Buffalo Bill now concealed his horse in a hollow that was filled with bushes, and then on foot made his way in the direction of Nomad’s flight. He was worried about the safety of the girl, whom he had left with Nomad. More than ever he wished she would be tractable, and that she had started for Glendive with Pawnee Bill.
In going forward now, Buffalo Bill used the utmost carefulness.
The thick growth of bushes that covered the land except in spots, while offering him protection, screened as well much of the movements of the road agents, so that he was in constant danger of blundering into them at the most unexpected point.
His wariness, his keen eyesight, and trained hearing stood him in good stead.
He found the hoofprints of Nebuchadnezzar, and began to follow them. That the tracks were made by Nomad’s horse he knew from the fact that recently Nebuchadnezzar had broken a triangular piece out of his right fore hoof. The impression in the soil was unmistakable, to a man trained as the scout was in the fine art of trailing.
Half an hour or more afterward the scout saw indications that the old horse had entered a small grove, near a little stream. He could not see the horse in there, and he began to fear that here was an ambush. He knew Nebby might have run into a bunch of road agents in that grove and been captured, with his owner, and the road agents might be lying in wait for any friend of Nomad who followed his trail.
Standing off at a distance, concealed by trees and rocks, Buffalo Bill uttered the “cuckoo” cry of the little prairie-dog owl. It was a signal well understood by Nomad, when made in a peculiar way; and when from the grove there came an answering cry, the scout knew that in there no ambush existed.
“Hello!” he called, as he now boldly advanced.
“Thet you, Buffler?” came in a strained voice.
Nomad did not appear, and the thing seemed suspicious, so the scout went on, with revolver held ready for use.