Some time afterward the Cheyennes sighted a horseman, and contrived to get out of sight in a big “draw” without being seen by him. The horseman was Wild Bill. When he came near enough they charged him, and a sharp fight ensued. Two of the Indians were killed and another wounded; and then Wild Bill was at their mercy. It was the fight and the capture which Buffalo Bill saw in the sky mirror. The Indians in their rage and revenge would have slain Wild Bill, but they recognized him as a scout and one of the pards of the dreaded Long Hair, as Buffalo Bill was known to them. Therefore, instead of killing him outright, they simply brandished their weapons about his head in efforts to frighten him, and reserved him for a more horrible fate later. Long before this time Lieutenant Barlow had apparently set up amicable relations with the Cheyennes. Even the exhausted and alarmed girl noticed it. He was not treated as a prisoner, but more as if he were one of them. Red Wing rode much of the time at his side, and conversed with him, sometimes in Cheyenne, a language with which he was familiar, strangely familiar it seemed to May Arlington. The bodies of the slain Indians were tied to the backs of ponies. The wounded Indian was borne in a blanket slung hammock-wise between two ponies; a position that must have brought him pain, although he gave no sign of it. Wild Bill had been tied hand and foot, and a rope wound round the body of the horse to which he was tied held his legs under the horse’s belly. He observed that Barlow and the girl were not bound. Barlow put his horse finally by his side. “Sorry to see you here, Hickok,” he said, with professed sympathy. “I’m a prisoner, too, and I was afraid to try to get nearer to you sooner. Some of the Cheyennes suspect me; but I have the good will of the chief, because I saved him once from a wolf. On account of that he calls me the Wolf Soldier.” Wild Bill looked hard at him. “It’s a good name, I think; that young Indian must be a fine character reader. The Wolf Soldier just about fits you.” Barlow’s face turned red. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “That you _are_ a wolf soldier, or a wolfish one, as you please. I understand how you happen to be here. You’re on good terms with these red villains, because you’re a renegade.” “This is insulting, Hickok,” said Barlow; “but considering your excitement, and your position, I’ll not hold it against you. I don’t know what you’ve heard, I’m sure; but I know that what you say wrongs me, cruelly wrongs me.” Wild Bill lifted his voice recklessly, and shouted to the girl: “My dear young lady, don’t trust this rascally lieutenant a minute, nor believe anything he says; he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and these Cheyennes hit his character right when they call him the Wolf Soldier.” A cry of rage broke from Barlow. “Hickok,” he shouted, “you lie; you lie like a dog!” The hot blood reddened the face of the bound man.