short?” asked the scout. “‘Make-um-noise’ plenty short for him,” said Cayuse. “‘Billie,’” said Skibo, “then we hab Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill, an’ Billie.” “We are getting too many Bills and not enough receipts,” said the scout. “Why not call him ‘Tootsie,’ in honor of his profession?” asked the Laramie man. “Good!” was the chorus, and “Tootsie, the boy bugler,” stuck to the boy from that day. At noon the party halted the horses to graze an hour, and all the others found that “Tootsie” had regained his usual demeanor and was the life of the party. His new name amused him, but he accepted it with good grace, and sang, after pulling his bugle from his saddle horn: When Indians get funny just give ’em a toot And send ’em a-whoopin’ an’ crazy; But when you want noises, why call the galoot Called “Corey,” and “Billie,” and “Tootsie.” Tootsie waved his bugle, danced a jig, and wound up with a toot-toot-ta-tar-rum. “Thet’s ther stuff, Tootsie, wake us up, er I may git ter dreamin’ ergin.” That night they camped at the mouth of a little ravine which offered water and tender grass for the horses. It was a beautiful night, and the scout, when the moon arose, was tempted to “stretch his legs a bit,” after a long day in the saddle, and look about the country. Tootsie asked permission to accompany him and the request was promptly granted. They set out, keeping a southerly course along the bank of the ravine until they came out on a flat-topped and vertical-sided butte of considerable height. In the hazy light they could not see far, but the soft evening breezes from the almost limitless plains came sweet and pure and dream-inducing. Standing well out on the cliff, the scout noticed that under the side of a neighboring butte of like formation, one hundred rods away, a party of Indians were holding some sort of a ceremony. He had no doubt they were warriors and offering some sacrifice to propitiate the Great Spirit because of their intended exploit, or to win protection in expected battles to come.