As the chief turned to leave his white friends, after bidding them good night, he did not notice that a figure was watching him from the shadow cast by an adjoining wigwam. The figure was that of Leaping Dog. He had caught the last words uttered by the chief. He had sharpened the knife until its edge was as keen as that of a razor, and now he thirsted to plunge it deep into the hearts of his enemies. But he knew he must be cautious. He must stab them when they were asleep. If he were discovered in his crime, his life would not be worth a moment’s purchase. Even when the bodies were found it would go hard with him, though there might be no actual evidence that he was the guilty party. His fellow braves would at once suspect him, and they were likely enough to kill him on suspicion--for he knew that most of them disliked him strongly. Lurking in the shadows, he wondered whom he should attack first--the whites or his own chief. Red Cloud had disgraced him before his own people, and his savage heart burned with rage at the thought. But the old white man had beaten him at wrestling, and made him a laughingstock before them all. He must carry out his revenge quickly, and put a long distance between himself and the village before the dawn. He would have to travel fast and far, for the avengers of blood would follow on his trail as soon as the dead bodies were discovered. With this idea in his mind Leaping Dog went to his tepee, and made preparations for a long journey. He saddled his pony, and placed some provisions and his weapons upon it. This done, he stole quietly to the medicine lodge of Silver Fox. He had made up his mind. He would slay his chief first, and then assassinate the white men. He had a violent hatred of all palefaces, and the blood of Nick Wharton alone would not satisfy his lust for revenge. He listened outside the lodge and heard voices talking inside. The chief of the Navahos and his venerable host of the night had not yet gone to sleep. They were talking of the white men and praising them highly. Their words added fuel to the fire of hatred in Leaping Dog’s heart. At last their voices ceased, and by the sound of their deep and regular breathing, the watcher concluded they were asleep. * * * * * Meanwhile, the three scouts had made themselves comfortable in their wigwam, and were talking over the events of the evening. Cody and Wild Bill congratulated their old friend heartily on his victory over the redskin wrestler. “Thet’s all right,” said Nick, “but thar’s goin’ ter be more trouble over that. Thet redskin is out fur blood.” “If that’s the case, we had better not all go to sleep to-night,” remarked Buffalo Bill. “He did look pretty wicked. This is his chance to get even with us, for he knows we shall probably leave the village to-morrow.