AGAIN ON THE TRAIL.
Buffalo Bill and Pawnee Bill floated on down the cañon river until
they came to the open land beyond the “tunnel,” where they discovered
indications that Blackfeet had been on the shores there not long
before.
This made them wary; they could not be sure that all the Blackfeet
were gone. Accordingly, they concealed their canoe, and searched the
ground along the shore.
Bruce Clayton was with them, using his eyes as well as he could, but
unable to “read” what he saw on the ground, seeing but hoof marks of
horses, and some moccasin tracks in the damp soil by the margin of
the river.
“They have retreated toward the village,” said Buffalo Bill. “Their
village lies farther down the stream, and they have gone in that
direction. The girl was taken with them, evidently.”
Clayton wanted to hurry on and do something at once to rescue
her, but the wary scouts were not sure this was wise. They feared
ambushes, and knew, also, that they were not in force strong enough
to take the girl from the village. Whatever they did they must do by
craft.
Aside from this, Buffalo Bill was expecting soon the coming of old
Nick Nomad, who had gone for assistance.
He now sent Pawnee Bill back to meet Nomad’s force and guide it on,
and, with the anxious young lover, he began to follow the trail of
the Blackfeet.
Avoiding all ambushes and pitfalls, but making slow progress, the
scout and his young friend reached the vicinity of the Blackfoot
village by the middle of the afternoon.
From a hillside some distance away the scout surveyed it with his
glasses, and saw that the village was in a state of commotion.
“Impossible to do anything right now,” was his conclusion. “The
warriors we’ve been following are there, and the village is aroused
and is being put in readiness for a fight. It would be as much as our
lives are worth if we should try to penetrate it now. We’ll have to
await the coming of Nomad, and whatever help he has got together.”
“Perhaps I could go in after dark,” said young Clayton rashly.
“We’ll see,” was the answer. “Nomad may get here by, or before, that
time.”
But Nomad did not come.
When darkness had settled over the earth the scout tried to enter the
village, but was driven back by the keen-nosed dogs, that swarmed
everywhere, watchful and hungry as wolves.
“If only we could get some word to her!” said Clayton. “If we could
let her know that friends are near, it would encourage her.”
“My attempt kicked up a good deal of excitement. She may guess from
that that friends are near. We’ll hope so.”
“But if only some direct word could be got to her!”
Clayton’s anxiety increased as the hours went by.
“If you can’t sleep, my boy,” said the scout after a while, “keep
close watch while I take a try at it. I’ll be better to-morrow for a
little rest to-night.”
“You don’t intend to attempt again to-night to reach her?” said
Clayton.
“It’s impossible to do anything to-night, my dear fellow; the
Blackfeet are too much excited and too wide-awake.”
When Buffalo Bill awoke, less than an hour later, Bruce Clayton was
gone.
“The fool!” he said. “He’s certain to be captured, if he tries to get
into the village.”
He rose and went again toward the village, filled with fear for
his friend’s safety. He sympathized with Clayton’s anxiety to do
something for the girl who was held by the Blackfeet, but at the same
time blamed him for folly and disobedience of orders.
He had not gone far when wild yells and a noisy clamor told him that
Clayton had been captured.
The scout stood still, listening to those telltale sounds.
“Just as I feared,” he thought. “It will be a wonder if they don’t
kill him; and what good will his recklessness then do the girl?”
He moved on with quick steps, being guided by the wild clamor and by
the flashing of lodge fires that were being rebuilt, or blown into
new life.
Drums were soon booming in the council lodge, warriors were seen
hurrying to and fro by the light of the fires, and feverish activity
reigned.
The Blackfeet, having captured the young white man, were sure that he
was a scout, and that a strong force of white men were near; and they
were getting ready to meet them if they came.
The utter impossibility of entering the village without discovery was
apparent to the experienced scout. Though he wanted to aid the youth,
and also the girl, he saw that the attempt would have small chance of
success, and if it failed his own fate would, no doubt, be sealed.
Yet it required stern self-repression to remain inactive, knowing
what was going on so near him, and the peril of the prisoners.
As Buffalo Bill lay close against the ground, screened by the
darkness, he saw small bodies of Blackfeet leave the village, and
knew they had been sent out to scout about, and, if possible, to
locate the white men who were supposed to be near.
In going and coming these Blackfeet passed close to the scout; so
close that he could hear some of their low-spoken words and the soft
crunching of their moccasins. From what they said he discovered that
Crazy Snake was not in the village, but was expected soon, and that
the prisoners were being held until his coming.
“That’s good!” was his thought. “Crazy Snake wants the girl for his
squaw, and these bloodthirsty rascals believe that he will give up
Clayton to the torture as soon as he arrives. Before that time comes
perhaps I can do something.”
He slipped away from the village, and soon was hastening over the
backward way, hoping to get in communication now with Nomad’s men and
hurry them forward, and also eager to find Pawnee Bill.
However, he discovered that parties of Blackfeet were coming and
going in the trail, and to avoid running into them he left it and
entered the hills. This slowed his progress, and morning dawned
before he had gone very far. Then, as he went on, he was given a
crushing surprise.
He saw old Nomad, mounted on Nebuchadnezzar, in the midst of a body
of Blackfeet commanded by Crazy Snake.
“Nomad a prisoner!” he said, with a groan. “What in blazes will
happen next?”