The marshal and the people of Skyline gave Buffalo Bill’s little caravan a prolonged and rousing farewell cheer, which Cody returned with a wave of his hand; then the little cavalcade broke into a trot, down the steep incline of the plain below the town, and clattered away in a cloud of dust. It was just past midday. Only that morning had Buffalo Bill and his small band entered Skyline; and that morning Tom Conover, shooting to tatters the queen of hearts, had accidentally wounded a Mexican woman and been thrown into the Skyline jail. Through the good offices of the great scout he had been released in record time; and, the preparations for the pursuit of the kidnaping Indians being hastened, the work for which Buffalo Bill had come to Skyline was already begun. Below the knoll back of Morgan’s, Little Cayuse and his Apache trailers, Chappo, Yuppah, and Pedro, picked up the track of the supposed kidnaper. To ordinary eyes the trail would not have been visible, and eyes as keen and trained as those of the white men of the party would have made hard work of following it; yet the three Apaches found it without trouble, and pursued it with the certainty of bloodhounds tracking familiar game. Little Cayuse and his Apaches took the lead now, and rode straight along at a swinging gallop on their wiry, ponies, bending over as they rode, their eyes searching the hard ground. Suddenly Chappo drew in, and slipped like a snake from the back of his saddleless pony. When he stood up he held something small and shiny in the palm of his brown hand. “Ugh!” he grunted. The object he exhibited was a tiny red bead, of a glowing scarlet, so that it resembled a small scarlet berry or seed. “Sabe?” he said, his black eyes searching the face of the scout, to whom he exhibited his find. “Injun moccasin, Pa-e-has-ka; Injun kick um pony make um go fast, and little bead fall off. Wuh!” Buffalo Bill inspected it critically; and saw that it was a moccasin bead, for a bead of a different kind is often used for moccasins than those used for clothing, or for the hair. “Right, Chappo,” he said. “What tribe—can you tell?” “No can tell tribe,” said Chappo. “That’s right, too, and I shouldn’t have asked it; for white men manufacture the beads, and all Indians are able to get them, by purchase or barter. But do you see anything else, Chappo?” There was nothing more at that point; though a mile or so farther on Little Cayuse, trying not to be outdone by his Apaches, made a discovery that seemed really astounding; but which probably he would not have made first if in his desire to excel he had not at the moment been some yards in advance. The discovery seemed to indicate that they were following the trail of a woman! Little Cayuse announced this with a grunt of surprise.