Two days passed, and still the wagon train did not arrive at the fort.  
It was then evident that Mr. Doyle, true to the obstinacy which was so strongly ingrained in his nature, had decided not to take the advice of Buffalo Bill, but had pushed on, with his small force, across the plains, reckless of the dangers he might meet with.
 
Buffalo Bill hastened the preparations for his big hunt, for he thought it was quite possible that in the course of it he might fall in with the Doyle party.
 
“And if you do, Cody,” said the general in command of the troops at the fort, “there is one thing that I want to ask of you: You must bring that man and his party back, even if you have to do it by force.”
 
Buffalo Bill smiled queerly.
 
“That’s a hard proposition you are putting up to me, general,” he said. “The man is a free-born American citizen. If he wants to travel over any part of the United States I suppose he has a perfect right to do so. I don’t see what authority I have to stop him.”
 
“Consider the position for a moment, Cody,” said the general, leaning over his desk and addressing the scout with intense earnestness. “This man Doyle is a national character. He was a United States senator, and a great one at that! We can’t afford to allow him and his daughters to get scalped by the Indians, for the sake of our own reputations as the guardians of the frontier—without taking account, even, of the humane aspect of the matter.
 
“If the man is foolish it is for us to save him from[132] the consequences of his folly. If we don’t do that there will be a national scandal that will reflect badly on the reputation of the troops who are supposed to guard travelers by the overland route.”
 
“You are right, general,” said Buffalo Bill. “I see the point of your argument perfectly. I will let the hunting slide until I deal with this matter. All our efforts shall be devoted to hitting the trail of that wagon train and coming up with it.
 
“And when we do reach it I will engage that we’ll bring Mr. Doyle back, even if we have to tie him with rawhide ropes and throw him down on the floor of one of his own wagons.”
 
The general rose up from his chair and grasped Cody warmly by the hand.
 
“That’s like you, Bill!” he exclaimed. “You know as well as I do that you must necessarily take all the responsibility in this business. If Doyle gets mad about it and complains to Washington you stand to lose your position as chief of scouts and all prospects of future employment in the government service. And yet you are willing to do it!”
 
“There is no other way, general,” replied Buffalo Bill simply. “It is clearly my duty—for the sake of those two girls, if not for that of the obstinate old man.”
 
“Well, Cody, I won’t forget this in a hurry—and if you get into any trouble over it you can rely on me to help you through, if I can possibly do it.”
 
Buffalo Bill, after bidding farewell to the officer, hastened out to complete the preparations for the starting of his hunting party.
 
In view of the new task he had before him—the end of which he felt that he could not possibly foresee—he was particularly careful to choose the best men among his corps of scouts and Pawnee friendlies.
 
He also saw to it that all the men were well mounted, with spare horses, and that they carried an ample supply of ammunition and dried meat for food.
 
This last detail surprised his great friend and comrade, Nick Wharton, who formed one of the party, as did also Wild Bill, the famous scout who at that time was only second to Buffalo Bill himself in reputation as a hunter and Indian fighter.
 
“What are ye thinkin’ about, Buffler?” growled old Nick. “I never seed sich a gol-durned lot of meat stocked up by a huntin’ party in all my born days. We might be goin’ ter hit the trail right across the plains ter Californy. Don’t ye think we know enough by this time ter be able ter shoot fur our grub?”
 
“Everybody knows that you can, Nick—if there’s any game around,” Buffalo Bill replied to this protest, smiling enigmatically. “But you never can tell whether we’ll find any. We may not see hoof or hide of a buffalo for several days. Besides—other things may happen.”
 
Nick Wharton, unconvinced, went off, growling, to attend to the saddling of his horse.
 
Buffalo Bill did not wish to take even his two best friends, old Nick and Wild Bill, into his confidence concerning the delicate task with which he had been intrusted.
 
If he came up with the wagon train—regarding which he had very little doubt, as he knew the course it must take, and it would necessarily have a broad, clear trail—he hoped to be able to persuade Mr. Doyle to return, without having recourse to actual violence.
 
That being the case, it would be unwise to tell anybody of the lengths to which he felt authorized to go in case of necessity. He allowed all the men, even Jack Mainwaring, to think that there was nothing more in the expedition than a simple hunting trip.
 
 
On the day after leaving the fort Buffalo Bill found the trail of the wagon train.
 
Much to the surprise of his party he had headed on a course which would take them clear away from the region in which buffaloes had been last reported by the Pawnee friendlies.
 
They thought he was losing his skill as a hunter, but his discipline over them was so good that they made no open protest, though they growled among themselves.
 
They could not know that Buffalo Bill was not looking after game, but after the Doyle party.
 
“We’ll follow this trail, boys,” said Buffalo Bill, pointing to the broad tracks left by the wagons. “It’s pretty fresh, and perhaps the folks will be able to tell us where the buffaloes are ranging. Anyway, we can pass the time of day with them.”
 
“Is Buffer goin’ suddenly crazy?” asked Nick Wharton, in a hoarse aside, of Wild Bill. “What in the name of the everlastin’ hickory do we want ter pass the time o’ day with people fur? I thought we cum out from the fort ter hunt meat.
 
“It seems we didn’t. We cum out fur a nice sociable ride, payin’ polite calls on wagon parties! It beats all in my knowledge o’ Bill. As if a wagon train wouldn’t scare away all the bufflers within ten miles of it!”
 
Old Nick only voiced the feelings of the other men. Even the stolid Pawnee friendlies, trained from their boyhood not to express their emotions, looked at Buffalo Bill in sheer amazement—but they said nothing in opposition to his command, and neither did any one of his white comrades.
 
They all knew him well—and knew that when he gave an order he meant to have it obeyed.
 
 
The conduct of the border king was fully justified toward the evening of that same day.
 
As they were cresting a rise in the prairie the scouts saw the wagons of Mr. Doyle’s train about two miles away.
 
Buffalo Bill’s keen eye at once perceived that something was wrong. The covers of the wagons were torn, the horses and mules were on the ground, prostrate, and one of the wagons itself was overturned.
 
The cheeks of the king of the scouts blanched almost as soon as he topped the rise and got his first glimpse of the wagon train.
 
“They have been attacked!” he gasped, between clenched teeth. “Heaven alone knows what has happened to them! Forward, boys, at the gallop!”
 
Setting the example, he dug his spurs into the horse—a thing which he did only under stress of the direst necessity—and shot forward from his party like an arrow from the bow.
 
They were a hard-riding set—those scouts and Pawnees—but the Texan beat them all. Jack Mainwaring alone kept up with Buffalo Bill in that wild ride across the prairie toward the wagons.
 
Even Wild Bill, one of the hardest riders ever known on the great plains, was left well behind.<............