The bodies of the human victims of the red man’s fury were buried by the scout and his pards, who went on into a little ravine, where they camped for the night. They did not build a fire because of the evident proximity of blood-mad foes and the danger of a surprise. The scout himself took the first watch, while his companions rolled in their blankets for a snatch of rest after a long day in the saddle. It was a moonless, starless night, and the light wind seethed through the dead grass drearily, portending a storm, before which the night prowlers were silenced. On a little hillock near where the horses were picking out the green things from the sear, the scout stood silently, smoking his pipe and studying his surroundings. He fully realized the difficulties of his undertaking, and was at the same time aware that none of his superiors at Washington could in any measure grasp its possibilities. It was easy enough to tick off a message to a man two thousand miles away to hunt out the reputed head of a hostile people scattered over a territory as large as France and Germany combined, and convince this leader of the error of his ways, but its accomplishment was a far different matter. But Buffalo Bill never offered excuses or demurred. Knowledge that his superiors were ignorant of the magnitude of their demands did not deter him from an attempt to obey. What he had accomplished only went to headquarters. The scout suddenly jerked the pipe from his teeth, and bent forward, fixing his gaze on a point to northward, where the sky line was lighting up with lurid flashes. For a moment the scout stood thus, and then bounded back to his companions, and shook them roughly. “Out of it, pards!” he said; “there’s work for us to the northward.” He was away again, jerking the lariat pins from the ground and cinching the saddles upon the horses. Tn two minutes the three had gathered their possessions and were galloping toward the red glare which seemed several miles across the uneven country. Twenty minutes’ sharp riding showed the scout that they were much nearer the fire than they had supposed. As they rode out on the rim of a basin they saw below them the full tragedy they had feared. Pulling in their horses, they could now hear the yells of red murderers at their work and see them darting about in the light of burning buildings, haystacks, and farming implements. From a little hillside beyond now came a spit of flame, followed by the report of a gun. “Some of the ranch folk are still alive and making a stand-off from a dugout, I should say,” observed the Laramie man. “Yes, so I see, but the Indians are going to drive them out--see those fellows coming over the hill. They will scrape the gravel off the top of the dugout and set fire to it,” said the scout. “There are only about twenty of the reds,” observed Hickok.