Hickok had a still different plan and one that appealed strongly to the scout. It was for a stampede of the Sioux ponies just as Buffalo Bill was making his daring dash, and confuse the red men by an attack in two quarters at once. This plan had the advantage, also, if successful, of delaying pursuit. The scout decided that all had best ride out on the plain to the eastward and get ready for the attempt, which should be made an hour before daylight. Buffalo Bill made one more reconnaisance of the camp and managed to learn the exact location of Little Cayuse, lying like a bundle of wool in the firelight, near the tepee of Rain-in-the-face; then he went back to his companions and everything was made ready. This was the plan: Hickok was to remain near the pony corral, which was on the stream below the encampment. At the signal, he would attempt to stampede the herd across the stream and out on the plain to the southwest. The scout and trapper were to ride out to the east of the camp, where Cody would begin his cautious approach. At the moment he put the spurs to Bear Paw, he would emit a wild yell, and plunge among the fires and sleep-dazed Indians. At the same instant old Nomad would begin a mad dash along the outside, shooting and yelling like a fiend, also heading for the west side of the stream, where both would fall in with Hickok. If the latter succeeded in stampeding the ponies, all the pards would devote themselves to scattering the animals. Well out on the plain, the three pards were quietly discussing the situation and prospects. In two hours the darkness would begin to lift. In one hour the attack must be made. While they talked in low tones the quick ears of the scout detected a sound farther out on the plain. “Sh!” he cautioned, “some one is approaching on horseback. I heard a horse snort.” Passing Bear Paw’s rein to Nomad, the scout made his way quickly and noiselessly in the direction of the supposed intruder. Three horsemen were approaching cautiously, apparently studying the twinkling camp fires, which could be seen in the lower valley. They were coming directly toward him, and Buffalo Bill crouched low and awaited. He knew that when near enough he could distinguish white from red riders against the light of the sky. Then “sh! sh! sh!” he hissed, and the three horses were pulled up sharply and a voice said, in a low tone: “Hello, there!” “Easy, Avery,” said the scout, moving up to the side of the latter’s horse. “It’s a big war party of Indians and they are all alive. Who have you here?” “‘Little Buffalo Bill’ and a big coon, who calls himself Skibo, and says he is your pard.” “Good!” exclaimed the scout. “I am glad to see you all. He shook hands with the delighted colored man, and the no less pleased boy, William F. Corey. “I am heartily glad to see all of you, but you have arrived at a time when you ought to be miles away, especially if your horses are tired.”