“We might edge closer in and see,” Wild Bill suggested.
“I’ll do so; it will be safer for me. You hang around out here. I’ll join you soon. I must see if the girl is there.”
Wild Bill did not like to be separated from his pard, but he saw the wisdom of the proposal.
Poor as the light was, the Indians, with their keen eyes, were likely to spot him as a white man, if he came too near them.
Buffalo Bill, with his blanket and head feathers, could more readily fool them. Hence he rode slowly toward the Indians, and when one of them spoke to him, he answered in Cheyenne of such excellence that the redskin was thoroughly deceived.
In order to determine if the girl was a prisoner, he rode into the very midst of the chattering group, and looked about as well as he could.
“Where is the Wolf Soldier and the white squaw?” he asked, with characteristic boldness.
They did not know. Some of the Indians were still out on the prairie, and were riding in.
The scout stayed with the chattering redskins, hearing their wild talk and speculations; and was amused by hearing the Cheyenne he had spoken to some time before make the startling suggestion that the strange attack had been made by spirits of the Moonlight Mountains.
Red Wing, who was rather an intelligent Indian, scoffed at this, but some of the others were ready to accept the idea. It accounted for the singularity of the attack, which had begun so strangely and ended as suddenly and mysteriously as it had begun.