It was of terror and ferocity commingled, and it was echoed by half a hundred throats, while it brought every brave to his feet. There was one glance of wild eyes toward the negro, gigantic in form, black as ink, and gliding rather than seeming to walk toward them, and with yells of fright they sprang for their ponies. There was not a moment of hesitation, and their cries told the story of their stampede and terror, for loud was heard in their own tongue: “The black spirit! The evil spirit of the Big Horn!” Leaping upon their ponies, here and there two braves upon the back of one horse, leaving their camp outfits, saddles and all, they started off as fast as they could mount. They could be seen lashing their ponies furiously, and looking back in terror, and were all soon spread out as they sped up the valley. Then Black Bill was seen by the amazed and watching scouts to start in a run after them. This added to their flight and terror, and the blows falling upon the worn-out ponies could be distinctly heard by the wondering scouts. The scouts could hardly restrain from a cheer, but Buffalo Bill said: “Remember, boys, we are scouts of silence on this trail.” Not an Indian was now visible, the last one having turned a bend in the valley that shut them out of sight. The negro, however, still kept on after them. Then he, too, turned the bend and disappeared. Still Buffalo Bill gave no order to move. For some time they waited, but Black Bill did not reappear. The Indian camp remained as they had left it. If there was a badly wounded redskin there he was not visible. The fires still burned, and several Indian ponies were grazing near, but no human being could be seen. At last an exclamation came from several of the scouts together. The guide was returning down the valley, but was yet a mile away. CHAPTER XXIII. BLACK BILL’S PRISONER. As Black Bill came on down the valley, the scouts wished to go out to meet him, to greet him with a cheer. But this Buffalo Bill would not allow. “We do not yet know who may have been left in the camp, pards.” Upon second thought, this was considered the wisest plan, and they kept in their place of concealment and waited. Down the valley in silence walked the guide, and at last reached the camp. He disappeared behind the little thicket of pines, then reappeared, and, walking to a grazing pony, slung his lariat. The animal was cleanly caught and led back to the thicket. Then some minutes passed away, and once more the negro reappeared. He was leading the pony, and upon the animal, supported by several saddles and blankets and tied there with lariats, was an Indian brave. That he was badly wounded the scouts could see at that distance. The head of the pony was checked up, so that he could not feed, and then he was led to the trail and started up the valley on the trail of the Indian village and the braves who had stampeded.