“Nomad!” cried the scout, starting for the shaft. “Py shinks oof id ain’d!” added the baron, with a whoop of joy. “Thet’s yerself, is et, Buffler?” called the old trapper, from the top of the shaft. “Sure, Nick,” replied the scout, looking upward to where two heads were framed darkly against the background of sky. “Who’s that with you?” “Cayuse.” “Great Scott! I can’t understand this at all.” “Jest wait till we git ye out o’ thar an’ we’ll spring a shore enough surprise-party on ye. Aire ye all right?” “As well as ever.” “An’ Schnitz--hes he got any bones broke?” “Nod dot I know anyt’ing aboudt,” the baron answered for himself. “Hooray! I was thinkin’ mebbyso ther reds had damaged ye some when they sprang their leetle trap. I’m goin’ ter throw down the end of er rope. Lay holt o’ et, you two, an’ we’ll snake ye out with one o’ ther hosses.” The scout and the baron stepped back into the drift until the end of the rope had come swishing down; then they went out and laid firm hold of it. “All ready, Nick!” shouted Buffalo Bill. “Gee-haw with thet pesky cabyo, Cayuse,” called Nomad to the Piute boy; “git him a-goin’, son, an’ stop ther minit I sing out.” The rope tightened, then straightened out under the weight of the scout and the baron. Up and up they went at a smart clip until they reached the mouth of the shaft. At a quick command from the trapper, Cayuse stopped the horse; then Buffalo Bill and the baron climbed out on top of the old ore-dump. “Howlin’ painters,” jubilated Nomad, grabbing his pard’s hand, “but et’s good ter see ye, Buffler, an’ ter know ye pulled out o’ thet trap without so much as moultin’ er feather.” “Weren’t there any Apaches on guard around here?” inquired the scout, sitting down on the rocks. “Nary. I reckon ther reds thort they had ye bottled up fer keeps down thar, an’ thet thar wasn’t no way fer ye ter git out without help. ’Course,” laughed Nomad, “they didn’t opine noways thet ye was goin’ ter git help.” “I can’t understand that play of theirs at all. They snagged the baron and me with riatas, dumped us out of our saddles, drugged us, and then lowered us into that old shaft. If they had wanted to put us out of the way, why didn’t they use their guns, or their knives? It isn’t like a pack of reds to go to all that extra trouble.” “Thar was a white man with ’em, wasn’t thar?” “Yes.” “Waal, them Injuns was bein’ bossed by ther white man. All ther pesky white varmint wanted ter do was ter hang ye up, hard an’ fast, durin’ ter-morrer.” “Why was that?” “They hev a mill clean-up at ther Three-ply ter-morrer, an’ Bernritter an’ Jacobs an’ them reds aire plannin’ ter git away with more’n forty thousand in bullion.” The scout stared at the old man in astonishment. “Where did you get next to all that, Nick?” he asked. “By doin’ what ye told me ter do an’ follerin’ Jacobs.” “This is important. Give me the whole of it.”