Indian pony tracks were numerous, and all the evidences of a surprise and a fight. Such “signs” were easy to read by men as experienced as Buffalo Bill and his comrades. While examining this small battle ground, they heard a feeble shout, and then beheld a young man ride out of a timbered gorge and come toward them. The man was Bruce Clayton. His hands were still tied behind his back, and his feet were bound together beneath the pony’s body. He was almost paralyzed from the constriction of the cords, and the fact that he had been in that painful position so long. He had been unable to guide his horse, except by pressure of his knees, when the Indian surprise and attack came, and so the animal had chosen its own course, dashing away in wild fright. It bore him into this gorge, and on into the midst of a growth of brushy timber, some distance from the mouth of the gorge. There, by voice alone, he had been able to check it. For some reason, perhaps because they were pursuing other men, the Indians did not follow him, and he remained there undisturbed a long time, wondering what he ought to do, or could do. He was unable to release himself. By and by the horse grazed its way back to the mouth of the gorge. Then the unhappy prisoner was able to ride forth, guiding with his knees, and make his predicament known. Buffalo Bill lost no time in cutting away the cords that had held Clayton so long to the back of the pony. The youth had to be helped from the saddle. When he began to talk, it was seen that his mental sufferings had been as great as his physical. He told them of the surprise by the Indians, and of what had followed, so far as he had been able to see it. And he also told of his own adventures and experiences. “Lena was with that leader when I saw her last,” he said. “But I haven’t any idea where she is now. I fear the worst.” In spite of their desire to hasten on, the scouts remained there a long time, a thing which gave Black John a good start. They could not go on with Clayton until his physical condition was improved, nor could they hope to accomplish much until they had gained something like accurate knowledge of what had become of the girl. To the task of learning this last, Buffalo Bill and Pawnee bent their utmost skill, leaving old Nomad to minister to the needs of Clayton. The scouts had long before picked out the individual trail of the horse ridden by Black John; but now that he had secured an Indian pony, they were put to their wits’ ends to know what to do. After much searching they came on a bit of evidence that was of the utmost value. It was a piece of cloth torn by a thorny bush from Lena’s dress. There could be no mistaking it, nor how it came to be there.