In a few days Red Cloud was sufficiently recovered to travel, and Buffalo Bill was glad of the opportunity to carry out his mission at last.  
The Indian and the scout mounted their horses, which were very fresh and mettlesome after their long rest in camp, and each man secretly admired the great skill and horsemanship which the other showed.
 
“You are a great rider, Red Cloud,” said Buffalo Bill, after he had watched his blood brother for a few moments, sitting his horse like a bronzed statue as it reared and bucked and cavorted in all directions.
 
A gratified smile shone on the Indian’s face, and he replied:
 
“Would my brother care to try to mount this horse? No other man but myself has ever ridden him. Once he kicked a brave to death who tried to ride him.”
 
“I don’t mind trying,” said the border king, who had never yet met the horse that he could not subdue.
 
He leaped from his own mustang as he spoke, but Red Cloud kept his place in the saddle.
 
“No, my brother,” he exclaimed. “I did but jest. I might as well take my tomahawk and bury it in your head as let you mount this beast. He would surely kill you, for he is very savage to all but myself.”
 
By this time Buffalo Bill’s blood was up, and he was determined to mount the Indian’s mettlesome animal.
 
“Here is a fair offer, Red Cloud,” he exclaimed. “If your wounds are quite well, will you try to mount my mustang and ride him? He is not fierce, but he will certainly shake you off gently to the ground if I give him the word to do so. And if you cannot keep your seat on him you must let me try to mount your beast.”
 
The Indian’s spirit was aroused by this challenge. He eagerly accepted it, feeling confident that he would be able to sit the mustang without any difficulty. Like his white companion, he was used to conquering any animal he met.
 
He dismounted and approached the mustang, which cocked up its ears suspiciously and looked inquiringly at his master.
 
Buffalo Bill said: “Steady, old girl!” The mare kept as quiet as a lamb while the Indian mounted her, and allowed him to ride her gently up and down.
 
“Ugh! Do you call her troublesome?” the redskin exclaimed. “I never rode a gentler horse.”
 
Buffalo Bill smiled and gave a low, peculiar whistle. Instantly the mare stopped her quiet gait and began to rear and buck violently.
 
The Indian clung to the saddle with great skill and resolution, but the animal suddenly stopped its plunging and rolled gently on the ground, shaking him off and depositing him gently in the long grass of the prairie.
 
He got up, with a shamefaced look, and waved his hand toward his own pony.
 
“Mount her if you wish my brother,” he said. “But I pray you be careful, for her rage is sometimes terrible. I would much prefer that you did not try.”
 
Buffalo Bill went fearlessly up to the animal, caught it by the bridle, and vaulted into the saddle. Instantly the pony started on a wild gallop, and before it had gone twenty yards stopped suddenly in the middle of its stride and reared up almost erect on its hind legs.
 
 
The border king leaned forward, patted its head soothingly, and whispered in its ear. The animal became quiet in a moment, brought its forefeet to the ground, and trotted along peacefully, with Buffalo Bill bending forward and soothing it all the time.
 
In less than two minutes he had got it under complete control, and brought it back at a gentle canter to Red Cloud, who had watched the scene with the most intense astonishment.
 
“Are you a medicine man, oh, brother?” he exclaimed, in amazement. “You must have some spell that you cast over horses, for I never saw anything like this in all my days.”
 
“There is no spell needed,” said the border king lightly. “I have a way of letting animals know that I am their friend, and so I never have any trouble with them. This is particularly the case with dogs and horses. I never yet met one that I could not get along with.”
 
The two men then mounted their own steeds and rode toward Red Cloud’s village, which they entered at evening on the following day.
 
The chief was welcomed with loud cries of delight by the women and children, and with deep grunts of satisfaction by the less demonstrative braves, whom he had led to victory against their enemies on so many occasions.
 
He had gone away from the village on his hunting trip for only a day or two, and they had been much alarmed by his long absence, especially as one of the braves who had been out scouting had returned to report the discovery of Cave Dwellers’ footprints in the direction which Red Cloud had taken.
 
A great feast was held that night, and Red Cloud sang the praises of the border king as a great white chief who had twice saved his life and had sworn blood brotherhood with him.
 
Naturally the redskins welcomed him warmly, and the chiefs and old men smoked the pipe of peace with him, and swore that he would always be to them as their brother, because he had restored to them their beloved chief.
 
Under such circumstances as these, Cody’s mission was naturally rendered easy for him. At a council of the tribe he told of the crushing defeat which had been inflicted on the Crows, Cheyennes, and Sioux at Fort Larned, and he appealed to the Navahos to keep the peace and try to induce the other tribes in the Southwest to do the same.
 
There was hardly any dispute about the matter. Only two or three of the younger and more hot-headed braves spoke in favor of war, and they were speedily overruled. Solemn pledges were given that the peace with the palefaces would be kept, and when at last the time came for Buffalo Bill to leave the village and rejoin his friends, he did so with a feeling of deep satisfaction at the complete success he had achieved in his diplomatic task.
 
“Do not go back on horseback, my brother,” said Red Cloud to him, when the king of the scouts announced that he must make his preparations for departure. “Go by the river. It is much easier, and it will land you within a few miles of the ranch where your friends are waiting for you. One of my braves can take your horse for you to that place, and he can bring back the canoe which you will use.”
 
Buffalo Bill agreed to this arrangement willingly. Although he traveled so much on horseback, he was not averse to other means of transportation, now and then.
 
Red Cloud loaned him a fine birch-bark canoe, and[67] the greater part of the population of the village came down to the river bank to see him off, parting from him with expressions of the deepest regret.
 
“Take care you don’t fall in with the Nez Perces, my brother,” was Red Cloud’s final warning. “They are a cruel and treacherous tribe, and Yellow Plume, their chief, has no love for white men.”
 
“I know that,” Buffalo Bill replied. “I have met Yellow Plume twice, and once I had a very narrow escape from falling into his clutches.”
 
With a parting wave of his hand, the king of the scouts plied the paddle vigorously and sent his frail bark into the center of the stream. In a few moments, he had passed round the bend of the river, and was out of sight of the Navahos.
 
The journey to the ranch was not a long one, but it was considerably increased by the windings of the stream. The banks were clad thickly with timber and brushwood, and the bushes in many places grew right down into the water.
 
Buffalo Bill had been traveling for about five hours when he saw a canoe suddenly shoot out into the middle of the river from under the cover of some of these bushes. In it were seated two Indians.
 
They yelled at him threateningly, and ordered him to halt.
 
The border king saw at a glance that they belonged to the Nez Perces tribe, and that their motives were obviously hostile.
 
As he came near to them, he put down his paddle and took up his rifle. At the same moment one of the Indians fitted an arrow to his bow and drew it up to his head.
 
Before he could discharge the shaft, Buffalo Bill tumbled him over into the water with a bullet through his breast.
 
 
The other Nez Perce gave a yell of alarm and paddled swiftly for the shelter of the bank. Before he could reach it, however, he, too, fell a victim to the deadly rifle of the king of the scouts. Cody had no wish that the man should escape and bring a horde of his companions down upon him.
 
Putting down his rifle, Buffalo Bill paddled on. He soon got into broken water, which suggested that he was approaching some rapids.
 
The strength and roughness of the stream rapidly increased, and just as the scout was thinking that it would soon be advisable to paddle in to the bank and make a portage with the canoe, a new and serious danger confronted him. Just behind him, over toward the left, he heard a chorus of loud and angry yells.
 
Recognizing the war cry of the Nez Perces, he looked over his shoulder, and saw a large canoe shoot out from the cover of some low-growing bushes. It was filled by six stalwart Indians, and their powerful arms made the craft shoot toward Buffalo Bill’s canoe at terrific speed.
 
The border king paddled as hard as he could, but escape in that way was out of the question.
 
The Indians did not seem to want to kill him. They were intent ............