He sprang to the bare back of the pony, drew the blanket closely round his shoulders, and rode silently through the darkness in the direction of the Cheyenne supper camp.
He knew the Cheyennes would be moving on again shortly.
He circled the camp, so as to approach it from the other direction; and was guided in his work by now and then seeing a flash from one of the sputtering fires where the Cheyennes were roasting their meat. They had brought down an antelope during the afternoon, and they were preparing for a feast, which never comes amiss to the stomach of an Indian.
When he was close up to the camp the scout slid to the ground, and then led his pony on, with hand held ready to catch it by the nose, if it showed signs of wanting to neigh.
Off at one side, in a grassy space where the mesquite did not grow, he discovered the Cheyenne ponies feeding. They kept close together, and he was sure from that that a herder had them in charge, though this herder he could not see.
The Cheyenne ponies fed slowly toward him. One of them snorted, and then neighed; and at that a young Indian was seen by the scout gliding among them.
The motion of the Indian set the ponies to moving, and they drifted toward the scout, and soon he was in the midst of a small group of them.
This suited him, for when they began to feed again, putting their heads to the ground, he permitted his pony to feed along with them; and he kept his body and head close down to the earth, that he might not be seen by the herder.
The feasting at the Indian camp fire lasted longer than he had thought it would; the Cheyennes had made a good ride that day, and as they ate they were planning and boasting of the red work they intended to do along the New Mexican border, after they had joined their fellow tribesmen down there and had stirred them to go on the warpath.
But at last they were ready to move again. The scout’s keen ears apprised him of the fact, when they called some questions to the pony herder, and the herder shouted back to them.