The hole I had cut near the bottom of the tent was on the east side, facing the stable door. The two doors of the tent were on the north and south sides. These I untied and propped a little open so that I could look out either way occasionally; I saw no further signs of activity of the enemy, and toward morning, as the air grew cold, I cut the thongs that bound a bale of buffalo robes and made a fairly comfortable bed, whence I could keep a sharp lookout. It was a long, dreary, wretched night of anxiety. The soldiers did not come, and without them I could see no hope of escape for my comrades or myself. As everything seemed so quiet in my vicinity I slipped down into the dugout, through the tunnel, and brought up some more cartridges and some food and cold coffee. On looking out of my port-hole again I noticed with a hopeless feeling that daylight was fast coming and as yet no sign or sound of the hoped-for rescuers. Suddenly I detected the sound of tramping horses' feet, and springing to my feet to get a better view out of the tent door, I looked in the direction from which the sounds came and could see indistinctly a party of mounted men, on the trot, skirting along the foot of the bluffs just southeast of camp, as though intending to pass it from the direction of To hausen's village. "Could they be a reinforcement of Kiowas going to join Satank's party?" I asked myself. "No, they were keeping too well closed up for Indians. It must be Captain Saunders' company, and they have somehow missed the trail that would have taken them to the besieged wagon. But why don't they come here, instead of going by on the trot?" While putting these puzzling questions to myself I was standing with the folds of the tent door slightly parted, peeping out stealthily, lest the bullet of my lurking foe might find me. When the party of mounted men were nearly opposite our tent I noticed one from the head of the column branch off and strike a gallop in my direction, and a moment later the welcome voice of Wild Bill called out: "Halloo, Peck, are you still a-kicking?" Answering him with an affirmative shout, I stepped out, forgetting for the moment the Indian who was watching for a shot at me. He failed to take advantage of the opportunity, for he saw that he was trapped and made a dash up out of the ravine and ran for the nearest point of bushes just back of our burned haystack. I called to Bill, who was on the same side of the ravine as the fleeing Kiowa: "Head him off, Bill! Kill him! Kill him!" The scout instantly turned his horse and dashed after the Indian, who, seeing that he could not reach the brush before being overtaken, halted, turned, took deliberate aim at the oncoming horseman, and fired.