He rode his weary horse for a few miles, until he struck the trail made by the outlaws in their retreat. Then he left the horse well concealed, and began on foot to follow the trail. It was so fresh looking he thought the outlaws were not far ahead. However, he went so slowly in order to guard against surprise, that the afternoon was well advanced before he came in sight of the cuplike hollow where they were preparing to make their stand. From an elevation that commanded the hollow he looked with his field glasses right down into the camp, and saw the busy preparations making to meet the troopers. He was much worried, because he could not see old Nick Nomad. He hoped, however, that the old man was being held in one of the houses. Once he beheld Pizen Jane, but only for a brief moment or two. She came out of a low hut, and looked about, and then went in again. “I must know, if possible, if Nomad is there; and I wish I could do something to protect that woman when we make our charge.” His study of the outlaw stronghold convinced him that it would be folly to attack it from either end of the pass. The barricades were strong, he saw, and he did not wish to sacrifice the lives of any of the troopers needlessly. So he began to examine the slopes of the hills that led down into that hollow. They were unscalable to horses, but he believed at one point men might descend them, even in the darkness. He made careful note of that point, and stowed its landmarks in his memory. When the shadows of coming night filled the hollow, the scout moved from his position, and began to work his way down toward it, screening himself behind rocks and bushes. Darkness came fully while he was still on the slope of the hill, and he remained there until he felt it was safe to work still nearer in to the outlaw camp. Guards had been set at the barricades, and beyond them in the passes, and guards were also stationed around the camp at intervals. The scout approached so near to one of these guards that he heard the tread of the fellow’s feet and caught the odor of the tobacco burning in his pipe. Though he desired to get still nearer in, Buffalo Bill saw the difficulty of the attempt, for this sentry walked a beat which crossed the line of his advance. After working with much care to one side, he crouched in the darkness and emitted there the well-known “cuckoo” call of the prairie-dog owl, hoping by it to reach old Nomad, if the trapper still lived. The guard was not disturbed at first by the call of the little owl, for it was a familiar sound; but when it was several times repeated, and with a variation he had never heard in the note, his attention was attracted. “A cussed funny dog owl,” the scout heard him mutter; and then heard him come toward him.