Avoiding all ambushes and pitfalls, but making slow progress, the scout and his young friend reached the vicinity of the Blackfoot village by the middle of the afternoon. From a hillside some distance away the scout surveyed it with his glasses, and saw that the village was in a state of commotion. “Impossible to do anything right now,” was his conclusion. “The warriors we’ve been following are there, and the village is aroused and is being put in readiness for a fight. It would be as much as our lives are worth if we should try to penetrate it now. We’ll have to await the coming of Nomad, and whatever help he has got together.” “Perhaps I could go in after dark,” said young Clayton rashly. “We’ll see,” was the answer. “Nomad may get here by, or before, that time.” But Nomad did not come. When darkness had settled over the earth the scout tried to enter the village, but was driven back by the keen-nosed dogs, that swarmed everywhere, watchful and hungry as wolves. “If only we could get some word to her!” said Clayton. “If we could let her know that friends are near, it would encourage her.” “My attempt kicked up a good deal of excitement. She may guess from that that friends are near. We’ll hope so.” “But if only some direct word could be got to her!” Clayton’s anxiety increased as the hours went by. “If you can’t sleep, my boy,” said the scout after a while, “keep close watch while I take a try at it. I’ll be better to-morrow for a little rest to-night.” “You don’t intend to attempt again to-night to reach her?” said Clayton. “It’s impossible to do anything to-night, my dear fellow; the Blackfeet are too much excited and too wide-awake.” When Buffalo Bill awoke, less than an hour later, Bruce Clayton was gone. “The fool!” he said. “He’s certain to be captured, if he tries to get into the village.” He rose and went again toward the village, filled with fear for his friend’s safety. He sympathized with Clayton’s anxiety to do something for the girl who was held by the Blackfeet, but at the same time blamed him for folly and disobedience of orders. He had not gone far when wild yells and a noisy clamor told him that Clayton had been captured. The scout stood still, listening to those telltale sounds. “Just as I feared,” he thought. “It will be a wonder if they don’t kill him; and what good will his recklessness then do the girl?” He moved on with quick steps, being guided by the wild clamor and by the flashing of lodge fires that were being rebuilt, or blown into new life. Drums were soon booming in the council lodge, warriors were seen hurrying to and fro by the light of the fires, and feverish activity reigned. The Blackfeet, having captured the young white man, were sure that he was a scout, and that a strong force of white men were near; and they were getting ready to meet them if they came.