There is an English proverb that says: “Talk of angels, and you will hear the flutter of their wings.” There is also another, which runs: “Talk of the devil, and you will see his tail.” The truth of these two adages was speedily made clear to Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill. They relapsed into silence, each thinking of their old friend, and rode forward over the prairie. They had not gone more than half a mile before they saw, through the darkness, which was illumined only by the pale light of the stars, a figure on horseback spurring toward them at a terrific pace. Instinctively they grasped their rifles and made ready for anything that might happen. In a few moments the figure drew up alongside, and they saw from its ungainliness and general tattered and dilapidated appearance that it was none other than that of their old friend Nick Wharton, of whom they had just been speaking. He was riding his old mare, who, as he often said, was “not much to look at, but a holy terror to go.” She was certainly tearing along at a great pace, but as she reached the two scouts she stopped dead short and reared up on her haunches. Old Nick brought her to the ground again by a single dexterous movement of the reins. He recognized his comrades in a flash, but he did not pause to exchange greetings. He merely gasped out the one word: “Injuns!” As he said this, Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill saw, coming toward them through the darkness, half a dozen figures on horseback. Silhouetted against the horizon of the prairie, they could see that the figures were those of Indians, for their feathers and scalp locks were plainly visible against the light of the stars. As the Indians came up they were met with a volley from the scouts, and three of them reeled in their saddles and fell to the ground. Buffalo Bill and his companions were not accustomed to miss their aim. The remaining Indians drew rein sharply, and gazed in blank astonishment at their fallen comrades. They had been chasing only one man, and suddenly they were brought face to face with three magnificent marksmen. As they sat on their horses, hesitating what course to pursue, the rifles spoke again, and their hesitation was solved for them. Never again would they roam the prairie or lift the scalp of an enemy! “Darn all catamounts, but them varmints chased me nigh on six miles,” said old Nick, as soon as he had time to make explanations. “I heard, down in Fort Leavenworth, that the Injuns was goin’ on the warpath, so I struck a bee line for Fort Larned, whar I knowed you two boys war. “I guess you’ve had a hot time. As I was comin’ ’cross the prairie I butted inter a hull army o’ Injuns, who seemed ter hev met with a rough time. Somebody had thrown a scare into them, an’ I thought I reckernized yer trade-mark, Buffler. “Waal, I ducked under cover, and the most of them passed me by, but I got up too soon, an’ ’bout twenty of ’em, comin’ along last, caught sight o’ me, an’ give me a hot chase.