Excerpt: …mit dot girl in his arms, flying der trail ofer like a biece of baber pefore a cyclone alretty!
Humpendinck, are you telling the truth?
I vos tole you vot dot Irish vomans tole me. Mike Delaney und dree udder mans vos lookin’ for you. On the instant Louis Vorlange was forgotten, not only by Rasco, but also by Dick. It made both shudder to think that Nellie had been carried off by a redskin. They turned into the trail from which Humpendinck had emerged, and were soon on their way to the camp. Here Rosy Delaney was found very much disturbed. She came up to Rasco wringing her hands. To think o’ the red rascal a-takin’ thet young leddy off! she cried. I know her by thet photygraph! Och, the villain! An’ it moight have been Rosy Delaney, bad cess to him!
Show me the exact trail he followed, said Rasco, and this the Irish woman did willingly. Soon Rasco was tearing over the prairie, followed by Humpendinck, Delaney, Clemmer and by Dick, who borrowed a horse from another boomer. The trail left by Yellow Elk was easily followed to the vicinity of Honnewell, but here it led away to the southwest and was swallowed up among the bushes and rocks leading down into the ravine previously mentioned. Oi reckon thot’s the trail, said Delaney, after an examination. And I vos dink dot ist der trail, put in Humpendinck. An’ I calkerlate this is the trail, added Cal Clemmer. Each pointed in a different direction, while Rasco and Dick were of the opinion that none of them were right and that the trail led up the ravine, just as it really did. An interruption now occurred. There was a stir in the bushes above their heads, and an elderly scout peered down upon them, rifle in hand. Hullo, Jack Rasco, wot’s the best word? Whar is Pawnee Brown?
Dan Gilbert! cried Rasco. Come down, Pawnee ought to be somewhere about here. In a moment more Dan Gilbert, a heavy-set, pleasant-looking frontiersman, stood among them. A hasty consultation immediately followed….