“No, sir; he is back at the village, and Death Face commands five hundred warriors at the pass where they would hope to check your advance, with the braves who would retreat from the fords, and others who would come from the camp. “They have planned well, indeed, sir, and are in dread of your advance, for they think you have two-thirds of the force from the fort. Fighting Bird is in command at the ford here, and he is a plucky, able chief. The shots did some damage at each ford, for half a dozen warriors were killed opposite to us, two at the upper camp, and one at the lower, while a score were wounded, as the shells dropped right into their midst. Then, too, they lost a number of ponies by the shelling.” “We did do some service then, at random.” “Yes, sir, and they will be most cautious about recrossing the river for some time to come.” “I hope they will not allow us to rust in camp.” “No danger of that, lieutenant, for they are Indians, and they will break out in a new spot when they think you have forced them to lie quiet,” remarked Buffalo Bill. “There is one thing I did not like, lieutenant.” “What is that, sergeant?” “The outlaw chief has left the camps.” “Indeed?” “Yes, sir.” “When did he leave?” “The day after my visit, sir.” “Where did he go?” “I was told by Fighting Bird that the outlaw seemed sorry to have trusted me, after I left, and told Iron Eyes so. Iron Eyes and Death Face laughed at him, and he said that he had made a mistake, but would rectify it, and soon after he left the camp. I asked where he had gone, but Fighting Bird said he did not know; but he thought to the village of the palefaces, meaning Pioneer City.” “But he would not dare to cross the fords?” “It seems, sir, that he knows of another ford up the river to which no trail leads, but where there is really a good crossing, and he went there. He wished to lead a band of warriors around that way to attack the upper camp, but the Indians were too much afraid of the big guns to listen to it.” “It’s well for us they were; but would he dare go to Pioneer City, where he must be known?” “Yes, lieutenant, for you know he always wore a mask as an outlaw, and no one saw his face.” “His face is not known in Pioneer City, and I never saw it that I know of,” the scout remarked. “But is he masked now?” “No, sir.” “Then you saw his face?” “I did, sir, and I would know it again if I met his ghost in Hades,” was the sergeant’s emphatic response, for a moment did he break out from his accustomed quiet mien. “Describe him, sergeant, please.” “A man six feet in height, sir, herculean in strength, and with a dark, intellectual face, cynical, stern, and very handsome, but for its look of cruelty. He has a long dark mustache, and his hair hangs upon his shoulders. He is a very striking-looking man, sir, and worthy of a better calling, to judge by his appearance.”