“All same here, Pa-e-has-ka!”
Little Cayuse and his Apache scouts lined up.
“The white man who was here is gone,” said the scout shortly. “Find his trail.”
“Ai, Pa-e-has-ka.”
They began to circle the camp, with heads down, black eyes scanning the earth and rocks.
At once they were puzzled, if not baffled; there was no trail of a white man’s boots leading out from the camp.
Wider and wider grew the circle in which they swung, closer and nearer they bent their heads to the ground.
At last, more than a hundred yards out from the camp, Chappo uttered a low, triumphant whoop.
He stopped, staring at the ground, and the other Indians hastened to him.
Buffalo Bill and his white companions walked out to where the Indians were grouped.