“Well, Red Bud, he will do no more harm. But I hated to do it. It was his life or mine.”
“Many Faces gone to happy hunting grounds. Stranger scout is great brave, big chief.”
The scout looked at her kindly.
“Now let Red Bud of the Forest return and sing in her native wigwam, where her people dwell around her; the stranger scout will always think kindly of the Pawnee maiden.”
“The great scout has spoken,” she answered, “and Red Bud will return to the village of her people.”
Sadly the lonely Indian maiden turned away, and before the scout could prevent bounded upon her horse, and the next moment was flying across the prairie.
“It is better thus. Now I must bury this body, for even my enemy I cannot leave for the wolf to tear in pieces.”
Thus saying, with his knife the scout dug a grave in the soft soil, and, taking the body, placed it within the narrow resting place, which was soon filled up with earth.
Mounting his horse and leading the steed of his late enemy, Buffalo Bill then set off across the prairie, just as the sun was sinking from sight beyond the distant horizon.