The scout had already formed his plan of return to the fort. He had reloaded his rifle and revolvers, seen that his knife was still in its scabbard, and, after another long swig at the clear, running water and a tightening of his belt, Texas Jack climbed one side of the cañon with infinite caution. He could not return through the gorge itself, for he did not know how near pursuit might be. And he wormed his way up the steep ascent like a serpent, that he might not be observed from below. Night came upon him as he arrived on the summit of the timbered ridge. The forest was a tangled wilderness, but he knew how to pass through it without making the slightest disturbance, and, as he might come upon the Indians at any moment, he was glad of the darkness and the thicket. A few miles along this ridge and he would come out upon a bluff that overlooked the valley in which Fort Advance was situated. He strode on lightly, yet swiftly--threading his way through the trackless forest with a confidence which brought him straight to his destination. And as yet he had not passed an Indian. The dash of the scouts into the cañon had drawn all the outposts from the hills, and the redskins were either guarding the lower passes, ringing the fort, or gathered about the camp-fires where the main encampment had been established. When Texas Jack came out upon the bluff he could see these camp-fires twinkling on the other side of the valley, although it was still light enough for him to see all who moved below him. The encampment was at the base of the southern hills, some two miles from the fort. Some half-hundred ponies were feeding in the valley, with the guards about them doubled. The loss of the bulk of the herd had been a severe blow to the redskins, and Texas Jack knew that the Indians would put forth every effort to retake them, should opportunity arise. Jack decided that Chief Oak Heart was probably at the encampment, counseling with his old men and the other chiefs regarding the next blow to be struck at Fort Advance. That plans of deviltry and cunning were being hatched the scout was certain. Then he thought of the Border King flying along the trail to Resistence for help, and he regained his courage. Awaiting with the stolid patience of a redskin for the night to deepen, the scout finally pursued his march into the valley. He had carefully weighed all chances for and against his success. Now he was ready to take them. Night spread its wings over the valley. It hid its scars and wounds and the stark bodies of the dead, lying under the fortress walls. In the gloaming it might have been the most peaceful valley in all the Rockies. One coming upon it suddenly, and unwarned, would never have suspected the blood so recently spilled there and the threatening aspect of the situation at that very moment!