reinforcements had reached the original body of Indians. The plainsmen
were now in the heart of the Indian country, the utmost caution was
required, and a sharp lookout was maintained. When Clear Creek, another
tributary of the Powder, was come up with, an Indian camp, some three
miles distant, was discovered on the farther bank.

A council of war was held. Never before had the white man followed
the red so far into his domain, and 'twas plain the Indian was off his
guard; not a scout was posted.

At Wild Bill's suggestion, the attack waited upon nightfall. Veiled by
darkness, the company was to surprise the Indian camp and stampede the
horses.

The plan was carried out without a hitch. The Indians outnumbered the
white men three to one, but when the latter rushed cyclonically through
the camp, no effort was made to repel them, and by the time the Indians
had recovered from their surprise the plainsmen had driven off all
the horses--those belonging to the reds as well as those that had been
stolen. A few shots were fired, but the whites rode scathless away, and
unpursued.

The line of march was now taken up for Sweetwater Bridge, and here, four
days later, the plainsmen brought up, with their own horses and about a
hundred Indian ponies.

This successful sadly repressed the hostilities for a space. The
recovered horses were put back on the road, and the stage-drivers and
express-riders resumed their interrupted activity.

"Billy," said Mr. Slade, who had taken a great fancy to Will--"Billy,
this is a hard life, and you're too young to stand it. You've done
good service, and in consideration of it I'll make you a supernumerary.
You'll have to ride only when it's absolutely necessary."

There followed for Will a period of _dolce far niente_; days when he
might lie on his back and watch the clouds drift across the sky; when
he might have an eye to the beauty of the woodland and the sweep of the
plain, without the nervous strain of studying every tree and knoll that
might conceal a lurking redskin. Winter closed in, and with it came the
memories of the trapping season of 1860-61, when he had laid low his
first and last bear. But there were other bears to be killed--the
mountains were full of them; and one bracing morning he turned his
horse's head toward the hills that lay down the Horseshoe Valley.
Antelope and deer fed in the valley, the sage-hen and the jack-rabbit
started up under his horse's hoofs, but such s