The scalp had been torn from Davis’ head, thus proving that the work had been done by Blackfeet, while the bloody arrow showed that this was another “vengeance” blow struck by the chief, Crazy Snake.
Old Nomad was not fool enough to linger there longer. He buried the body of his old friend, protecting it from wolves by a heap of stones placed on the grave. Then he cached his pelts, picked his few belongings, mounted old Nebuchadnezzar, and set his face toward Fort Thompson.
But he was not to escape so easily.
He had not gone far when he discovered that Blackfeet were dogging his trail, for the apparent purpose of surprising him in camp, or while he slept. He was sure these Blackfeet were led by Crazy Snake, who had marked him for another victim.
As Nomad sat staring along the backward way, a herd of elk came in sight, swinging down the trail he had been following. He instantly guided Nebuchadnezzar out of the trail, and let the elk go plunging by, for they seemed to be frightened, and were running at high speed.
“Good enough!” the old man grunted. “I think I kin puzzle them red devils a bit now.”
Sure that wherever the Blackfeet were they did not now see him, Nomad dismounted, and, removing a blanket he carried in a roll behind his saddle, he tore it into strips and wrapped them round the hoofs of his horse, so that he would leave no trail.
A trailless route would make it troublesome for even the keen-eyed Blackfeet to follow him.
Descending the mountain now by a zigzag path, and making, besides, several changes in his course, Nomad succeeded in reaching lower ground. Here he mounted Nebuchadnezzar again, and rode off in a new direction; but several times changed his course, in his efforts to baffle the Blackfeet.
While he was thus riding on, he was astonished by hearing his name spoken. He reined in and faced about, staring in surprise.