His nostrils were dilating and his bright eyes had become feverish, so strongly did this mental picture of the dastardly outrage appeal to his sensibilities. “You’re right,” said Lillie. “That is an eagle feather, broken, no doubt, when at this point the girl made a fierce struggle to free herself. She tore out the eagle feather; but she could not escape, for he was too strong; and then, no doubt unconscious after that, she was borne rapidly away.” “That fellow can’t be more than half a mile from here even now,” said the scout. “We’ll have to follow at once. I wish that Nomad----” Even before he had finished expressing the wish that Nomad was there, they heard his shout, and saw him riding swiftly in on his old horse. “Injuns!” he said, before drawing rein. “They’ve captered the gal’s hoss and lit out with it.” “Did you see them?” Buffalo Bill asked. “No; didn’t need to; but I seen what they done, and I seen their tracks, and the tracks of the hoss. I follered on a ways, to make shore I wasn’t mistaken, and then I rid ter tell ye.” “The tracks were fresh?” “Yes; made this mornin’. Buffler, thar’s Injuns snoopin’ round hyar, and thet’s a fact.” “More than the horse is gone,” said the scout; “the girl herself is gone!” Nomad stared at the scout, then gripped his rifle and stared round. “Tooken by Injuns?” “Yes; that’s what Gordon and I make of it. Here are moccasin tracks. We think the redskin stole into the cabin while we were digging the grave, and came on her perhaps while she was asleep. Anyway, the thing was done so quietly we didn’t hear a sound.” He pointed to the tracks, and to the eagle feather. Old Nomad was for the moment almost too amazed to speak. “We’ve got ter foller her, Buffler!” “Yes, and at once; and I was going to say to you that if you will finish filling in the grave of John Forest, we will follow this trail at once. Then you can come on as fast as possible, and no doubt you’ll soon overtake us.” Nomad looked earnestly at the brown hills. “Crazy Snake?” he said, voicing the name in the thought of each. “That’s our opinion; at any rate, the rascal was a Blackfoot, as the feather and the tracks show. I hardly think he had any warriors with him, or, at most, he must have had only a few, or he would have tried to tackle us and get our scalps.” Nomad turned his horse about and rode to the grave, where he slid out of his saddle. They saw him at work vigorously with the spade, as they took up the trail, after getting their horses. The trail was not difficult to follow, until it entered the rocky hills. They progressed slowly, however, for they could not be sure that an ambush had not been laid for them. Hard as the trail was to follow in the hills, they clung to it, finding it the tracks of but one Indian.