On the day after leaving the fort Buffalo Bill found the trail of the wagon train.
Much to the surprise of his party he had headed on a course which would take them clear away from the region in which buffaloes had been last reported by the Pawnee friendlies.
They thought he was losing his skill as a hunter, but his discipline over them was so good that they made no open protest, though they growled among themselves.
They could not know that Buffalo Bill was not looking after game, but after the Doyle party.
“We’ll follow this trail, boys,” said Buffalo Bill, pointing to the broad tracks left by the wagons. “It’s pretty fresh, and perhaps the folks will be able to tell us where the buffaloes are ranging. Anyway, we can pass the time of day with them.”
“Is Buffer goin’ suddenly crazy?” asked Nick Wharton, in a hoarse aside, of Wild Bill. “What in the name of the everlastin’ hickory do we want ter pass the time o’ day with people fur? I thought we cum out from the fort ter hunt meat.
“It seems we didn’t. We cum out fur a nice sociable ride, payin’ polite calls on wagon parties! It beats all in my knowledge o’ Bill. As if a wagon train wouldn’t scare away all the bufflers within ten miles of it!”
Old Nick only voiced the feelings of the other men. Even the stolid Pawnee friendlies, trained from their boyhood not to express their emotions, looked at Buffalo Bill in sheer amazement—but they said nothing in opposition to his command, and neither did any one of his white comrades.
They all knew him well—and knew that when he gave an order he meant to have it obeyed.