As the light flickered and went out, he caught a glimpse of something that caused a chill to run down his spine, and genuine grief touched his heart. There beyond the angle, on the sand almost against the opposite wall, lay the arm of a man--and Buffalo Bill recognized the familiar stripes and colors of old Nomad’s shirt. Even Buffalo Bill for the moment was overwhelmed by the catastrophe. His brave old trapper pard had gone across the divide, as he had often wished to do, in active pursuance of his duty. The scout feared, too, that Little Cayuse had met disaster, as appearances would indicate that Price was having matters all his own way, and from some crevice in the rocks was awaiting opportunity to wipe out others of the party in search of him. Well, there was more than one could play at the waiting game. The scout slipped behind the ponies, and seated himself in the sand, his back against the wall. He proceeded to make himself as comfortable as possible. The ponies were tired, hungry, and uneasy. They pulled each other about after a time, and attempted to nose along the walls in search of water or herbage. The scout remained quiet, with his ears strained for every sound of interference by their owners, but no such sound came to him. The dreary hours passed, and the gray light of morning at last began to reveal the nooks and corners of the gully, yet the scout stirred not. Presently he could see his surroundings distinctly, but nothing indicated the presence of any human being other than himself. The ponies were still pushing and pulling each other in futile attempts at progress toward food and water. For half an hour the scout awaited the movement of those whom he suspected were watching for him. With ready revolver, he kept an eye constantly on the jutting rock which marked the turn in the wall. At last the critical moment arrived. He saw a slight shadow which indicated the movement of some one beyond the angle moving slowly up to it, and then just a curve of a human face as it pushed slowly by the corner, taking in every inch of the way as the eye swept around the corner where the scout awaited with eye glinting along his shining barrel. “Pa-e-has-ka!” The exclamation was one of surprise mingled with relief. Little Cayuse stepped into view and hurried toward the scout, who arose quickly and extended his hand. “I feared you had made your last trip with me, little pard,” he said. “Ugh! Me ’fraid bad men get away. Keep eye on rock all night, make um listen.” “What happened to Nomad?” “Sleep ketch um.” “Poor old Nick!” murmured the scout. “Ugh! Make um snore, scare pony.” “How did it happen?” “All same lie down, no put um head in bag.” “What do you mean, Cayuse?” demanded the scout somewhat sternly. He had begun to note the twinkle in Cayuse’s eye, and failed to reconcile the Piute’s quiet levity with the seriousness of the occasion. “Mean Nomad heap tired; stick head in sand; mebbeso crazy.”