So the gold, in bright, glittering particles, from the size of a pinhead to an acorn, and nuggets as large as a hen’s egg, were packed more closely and hidden in a crevice in the cliff overhanging the cañon.
The march was not resumed that day, for Buffalo Bill wished to see whether the Indians did follow, and, if so, that was a splendid place for a stand, if as “black spirits” the scouts could not frighten them off, and had consequently a fight on their hands.
The next morning, as not an Indian had been seen, the party took up the march.
Don Miller expressed himself as feeling much better, and said that he would be all right soon.
On his account it was slow traveling, but Buffalo Bill felt that he owed his life to the gold-boomer captain, and could not do too much for him, and the men had the same feeling toward him for what he had done for their chief.
Thus another day passed, and Buffalo Bill knew that they had got well up toward the Big Horn Mountains, and if the people of the valley lived they could not be so very far from where the camp then was.
Still another day and another went by, and each night brought the scouts farther and farther into a most beautiful country, yet one that thus far had been most fatal to all palefaces venturing there, lured to risk life and untold hardships and suffering in search of the yellow dross that buys men so readily, body and soul.
Buffalo Bill once owed his life to Don Miller when he was a scout, and liked the man; but he had given up scouting, and had gone to lawless gold hunting in the Big Horn, and the report had come that his whole party had been massacred; but Cody was only glad that his friend had escaped.
Noon the next day brought them to a perfect garden spot in the Big Horn Mountains. The springs were as clear as crystal and as cold as ice, the trees grand, and the little valleys most inviting for a camp.
Black Bill boldly asserted that the Indians would never come there, that they believed these mountains the abode of the evil spirits.
Buffalo Bill knew, in spite of Miller’s protestations and nerve, that Don was not yet well, but good food, rest, and bathing in these springs would help him; so he decided to go regularly into camp there.