“Right you are. How’s yonder place for a camp?”
“In among those rocks—yes. We can set sentinels on the top of them. Nobody can approach us then.”
“All right. Too bad I didn’t drop that caribou. A little fresh meat would have been agreeable.”
“No smoke, boy. Can’t afford to make a fire. We’re not only following some pretty shrewd white men, but we’re in the Injun country.”
“Thunder!”
“Cold fodder to-night,” said the scout firmly.
“Well. My orderly always packs a small spirit-lamp. He can make shift to get us all a cup of coffee,” said Danforth, and he proceeded to give the necessary orders, and the troop was soon bivouacked for the night.
The horses, well hobbled, grazed within bowshot of the camp, and a sentinel placed so as to overlook them where they were on the plain. No wily enemy might approach them without the watcher, if he be sharp-eyed, seeing the marauder. Yet Buffalo Bill did not altogether trust to the watchfulness of the troopers.
He was in need of rest, and he rolled up in his blanket and left Danforth to smoke his pipe alone, early in the evening. But when the midnight watch turned out the old scout arose like a specter, spoke to the corporal in charge, and stole out of the camp. Knowing the avarice of Boyd Bennett and suspecting that of his men, he felt sure that they would not give up so easily the chance of finding and appropriating the pay-chest which Captain Hinkley had lost his life to defend.
In the first blush of the attack by the troopers, the outlaws had broken and fled. But they would recover their nerve. They might be joined by some of Oak Heart’s braves, with whom Cody knew Bennett fraternized. They might even hear the full particulars of the Indians’ hold-up of the stage, and be more confident than ever of the fact that Cody had hidden the treasure.