CAPTURING THE SENTINEL.
As has been stated, Buffalo Bill picked up the trail of the Branded
Brotherhood, and followed hard after the human bloodhounds, who had
carried Rose Carter and her father into captivity.
The scout was mounted on his splendid horse Midnight, an animal so well
trained and obedient that it seemed to have almost human intelligence.
Buffalo Bill was sure that the infamous desperado, Ricardo, was the
leader of the men who had committed the outrage.
Though he pressed on rapidly, night was at hand when he approached the
hills, wherein he was sure the Branded Brotherhood had their secret
hiding place.
Fearing discovery if he rode into the hills before nightfall, he took
shelter in a great wash in the prairie, into which he and his horse
descended with some difficulty, and there he remained until darkness
fell.
Leaving this concealment after dark, he rode straight for the hills. He
did not need to look for the outlaw trail; for, with his field glass,
just before sunset, he had discovered the gap where it entered the
rougher country.
He expected to find a sentinel posted in the pass. So, when, after
muffling the hoofs of Midnight, he had advanced as near as he deemed
prudent, he left the horse and crept forward on foot.
“Ah,” he said, as, after stealing forward some distance, he lay in the
shadow of a rock, listening and watching, “the sentinel is there, just
as I expected! That shows another thing, too: the lair of these prairie
wolves isn’t so very far from here.”
The sentinel seemed but a shadow himself, as he stood in that shadow.
Only a trained eye could have detected his presence, or would have
thought him other than a part of the rocky wall against which he stood.
But to the keen vision of the scout he was as distinct as the great
rock itself.
For a full minute after locating the man Buffalo Bill lay still,
thinking how best to approach or circumvent him.
Then, with knife in his teeth, and the lariat, which he had taken from
the saddle, in his hands, and held ready for use, he slipped on, silent
as a weasel stealing on its prey.
It was necessary to silence that sentinel. Otherwise an alarm would
be given, which would arouse the outlaws and keep Buffalo Bill from
carrying out the plans that he had half formed.
The unsuspecting sentinel seemed to be looking straight at the scout;
but his attitude of careless ease and security showed that he did not
dream that a foe was within miles of him. In truth, so perilous was the
task of approaching the outlaw stronghold that even Ricardo himself did
not believe any pursuit would be made. He would have laughed at the
thought of one man making that pursuit, as Buffalo Bill had done.
Besides, Ricardo had been at some pains to hide his trail on the
prairie, and was sure that it could not be picked up easily. The
posting of the sentinel was, therefore, but a matter of camp routine.
So slowly that he seemed scarcely to move, and so quietly that he made
no more noise than the falling of a leaf, the scout drew inch by inch
nearer to the man he had marked for his prey.
And the sentinel, wrapped in a sense of security, thought danger so far
away and his position such a sinecure that he began to roll a cigarette.
Buffalo Bill was but fifteen feet away when the sentinel struck a match.
In doing this, the sentinel turned to the wall behind him, and, as he
puffed at the cigarette, he held one hand up to keep the match from
being blown out.
At that moment Buffalo Bill rose silently to his feet. The lariat was
given one quick swing, and the noose shot for the stooped head of the
sentinel.
The match went out, as if it had been struck from his hand, as the
noose fell over his head and was pulled tight by a quick jerk.
Then the sentinel was thrown from his feet, and the cry that arose to
his lips was stifled.
He fell gurgling and scrambling, and the next moment Buffalo Bill was
bending over him.
Some stout cords were in the scout’s hand. One of these he twisted into
the man’s mouth as a gag, where he tightened it; then he slipped other
cords over the man’s waving arms and swaying legs.
It was all over in less than half a minute, and the sentinel was a
helpless prisoner.
“I could have killed you just as easily,” the scout whispered into the
ear of the terrified man, “but I do not raise my hand against the life
of any man without cause, or when I can avoid it. Now, I’ll see that
you are put where you can do me no harm.”
Having tied him securely, Buffalo Bill lifted the helpless man in
his strong arms and carried him down the slope. Here, finding a side
passage--a small cañon, as it seemed--he bore the man into it for some
distance.
“I’ll see that you are not left here to die of starvation, old fellow,”
he promised, as he prepared to leave the man there. “I owe you
something, you know! You were doing your work so poorly that really I
had no trouble at all in crawling up on you.”
Going back to the point where the sentinel had stood, the scout took
possession of the man’s weapons, which he concealed.
“Now, to see what is on before me!”
Then a thought came to him, which took him back to the prisoner.
“See here,” he said, “I want some information, and you’re just the chap
to give it to me.”
He pressed his revolver against the man’s head. The touch of the cold
steel made the rascal tremble.
“I’m going to take the gag out of your mouth, so that you can talk to
me,” the scout informed him. “But I want to tell you that if you call
to your friends or make any disturbance whatever, I shall shoot you as
if you were a wolf. Do you understand that?”
The way the man trembled showed that he understood well enough.
He was still trembling when Buffalo Bill removed the gag. Again the
scout pressed the revolver muzzle to the temple of the terrified
sentinel.
“Don’t!” the man whined.
“Do you know who I am?”
“You must be ther devil, I guess!”
“Call me that, then. It makes no difference to you who I am. I have you
in my power, and I shall shoot you if you try to call any of your pals.
Now, answer my questions!”
“Put down that gun!” the fellow begged. “It might go off--yer finger
might slip on the trigger, er----”
Buffalo Bill did not put down the gun.
“You’re a member of the Branded Brotherhood?”
“Yes.”
“And Ricardo is your captain?”
The fellow shivered again.
“Yes,” he answered reluctantly; “but I’ll be killed fer tellin’.”
“You’ll be killed, if you don’t tell. Now, where is your camp? No
lying; for if you deceive me in anything, I shall come back here and
shoot you for it.”
“Camp’s back in ther hills,” answered the subdued ruffian.
“Just where?”
“’Bout a half a mile back.”
“The way to get there?”
“Straight up this gulch a quarter of a mile; then take the side gorge;
ye can’t miss it.”
“What sort of a place is it?”
“A lot of log houses. Chief’s is the biggest, and the fust one ye come
to.”
“And where are the prisoners kept? That’s what I’m after--those
prisoners.”
“Ain’t but one here.”
“Which one?”
“Ther gal.”
“Where is she held?”
“In a room of Ricardo’s cabin.”
“And the man--her father; he was the other prisoner, wasn’t he?”
“He’s held in another cabin, out in ther hills.”
Question after question the scout thus put to the trembling wretch,
until he had pumped him dry of information.
“Thank you,” said Buffalo Bill, at last. “I’m glad I fell in with you.”
“Can’t say thet I recipercates,” the fellow grumbled.
“No, perhaps not. Now, I’m going to leave you again, but I’ll call and
see you later.”
“Say, boss,” the man called, as Buffalo Bill was about to apply the gag
again, “who aire ye, anyhow? You’re a good un; and you’re fair, fer an
enemy. If I was on your side, I’d tie to ye.”
“Likely you’ll know who I am later,” was the answer, as the scout stole
away.
Buffalo Bill now pushed on up the gulch, finding no further
obstruction. Without mishap he made his way along the side gorge, until
he came at length in sight of the cabins, several of which were lighted
by fires that leaped and flamed in the wide-throated fireplaces, for
the nights up there in the hills were cool and fires were needed.