“Waugh!” said Nomad. “Thar’s his boot heel, shore enough! But how’d he git hyar without making tracks before this? Whiskizoos ag’in, I reckon.” Without a word Chappo began to search the ground in the direction of the camp, which he soon was aided in by the other Indians. They talked excitedly, using many gestures, their guttural words flowing so fast that no one not an Indian could make out just what they were saying. Even Little Cayuse, being a Piute, could not comprehend all the words of the Apache scouts who worked under him. Buffalo Bill and the others, following along, saw now what the Indians saw, but none would have seen, probably, but for that discovery of the boot-heel mark. The owner of the boot heel, apparently, had got out of the camp without stepping on the ground, merely because in doing it he had stepped on a blanket laid on the ground. It was all plain enough, after it was understood. A blanket had been spread down and walked on; then the loose end of it had been flung round in front and that walked on; with a continued repetition of this until what was supposed to be a safe distance from the camp was gained. The place where this blanket maneuver was discontinued was rocky. When they had run back to the camp in this way, the Apaches and Little Cayuse returned at once to the spot where the boot heel had been discovered. There was but one indentation; the next step had been taken on solid rock; and after that the trail went, as it were, “into the air”; it could not be followed farther at that point. “Waugh!” grunted old Nomad. “What does yer think o’ et?” Little Cayuse and his Indian trailers halted and began again their vocal gymnastics, when the trail disappeared on the rocks. “Whiskizoos,” said Nomad, staring about. “No man what w’ars a red scar like Conover does kin be honest, and from ther fust I said it.” The Indians talked of the three-legged rabbit, and of the vulture that dropped for its prey like a hawk. “Heap bad medicine!” said Chappo, deeply disturbed. Little Cayuse, inasmuch as he was the chief of the Indian scouts, dared not, in the presence of Pa-e-has-ka, express what he thought; but his dark face looked troubled and his eyes were big and bright. Buffalo Bill saw him paw a circle quickly through the air. The circle, emblem of the egg, is everywhere the “sign” of life; and life is the opposite of death. Little Cayuse made the “life” sign, to keep away the shadow of death. All looked off toward the Cumbres Mountains. Scarred and splintered, the bare peaks lifted themselves in the gray morning. The high rays of the rising sun struck them and seemed to burn there. As they did so, the outline of a great black head—the head of a giant with grizzly black hair—came into view on the side of the nearest of the mountains. The Indians lifted groans of fright and horror and dropped downward on their faces, groveling. Old Nomad uttered a snort of amazement, and stared until his little old eyes popped.