The little Piute’s attitude was rapt and ecstatic. His eyes were raised to the darkening sky, where the stars were already beginning to shine dimly. But what he meant, or what he was trying to get at, was altogether more than the scout or the girl could fathom. “There’s the music,” said Dell. “That’s Geronimo; he’s furnishing the music.” “Good boy, Geronimo!” cried Buffalo Bill, clapping his hands. “Give us another! Where’s your fiddle?” Little Cayuse dropped his arms and stood scowling at Buffalo Bill and Dell. Suddenly the scout sprang erect and struck his clenched fist against his forehead. “Merciful heavens!” he gasped hoarsely. “Dell! What’s the matter with you, with me, with Little Cayuse? Let us get the horses and ride--_ride_, do you hear? This valley is bewitched, bewitched!” He ran toward the horses, conscious that he had a lucid interval in the midst of a horrible, uncanny madness. Midway between the pool and the horses he stopped, staring. Bear Paw was backing slowly around in a circle at the end of his picket-rope, backing with the methodical rhythm of a trick-horse, stamping his hoofs as he went. Silver Heels appeared to be trying to up-end himself on his fore feet, while Navi was giving an exhibition of what is technically known as the “bedpost buck.” The scout staggered, dug at his throat and twisted his fingers in his long hair. What was this sensation that filled him and robbed him of reason? Even as he tried to fight against it, the last thin barrier of sense was broken down. He burst into a loud laugh, and whirled back toward Dell and Little Cayuse. He pulled the handcuffs from his pocket and flourished them in the air. Dell came up to him, smiling. She put away the revolver and reached out her hand. “One belongs to me,” she said coaxingly. “Certainly,” answered the scout, snapping one of the handcuffs about his right wrist. “There’s yours, Calamity Jane;” and he snapped the other cuff about Dell’s left wrist. “It’s a good long way to town, sis,” he added, in a kindly tone, “and we’d better be moving.” Without paying the slightest attention to Little Cayuse or the horses, Buffalo Bill started to climb the rough valley wall, dragging Dell with him. The secret of the spring--Geronimo’s secret--had wrought its folly in the usually well-balanced brain of the scout. He was going to town, and he was taking his sister with him. Obsessed with this one idea, which he clung to with all the morbid earnestness of a man deranged, he went on and on. Night deepened, the stars in the Arizona sky brightened against the velvet vault like so many diamonds. One star guided Buffalo Bill; the “pointers” in the “Dipper” showed it to him, and he followed as he would have followed a compass. From somewhere, far away, came the wild, shrill chant of the Indian boy. The chant died out like a lisping of waves on a rocky beach. But the scout and his sister went on and on, following the star.