the three scouts only stayed for a day or two with the navahos after the rescue of red cloud. they were anxious to hurry back to kansas and find out how the campaign against the three rebel tribes was proceeding.

a toilsome but unadventurous journey brought them back at last to fort larned, where they were warmly welcomed by the commandant. he heard with great pleasure the results of cody’s mission—that there was no danger of the navahos giving trouble, but that, on the contrary, they would do all in their power to restrain the other tribes in the southwest from digging up the hatchet.

“have you done much fighting with the confederated tribes while we have been away?” asked buffalo bill.

“no,” replied the officer. “they have kept carefully out of our way. they retreated to the mountains, where our troops could not follow them. we have had a few small skirmishes, but they are still unconquered. they have been gathering strength lately, according to the reports brought in by my scouts, and i am expecting them soon to descend down into the plains again and assume the offensive.”

“will you be ready to meet them?” asked buffalo bill.

“yes, with the help of the troops at fort hays. the commandant there and i have arranged to move together against the redskins as soon as they give us a chance. between us, we ought to be able to account for any number of them.”

the commandant’s expectations were justified that very night.

a scout came riding in, with his horse all used up and himself on the point of exhaustion. he staggered into the commandant’s headquarters, where buffalo bill was dining as a guest, and sank limply into a chair.

buffalo bill saw at a glance that the man had been through a very rough experience. so it proved when, revived by a glass of wine, he told his story.

he had been scouting away up in the hills, and had witnessed the descent down into the plains of several large war parties of the three allied tribes. he had been detected by one party, and had been forced to flee for his life. after a long and hard chase, he managed to escape from his pursuers shortly before he came in sight of the fort.

the man was closely questioned as to the course the indians had taken, and he said the war parties were converging on a point by the bank of a river about midway between the two forts where they were going to establish their military camp.

“this news must be carried to fort hays at once,” said cody.

the commandant nodded.

“and i will take it as soon as my horse is saddled,” added the king of scouts.

the officer thanked him and gave him a letter to the commandant at fort hays, making arrangements for them to meet at a rendezvous and attack the indians.

it was a hard ride that cody had that night, but an hour after dawn he drew rein at fort hays and delivered his message. this done, he flung himself down on a sofa for a few hours’ sleep.

the border king awoke about six o’clock, and, going out of the commandant’s house into the courtyard of the fort, found that two hundred troopers were already saddling their horses to ride to make the junction with the fort larned contingent.

a well-equipped expedition was being got ready. pack mules carrying provisions, water, ammunition, and tents were awaiting to accompany the soldiers. their commander evidently expected a long and hard campaign.

as the men were having their breakfast, wild bill and nick wharton appeared on the scene; and the three scouts rode out with the column when it left the fort.

the march was kept up nearly all day, until late in the afternoon the rendezvous was reached.

strong parties of indians had been observed hovering around the flanks of the column during the morning; but they had not dared to attack, and the officer in command would not allow his men to break ranks in order to chase them.

arrived at the rendezvous, he gave orders to pitch the camp and await the arrival of the fort larned forces. as yet, they were nowhere to be seen.

the mules were unloaded, and soon rows of white tents were erected on the green prairie.

before any steps could be taken to fortify the encampment, the indian bands which had been observed during the morning appeared again.

they hovered round the camp at some distance, keeping well out of rifle shot, but presently they were strongly reënforced by other war parties, which had evidently been sent for.

toward the close of the afternoon the camp was ringed round by nearly two thousand redskins, who outnumbered the white soldiers by almost ten to one.

it looked as if uncle sam’s troopers would be doomed immediately an attack was made. however bravely they might fight, they must succumb at last to overwhelming numbers.

buffalo bill figured out the situation, and when the indians were gathering their forces together for an advance he decided it was high time to try the effect of a bluff.

he remembered that the indians had used the white flag at fort larned, and he decided that he would try it himself.

at the worst, he hoped to be able to hold them by talk for some time, and thus increase the chance of the troops from fort larned arriving before the fight was over.

he drew out his handkerchief, tied it to the barrel of his rifle, and rode toward the indians, waving his improvised flag of truce.

his action evidently surprised the indians, but in a few moments three or four of them, who seemed to be chiefs, rode out to meet him.

the commander of the soldiers and two or three of his officers spurred their horses after the border king, and were by his side before he met the indians.

“what in thunder are you up to, cody?” the commander asked.

“i am going to try to work a bluff on them,” the border king replied. “we would stand very little show if it came to a fight. i want to hold them off until the fort larned people show up, or else bluff them into not fighting at all.”

“how on earth are you going to do that?”

cody did not reply, for at that moment the indian chiefs came up to him, and he turned to salute them with his usual dignified courtesy.

one of the redskins was the same old crow chief who had spoken to him by the camp fire the night before, and had smoked the pipe of truce to give him his fair start.

“greeting to you, long hair!” the crow exclaimed. “our tomahawks are thirsting for the blood of white soldiers. why do you call upon us to delay the fight? do you wish to surrender? it is useless, for our braves are determined to take the scalps of all your men. the crows and the cheyennes and the sioux do not take prisoners.”

“listen to my words,” replied buffalo bill, speaking in his most impressive manner. “my tongue is not forked, and my words are the words of wisdom and mercy. i have no hatred in my heart against your tribes, and i wish to save you from absolute defeat and annihilation.

“if you attack the white soldiers, you will surely die. they are armed with rifles which cannot miss. you know how many of your braves lost their scalps in the fight at fort larned. many more will bite the dust now unless you go back to your tents in peace and bury the hatchet.

“what can you gain by fighting against the white man? you know that you are always beaten. i cannot count on my fingers the number of times i have seen your braves scattered and shot down by the white soldiers, as the clouds are driven before the wind.”

buffalo bill’s harangue, delivered in a stern and impressive tone of voice, seemed to shake the warlike resolution of the indian chiefs. they were all old warriors, and each one of them could remember previous occasions when he had fought against the white man and been hopelessly beaten.

“what are these new rifles that cannot miss?” asked the crow chief, after talking with his comrades aside. “give us a proof of their wonderful power, and perhaps we may believe your words.”

“here is one of them,” replied the border king, tapping his own weapon as he spoke.

“show me what it can do,” demanded the indian.

buffalo bill noticed that the indian had a bow and a quiver full of arrows slung on his back. a daring thought came to him.

it seemed impossible to execute, but he determined to try it. it was the only way he could think of to save uncle sam’s troopers from an attack by their overwhelming enemy.

“shoot an arrow into the air as far and as hard as you can,” he said, “and i will cut it in halves with a bullet as it falls backward and comes whizzing down to the ground. my rifle cannot miss, and you will find, if you attack our camp, that the rifles of the white soldiers cannot miss, either.”

the crow looked at him in amazement for a moment, and then took his bow from his shoulder, fitted an arrow to the string, and shot it into the air with all the force of which he was capable.

buffalo bill stood about ten paces off, with his remington to his shoulder. the arrow soared far into the air, and then, when the momentum was exhausted, came down swiftly, turning round and round with an erratic motion.

bang!

buffalo bill’s rifle cracked when the feathered missile was about ten feet from the ground.

the indian chieftain stooped and picked up the shattered shaft, with a cry of amazement.

“see,” he exclaimed, “the bullet has broken the arrow!”

the other indians gathered round, surprised out of their ordinary gravity and reserve. they handled the broken arrow as children would handle a new top, and looked at buffalo bill as if he were a magician.

they had never seen such shooting before, and they regarded it as something beyond the scope of merely human skill. there must be some witchcraft in it.

buffalo bill struck while the iron was hot.

he knew the indian character thoroughly, and he immediately began another harangue about the terrible results that would ensue to their tribes unless they immediately consented to bury the hatchet and return to their villages and live in peace.

while the indians were hanging in the wind, anxious to do as he counseled, and yet unwilling to abandon their blood lust, they saw a column of dust approaching across the prairie.

they watched it silently for a few moments, and then saw that it was a column of cavalry coming up at full gallop.

the men from fort larned had arrived at last to reënforce their outnumbered comrades.

this sight decided the redskins. turning toward buffalo bill, the crow chief threw his tomahawk to the ground, and said:

“let it be buried, my brother! we will return to our villages, and dwell in peace with the white man. bad eye, who stirred up all this trouble, is dead; and there is nothing to be gained by keeping on the warpath. there will be wailing in our villages for the braves whose scalps have already fallen. we will bury the hatchet before worse befalls.”

thus ended the war of the confederacy of the three tribes, which might have led to widespread massacre and suffering had it not been for the border king’s ready wit and marvelous skill with the rifle.

there was a joyous party at the bivouac that night. the troopers, while somewhat disappointed at the thought that the fighting was over, were satisfied with the complete victory that had been won.

they had seen the backs of their late enemies, who, before retreating to their villages, delivered over two chiefs from each tribe as hostages.

these prisoners were to be returned after all the details of peace had been arranged by the officials of the government.

the lion’s share of the credit was given by all to buffalo bill for the suppression of the rebellion, and his fame stood even higher in kansas and all along the frontier than it had ever done before.