Although the Indians had obtained only a short start of the border king and his men, the chase was a long and difficult one.  
As the scouts and their Pawnee allies followed the trail, it became more and more evident that every expedient of redskin craft had been employed to hide it.
 
Even Buffalo Bill’s skill was often at fault, and sometimes for hours—once even for a whole day—the tracks were lost completely and only recovered after the most arduous search.
 
“Evil Heart is one of the best chiefs on the plains, both in fighting and in running away,” said Buffalo Bill to Wild Bill, as they were riding side by side on the fifth day of the chase. “But I think we shall get him this time, after all. The trail is freshening all the time.”
 
“Yes, that is so,” Wild Bill replied, “and, of course, you must have noticed one thing—that during the last few hours not a single effort has been made to hide it. That strikes me as being rather strange, for they have done all they could to conceal their tracks up to now.”
 
“Yes, I have noticed that,” said Buffalo Bill, knitting his brows in some perplexity, “and it has seemed peculiar to me.”
 
It was not long before this mystery, which so much puzzled the experienced scouts, deepened.
 
They had not ridden more than a mile when Buffalo Bill, who was in front, pulled up his mustang, with a cry of astonishment.
 
 
“Here is another trail!” he exclaimed to Nick Wharton and Wild Bill, who instantly pushed their horses up alongside of his.
 
It was a fact. Another body of Indians, who had evidently ridden across the prairie from the left at a tangent, had met with the Shawnees.
 
The tracks plainly showed that the new party outnumbered the first by more than four to one. The Shawnees had been held up, but there were no signs to indicate that a fight had taken place.
 
There had been a halt and a palaver, but evidently that was all.
 
The newcomers had not joined the Shawnees. Another trail showed that they had ridden off in a different direction, while the Shawnees had proceeded on their own course.
 
What had happened? This was a question which all the experience and ingenuity of the scouts failed to answer.
 
Was the second party composed of Shawnees? From the fact that no fight had taken place, there was some reason to suppose that this was the case; but, on the other hand, if they were Shawnees, why had they not joined the party under Evil Heart, the paramount chief of that tribe?
 
The scouts examined all the tracks with the greatest care, but they could not solve the riddle.
 
“Certainly there is more in this than meets the eye,” said the border king. “It is difficult to know what to do.”
 
“You mean that it is hard to decide which of the two parties to follow?” asked Mainwaring.
 
“Yes. It is just possible, you see, that the stronger party forced the weaker to give up the girls to them, under threat of attack in case they refused to do so.[143] The chances are against that having happened, but still it is a possibility.”
 
“Could you not divide our party and follow both trails?”
 
“No. I am afraid that is out of the question. We have few enough men, in all conscience, to attack the Shawnees, and we could do nothing against the stronger party. If we divided our force we would be helpless against either when we caught up with them. We must take our choice which we will pursue.”
 
“I can’t speak as an authority,” said Mainwaring, “but, if I may offer an opinion, I would favor going after Evil Heart’s band. We know he has the girls—or, at least, that he had them; and the chances are that he would not give them up without a fight.”
 
“That is just my way of looking at the matter,” agreed Buffalo Bill. “But let us hear what the others have to say. It is such a dubious question that it ought to be decided by the general voice.”
 
The king of the scouts called Wild Bill, Nick Wharton, and several of the most experienced scouts and Pawnees around him.
 
With one exception, they were all in favor of keeping on after the original band they had been pursuing. The exception was an old Pawnee warrior named Dead Eye.
 
“Ugh!” this veteran grunted. “What for other Injuns ride after Evil Heart? What for they make him stop and hold palaver? They not do it for nothing. They took no scalps. What else they take? White squaws!”
 
Having delivered himself of this opinion, in opposition to all the others who had spoken, the old brave sat stolidly on his horse, as if the matter had no further concern for him. Indeed, it had not. He was quite[144] willing to follow either party, for there would be a fine fight at the end of the chase and a rich harvest of scalps—both of which things would satisfy his savage nature.
 
Buffalo Bill looked at him undecidedly.
 
“How many summers is it since you followed your first war trail and took your first scalp, Dead Eye?” he asked.
 
Dead Eye made no reply in words, but he held up the fingers of both hands five times. He had been a full-fledged warrior for fifty years.
 
“And how many scalps have you taken?”
 
Dead Eye handed his tomahawk to Buffalo Bill without a word.
 
The border king examined it with curious interest. It was covered with small notches from the blade to the end of the helve. Each notch, of course, stood for a scalp taken.
 
“All braves!” grunted Dead Eye. “Me no kill women or children.”
 
Here was a man, thought Buffalo Bill, whose opinion was worth taking.
 
“We will go after the larger party,” he said.
 
But Dead Eye interposed.
 
“You no do that,” he said. “You have called council. All but me say go after Evil Heart. You must do that. How Dead Eye feel if other ban............