After an hour’s hard riding in a straight-away stretch, Cayuse saw the fugitives for a little while, and just as they were approaching an angle one of the ridden ponies fell. Both horse and rider rolled over and got up injured, for both limped. They passed the corner out of view slowly, and a moment later Cayuse saw a man with a rifle come into sight again for a moment and then jump back. Little Cayuse halted and waited for Nomad. “Hain’t gittin’ bashful, be ye, Cayuse?” greeted the trapper. Cayuse told what he had seen. “Waugh! Le’s try ’em out, boy. Ef they’s thar an’ see us make er dash ’zif we’s goin’ ter ride ’em down, they’ll like ernough try us er shot ’fore we gits too nigh. “One, two, go-o-o!” yelled Nomad, as they dashed away at full speed. “Yip-yip-yar-r-r!” he yelled, as they tore along. The men in ambush heard the oncoming charge and peered out. Then, as Nomad had predicted, they each tried a shot. “Thet tells ther story, papoose--they’re thar an’ waitin’ fer us,” said Nomad, pulling up and turning in close to the wall where both he and the horse were screened from reach of probable sniping. Little Cayuse also pulled in out of range, and the two conferred. “They’ve stacked ther cyards ergin us, pard,” said Nomad. “’Tain’t no use ter play when t’other feller hol’s all ther trumps.” It was decided to await darkness, now scarcely more than an hour distant, and then attempt to steal up to the enemy’s position. Nomad had a plan for surprising the rascals, and he proceeded to put it into execution, setting forth his intentions to Cayuse as he worked. He began by taking off his shirt and tearing a sleeve out of it. “Ugh!” grunted Cayuse. “Nomad plenty crazy prairie dog. Him cut off Hide-rack’s tail, mebbe.” “Looky hyar, yer Piute papoose, ole Nick hain’t shot so fur f’m ther mark uv common sense ez some little Injuns I’ve seen, ner I hain’t goin’ ter whittle off Hide-rack’s tail, nary one. Ye see thet hoss needs ’is rudder ter steer with, but ole Nick don’t need this aire shirt sleeve fer much er northin’, fur’s I know--’n it’s gittin’ whar et needs er soak in ther river, anyhow.” “Plenty dirty,” observed Cayuse, whose disgust at Nomad’s slovenly ways was proverbial among the pards. Nomad tied up one end of the sleeve, and then began filling it with sand. “Heap fool war club--kill ’im easy?” asked Cayuse. “Naw, I hain’t goin’ ter kill ’im easy; I’m goin’ ter fool ’im ’th this an’ then kill ’im good an’ hard ’th this ole Nancy rifle er mine.” “Mebbeso him think rattlesnake,” suggested Cayuse. “Mebbeso him think ’tis er fool Injun,” retorted Nomad, imitating Cayuse’s voice, manner, and words as he kept on with his work. Little Cayuse improved the time in brushing the sand out of his raven-black hair and reëstablishing his shining braids and feather. “Thar, Cayuse, thar’s ther dyed-in-ther-wool ketchumnappin’,” announced Nomad. “Wuh? All same tie um round mouth make um stop holler.” “You mean, is it a gag?” “Wuh.”