We were not disturbed during the night, and the next morning were off at daylight. The game still fed about us undisturbed. We crossed Plum Creek (Judith River) and discovered several pony tracks some days old. We concluded that the riders were Crows.
At length we got to the Medicine Springs between the Moccasin Mountains. The Crow village had been there, but had gone. We followed their trail until dark, and camped at the east end of the Judith Mountains. The next morning Jack went to the top of a high butte, called Black Butte, and swept the surrounding prairie with a powerful field-glass, but discovered no sign of village smokes. Now began the dangerous part of our trip. A comparatively open country lay before us. To follow the lodge-pole trail was dangerous, yet that was our only means of finding the Crow village. All Indian war parties are likely to follow the village trail of those they are after. Jack said that there were two more Blackfeet war parties out besides the one that had gone up Wolf Creek, but these parties we did not fear, because they were on foot. The result might be different if we came in contact with either Sioux, Cheyennes, or Arapahoes, who always go to war mounted, and in force. We could easily stand off eight or twelve Indians, but fifty or one hundred is a different matter. Nevertheless, we had to take the risk.
Before starting we put everything in prime order. If some persons had been present I think they would have believed that we were preparing for a desperate fight or a desperate retreat.
From our camp in the Judith Mountains the big bend of the Musselshell River and the Bull Mountains were fifty miles to the southeast. There we expected to find the Crow village, unless prevented by hostile war parties.
We travelled on at a five-mile gait, carefully watching the trail for fresh tracks, either of men or horses. If either should be discovered, we would have to act according to circumstances. In front of us and on either flank a few scattered buffalo and antelope were feeding quietly.
About 2 P. M. we reached Flat Willow Creek, just above where Box Elder Creek flows into it. Jack mounted his best horse and made a circle three-quarters of a mile in diameter, to see if he could discover any Indian signs. I went to the crest of a high ridge, and with my glasses thoroughly swept the surrounding country without seeing any sign of a village smoke, then returned to where I had left the horses. When Jack returned I could see by his look that he had discovered something that troubled him. When I asked him what he had found he pointed up the creek and said: “South of that butte are the pony tracks of a mounted party of twenty-five going toward the south end of the Bull Mountains.” If this party was hostile, it was the scouting party from some larger one, or it might be a scouting party of Crows. We had no means of knowing which. In any case, we had to do one thing first of all, and that was to let our animals refresh themselves. One of us kept a good lookout, while the other unsaddled one horse at a time, gave him a bath from the stream, dried, and resaddled him; repeating this until all the horses had had their bath. Such treatment refreshes a horse more than anything that you can do for him. All mountain men and many Indian tribes understand the secret.