The scout heard the pounding of horses’ hoofs, and then out on the plain came a taunting laugh, followed by a shout in a well-known voice:
“Come on, you yowling devils, if you wish, but I bid you a cheerful good night!”
“Wild Bill!” ejaculated the scout and Nomad in a breath.
There was scurrying to the ponies, and a yelling mob rode off in pursuit, but soon gave it up and returned.
By the time the excitement was over and explanations made, Little Cayuse had wormed into the heart of the camp, had donned a Sioux headgear and blanket, and stolidly sat with some of the elder warriors as they smoked and awaited the speeches of the chiefs.
Cayuse understood enough of the Yankton Sioux tongue to follow the trend of comment, and his presence seemed to arouse no suspicion.
Buffalo Bill remained concealed in the thicket by the stream, and awaited events, and events came all too rapidly for comfort.
Suddenly the pards heard a dull thud and a grunt behind them, and realized that an Indian had jumped the stream, and was coming through the thicket directly upon them.
The scout touched Nomad as a signal to remain quiet, while he half arose.
As the Sioux’s next step would have brought him in contact with the scout, the latter straightened to his full height and grasped the red’s throat.