“Nebby, I hope we didn’t skeer our friends inter fits, same’s we did them reds! Waugh! but them Injuns was runnin’! Ef a cyclone had struck thet camp plum’ center, it couldn’t ’a’ scattered things wuss.” He whistled again, and emitted another quavering cry. “Ef Pizen Kate ain’t fell down in a fit an’ died, Nebby, ’twill be a wonder! Fer a lady, Pizen Kate is ther wu’st ever.” He ceased, and sat listening. “I reckon, Nebby, thet when they started runnin’ they went so fast they ain’t had a chance yit ter stop. But these calls ort ter fetch ’em. Trouble is, mebbe they’ll also fetch Injuns. But ther skeleton looks o’ me ort ter keep ther Injuns away, I reckon. Injuns is got more superstition than sense. Otherwise, I reckon that yer rider, Nebby, would be layin’ dead about now by thet camp fire. ’Twar a desprit try, but we made it, ol’ hoss! And now if----” He ceased again, for this time he had heard something. “Waugh! Somebody, er somethin’, is comin’.” He studied his horse’s ears, bending forward in the saddle to do so. “No, ’tain’t Injuns! Ef ’twar Injuns, Nebby’d know it, and he’d be showin’ it. He says it’s white men. Mebbe, likewise, a white woman.” He chuckled. “I hopes thet ef Pizen Kate comes in answer to these hyar signals she’ll git so skeered of me that henceforth and ferever she’ll treat me same’s ef I war a gentleman, which she ain’t been doin’ lately. Waugh! Thar they come, whoever they aire!” He lifted himself in his saddle. “Whoever ye aire, spit it out, er mebbe I’ll begin ter sling bullets reckless!” “It’s all right, Nick!” called Buffalo Bill. Then Nomad yelled again with a recklessness born of high spirits. “Buffler ferever!” he cried. “You heerd me, did ye?” “I couldn’t well have helped it, Nomad; you yelled to wake the dead. If the redskins aren’t coming, too, it will be because they are too scared.” “They’re good and scared, Buffler. Who ye got with ye?” “We are all here.” “Kin that be Nicholas?” came the voice of Pizen Kate. “Don’t come too nigh me, Kate, er you’ll ketch afire.” “Is that reely you, Nicholas?” “Waal, it ain’t nothin’ but me, with a little fire paint added. Better be cautious about how you come too nigh me, though; you might ketch yer dress afire.” She came forward, just the same. “Nicholas,” she declared, as she climbed with apparent painfulness to the top of the hill, “this here is the fu’st and only time that I’ve ever been proud o’ ye sense the day we was married. But you aire a sight! What ye got on yer?” “Waal, mebbe I’d better hide my fiery anatermy,” he admitted. Forthwith he put on his coat; and with his handkerchief he wiped the greasy phosphorescent paint from his face. “Where was Moses when the light went out?” he asked, and cackled again. John Latimer seemed no less surprised than Pizen Kate. He was puffing heavily, for the sharp run had been almost too much for him.