He knew the Indian character thoroughly, and he immediately began another harangue about the terrible results that would ensue to their tribes unless they immediately consented to bury the hatchet and return to their villages and live in peace. While the Indians were hanging in the wind, anxious to do as he counseled, and yet unwilling to abandon their blood lust, they saw a column of dust approaching across the prairie. They watched it silently for a few moments, and then saw that it was a column of cavalry coming up at full gallop. The men from Fort Larned had arrived at last to reënforce their outnumbered comrades. This sight decided the redskins. Turning toward Buffalo Bill, the Crow chief threw his tomahawk to the ground, and said: “Let it be buried, my brother! We will return to our villages, and dwell in peace with the white man. Bad Eye, who stirred up all this trouble, is dead; and there is nothing to be gained by keeping on the warpath. There will be wailing in our villages for the braves whose scalps have already fallen. We will bury the hatchet before worse befalls.” Thus ended the war of the confederacy of the three tribes, which might have led to widespread massacre and suffering had it not been for the border king’s ready wit and marvelous skill with the rifle. There was a joyous party at the bivouac that night. The troopers, while somewhat disappointed at the thought that the fighting was over, were satisfied with the complete victory that had been won. They had seen the backs of their late enemies, who, before retreating to their villages, delivered over two chiefs from each tribe as hostages. These prisoners were to be returned after all the details of peace had been arranged by the officials of the government. The lion’s share of the credit was given by all to Buffalo Bill for the suppression of the rebellion, and his fame stood even higher in Kansas and all along the frontier than it had ever done before. CHAPTER XV. AT DANGER DIVIDE. Several weeks after Buffalo Bill had taken leave of his friends of Fort Larned, he stood one day upon the veranda of a little hotel in the frontier settlement of Danger Divide, when a young man came up, and, taking him by the arm, led him courteously to the other end of the veranda. “Mr. Doyle, let me introduce to you Colonel Cody, the chief of scouts of the Department of the Platte.” The speaker was a tall, handsome sun-tanned young man, whose frank, honest look and kindly, smiling eyes would at once have prepossessed any one in his favor. The man to whom he spoke was old enough to have been his grandfather. His appearance was distinguished, but his face bore deep lines that spoke of some great sorrow which had clouded his life. The old gentleman rose from the chair in which he was sitting and bowed courteously to the man who was being introduced to him.