“It’s a good notion, Cayuse,” answered the scout, reining Bear Paw toward the river bottom, along which were dense thickets of willow and cottonwood. A mile farther on they halted in the thick green growth from which they could watch the manoeuvres of the party on the opposite shore. Several ponies were dripping on the bank, as though their riders had attempted to stem the current and had given it up. A group of half a dozen were working over one man, occasionally holding him up by the heels. “Him all same drink too much,” observed Cayuse. The scout smiled, but he was watching something far up river. At first he thought it a cabin that had been swept away. Then he decided that it was a great tree that had been uprooted and torn from its footing. Nearer it came in the raging river, and, finally, as the party on the opposite side discovered it, they began dashing about, shouting and gesticulating, as if apparently they had formed some plan to utilize the tree in crossing. The scout and Cayuse were interested but unseen spectators, and at last they saw what these cowboys hoped to do. In the middle of the river was a jutting ledge. If the tree, which was whirling in mid-stream, would strike the ledge and swing around they would attempt to rope the end next to them. If successful and the sweep of the great lever could be held, they could cling to rope and tree and reach the shoal water on the opposite side. The floating tree could not have behaved better. It struck the ledge branches foremost, slid along until more than half its length had passed the rock, and then paused, the current gradually swinging the roots toward the bank on which the men were waiting. With a cheer several cowboys rode into the river with ready riatas. As the butt swung slowly but steadily toward them, two coils swept through the air and settled over a stout root which had been broken. Galloping up the bank, the men made the ropes fast in a clump of cottonwoods, and were ready for another attempt to cross the river. The current was increasing every moment, and even though the worst part of the torrent was spanned it was no easy job to gain the other side. Up to this time Buffalo Bill had not discovered that he recognized any of the party, but now a tall man rode down on a rangy sorrel horse and headed across. “Him all same Red Dick,” said Little Cayuse. “So it is!” exclaimed the scout. “Now, I can surmise what they are here for. Red has either escaped or been acquitted. If the former he is making a getaway. If the latter he is hunting for Fighting Dan to get square.” Red Dick chose the up-river side of the lariats and reached the roots of the tree in good order, his horse swimming nobly, but it was a struggle to round the roots and gain the trunk, where it seemed harder work for the tired animal. The water sucked under the great log and threatened to pull both horse and rider down, too.