“Whash ’at?” demanded one of the half-sober men. “Lan’n ’xploded,” explained the other, with remarkable sang-froid. “’Xtror’nary!” said the first. “Musht been too full, shame’s shum theshe other fellers.” “No; draught, cosh chimney too hot.” “Yesh; ’twash sho many dra’f’s made theshe fellersh hot, too.” Cayuse crept across the floor, while the guards discussed the cause and effect of the explosion and fumbled for matches. The door was not fastened, and he let himself outside noiselessly. Then he changed his mind and returned. The guards were still talking to each other and hunting for matches. Cayuse believed they, too, would soon be in drunken slumber. He had determined to arm himself. They had taken his rifle, also the belt with his revolver and knife, but his precious medicine bag was safe inside his shirt. Cayuse had noted in the dim light that several rifles and belts were hanging on the wall, but he had not been able to distinguish his own. Now, climbing over the unconscious forms of the outlaws and expecting every moment to see the glare of a match that would reveal him to the enemy, he felt deftly and rapidly along the wall. “I have ’m now,” chortled one, as he banged against the stove. “Mashes al’sh over here by shtove.” “Lookoush not drop ’m in wood box, shet housh ’fire,” cautioned the other, blundering along until he, too, collided with the stove. “Heresh be!” The exultant exclamation was immediately followed by a crash, bumpety-bump-bump, then groans and swearing from the lower regions. One of the men had fallen down into the cellar. If Cayuse had been of any other race he would most probably have laughed at the comical side of the situation. But Cayuse was busy carrying out rifles, belts, revolvers, knives, and ammunition. He had found his own outfit, and now he proposed to disarm those who would be most likely to follow him. He carried the arms into a thicket near by, and buried them in brush and leaves, keeping out several of the best revolvers. He thought these might be needed by Buffalo Bill and his pards. Cayuse also carried away all the cartridges. “Ugh! Heap fool palefaces; drink rum and steal!” The Piute thus summed up his opinion of the gang that had accidentally captured him. Little Cayuse had determined that his first work should be the release of Pa-e-has-ka and Wild Bill. He had understood that they were under guard in an abandoned mine, and he had no doubt that it was the mine where Bloody Ike had taken refuge. He knew, too, that Skibo and old Nomad were in the mountains, and he hoped to find them before morning. Cayuse thought of his loved Navi, but the little pinto had been left at the hotel stables, and the Piute did not believe any one would dare remove him. The penalty for horse stealing in that part of the country was greater than for killing a man, red or white.