“Then I’d go there. I shall not halt my pursuit of Bascomb until I have laid the scoundrel by the heels. He has made trouble enough. In some manner he has wormed himself into the good graces of Geronimo, and so long as Bascomb is at large he will help the old chief in his villainy. So far as Geronimo himself is concerned, the military can take care of him, and I will not mix up in the game; but Bascomb I intend to get myself. I feel a sort of personal obligation in _his_ case.” “Then you will quit the trail and go away from this part of the country as soon as you capture Bascomb?” There was a touch of sadness in Dell’s voice. “Yes; duty, probably, will call Nick and myself to other places, and, of course, where duty calls we have to go.” “Then, I reckon, you’ll be losing your girl pard.” “And mighty sorry I’ll be for that. In a fight, or in any sort of trouble, Dell, I couldn’t ask for a better side partner than yourself. Ah,” the scout finished, “there’s Nomad again. He has come out of the cave.” Nomad, standing in the entrance to the cave, shouted to his pards behind the spur. “Come on, Buffler, you an’ Dell. I reckon we got hyar too late; thar ain’t er single red erbout ther place.” An exclamation of disappointment escaped the scout’s lips. “Tough luck, Dell,” said he, as he started around the spur. “There’s no telling, now, where this trail of Bascomb’s will lead us, nor how long it will take to get to the end of it. The fellow, I reckon, was not so badly wounded in that ambush as Cayuse thought.” The scout and the girl were soon at Nomad’s side. “How big a cave is it, Nick?” asked the scout. “No more’n twenty-five paces one way, Buffler. I walked cl’ar through ter ther end wall an’ back ergin. Not hevin’ no matches I couldn’t light up; but ef thar had ben Injuns in ther place, I’d shore hev heerd from ’em. Got any fire-sticks yerself?” “Yes.” “Then ye mout scratch a few an’ look ther cut-out over more keerful than what I did. Mebbyso ther reds left a can o’ water, er a piece o’ jerked meat behind ’em. I’m hopin’ they did, kase I’m gittin’ dryer an’ dryer right erlong. I kin stand et ter be hungry--pullin’ up yer belt a hole’ll fix thet--but when ye’re thirsty, somethin’ takes holt o’ yer throat fit ter strangle ye.” Buffalo Bill, with Dell and Nomad at his heels, entered the cave. It widened out quickly, a few feet from the entrance. Halting well within the opening, the scout struck a match. The glow of light was feeble, and pierced the gloom for only a few feet in advance. Holding the light in front of him, he passed on into the darkness. Perhaps he was half-way to the rear wall when a cry from Dell brought the scout to an abrupt stop. “What is it, Dell?” he asked, letting the burned match fall from his fingers. “There’s some one lying on the floor,” said Dell, “off here to the right.” “White man er ’Pache?” spoke up Nomad. “I couldn’t see. Come back this way, Buffalo Bill, and strike another match.”