If the Apaches caught him, Cayuse knew that a bullet or a knife would settle his earthly account. But the Piute was not intending to let himself be caught. He was an Indian no less than the Apaches, and fully as able to take care of himself. The defile the boy was following led out onto the flat desert. Leading his horses, he circled to the south over the plain, found a place where he could descend into the gully, and was just crossing to the western wall, when a rider spurred out from behind a pile of rocks and laid his horse lengthwise across his path. A revolver gleamed feebly in the starlight, leveled straight at the Piute’s breast. “Ugh!” grunted Little Cayuse. “Waugh, ye pizen varmint!” growled a voice. “Whar ye goin’ with them cabyos?” “Wolf-killer!” muttered Little Cayuse. “Snarlin’ hyeners ef et ain’t Cayuse? Waal, blazes ter blazes an’ all hands round! Say, I thort ye was told ter foller Bernritter?” “All same,” answered Cayuse. “You no follow Jacobs, huh?” “I’m follerin’ him now. But look hyar, son, what ye doin’ with them two hosses? One of ’em looks like Buffler’s, blamed ef et don’t.” “Wuh! All same Pa-e-has-ka. We no stay here. Heap Apache right ahead. Cayuse steal um cayuses from Apaches.” “What’s thet ye’re tellin’? Apaches loose in this part o’ ther range? I reckons, Cayuse, ye must be shy a few, ain’t ye?” Nomad was himself keeping a sharp lookout for redskins. In fact, when he saw Little Cayuse coming over the eastern wall of the gully with the two led horses, he had felt sure that he was one of Bascomb’s Apaches, and had screened himself behind the rock-pile. The question he had put to the boy was for the purpose of making certain the Piute had made no mistake. “Heap Apache,” insisted Cayuse; “one white man.” “Jumpin’ tarantelers!” breathed the trapper, “I was gittin’ warmer’n I thort. Ye’ve got Buffler’s hoss, an’ ther baron’s. Aire ye meanin’ ter tell me thet Buffler an’ ther baron hev been captered?” “Wuh! Me see um take Pa-e-has-ka and Dutch brave and put um in old mine.” “Ole mine? What ole mine?” “Him little way from here; not far. We get out of gully, so Apaches no find us when they come looking for horses. _Sabe?_” “I’m savvyin’ like er house afire. But tell me fust off ef Buffler was hurt?” “No can tell, Wolf-killer. Him carried to old mine; and Dutch brave, him carried to old mine, too.” “Ain’t this er piece o’ thunderin’ mean luck for ye?” grumbled the old trapper. “Thar was me, knowin’ all erbout this hyar trap in ther hills, layin’ in ther closet o’ thet hotel like er trapped rat, an’ not able ter do er thing ter keep Buffler from runnin’ inter thet ambush. Things sartinly does turn out all-fired queer sometimes.” While the old man was spluttering, he and Cayuse were climbing up the steep slope, each with one of the led horses. They reached the top, went a little way down on the other side, and then dismounted to watch for some sign of the Apaches. But no Apaches showed themselves.