As they continued this search, they saw black smoke roll up from the wide stretch of low grassland that fell away from the foot of the hills. Trees and hills intervened to keep them from at once seeing the fire which gave birth to the smoke. When they climbed a hill, and the scout leveled on the grassland his field glasses, the smoke and fire had attained such volume that the fugitives riding away before the flames were not visible to him. Nor could he and Pawnee Bill detect any Indians out there, or in the hills adjacent. “What’s the meaning of it, Cody?” Pawnee Bill asked. The scout could not tell him. There were many ways in which such a fire might have started. The thing was so suggestive, however, that the scouts hung about the edge of the grassland, close down by the river, a long time, looking for Blackfeet along the slopes of the hills. At length they were astonished by seeing a young man come staggering out of the cañon and running toward them. He had seen them, and was trying to reach them. As he drew nearer, they saw that his face and hands were blackened, as if by fire or smoke; and he not only staggered, but fell, as he came on. “Blackfoot deviltry, I reckon!” said Pawnee Bill. They ran to meet the young man. Pawnee Bill now recognized him as the thoroughly reformed youth he had met in the town the day before, and with whom he had talked on the subject of a probable Blackfoot uprising. “Why, it’s Clayton,” he said. “Pool Clayton. He’s hurt, I think.” Clayton was gasping from the effects of his violent run. As soon as he reached them he began to tell his story, and it amazed them: “The girl whose father you were burying,” he said; “the girl who was carried away by Crazy Snake from the cabin, she----” He stopped, choking for breath. “Yes; go on!” the scout begged. “I found her in charge of a young Indian called Lightfoot, who had an Indian girl with him; and I took her away from them. They followed us, and other Blackfeet chased us. We took to the grass country, which I fired, thinking thus to hide the trail of my horse. We were both riding one horse. But the horse was weakened by the long run from the fire, and finally fell into a deep gully, in trying to leap it. “I struck on my head, and didn’t know anything for a while. When I came to myself the girl was gone. I couldn’t find any trail, or anything; and I don’t know what became of her, or what to make of it. The girl was Lena Forest, and she said you----” He stopped again, coughing and out of breath, but he had told enough to stir them into the most intense interest. “Guide us to that gully,” said Buffalo Bill. They started at once, Clayton, telling more of his story as they hurried on. His smoky, grimy appearance was caused by the fact that in reaching them he had passed through a portion of the burned area.