CHAPTER XX.

NOMAD’S STRANGE WEAPON.

When Little Cayuse rode from view of his companions he had suddenly come in full view of a pair of horsemen, leading two ponies, galloping down the gully which opened at Navi’s feet. As the Indian youth looked for the most favorable spot from which to make the leap to the sand below, he discovered a fuse spluttering in the dead grass and almost under Navi’s feet. Cayuse jerked his heels to the pinto’s sides, and the little fellow bounded ahead and over the brink just as the explosion came. At the bottom both boy and pony were buried in the shower of sand and gravel which followed the explosion, but neither was injured.

As Cayuse and Navi scrambled out of the sand into a settling cloud of dust which hid them from view and probably saved both from becoming the target of the fugitives, old Nomad burst into view over the crest of the hill and through the smoke and dust.

Both the outlaws fired at the trapper, one pinking the flesh at the point of his shoulder. But old Nomad had been waiting too long for excitement to hesitate at the first smell of powder. Driving the spurs to Hide-rack’s sides without a glance at the trail he was taking, the trapper found himself flying through the air, or, rather, a veil of dust, to land in a heap with the surprised Hide-rack. Over they went, the rider luckily escaping injury from the flying feet of the excited and struggling horse.

By the time Nomad had regained his feet he could see Cayuse just rounding an angle in the wall fifty rods away.

“Waugh! Hide-rack! Yip-yip-yar-r-r! Git out ov it, ye heifercat! What ye rollin’ round hyar in ther sand fer? Ye hain’t goin’ ter let thet aire red-blooded, no-’count Navi beat ye, be ye?”

Hide-rack shook his head, and little sprays of sand flew out from each ear.

“That’s ther stuff! Git ther sand outer yore ears, an’ mebbe ye c’n hyar me murmur. Mebbeso I mought shake my head ef ther aujience don’t object, an’ then I could make out if theys any more explosions.

“Waugh! Ther next time I goes in swimmin’ I hopes ther water won’t be so r’ily. Ugh! Gut sand enough in my crop ter make er estridge boozy. Shirt feels ’zef ’twas made er sandpaper. By ther tarnation ten spots! I b’lieves ther pesky lead peddler teched me--ther’ seems ter be mud on thet thar left shoulder er mine. Howsomever, I cyant bother ’th thet when the’s more due me an’ er plumb good chanst ter c’lect up.

“Waugh! Hide-rack! Don’t ye think ye better shake yer heels er bit! Mebbe the’s sand in yer butes, ’cause why ye don’t ketch up ter thet redskin varmint down front.”

By the time Buffalo Bill and Hickok had discovered the cañon, old Nomad had rounded the bend in hot pursuit of the flying Navi.

Price and his partner were making the best time possible, and apparently hoped to outstrip their pursuers. If they knew the locality they could hardly have selected a better place in which to traverse a long stretch of country without the possibility of being observed from any direction.

Little Cayuse was determined to keep the fellows in view at any cost, and took long chances of an ambush as he darted around sharp angles at the top of Navi’s speed. Cayuse trusted to Pa-e-has-ka to do the rest if he--Cayuse--could only perform the task he had been given.

The Indian boy did not turn his head, but he knew that Nomad was closely following, for he heard the trapper’s cries of encouragement to his steed.

Cayuse’s black eyes shone as he patted Navi’s neck and said:

“Hide-rack all same heap clumsy pile bones. No ketchum Navi.”

After an hour’s hard riding in a straight-away stretch, Cayuse saw the fugitives for a little while, and just as they were approaching an angle one of the ridden ponies fell. Both horse and rider rolled over and got up injured, for both limped. They passed the corner out of view slowly, and a moment later Cayuse saw a man with a rifle come into sight again for a moment and then jump back.

Little Cayuse halted and waited for Nomad.

“Hain’t gittin’ bashful, be ye, Cayuse?” greeted the trapper.

Cayuse told what he had seen.

“Waugh! Le’s try ’em out, boy. Ef they’s thar an’ see us make er dash ’zif we’s goin’ ter ride ’em down, they’ll like ernough try us er shot ’fore we gits too nigh.

“One, two, go-o-o!” yelled Nomad, as they dashed away at full speed.

“Yip-yip-yar-r-r!” he yelled, as they tore along.

The men in ambush heard the oncoming charge and peered out. Then, as Nomad had predicted, they each tried a shot.

“Thet tells ther story, papoose--they’re thar an’ waitin’ fer us,” said Nomad, pulling up and turning in close to the wall where both he and the horse were screened from reach of probable sniping. Little Cayuse also pulled in out of range, and the two conferred.

“They’ve stacked ther cyards ergin us, pard,” said Nomad. “’Tain’t no use ter play when t’other feller hol’s all ther trumps.”

It was decided to await darkness, now scarcely more than an hour distant, and then attempt to steal up to the enemy’s position.

Nomad had a plan for surprising the rascals, and he proceeded to put it into execution, setting forth his intentions to Cayuse as he worked. He began by taking off his shirt and tearing a sleeve out of it.

“Ugh!” grunted Cayuse. “Nomad plenty crazy prairie dog. Him cut off Hide-rack’s tail, mebbe.”

“Looky hyar, yer Piute papoose, ole Nick hain’t shot so fur f’m ther mark uv common sense ez some little Injuns I’ve seen, ner I hain’t goin’ ter whittle off Hide-rack’s tail, nary one. Ye see thet hoss needs ’is rudder ter steer with, but ole Nick don’t need this aire shirt sleeve fer much er northin’, fur’s I know--’n it’s gittin’ whar et needs er soak in ther river, anyhow.”

“Plenty dirty,” observed Cayuse, whose disgust at Nomad’s slovenly ways was proverbial among the pards.

Nomad tied up one end of the sleeve, and then began filling it with sand.

“Heap fool war club--kill ’im easy?” asked Cayuse.

“Naw, I hain’t goin’ ter kill ’im easy; I’m goin’ ter fool ’im ’th this an’ then kill ’im good an’ hard ’th this ole Nancy rifle er mine.”

“Mebbeso him think rattlesnake,” suggested Cayuse.

“Mebbeso him think ’tis er fool Injun,” retorted Nomad, imitating Cayuse’s voice, manner, and words as he kept on with his work.

Little Cayuse improved the time in brushing the sand out of his raven-black hair and reëstablishing his shining braids and feather.

“Thar, Cayuse, thar’s ther dyed-in-ther-wool ketchumnappin’,” announced Nomad.

“Wuh? All same tie um round mouth make um stop holler.”

“You mean, is it a gag?”

“Wuh.”

“See hyar, Cayuse; I don’t want no more o’ yer insinooations ’bout my shirt bein’ dirty. Mebbe thet thar dummy’ll save yer er shot in ther ’natomy.”

“Ugh! Bullet heap better.”

If Cayuse suspected the purpose of old Nomad he kept it to himself, and pretended to think the trapper pard’s mind was wandering.

As darkness settled fast they completed preparations by tying the horses to a jutting rock, then Nomad shouldered his mysterious weapon and crept along close to the inner wall. Cayuse followed near.

Nomad and Cayuse knew that if the men in ambush suspected they were creeping along the wall a shot might pot both of them, but they were taking the chances because they were aware it was Buffalo Bill’s wish to recapture Price and his partner in crime.

At any instant they might expect a flash ahead and feel the sting of a bullet.