Twenty miles out from Sweetwater Bridge, at the head of Horse Creek, we
found an Indian trail running north toward Powder River. We could see
that the horses had been recently shod, conclusive proof that they were
our stolen stock. We pushed on as fast as we could along the trail to
the Powder, thence down this stream to within forty miles of where old
Fort Reno now stands. Farther on, at Crazy Woman's Fork, we saw
evidence that another party had joined our quarry. The trail was newly
made. The Indians could be hardly more than twenty-four hours ahead of
us. And plainly there was a lot of them.

When we reached Clear Creek, another tributary of the Powder, we saw
horses grazing on the opposite bank. Horses meant Indians. Never before
had the redskins been followed so far into their own country. Not
dreaming that they would be pursued they had failed to put out scouts.

We quickly got the "lay" of their camp, and held a council to decide on
how to attack them. We knew that they outnumbered us three to
one--perhaps more. Without strategy, all we would get for our long
chase would be the loss of our scalps.

"Wild Bill," who did not know the meaning of fear, made our plan for
us. We were to wait till nightfall, and then, after creeping up as
close as possible on the camp, make a grand ride right through it, open
a general fire upon them, and stampede their horses.

It was a plan that called for nerve, but we were full of spirit, and
the more danger there was in an enterprise the more we relished it. At
our captain's signal we rushed pell-mell through their camp. Had we
dropped from the clouds the Indians could not have been more