“You mean for the party to leave the settlement to-night, then?” “Yes, for the Indians will begin to move soon.” Buffalo Bill continued: “I will ride, as soon as possible, to the Ramsey camp; have the women and their party pack up at once, mount and hasten to the head of the valley, with all the necessary stores and traps for a long siege; then tell the men to move off with all due haste for the miners’ camp, and, mind you, Red Hand, they must be well on their way by daylight, for we have no time to lose. I am off at once, Red Hand, but really I do not like to leave you alone in this valley,” said Buffalo Bill reluctantly. “It matters not, the dead can do no harm, and the living I have little fear of here.” “It is now about two hours to midnight. Before day I will be at the head of the valley.” So saying, Buffalo Bill mounted, and the rattle of his horse’s hoofs echoed dismally through the hills as he rode rapidly on his way, leaving Red Hand alone in the Haunted Valley--alone with the dead. CHAPTER XXXIII. TICKLISH WORK. Instead of hastening immediately toward Ramsey’s camp after leaving Red Hand, Buffalo Bill rode but a short distance in that direction. Then he brought his horse to a stop, and sat for some time in his saddle, listening and cogitating. His sympathies had been aroused for Red Hand, and he believed in the man. Not often did Buffalo Bill go amiss in his judgment of men; yet in a few instances he had made mistakes in his opinions of certain individuals. The life of Red Hand was hidden in mystery. No one seemed to know his past or anything much about him. “I think he is all right,” thought the scout, “but it is never safe to be too sure. I think that girl is all right, too; but even there I may be mistaken. The only way to be absolutely sure is to make sure! I can’t make sure of Red Hand just now, but perhaps I can find out something certain about the intentions of those Indians.” Having thus come to a conclusion, he turned the horse softly from the trail, and in a little while was shaping his course toward the Indian village. The moon still shone brilliantly, and in that clear atmosphere moonlight sometimes is marvelously bright. The scout could see for a considerable distance in every direction. While this brightness of the night had been favorable to him in the events which had recently transpired, it promised to make extremely difficult and ticklish the task to which he was now setting his energies. When the scout had ridden as far as he thought it safe to go, he dismounted, and after tying his horse to the swinging bough of a tree, he went forward softly on foot. As he approached the Indian village he heard droning sounds and the thump of drums. “A bad sign,” he said to himself. “It is queer that whenever Indians meditate war they must work themselves up to a fighting pitch by a lot of dancing and howling.”