“McGowan swears that his millmen are straight. He has camped in the mill night and day and is ready to make oath that there’s nothing crooked in the mill.” “Whar do ther dreams come in?” “Well,” and the scout smiled incredulously as he spoke, “McGowan says that he dreamed, one night, he saw an Apache crawling among the cyanid-tanks. When the Apache came out into the moonlight he held up something that looked to McGowan like a bar of bullion. The next moment the Apache was whiffed out among the shadows. McGowan dreamed the same thing the next night, and the night after that. And for this reason,” laughed the scout, “McGowan believes that thieving redskins are mixed up in the thieving.” “Waugh!” grunted Nomad. “Et sounds reasonable.” “Bosh!” said the scout. “Speakin’ pussonly,” pursued old Nomad, “I’d like ter dip inter ther puzzle, jest ter prove whether er not a bunch o’ reds aire really foolin’ with McGowan’s gold.” “Go out and dip in,” advised the scout. “When you get through, come on to Fort Apache. You’ll find me there, if I’m not away on business.” Nomad looked startled. “Nary, pard,” said he, with emphasis. “Ye don’t find me tanglin’ up with any job in which Buffler ain’t consarned.” “Then,” returned the scout, “this bunch of warriors will hike for Fort Apache about dew-fall.” “Ain’t ye goin’ ter wait fer ther baron ter show up?” “The baron has had three days to show up. Evidently he has taken a cross-trail of some kind, and we’re not going to wait for him. If we should happen to----” “Beg yer pardon, Buffalo Bill, but I’d like a word with ye.” The scout dropped his chair down on the veranda with a thump, and looked around. Hawkins, a deputy sheriff, had come out on the veranda and was walking in the scout’s direction. “Howdy, Hawkins,” said the scout. “What can I do for you?” “The sher’f would like ter see ye at his office in the jail. Can ye come right over?” “On the jump. What’s the business about?” “About the McGowan bullion robberies.” The scout was already on his feet, but at that he hesitated. “I told McGowan,” said he, “that I hadn’t time to bother with that matter.” “I know, an’ it ain’t expected ye’ll bother with it. All you’re wanted fer is ter establish the identity o’ one o’ the thieves that has jest been brought in.” “A red thief?” “No, a white ’un.” “I don’t know why the sheriff thinks I can identity the thief.” “Ther feller claims ter be a pard o’ your’n.” “My pards are not drawn from that class.” “That’s what we all reckoned, but the feller insists that you come over an’ see him.” “I’ll go, of course,” said the scout, “but I haven’t the least idea I’ll be able to establish the thief’s identity. He’s bluffing, for some reason or other.” The scout followed the deputy into the hotel, down the stairs, and out upon the street. Nomad and Little Cayuse trailed along behind.