A week later Crazy Snake sent down a piteous petition, assuring the white men that he was their good friend, that he had always been their good friend, and would be their good friend forever, if they would but stop chasing him in the mountains. Thus ended the Blackfoot uprising, and no more the bloody arrow, the mark of Crazy Snake’s vengeance, gleamed red on the bosoms of men murdered by that treacherous old chieftain. He had been soundly whipped; and a whipped Indian can be the meekest creature on the earth. CHAPTER XXXI. RINGED IN BY FIRE. Nevertheless, in spite of this welcome lull after the storm, Major Clendenning was determined to take no chances of a minor outbreak on the part of the surviving members of the Blackfoot band. He had learned from Buffalo Bill something of the haughty nature and indomitable ambition of the younger chief, Lightfoot; and he had good reason to fear that the Blackfeet would not long remain in their refuge among the hills. Whether they would again molest the whites, particularly the miners, or confine their hostile attentions to their constant foes, the Crees, was an open question, and Major Clendenning felt certain that the great scout could solve it. He, therefore, dispatched Buffalo Bill to the territory formerly occupied by Crazy Snake’s tribe, with instructions to find out as much as possible. Having left Lena Forest in charge of the kindly wife of one of the officers at the fort, and having said farewell to Pawnee Bill, old Nomad, and Bruce Clayton--who promised Lena that he would ride over to the fort as often as he possibly could, and that he would work hard and save enough money for them to be married--Buffalo Bill mounted and rode forth to new adventures, in which his friends were destined to share. He shaped his course directly toward the high hills, and on the evening of the third day of his journey he found himself entering a thick forest of scrub oaks and pines. As the shadows of night were deepening, he decided to camp in a favorable spot; so he tethered his horse, climbed farther up the mountain, spread a blanket on the ground, and, carefully building a small fire, cooked his frugal meal. After that, he dozed peacefully and soon fell into profound slumber. When he awoke in the morning he was startled by the smell of burning pine needles and the sight of clouds of smoke drifting between the trees. The ground was a solid carpet of pine needles, inches deep, and this was now a carpet of flame. The fire climbed the trees, throwing out red banners, wrapping the straight pines in roaring fire. In front of the scout was the edge of a precipice overhanging the Bitter Water that here cut through the solid rock of its deep cañon chasm. Yet sheer as was that precipice, and far down as were the waters of the little river, Buffalo Bill seemed almost on the point of leaping down.