“You do not know his treachery,” said Buffalo Bill, who knew that the very deed was in Bennett’s mind. “I have told the white man that the brave young chief shall not be mistreated.” “Your word on it, girl?” “The White Antelope has spoken. She will guard the body of the young white chief herself until Pa-e-has-ka’s return.” “Good!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill. “And, my girl, you’ll never be sorry for this mercy shown the corpse of that poor young man.” The girl looked at him strangely. “The Long Hair will return, as he has promised, to the village of Oak Heart?” “I’ll keep my word; do you keep yours,” said the scout. “Pa-e-has-ka’s tongue is straight?” “As sure as I live, I’ll come back, girl!” declared the scout earnestly. The next instant he mounted Chief unmolested, having picked up his rifle, settled himself in the saddle, seized the reins, and dashed away. As he mounted the ridge he looked back. The reds were busy separating their own slain from the dead soldiers. The tall figure of the medicine chief was stalking angrily from the scene. White Antelope was down on her knees by the body of Dick Danforth, the dead lieutenant. With a dumb ache at his heart, and little thought for his own coming peril, Buffalo Bill went over the rise and spurred away for Fort Advance. CHAPTER XXX. THE MAD HUNTER. In the valley a cavalry command was encamped, some hours after the battle in which Lieutenant Dick Danforth and his men had been overwhelmed by Oak Heart’s ambuscade. It was just sunset, but twilight among the mountains is sometimes four hours long--a man might see to read fine print at nine o’clock. The command had ridden hard and were a-wearied, so the party had bivouacked early, the guide reporting that the ridge before them afforded no good camping-ground. The horses were soon lariated out, and scores of camp-fires were kindled along the banks of the stream, while the cheerful rattle of dishes and the smell of cooking sharpened the appetites of the troopers. Leaving his servant to prepare his frugal meal, the commander of the soldiers strode up the hillside toward the summit of the ridge, the better to view the valley and its boundaries while daylight lingered. “Be careful, captain, for I look for Injuns hereabouts,” called the guide, who was Texas Jack. “All right, Jack. I’ll signal if I see any signs of the red scamps,” returned the fearless officer, as he strode on up the ascent. Once or twice he turned to enjoy the scene of beauty spreading below him--the lovely valley, the winding stream, the picturesque bivouac of the troopers, and the distant blue hills, on which the light was fading rapidly. At length he reached the point from which he could view a part of the country through which the morrow’s trail would lead them.