CHAPTER XXIII.

IN THE SIOUX CAMP.

Buffalo Bill examined the ground closely where he and Hickok had tethered the horses the previous evening. He went over the ground inch by inch in search of a clue to the cause of the Laramie man’s disappearance. He knew that only some extraordinary occurrence would have called Hickok from the place before his--Cody’s--return.

At last he found one of the hitch pins where Hickok had thrown it, several rods from the space the horses had grubbed.

“That is rather peculiar,” he said. “I don’t understand why Hickok should have thrown the pin away, and if it was the work of Indians I don’t see how it came here unless the horses were scared, and jerked the pins from the ground, and dragged them till they fell from the lariats. And again there are no tracks of horses in this direction, nor did the horses kick up any soil, as they would have done at the start-off, if frightened.”

He continued his search patiently, and was rewarded at last.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “I have the key. Here is a moccasin track in a sandy spot, and close beside it the imprint of Bear Paw’s barred shoe. I think some thieving red saw us put out the horses, and after dark sneaked up and quietly led them away. It is evident that Hickok discovered they were gone and has attempted to follow them in the night, although what he expected to accomplish in the darkness is more than I can tell.”

“Trust Hickok ter know what he’s erbout, Buffler. I’m er-gamblin’ ther’ll be things er-happenin’ ’mong ther redskins ef Hickok don’t git er whack et them thar hosses.”

Cayuse had been following the trail left by the horses as they were led away, and from fifty rods away he shouted:

“Bear Paw go all same rabbit.”

“Which way?” called the scout.

Cayuse pointed to the west.

“That pesky Price an’ ’is pard went that way, too,” suggested Nomad. “Mebbe Hick’ll meet up with ther varmints an’ square ’counts with ’em.”

“I think,” said the scout, “that we had better let the ponies graze for an hour or so and then make back into the cañon and wait for darkness and Hickok.”

“Ye’ve hit ther nail fust time, Buffler. One er two o’ us mought be takin’ er nap right now ergin er time o’ need. I feels et in my bones thet thar’s doin’s er-comin’ our way good an’ plenty.”

“That is good logic, old pard. You and Cayuse go up the gully a short distance and catch a wink while I watch the ponies. I want to study the country for a while this morning, and I’ll take first watch. After the animals are satisfied I’ll lead them in out of the way of prying eyes and take a snooze myself.”

Cayuse objected to Cody’s taking first watch.

“Me no squaw,” he said.

“Not by a jugful,” assented the scout, “but we want you to be at your best to-night. I think there is an Indian encampment near, and after dark I want you to wiggle into it and find out all there is to know.”

The Indian boy was pleased at the scout’s evidence of confidence in him, and submitted with a grunt of satisfaction.

The scout had hoped by a careful study of the plain to discover some evidence of the location of the encampment which he believed must be near, and he was not disappointed.

Scarcely an hour had passed before he saw a large party of horsemen far to the south moving westward. They came into view now and then as they passed over the higher points of the rolling plain. He saw them quite distinctly as they forded the river, and then for a time they disappeared, to come into view again after half an hour, showing that they had crossed quite a respectable valley.

Again they went over a ridge, and were seen no more. The scout decided that the party had either stopped in this valley or that it was so broad that the horsemen were beyond reach of the human eye when they reached the far side.

“To-night,” he said aloud, as he arose to collect the lariats of the ponies, “we’ll move down into that country and see what we may discover.”

It was dark when the scout awoke, and for a time he could not think where he was. Then he remembered finding Nomad and Cayuse sleeping in the gully, and that he had tied the ponies together, and sat down in the shadow of the precipitous wall to wait a while before awakening either of his pards.

He now recalled guiltily that he had slept at his post. He moved over to where Nomad and the Piute had lain. Both were gone. He groped his way to where he had left the ponies, and they, too, were gone.

“It’s one on me,” chuckled the scout. “The pards are giving the ponies a chance to graze, and are letting me have my nap out.”

“Pa-e-has-ka sleep plenty sound,” said Cayuse at his elbow.

The faithful Piute had remained by the scout.

“Where’s Nomad?” asked Cody.

“Him go fill um up ponies,” answered Cayuse.

They found Nomad readily enough where he had been since sunset. He had found a buffalo wallow and had given the horses all the water they wished. They had grazed their fill and were now enjoying a rest.

“Thar’s strange doin’s off west’ard, Buffler,” said the trapper, who sat on the ground smoking and observing the changes in his surroundings as night advanced.

“What’s up, Nick?” asked the scout.

“See!” exclaimed the trapper. “Thet’s what’s up. They’ve been er-shootin’ up them air rockets ever sence ’twas dark ernuff ter see um, an’ ’way off in ther south ernother passle o’ ther varmints hev been answerin’ ov ’em.”

The signals were coming up in the direction Buffalo Bill had seen the party disappear in the morning.

“Just what I thought,” said the scout. “There is a large war party over yonder; I saw them go there this morning.”

“Waugh! Buffler, this ’mences ter look like life was wuth livin’ er dyin’, ary one. Snarlin’ catermounts! I feels et in my ole bones thet ther fur’s goin’ ter fly ’fore these sage brushes git ter be plum trees.”

“Let’s be off,” said the scout quietly, selecting the best pony by going among them and feeling of their heads and ears for intelligence and their bodies and legs for endurance.

“Better turn the other two loose, hadn’t we, Nomad?” he asked.

“Shore we don’t want no extra hosses ter bother with--them’s my notions,” answered the trapper.

Buffalo Bill removed the lariats from two of the ponies, and giving each a sharp slap sent them scurrying out on the plain.

“I hope they’ll get a good rest and take on fat before the Indians pick them up,” he said.

The scout and his party struck the valley to the northward of the encampment, and came to the little stream which Hickok had found the previous night. In a thicket they left the horses and moved down toward the twinkling fires.

When near enough they saw that it was a special occasion in the camp, and they kept close to the stream because of the growth along its banks. They saw the dancing, and heard the shouting of the warriors, and then they drew near enough to discover that it was the celebration of a successful buffalo hunt.

For some time they watched the animated night scene, and Cayuse was just stealing away intending to enter the heart of the camp to hear what was the gist of the harangues, when there was a commotion only a few rods from them down the stream, followed by the report of a rifle.

Instantly the scene in the camp changed from riotous hilarity to one of consternation and excited inquiries. Everywhere there were shouts and running about.

The scout heard the pounding of horses’ hoofs, and then out on the plain came a taunting laugh, followed by a shout in a well-known voice:

“Come on, you yowling devils, if you wish, but I bid you a cheerful good night!”

“Wild Bill!” ejaculated the scout and Nomad in a breath.

There was scurrying to the ponies, and a yelling mob rode off in pursuit, but soon gave it up and returned.

By the time the excitement was over and explanations made, Little Cayuse had wormed into the heart of the camp, had donned a Sioux headgear and blanket, and stolidly sat with some of the elder warriors as they smoked and awaited the speeches of the chiefs.

Cayuse understood enough of the Yankton Sioux tongue to follow the trend of comment, and his presence seemed to arouse no suspicion.

Buffalo Bill remained concealed in the thicket by the stream, and awaited events, and events came all too rapidly for comfort.

Suddenly the pards heard a dull thud and a grunt behind them, and realized that an Indian had jumped the stream, and was coming through the thicket directly upon them.

The scout touched Nomad as a signal to remain quiet, while he half arose.

As the Sioux’s next step would have brought him in contact with the scout, the latter straightened to his full height and grasped the red’s throat.

The Indian was large and powerful, and though taken wholly by surprise put up a tremendous fight. He could not let out the warning yell that gurgled in his throat, but the sound of the struggle in the small growth attracted the attention of a group of bucks at the nearest fire. Snatching up brands, these fellows ran to investigate.

“Snarlin’ catermounts an’ ther ring-tail heifercats, Buffler, ther hull kerboodle’s bruk loose kerwallop! Knock ther red on ther head an’ git yer guns!”

The scout bent his antagonist backward, and with a blow of his fist put the savage temporarily out of commission.

“Back across the brook, Nick, and then leg it up river to the horses!” he said, crashing through the brush and leaping across to the thick growth on the opposite bank.

For Nomad it was hard to resist a volley at the oncoming reds, but orders were orders when they came from Buffalo Bill, and he bounded after his leader.

The Indians plunged into the thicket and found the buck just regaining his senses and yet unable to comprehend his condition. A few paused to question him, while others scurried about in the willows, looking for some sort of enemy.

The scout and trapper made good time up river, but suddenly saw outlined against the sky, on the bank above them, several horsemen. Instantly they crouched low and waited. To continue up river they must pass almost at the feet of these horsemen who seemed to be waiting for them or else watching events below.

“They are all about us, Nick,” whispered the scout.

“Waugh!” returned the trapper. “One on ’em got his goozelet squoze till I’m gamblin’ he cyant chew buffler gravy ter-night, nohow.”

The torch bearers were coming nearer along the stream, apparently having discovered the tracks the pards had made in jumping across.

Then from above them came a guttural query in a shout to those beating the bush.

“He asked what the fuss was about,” whispered the scout.

The pards could make out seven men on horseback, for the other five were grouped about two of them, and it could be seen that both the latter wore hats instead of feathers.

Then one of the men spoke to the other in good English:

“It looks like our finish, Ike, down in that gang of red cutthroats.”

“It is Price!” whispered the scout.

“An’ Bloody Ike,” added the trapper.