“I know not. It may have been some of the spirits of the Moonlight Mountains.”
Indians are proverbially afraid of spirits; and, in the darkness, their superstitions are sometimes easily excited.
The Moonlight Mountains were near, and mountains are by many Indians, particularly plains Indians, supposed to be filled with strange spirits, or ghosts.
The Cheyenne who had called to the scout mumbled something; and the scout knew his words had made an impression.
Wild Bill bent low on his saddle, and rode bare-headed; for he had no blanket with which to disguise himself, to make him look like an Indian.
As they thus rode slowly along, at intervals the scouts slid to the ground, and felt about in the gloom, calling to the girl in low voices. This was safe enough, for the Cheyennes were making a horrible babel with their yelling and questioning of each other. But the girl could not be found; Barlow had subsided; and when the scouts had gone as far as they believed was necessary, and saw before them the gleaming embers of the camp fires, they were ready to confess themselves baffled.
“We’ll go back over the same way, and spread apart a little. We must make a thorough search,” said Buffalo Bill.
They returned along the line of their search, dismounting more frequently, and making a more complete hunt; but the result was the same as before.
The Cheyennes were now bunching not far off, and were yelling and calling, to summon all the members of the band.
“I’m afraid they have captured her again,” said Buffalo Bill reluctantly.