The Indians went on, even after that; but when they came to the spot where the vulture had hovered and shot downward, and discovered at that spot, or near it, singular bird tracks in the sand, they were thrown into a panic.
“The devil bird!” said Chappo, speaking to his companions in their own language.
He stood up, wild-eyed, and repeated it to Little Cayuse in broken English, the other Apaches, grouped by him, shaking with renewed terror. Little Cayuse seemed almost as much moved.
Buffalo Bill rode forward and looked at the track of the “devil bird.”
There is the sand, close by the pony trail, where the marks of an immense claw of a bird, at least a yard in diameter. Yet the keen-eyed scout soon saw that, while a clever imitation, it had not been made by a bird, but by human fingers tracing it in the sand for a purpose.
That purpose, of course, was to frighten the Indian trailers. Which showed, also, that either the rider of the pony or the man who made the gigantic steps knew Indian trailers were following.
Buffalo Bill pointed this out to Little Cayuse and the Apaches, and argued the thing with them.
But the Apaches only looked at him stolidly now; they refused to go on again.
“Yer remembers thet story o’ Quicksilver John,” said Nomad, “and how a big eagle come an’ knocked him off ther cliff aidge down inter ther town of them queer Toltecs. I opine this is ther track o’ thet identickel eagle; and it war thet we saw in sky hyar, ’stead of a vulture.”
“Thunder, and carry one!” exploded Wild Bill. “Nomad, you old weenywurst, you’re as bad as the Apaches.”