It was now deemed best to skirt the base of the hills until the trail was found. Hathaway became more and more eager as they went on, for he felt confident that Buffalo Bill would have the prudence to wait, and, therefore, that they would soon join him and his own good faith be proved.
The man had lived a hard and criminal life, but he now saw a chance to redeem the past and he was eager to seize it.
About noon they came upon the trail where Buffalo Bill and his party had entered into the hills.
Captain Meinhold asked Steve how long it was since the king of the scouts had passed.
“The trail is cold,” was the reply. “The night dew has fallen on it. He must be a long way ahead, if he has not halted to wait for us. He is on a trail almost as fresh as his own—and the trail of a bigger crowd, many times over. If he and all with him are wiped out, it is his fault. He should have waited for us, for I told him I’d guide you straight to his trail, and I’ve done it.”
“Halt!” cried the captain, turning to his men. “There are smoke signals rising. They must be from the scouts who left us. Yes, it is so. Three quick smokes half a minute apart. That means that a fight is going on.
“But it is strange. There is no long, steady smoke lasting five minutes—the signal which I arranged with them to show that Buffalo Bill was there. They must surely have forgotten, or else misunderstood me. Ah, there is another smoke spiral—another and another—but they are farther off!”
“And they are not made by those two scouts or by their friends,” said Steve. “Those last puffs of smoke came from the vicinity of that devil’s hole they call Nick’s Cavern.”
“I don’t know the place. Who is there?” asked the officer.