Having made sure that the fiery stuff, which was a phosphorous paste, was all there and in good condition, old Nomad led the horse down into a low swale between hills, that he might be out of view of the Redskin Rovers. There, removing his shirt, he carefully painted on his body and face certain stripes, in imitation of the bones of a skeleton. The paste was not enough in quantity to use all over his body, so he left his legs minus this weird decoration; but the upper part of his body, and particularly the ribs, seemed to stand out in lines of fire. He also painted his face with it, to give it as nearly as he could the semblance of a fiery skull.
“Skeers yer, does it, Nebby?” he chuckled, when the old horse showed a dislike of it and tried to back away. “Waal, ef I kin skeer you with it, mebbe I kin some frighten them redskins, dod-rot ’em! Somethin’s got ter be done, Nebby.”
He replaced his coat, tied his shirt behind the saddle, made a mask of his old handkerchief to hide his face; and then, with his battered old hat pulled well down over his eyes, he mounted, and was ready for his desperate venture. He now rode cautiously toward the Indian encampment, keeping as much as possible in low ground, that a premature revelation of his presence might not occur.
When he was nigh to the camp he stopped, and from the crest of a low ridge took a look at it. He saw Buffalo Bill sitting with back against the tree, talking with the painted white man; and observed the positions of the other prisoners, and of their captors.
Having these things well fixed in his mind, he mounted Nebuchadnezzar again and rode slowly forward.
So softly did the old beast pick his way along in obedience to his rider’s commands, that Nomad was near the camp fire in a little while, and still remained undiscovered. Then he stiffened in the saddle, and a series of wild yells pierced the air.
It was like the sudden outburst of a chorusing band of wolves; for the old man had the power of making his yells peculiarly bewildering, and as if coming from many different points of the compass. As he yelled, he cast aside the concealing coat and pushed back the concealing cap, thus revealing to the astonished redskins the sight of a skeleton horseman, apparently seated on nothing but air, for the body of the old horse was at first indistinguishable in the darkness.
As he thus displayed his skeleton lines, Nomad’s revolver began to pop; and, still yelling lustily, he rode with indescribable recklessness straight at the camp fire.
It was enough! The superstitious and frightened Indians scudded like rats when Nomad made that dash. They threw aside whatever at the moment they were holding, whether weapons, food, or blankets, and dashed in absurd panic down the hill, running like mad.
The moment for action on the part of Buffalo Bill had come.