Mile after mile, until three were cast behind the hoofs of his horse, did the scout ride on in that wild way; the mirage changing its appearance constantly, so that at one time it seemed a wide lake with islands, and at other times a stream broken into innumerable rivulets. Then he rode down into a grassy swale, and there saw trampled grass showing hoof marks. He jumped from the saddle and bent over them. “Just as I thought; Cheyennes!” He stared about as if he half expected to see a feathered head close by. He could not see far because of the smoky haze that still lay on everything. Soon he remounted, and began to follow that trail. Two horses, or Indian ponies, had passed along. They were unshod, and the scout was certain they were Cheyenne ponies. Soon other trails joined these two. “Ah, here is where they first saw him!” Other hoof marks had come in there; after which there were evidences that all of the ponies had started in a sudden burst of speed. To the experienced eye of Buffalo Bill this was as plain as the print in a primer. The Cheyennes had here seen Wild Bill and had charged on him. A few hundred yards beyond, the scout came to the scene of the fight--the scene he had seen pictured so clearly in the sky mirror. He looked the ground over. “Here is where he made his stand,” he said, “for here are the empty cartridge shells from his revolver; and here is where they rushed on him, and captured or killed him. It was hot work; for here are bloodstains, and indications that somebody was killed, and perhaps more than one. Of course, the Cheyennes would carry away their dead and wounded. And it will go hard with Hickok, for I guess he wiped out one or more of them.” He followed along, reading the signs, plain as print to one as skilled as he. “Here I think they set him on a horse, for the hoof marks of this pony begin right here to sink deeper into the ground, showing that an extra weight was put on its back. Yes, they tied him here, for here are the ends of rawhide cut from the thongs they put on him.” The great scout and trailer stood up, his face brighter and more hopeful. He had feared that soon he would behold Wild Bill’s dead body. “That proves that he wasn’t killed, and also shows that he was not so badly injured but that they thought they must tie him. Hickok forever! It’s hard to down you, old pard of mine!” Buffalo Bill’s voice thrilled with the pride he felt in the ability and achievements of his old and true friend of the border. “Yes, and they went in that direction. This is a body of a young Cheyenne buck, I judge, which is proof that they belong to the desperate young herd that broke away from the reservation. They are not returning to the reservation, though, but are heading toward the southwest. What does that mean? What is in that direction?”