Sometimes there is more in the telling of a story than there is meat in it. But there was meat in Nomad’s recital, and, profoundly stirred as he was, he told it with a simple effectiveness that made Dell and the scout live over with him his night’s trailing. “That’s good, Nick,” remarked the scout, after a brief silence, “as far as it goes.” “Sufferin’ catermounts!” exclaimed Nomad. “Don’t et go fur enough ter suit ye, Buffler?” “It doesn’t go back far enough. How did you get away from that ambush in which Bascomb’s soldier escort was slain?” “Thet’s another kink in ther twist o’ events,” said Nomad gloomily. “At ther fust fire my hoss was shot down under me. As soon as I could kick clear o’ ther stirrups I hiked. Thet’s what I done, Buffler. Never thinkin’ o’ thet leetle pard o’ ours, Cayuse, I hiked like er express-train plumb out o’ thet smotherin’ batch o’ ’Paches. Cayuse”--and Nomad’s voice rolled in his throat--“was killed er took pris’ner, an’ I wasn’t thar ter lend him er hand. I ain’t hardly fit ter look ye in ther face, Buffler, arter thet. Ther idee o’ me turnin’ away from er pard! My on’y excuse is thet I was rattled. When I got cl’ar o’ ther ’Paches, an’ had time ter think, I ricollected Leetle Cayuse, an’ went back ter whar ther ambush was pulled off. But I couldn’t find him. From thet I jedged thet Cayuse was took pris’ner.” Here was an odd situation, and no mistake. Both Dell and Buffalo Bill saw it immediately, and exchanged humorous looks. Little Cayuse had blamed himself for not risking death and remaining in that ambush just to help Nomad, and here was Nomad likewise blaming himself for not staying to help Cayuse. By a queer process of reasoning, both Cayuse and Nomad had labored under the impression that the other had been captured by Geronimo’s men. “Cayuse wasn’t captured, Nick,” said Buffalo Bill. “He got away, and has been finding fault with himself because he didn’t stand by you, just as you are all gloomed up because you didn’t stand by him. You think he’s a prisoner, and he thinks you are. Well, well!” “An’ ther kid is all right, is he?” said Nomad, in a tone of deep relief. “He is.” “Whar is he, Buffler?” “He was in the place where Dell and I got locoed. Cayuse got locoed, too. It was in a little valley, where there was a dribble of water and a pool. The pool was drugged. All three of us, as well as our horses, fell victims to the drug.” “Whar is this hyar valley, Buffler?” “I don’t know. Dell and I didn’t know what we were doing when we left it; consequently, we can’t find our way back.” “Blazes ter blazes an’ all hands ’round!” gulped the old trapper. “Tork erbout doin’s! Say, ain’t this ther banner play o’ all ther doin’s thet ever happened?” “It is.” “Tell me more, Buffler. I’m hungry ter hyer everythin’ that ye kin remember thet happened to ye.”