The easiest and shortest trail between the two forts was through the cañon, and this Oak Heart well knew. He ordered the chiefs in charge of the three hundred to ambush the rescue-party near the entrance to the cañon at the other end, and not long before Cody and the other scouts, riding ahead of Captain Taylor’s command, came within shouting distance of the cañon the bloodthirsty savages were hidden among the rocks and trees on the sloping sides, ready to pour a deadly fire into the band of rescuers when they came along the trail beneath them. While yet the scouts were some distance from the cañon something startled them ahead. Tearing along the trail toward them came a herd of deer, frightened from their night’s lair by something untoward. “Now, what under the canopy started _them_ to running?” asked Cody, who never let anything go past him unexplained. “Wolves, it’s likely,” said one of the Resistence scouts named Judd. “Haven’t heard a wolf howl to-night,” declared Buffalo Bill. “You’re right there, pard,” said another scout, Barney by name. “And there was no critter on the trail of those white-tails,” said a third man. “That means Injuns, then,” declared Barney. “I reckon you’re right, boys,” said the Border King. “Let’s see. Those deer came directly from the cañon.” “You bet they did.” “Something doing there, then, boys.” “I reckon you’re right, Buffler.” “Here, Barney, you ride back and tell Captain Taylor to halt his column. Judd, you and I leave our horses here and go ahead to reconnoiter. Savvy?” “Sure!” Barney rode back. Judd and Buffalo Bill discarded their mounts and went ahead afoot. Oak Heart was a born general, and, like old Colorow, of the Utes, displayed abilities in planning his campaigns that placed him head and shoulders above the average redskin chieftain. There have been few great warriors among the red Indians. Red Jacket, Black Eagle, Tecumseh, Colorow, and a few others have possessed unnatural characteristics for redskins, and that is why they left their mark on Indian history. And Oak Heart had sufficient control over his warriors to make them do something which above all things a redskin hates. He made them fight at night! Now, the Indian is a spiritualist of the most pronounced breed. By day the spirits of the dead, and those powerful beings which he believes control men’s affairs, sleep; by night these supernatural beings walk abroad, and no Southern darky is more afraid of seeing a ghost than a redskin. The medicine chiefs, who are, most of them, a set of unconscionable fakers, foster this belief in ghosts and evil spirits and so prey on the tribes.