CLOSE QUARTERS.
“It looks as though I was going to win my bet, Cody,” said Kent King,
with a sneer.
“You have got the stakes, anyhow, by murdering this poor girl, and, of
course, I need expect no mercy,” was the cool reply.
“Murdered Kate! What do you mean?” and the man’s face turned white.
“I had a suspicion that you were not what you represented yourself, and
when Mrs. Dooley, who had dressed poor Kate for the grave, told me that
her hair had been dyed yellow, I determined to ferret out the mystery,
and I have done so.”
“You have run yourself into a death trap, and whether I killed Kate or
not, you will never be called as a witness in the case.”
“I’m not dead yet, old man.”
“No, but you will be within the minute; for I intend to kill you,” was
the deliberate reply.
Then Kent King’s revolver covered Buffalo Bill’s heart, while he
continued:
“I want you to die with the pleasant thought that I am going West to
marry Mary Hale----”
“I doubt it.”
“Well, as you will not live to see if I do, you must take my word for
it. After I have got possession of her fortune, for she has one the
judge knows nothing about, she, too, will die of the same disease that
killed Kate Colvin--namely, poison!”
“Devil! If you don’t kill me, and I ever have you in my power I will
carry you to old Rain-in-the-face and have his warriors torture you to
death.”
Then, with a cry more like an enraged beast than a human being, and
reckless of consequences, Buffalo Bill sprang from the grave toward his
foe. The flash and report of Kent King’s revolver followed; but, taken
so thoroughly by surprise, he missed his aim.
A second shot, as he ran backward, struck Buffalo Bill in the arm and
turned him half around. Maddened now, it did not check the scout. The
third, fourth, and fifth chambers of the weapon missed fire. A yell
of triumph broke from Buffalo Bill as he still pressed his enemy, who
steadily retreated before him.
But the yell was answered by a score of war whoops, and through the
timber came dashing a number of painted savages. Buffalo Bill saw that
it would be madness to press his attack on Kent King, unarmed as he
was. Turning quickly, he sprang across the open grave, and, seizing his
weapons, started in flight, at the same time calling for Midnight, whom
he had left in a thicket near by.
An answering neigh was heard, and the noble horse came at a run, the
reins and stirrups flapping wildly. Kent King, who had not fled at
sight of the redskins, called out:
“There’s your game, men! A thousand dollars for his scalp.”
With wild yells they started in pursuit; but the scout had already
reached his horse, was in the saddle, and had unslung his rifle from
the horn and brought it to his shoulder.
A shot, and down went a pursuer. A volley was sent after him, but flew
harmlessly by, and like the wind Midnight sped away, for he knew well
that his master depended wholly on him for his life.
“They are bandits of the trail, disguised as Indians, and Kent King is
their chief!”