On the rocks just by the water they removed the mufflers from the hoofs of the horses. The animals were then ridden into the water, the rocky bank there holding no trail; and down the stream they rode, keeping in the water. They went on in this way nearly a mile, and then began to follow up a tributary stream.
As the scout rode along, his keen eyes searching either shore, he saw a grove of trees. There were a number of these groves in the lower part of the cañon, whose floor was of soil in places, rather than rock.
“If we can get under cover of those trees without making any tracks doing it, we can probably lie safe there,” he remarked, while Nomad looked at the grove.
“Ole Nebby, hyar, kin do ’most anything, Buffler, but he ain’t learnt to fly yit. And, without flyin’, I don’t see how you’re goin’ ter git inter the midst of them trees and leave no sign. Fer thar’s soil hyar, and not rock.”
“But the grass, you’ll notice, come right down to the water,” said the scout, “and is a thick, firm turf.”
“Go ahead, Buffler; I’m follerin’ ye. Mebbe we kin make it by mufflering ther hoofs of ther hosses. But we can’t muffler ’em very well hyar in ther water, and when we rides out of ther stream with their hoofs bare they’re shore goin’ ter make some tracks.”
Buffalo Bill rode toward the shore.
When close to the grass, but still in the water, he rose to his horse’s back. Standing in the saddle, with the remaining blanket from his roll held in his hands, he threw the blanket so that it fell on the grass at the water’s edge. It fell, folded, as he had wanted it to; and, with a quick jump, he leaped to it from the saddle. By this clever plan, he kept his boots from cutting into the turf and soil.
“You’ve got a blanket, in addition to the scraps you cut the other one into,” he said. “Throw me your blanket.”
Nomad threw the blanket to him, and the scout spread it out beside the one on which he was standing.