He pointed to the starlight.
“Off there is the notch, and your horses, and the Morgan kid; you’ll find them all now without trouble.”
“You won’t come with us?” said the great scout, reluctant to leave him.
“No! And I’m hoping that none of you will ever come this way again. We’ll not meet any more, likely. So, good-by, and success to you!”
He turned, as he said this, and broke into a run, as if he feared to linger; and the darkness soon hid him.
Buffalo Bill turned about and headed toward the notch.
“Forward march!” he said. “We want to be well out of this before morning comes. The Red Feathers will be hot after us as soon as they can see to strike the trail.”
They found the horses, and the child, their arms and ammunition, and the two stuffed bags of gold for the Morgan boy.
And in the darkness they rode away, wondering at their strange escape, and questioning among themselves as to what had become of the Piute and the Apaches.
But when morning dawned they came on the four Indians, who, hiding beside the trail, had been trying to screw up courage enough to make a scouting trip in the direction of the valley.