He rose and went again toward the village, filled with fear for his friend’s safety. He sympathized with Clayton’s anxiety to do something for the girl who was held by the Blackfeet, but at the same time blamed him for folly and disobedience of orders.
He had not gone far when wild yells and a noisy clamor told him that Clayton had been captured.
The scout stood still, listening to those telltale sounds.
“Just as I feared,” he thought. “It will be a wonder if they don’t kill him; and what good will his recklessness then do the girl?”
He moved on with quick steps, being guided by the wild clamor and by the flashing of lodge fires that were being rebuilt, or blown into new life.
Drums were soon booming in the council lodge, warriors were seen hurrying to and fro by the light of the fires, and feverish activity reigned.
The Blackfeet, having captured the young white man, were sure that he was a scout, and that a strong force of white men were near; and they were getting ready to meet them if they came.
The utter impossibility of entering the village without discovery was apparent to the experienced scout. Though he wanted to aid the youth, and also the girl, he saw that the attempt would have small chance of success, and if it failed his own fate would, no doubt, be sealed. Yet it required stern self-repression to remain inactive, knowing what was going on so near him, and the peril of the prisoners.
As Buffalo Bill lay close against the ground, screened by the darkness, he saw small bodies of Blackfeet leave the village, and knew they had been sent out to scout about, and, if possible, to locate the white men who were supposed to be near.
In going and coming these Blackfeet passed close to the scout; so close that he could hear some of their low-spoken words and the soft crunching of their moccasins. From what they said he discovered that Crazy Snake was not in the village, but was expected soon, and that the prisoners were being held until his coming.