Intently watching the rising moon, the scout suddenly started and bent his gaze more earnestly over the prairie, for across the bright face of the luminary he distinctly saw several dark objects glide.
Yes, one, two, three, four horsemen—followed by several more, glided along like specters, going at a swift pace in a southerly direction.
Instantly the scout turned and tightened his saddle girths, and then looked well to his weapons. Standing by his horse, in the clear moonlight, he was a striking-looking man.
Having at length discovered the direction taken by the horsemen, whose presence near at hand the rising moon had betrayed, Buffalo Bill sprang into his saddle. A word to his noble animal and he was off, skimming the prairie almost as does the sea gull skim over the sea.
A rapid gallop of two miles and the tall trees of a motte loomed up before him; a few moments more placed him beneath the dark shadows of the timber. Then, turning, he glanced out over the moonlit prairie. His eyes fell upon the dark forms of half a dozen or more mounted men coming directly toward the motte.
“Well, I hold the vantage ground thus far, and I’ll not yield it without a struggle, whoever they may be.”
The scout pushed farther into the dense thicket, where, dismounting, he spoke a word to his horse, and the faithful animal lay down, the better to conceal him from view.
A few moments passed, and presently the horsemen entered the motte and the murmur of voices was heard; then a bright light flared through the trees.
“As I thought, they came here to camp for the night, and now I’ll see who they are.”
The scout arose and stealthily approached the spot where the newcomers had a bright fire blazing, around which he beheld seven people, five of whom were Sioux warriors, in all their war paint, and the other two were palefaces, a man and a woman.