The next afternoon I began to notice fresh horse tracks and the carcasses of recently killed buffaloes.

I knew that I was nearing an Indian camp.

It was not policy to ride boldly in among the Indians, as some of them might be inclined to shoot me first and discover later that I was a friend of Spotted Tail.

So I hid my horse in a low ravine and crawled up a hill, from whose summit I obtained a good view of the country.
When night fell, I rode into camp unobserved.

As I entered the camp I wrapped my blanket, Indian fashion, about my head, so that the redskins would not at once recognize me as a white man.