All this Buffalo Bill likewise knew. And he knew, further, that one of the things pursued Indians are likely to do is to trap their pursuers. After the scout had rejoined the young cowboy, Ben Stevens, he and Stevens drove hard after the retreating Cheyennes, watching for one of these traps. While making this pursuit, and watching for ambuscades, the scout left telltale signs along the trail, which should direct the troopers whom he expected would soon follow. On one or two high points he planted signals, thrusting mesquite bushes up so they would attract attention, and to these mesquites tying written messages, which told all that he knew. The retreating Cheyennes set no traps, being in too great haste. But shortly after nightfall they halted for a bit of rest, in a considerable grove of mesquite, where they cautiously built fires and cooked some food. Buffalo Bill was not far behind them, and his keen eyes caught the gleam of their hidden camp fires. He had been over this trail before, and he had surmised that they would go into camp at this spot, and accordingly he had been making some plans. He now took Ben Stevens’ horse, which had all the characteristics of an Indian pony, removed the saddle, and for its bridle substituted an Indian one taken from the pouches of his saddle. This Indian bridle was a very simple affair, consisting of rawhide thongs, with a rawhide to be placed through the mouth and round the lower jaw for a bit. Behind his saddle the scout had carried an Indian blanket. His hat and his boots and some of his clothing he concealed in a hole on the prairie, which he marked with a stick. From the saddle pouches came also head feathers, Indian paints, and beaded moccasins. Putting on these, the scout was soon transformed, with the further aid of the Indian blanket, into a very presentable specimen of the Cheyenne Indian. His mustache and imperial could not be so well concealed, but he held the blanket up round his mouth in the Indian fashion, and these facial ornaments were not observable in the night. Thus attired and disguised, and mounted on Stevens’ Indian pony, the scout could not have been distinguished from an Indian a yard away in the darkness. After he had made this hasty but rather remarkable transformation, Buffalo Bill held out his hand to the young cowboy. “Good-by!” he said, squeezing Stevens’ hand. “I’m going into danger, and we may not meet again. But I’ll save the young lady, if the thing can be done; and Wild Bill, too. Look out for yourself. If you hear the whistle of the bull elk, you’ll know you’re to make the fake charge on the Cheyenne camp and stir things up to draw attention from me. And look out that they don’t capture you, while you’re hovering outside.” He sprang to the bare back of the pony, drew the blanket closely round his shoulders, and rode silently through the darkness in the direction of the Cheyenne supper camp. He knew the Cheyennes would be moving on again shortly.