He went bushwhacking in the scrub, and found places where horses had been recently tethered, but there were no horses in the vicinity of the ore-dump now aside from Bear Paw. If there were no horses around, it seemed to follow, naturally, that there could be no one in the mine. The scout, however, was determined to find that out by observation. He would pay a visit to the workings and see for himself.
Securing Bear Paw in the depths of a thicket, where he could not be easily seen by any chance passer along the trail, the scout left the bushes warily and made his way to the ore-dump.
The ox-hide bucket was on the platform at the top of the dump, and on the slope of the little elevation lay a pick.
The Forty Thieves may have been a played-out proposition, but some sort of work had been prosecuted there very recently.
Making as little noise as possible, the scout climbed the ore-dump to the platform and knelt down on the planks.
He looked into the cavernous depths of the shaft, and listened intently. He could neither see nor hear anything.
Buffalo Bill had been perhaps half an hour looking about through the thickets for signs of men and horses, so that, from the time he had separated from Wah-coo-tah farther up the cañon, until he reached the top of the ore-dump, something like an hour and a half had passed.
At least one of the scout’s enemies had been making the most of this hour and a half.
As the scout slowly climbed the side of the ore-dump, his every movement was watched by a pair of glittering eyes in the bushes. The owner of the eyes had not been in the thicket when the scout had done his bushwhacking, but had glided to the copse when the scout left his horse and pushed into the open.
As the scout knelt on the platform, his back was toward the gleaming, malevolent eyes.