Having made the discovery that Not-Afraid-of-Death was to take the trail before dawn, Kit Carey returned to the medicine lodge, and told the old chief that he was to "go into the shadows of sleep," and not to be disturbed until he awoke after nightfall, for he was to see what fortune the moon held for the Indians.
Then he slipped again out of camp, and went to a position some distance from the retreat, where Not-Afraid-of-Death was to start upon his trail for an officer's scalp, his fondest desire being to raise the hair of Kit Carey.
Having secured a point of look-out, the white captain lay in wait for future developments.
Along in the morning Not-Afraid-of-Death was visible scouting along a ridge, as though he saw an enemy, for his every movement indicated as much.
He was a Brule, and with him was an Ogallala warrior, and the two ran in a crouching position to a certain point.
Who they were watching Kit Carey could not see, for the ridge shut their intended victim from his sight.
But soon after there rode into view an officer accompanied by an Indian scout.
Quickly Kit Carey drew his glass from beneath his robe and turned it upon the officer, who sat upon his horse reconnoitering the country before him. He gazed for a while through the glass, and then muttered:
"It is that splendid fellow, Casey, of the Twenty-second Infantry, and who has a command of irregular cavalry. He is too daring to venture thus far into the lines," added the white captain, seeming to forget what he was then engaged in.
Lieutenant Casey still sat upon his horse some distance from where Kit Carey was in hiding, and his glass swept the country thoroughly, taking in the dust as it arose under the hoofs of some Indian rider, and noting the plateau and buttes beyond, where was the camp of the hostiles.