“Just the thing,” was his thought; and he took that also. “Now if I only knew where to look for this warrior’s paint box, I could soon turn myself into a pretty fair specimen of redskin.” But, though the scout felt about in the gloom of the lodge for some time, his hands did not light on the coveted box of Indian paints. They did light on something, though, that almost startled him, and that was an Indian baby. It was lying in a sort of cradle of deerskins; and, as soon as the scout’s fingers touched its face, it awoke and began to screech. “Thinks I’m some sort of wild animal,” muttered the scout as the baby increased its yells. “Well, the thing for me to do is to get out of here as quick as I can.” Thereupon he “crawfished” rapidly back to the point where he had gained ingress, and again lifting the skin lodge covering, he slipped out of the tepee. Scarcely had he done so when a squaw came running from an adjacent lodge. Again the scout “froze” to the ground, but this time with the Indian blanket drawn about his shoulders and with the feathered headdress on his head. His hat he held in one hand under the concealing folds of the blanket. In the other hand he held his knife. The coming of the squaw quieted the child. “I’m all right, if she doesn’t start up a fire, or get a light, and so discover that the blanket and the headdress are gone,” was the scout’s thought as he heard the Indian mother crooning to the baby. Then he arose softly to his feet, and with the headdress in place, but with the blanket drawn up to conceal his face, and so draped about his form that his clothing was pretty well hidden, he walked boldly out into the moonlight. It was a daring thing to do, but safety is often assured by the very audacity of any given line of action. Stalking along with all the dignity of a painted brave, Buffalo Bill made his way, without molestation or apparent observation, almost to the door of the council lodge. Instead of trying to enter it, however, he moved around it until he was well within its shadow; and there, after looking about to be sure he was not observed, he lay down quietly on the ground and placed an ear to the skin lodge covering. The din within the lodge, now that he was so close to it, was well-nigh deafening. The warriors were howling and jumping in frenzied Indian fashion, and the beating of the Indian drums was something furious. Aside from the monotonous chanting of the drum beaters, he heard no words for a while. Then one of the Indian dancers began in a bragging way, and in a high monotone, to boast of his many bloody deeds. He had slain many white men, he said, and now he would slay many more. The white men were cowards, they were serpents, they had hearts like women, and they would run when he, this great brave, should lift the knife to strike. Buffalo Bill smiled when he heard the words of the boaster.