Buffalo Bill explained the situation in a few hurried words, and then the three scouts lost no time in mounting their horses and putting as much distance between themselves and the camp of the redskins as they could before the truce pipe was smoked out.
“I don’t believe they will trouble to pursue us,” said Buffalo Bill, as they sped along over the prairie at a tearing gallop. “That old chief is a pretty smart fellow, and he will know very well that there is no chance of catching us, after the start we have got. Our only danger, as I figure it, is that we may stumble across another war party, or some of their scouts, before we reach Fort Hays.”
They rode along for a couple of hours, occasionally glancing behind to see if they were followed; but they saw nothing to indicate danger.
Suddenly, as they emerged from a brush-covered ravine, Buffalo Bill held up his hand in warning.
His comrades reined up their horses and listened intently.
They had not remained silent more than a few seconds before they heard an almost noiseless pad of hoofs on the turf of the prairie.
The scouts knew that Indian ponies were always unshod, and they realized in a moment that another fight was ahead of them. Rifle in hand, they waited for the enemy.
The darkness was so intense that they could hardly see ten yards ahead of them. Suddenly, out of the gloom, half a dozen mounted figures emerged.
The scouts saw at a glance that they were Indians, even if they had not known, as they did the next moment, by the startled war whoop that broke from the lips of the redskins.
Buffalo Bill galloped toward them, revolver in hand, and before the redskins fully understood their peril he had shot down two of them and broken through the party.