They did not find it until noon. But they found something else: Indian signs which were not older than three days. A party of warriors were ahead. Stub picked up a worn moccasin: “Pawnee――Grand Pawnee,” he announced, when he handed it to the lieutenant “War party. All on foot. Mebbe so many.” And he opened and shut his fingers five times. The lieutenant and the doctor examined the moccasin. After that they rode more rapidly, as if anxious to get to their soldiers. The soldiers also had crossed the river, on account of bad travel, and were camped on this, the south side. In the morning they all marched by the Spanish trail, along the river, into the west, over a country covered with salt. There were more Indian signs. It looked as though twenty warriors had been marching in the same direction only a short time before; and fresh horse tracks pointed down river. Whether the Indians were the same Pawnees or not, was hard to tell. But the horse tracks looked to be wild-horse tracks. “Sure, wouldn’t it be fun to ketch a few o’ them wild hosses, Stub, lad?” proposed John Sparks, in camp. “We need ’em. Would ye know how?” “Chase ’em; with rope. Chase ’em all day, make tired, mebbe no ketch ’em,” Stub answered. “Or if ye shoot one jest right, through the nape o’ the neck an’ graze the nerve there, ye’ll down him like as if lightning struck him an’ he won’t be hurt,” asserted Hugh Menaugh. “Yes, but it takes mighty fine shootin’,” said soldier Bill Gordon. “You’re like to kill him, or miss him complete.” The wild horses were sighted the next evening, from camp on an island where there was wood and shelter. The lieutenant and the doctor and Baroney had come in with two antelope that they had killed among their own horses, while they themselves were lying on the ground and resting. They might have killed more, but they did not need the meat. Now while spying on the country around, through his long glass, the lieutenant saw a bunch of moving figures out there on the prairie, north of the river. Indians? No――wild horses, more than one hundred! Good! Out he went, and the doctor, and Baroney, and Stub followed, to get a nearer view. They were of many colors, those wild horses――blacks and browns and greys and spotted. They waited with heads high, as curious as if they had never seen men before. Then they came charging, in a broad front, and their hoofs drummed like thunder. Only a short way off they stopped, to start and snort. “Ma foi, quelle beauté (My gracious, how beautiful)!” cried Baroney. “Try to crease that black, lieutenant,” the doctor proposed. The lieutenant rested his gun upon his empty saddle, took long aim, and fired. But he did not stun the black――he missed him entirely――he had not dared to draw fine enough. At that, around the wild horses wheeled, as if by command, and pelted off, to halt and gaze again. “To-morrow we’ll see if we can run some down,” said the lieutenant. “Shall we, Stub?”