It was an ideal night for the work Hickok had in hand; the darker the better, and he felt in prime condition for the undertaking. He saw that his revolvers were loaded and in the best condition, and then filled his water pouch, for he knew not when he would again find the thirst-relieving liquid. His knife was keen.
Two hours after dark the feasting and dancing were under way. The red warriors provided meat for some time to come, indulged in much speechmaking, and one chief aroused great enthusiasm. Hickok did not know this man, and could not well get near enough to hear what he said—too many fires were burning, and the odor of cooking meat was wafted out to him, telling that the feasting and revelry would last throughout the night.
Hickok knew where to find the horses this time, and had no trouble in passing the guard, who was all eyes and ears for the camp.
But the first difficulty to overcome was an extra guard that had been posted over the stolen horses. These were apart from the ponies, probably because Bear Paw absolutely refused to associate with the Indian mustangs, and he usually emphasized his dislike in a way that made it unsafe for the smaller animals.
The two horses were lariated on the bank of the little stream opposite the others and farther from the camp fires. This was fortunate in itself for the Laramie man, but the Indians had taken the precaution to post a separate sentry by them.
The buck sat with his face to the firelight a few feet from the horses. He was smoking and now and then mumbling to himself, probably disgruntled comments on his ill luck at being unable to partake of the night’s festivities.
In their anxiety to begin the sport the Indians had given their ponies scant time to graze, and the latter were out of temper and quarrelsome. They bit, kicked, and squealed in a continuous hubbub. This noise assisted the Laramie man to carry out his plan.
He crossed the brook, and crept silently toward the unsuspecting guard. From behind clumps of sage he picked out his way, and crawled nearer and nearer.
The buck was viciously sweeping the weeds about him with the muzzle of his rifle.
“I’ll vent your temper a bit presently,” thought the Laramie man, creeping nearer and ready for a spring at the slightest turn of the Indian’s head, which was outlined against the firelight beyond.