Even if the renegade had been more popular than he was, their code of honor would not have allowed them to attack the victor in an ordeal by single combat without giving him a fair chance for his life. “Go in peace, Long Hair,” said an old Crow chief, stepping forward and saluting him. “You are indeed a great warrior, and I would that you were one of my tribe. I hope that some day I may meet you in the front rank of battle, or, if that cannot be, in the happy hunting grounds of the Great Manitou.” With a majestic wave of his hand, the chieftain motioned three of his followers toward him, and ordered them to escort Buffalo Bill and Nick Wharton past the sentries and see them safely to their horses. Then the redskin, who was imbued with all the chivalry of his race, drew from his waist belt a pipe, filled it with tobacco, and said to Buffalo Bill: “As soon as you are gone, oh, Long Hair, I will light this pipe, and not until I have smoked it and the flame dies out need you fear that we will mount our horses and pursue. Is not that all you ask?” Buffalo Bill bent his head in token of assent, and muttered to Nick Wharton: “Will you say that Indians are no better than varmints now, old pard? Could anything be fairer than that?” “I guess he is a white man whose skin went red by mistake,” growled old Nick. As the two scouts strode away from the camp fire, accompanied by their Indian escort, Buffalo Bill glanced back and saw the Crow chief lift a burning stick from the fire and light his pipe. He immediately increased his pace, for he wanted to get as long a start as possible before the calumet of peace burned out. In a few minutes they reached the spot where Wild Bill was holding the three horses. He was naturally surprised at the appearance of the Indians with his friends, but a warning cry from Cody prevented him from firing, although he had immediately whipped his rifle up to his shoulder. Buffalo Bill explained the situation in a few hurried words, and then the three scouts lost no time in mounting their horses and putting as much distance between themselves and the camp of the redskins as they could before the truce pipe was smoked out. “I don’t believe they will trouble to pursue us,” said Buffalo Bill, as they sped along over the prairie at a tearing gallop. “That old chief is a pretty smart fellow, and he will know very well that there is no chance of catching us, after the start we have got. Our only danger, as I figure it, is that we may stumble across another war party, or some of their scouts, before we reach Fort Hays.” They rode along for a couple of hours, occasionally glancing behind to see if they were followed; but they saw nothing to indicate danger. Suddenly, as they emerged from a brush-covered ravine, Buffalo Bill held up his hand in warning. His comrades reined up their horses and listened intently.