THE GAME OF “FREEZE OUT.”
On the plains of northwest Texas, in an early day, the dugout was
a popular institution. No wind could shake such a house, and no
earthquake could topple it over. In most structures, a man begins at
the bottom and builds to the top, but in a dwelling like that under
consideration a man begins at the top and works downward.
The usual underground house measured about fifteen by twenty feet,
and was from seven to ten feet in height. Some three feet from the
floor the walls were abruptly widened out, thus giving a shelf in
the earthen wall. This shelf extended around the whole room, and was
three feet in width--or more or less according to the fancy of the
owner.
The shelf took the place of chairs, of dining table and of bunks. A
few three-legged stools might be added, if the one who occupied the
underground house had the wood and the time necessary to make them.
A fireplace was usually cut in the solid dirt wall and, with an
ordinary posthole augur, a chimney was bored down to it. A joint
of stovepipe, extending upward from the top of the hole, gave the
fireplace a chance to breathe.
The construction of the roof was as simple as that of the rest of the
house.
A log was laid lengthwise across the top of the dugout, in the
direction of its greatest length. This was the ridgepole. Smaller
logs were then placed with one end on this and the other on the
ground. Poles covered the rafters, hay covered the poles, and a layer
of earth covered the hay. A door was contrived in the slant of roof
from the ridgepole. Stairs communicating with the door were sometimes
cut in the solid earth, and sometimes--as in the case of Red Steve’s
dugout--the only stairway was a stepladder.
In a cattle country, where cowboys go galloping recklessly over the
range, or where longhorns occasionally stampede, it stands the dugout
dweller in hand to make his roof exceptionally strong. Either Red
Steve had failed to make his roof of the proper strength, or else age
had weakened it.
This was not the scout’s first visit to such a house, but it was the
first time he had ever dropped bodily into a dugout and into the
curious tangle he had found in this one.
A tin lamp stood on the earthen shelf. Red Steve, covered by the
scout’s revolver, moved sullenly to the shelf at the end of the
dugout. There, somewhat in the shadow, lay the form of a cowboy. The
scout could not see much of him, but he knew very well that he would
see more of him later.
“Two!” called Buffalo Bill. “That’s your cue to begin the untying,
Red Steve.”
“This ain’t goin’ ter be the end of this,” snarled the red-haired
Texan. “Ye ain’t got no bizness buttin’ in on me an’ makin’ me let
this feller go. Some big men over on the Brazos’ll call ye ter time
fer it.”
“I’ll foot any bill the big men over on the Brazos present,” returned
the scout. “Meanwhile, you heard what I said a minute ago, Red Steve.
Carry out your orders and there’ll be no trouble.”
“But ye don’t understand! This here galoot is a villain from the
spurs up, so----”
“I can’t see much of him, but if he’s more of a villain than you’ve
shown yourself to be, I’ll be more surprised than I was when I
dropped through your roof. I said ‘two’ all of a minute ago,” the
scout finished significantly.
Swearing under his breath, Red Steve went roughly to work at the
ropes on the prisoner’s hands.
“He’s trying to tear my arms off, I reckon,” growled Nate Dunbar.
Bang!
Steve’s weapon spoke hoarsely from the scout’s hand. A bullet
“plunked” into the earth wall over the shelf, fanning close to
Steve’s face.
“I haven’t counted ‘three,’ yet,” said the scout, “so that’s only a
warning. Be a little more careful, Steve.”
The red-haired man, by that time, was firmly convinced that his
unwelcome visitor had not been talking for effect. In a few moments
he had removed the ropes. Dunbar got off the shelf and stamped
his feet and thrashed his arms to get his blood back into normal
circulation.
As he came out farther into the lamplight, Buffalo Bill saw that he
was an athletic young fellow, of about twenty-one or two. He wore the
high-heeled boots of a cowboy, “chaps” were buckled about his waist,
and a blue flannel shirt covered his broad shoulders. His face was
frank and pleasing, not to say handsome.
“You don’t know much about me, pardner,” he remarked to Buffalo Bill,
“but I can show a clean record.”
“I’ll gamble on that, amigo,” said the scout. “Just from the looks of
you, Dunbar, I’m positive I haven’t made any mistake. How did you
happen to fall into Red Steve’s clutches?”
“It was a put-up job,” was the answer. “Steve’s working for the
cattlemen over on the Brazos, and they were paying him to keep me
here until they figured out what to do with me.”
“Are you a rancher?”
“I’m a cattleman, and I’ve an interest in Dick Perry’s bunch of
steers.”
“Who’s Dick Perry?”
“He’s the man the other cattlemen are trying to freeze out.”
A scowl came over Dunbar’s face and his eye flashed ominously.
“Why are the cattle barons trying to freeze him out?” asked the
scout, conscious of a deep interest in the young cowboy and his
fortunes.
“It’s all on account of Hattie.”
“Hattie?”
“Yes, Hattie Perry, Dick’s girl.”
“Ah! We’re running into romance, I reckon.”
The scowl faded from Dunbar’s face and a flush ran through his
bronzed cheeks.
“You’ve been a friend of mine, stranger,” said he, “and I don’t mind
throwing the proposition wide open for you. Lige Benner has wanted to
marry Hattie for some time, and he asked her and got turned down. But
that didn’t phase him, and he went to Dick with his proposition and
got turned down again. Benner has acted like more kind of a wolf in
this business than I know how to tell. When Perry turned on him, and
told him where he was to get off, he swore that he’d make Perry so
much trouble that Perry would give up Hattie just to be able to live
in peace.
“Right then and there, Benner started in to make trouble. Perry’s
steers were run off in bunches, some of the ranch buildings were
burned, and cowboys from up and down the Brazos came pestering
around, doing all sorts of sneaking and underhand things. Every
now and then, Benner has some skulking puncher nail a note to the
ranch-house door telling Perry that he knows what to do when he’s got
enough.”
The scout muttered an angry exclamation.
“That’s a fine state of affairs,” said he. “I shouldn’t think the
other cattlemen would stand for such rascally work.”
“Nor I, either; but they do. The rest of the barons are friends of
Benner’s, and they’re backing him to a man. Perry’s a late comer on
the range, and the cattlemen would like to run him out. I reckon
that’s the reason they’re standing by Benner like they are.”
“But what has Benner got against you, Dunbar, that he should have you
roped and given into the custody of Red Steve?”
“Well, stranger,” answered Nate Dunbar, with some embarrassment,
“Hattie has promised to marry me, and that’s reason enough for Benner
taking the sort of stand against me that he does.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the scout, “so that’s how the wind blows, is it? This
free country of ours has dropped into a fine state of lawlessness if
a young lady can’t choose her own husband without turning loose the
dogs of war. What does Dick Perry think about you, Nate?”
“He’s on my side. Didn’t I tell you I had an interest in his ranch?
We’re friends, Dick and I are. Benner’s rich, but that doesn’t make
any difference with Hattie. She’s true blue, and all for me no matter
what happens. But I sure hate to have all this trouble come upon her
and her father.”
The scout, still keeping the business end of the revolver
unswervingly upon Red Steve, debated the situation in his mind.
“How did Benner manage to get hold of you, Nate?” he inquired.
“I was out looking for strayed or stolen cattle,” said Dunbar, “when
half a dozen of Benner’s men jumped me. It was in a dry wash, and
the whelps rolled down on me so quick I couldn’t do a thing. It was
yesterday this happened, and I was lugged to this dugout and left in
the hands of Red Steve.”
“As scoundrelly a game as was ever played,” declared the scout, “and
it doesn’t speak very well for the cattlemen in these parts.”
“These are flush days on this part of the range,” went on Dunbar;
“anything with horns, hoofs and hide comes pretty near being worth
its weight in gold. All the barons on the Brazos are rich, and Perry
would be worth quite a pile if the rest of the ranchers would only
let him and his stock alone. It ought to be stopped. By thunder, it’s
a disgrace the way Perry is being treated.”
“You’re right,” said the scout, “this hectoring ought to be stopped.
I’ve a notion to bear a hand and help you and Perry put an end to the
lawless situation.”
A scornful laugh broke from Red Steve’s lips.
“You fellers ’u’d play hob puttin’ a kink in this game o’ the cattle
barons,” he taunted. “The’s half a dozen of ’em an’ two or three
hunnerd cowboys. Oh, yes, ye’ll play hob stoppin’ ’em!”
A look of fierce helplessness crossed Nate Dunbar’s face.
“If we can’t stop the lawless work,” he cried desperately, “there are
still bushes at the trailside where a man can lurk and pick off some
of the demons who’re causing this trouble.”
“That’s not the talk for a brave young chap like you to put up,
Dunbar,” said the scout sternly. “We’ll see what we can do to end
this rough situation by more honorable methods.”
“Who are you?” demanded Dunbar, facing the scout squarely.
“Buffalo Bill is what I’m usually called,” was the reply.
The words caused a sensation. Dunbar jumped, and stared; Red Steve
also jumped, but in the direction of the ladder.
“Catch that man!” called the scout. “I’ve got a horse outside, and I
don’t want him to get away with it.”
Dunbar caught Red Steve and jerked him roughly from the ladder. The
spirit seemed to have been all taken out of Steve. His greatest
desire now, it seemed, was to keep as great a distance between him
and the scout as he could. Pushing against the earthen shelf on the
farther side of the room, he watched the scout with weasel-like eyes.
“Where were you going in such a hurry, Red Steve?” demanded the scout.
“I don’t want no truck with you, that’s all,” answered the red-haired
Texan. “I don’t want nothin’ ter do with ye, an’ that’s flat.”
“Then you were merely trying to cut loose from my society?”
“I wanted ter git out, an’ I want ter git out now. Why the blazes
didn’t ye say ye was Buffler Bill afore? If ye had, I’d ’a’ got out a
heap quicker. D’you hold any spite fer me drorin’ the gun on ye?”
“Not a particle, Red Steve,” laughed the scout. “You were trying to
run away from here and strike a bee line for the Brazos. You were
planning to tell the cattle barons that Buffalo Bill had shown up in
this section and was going to help Nate Dunbar and Dick Perry regain
their rancher’s rights.”
“How--how’d you know that?”
“I’m a good hand at guessing. I’ve no objection to your carrying
that message, Red Steve, but I’ve a horse somewhere outside, and I
didn’t want you to run off with him. As soon as Dunbar and I leave
the dugout, you’ll be free to hike for the Brazos. Tell Benner and
the rest of the cattle barons that Buffalo Bill, as usual, is taking
the part of the under dog, that he’s going to extend a helping hand
to Nate Dunbar and the Perrys, and that he and his pards will stay
in this section long enough to make peace on the Brazos and to shake
a foot at the wedding of Nate Dunbar and Miss Perry. All this you’re
to tell Benner, Steve, and make it plain to him that it comes from me
straight. I didn’t come loping in here to stir up trouble, but now
that I’ve found it stirred up, I’m going to put a shoulder to the
wheel and settle it.”
The scout turned to Dunbar.
“Have you any property in this hangout, Nate?” he asked.
“That gun you took away from Red Steve belongs to me, Buffalo
Bill,” was the reply. “That’s about all I brought with me except my
clothes.”
“What became of your horse?”
“That was left with Red Steve’s in a swale to the south of the
hangout.”
“Then, amigo, here’s your gun, and we’ll be going.”
The scout motioned Dunbar toward the ladder. The cowboy started up.
“Don’t forget what I told you to tell Benner, Steve,” cautioned the
scout as he followed Dunbar. “If this outfit of cattle barons gets in
my way, we’re liable to juggle the hatchet somewhat before we bury
it.”
As the scout stepped through the slanting door in the roof, a husky
laugh floated upward from Red Steve.
“What do you suppose that means?” asked Buffalo Bill of Dunbar.
“Why,” was the answer, “you had Steve going, down there, an’ I reckon
he feels good to see the last of you.”
“You’re wide of the mark, Nate. That scoundrel knows something that
he thinks will give our work the double cross. But,” the scout added
grimly, “that’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get to it.”
Pointing to a jagged break in the roof of the dugout, he went on:
“That’s where Bear Paw broke through with his hind hoofs, rolled me
out of the saddle and dropped me below. I hope the horse wasn’t hurt.”
He whistled sharply. The shrill signal was answered by a loud neigh
and a thump of approaching hoofs. Another moment and the gallant
black was rubbing his nose against the scout’s shoulder.
“I suppose, old sport,” laughed the scout, slapping Bear Paw’s neck,
“that you hadn’t a notion what had become of me. That’s the queerest
adventure we’ve had in some sort of a while, eh? How did you come
through it, boy?”
As well as he could the scout examined the horse. An exclamation of
relief escaped his lips.
“His shins are skinned a little,” he announced to Dunbar, “but he
came through that affair a heap better than I had dared to hope. Get
your horse, Nate,” he added, vaulting into the saddle, “and we’ll be
touching the high places.”
Dunbar started south and vanished into a shallow swale. The scout
rode after him.
“The horses are here, all right,” called Nate, “but I can’t locate
the riding gear.”
“Wasn’t it taken to the dugout?” returned the scout.
“I didn’t see it in there, but--Ah,” he broke off abruptly, “here it
is. I just stumbled over it.”
He saddled and bridled in record time, swung a leg over his bronk and
rode to the scout’s side.
“Where now, Buffalo Bill?” he asked.
“Take me to Perry’s ranch, Nate,” said Buffalo Bill.
Impulsively Nate Dunbar reached out his hand and gave the scout’s a
grateful grip.
“Let me rise to remark,” observed Nate, with a touch of sincere
feeling, “that you’re a whole man. I’m playing in big luck to-night.
There was about one chance in a thousand that you’d break a hole in
that roof--but it’s the one chance that came my way. Dick Perry and
Hattie are about discouraged with all their troubles, but they’ll
take a fresh lease of hope when they learn that you’re on our side.”
With that, Dunbar pointed the way and set the pace.
“I don’t mind saying, Dunbar,” said the scout, “that I’ve taken a
fancy to you. It’s been quite a while since I got tangled up in a
romance, and I’d find a good deal of fault with myself if I didn’t
see this one through to a happy finish.”
“You’re white,” muttered the cowboy, “plumb white. I thought you had
a lot of pards in your outfit?”
“They’re at Hackamore, waiting for me.”
“How many?”
“Four of them--but they’re four of the sort that can’t be picked up
any day in the week. There’s Wild Bill Hickok, of Laramie, a man who
doesn’t know what fear means, and who can lick his weight in wild
cats. Then there’s my old trapper pard, Nick Nomad, who’s a diamond
in the rough, and has gone through more tight corners with me than
I can count. Next there’s the baron, who talks and fights with a
Teutonic accent, but steps as high, wide and handsome as any of the
rest.
“Last, but not least, I’ll mention Little Cayuse, the Piute boy,
who’s a host in himself. These, Dunbar, comprise the force I can
bring against the cattle barons. The barons will outnumber us, but
our work will be to win by tact rather than by force; to compass our
ends by diplomacy, and by the strong support of the law, which is at
our back.”
“What do you consider the first move in this--er--campaign of tact
and diplomacy?” queried Dunbar.
He was none too sanguine, and showed it.
“Inasmuch as Hattie Perry is the indirect cause of Perry’s troubles,
we must eliminate her from the proposition.”
Dunbar turned in his saddle.
“Eliminate her?” he gasped.
The scout laughed.
“Exactly,” he declared. “Within a few days--or hours, if we can
arrange it so--there will be no Hattie Perry.”
“I’m over my head,” muttered Dunbar. “How are you going about it?”
“A sky pilot will be the key to the situation. Just as soon as
possible, my lad, he will make you and Miss Perry one. The girl will
cease to be Miss Perry, and will become Mrs. Dunbar. Lige Benner will
be foiled. Simple, don’t you think?”
“Well, blazes!” murmured Dunbar, but with a flutter of happiness in
his voice. “That’s sure the correct way to go at it, and yet I’m
blamed if I ever thought of such a move.”
“I should think it would have occurred to you the first thing.
Where’s the nearest sky pilot?”
“His headquarters are in Henrietta, but he rides circuit over a good
part of this Brazos range. He was due in Hackamore yesterday.”
“How long does he stay there?”
“Why, long enough to round up the boys and tell ’em what to do to
travel the straight and narrow trail. He’s a man, that sky pilot is,
and a good friend of Perry’s and mine. His name’s Jordan.”
“Well, as soon as we get to the ranch we’ll lay the proposition
before Perry and Hattie; then we’ll all ride over to Hackamore, and
you and the girl will take the momentous step. I’ve a notion that
that will settle everything and bring peace and happiness on the
Brazos.”
For an hour the scout and the cowboy rode briskly through the
moonlight. At the end of that time they reached the bank of the
Brazos, and drew up at the door of a comfortable log cabin.
Silence reigned around the ranch house. No glimmer of light showed
through its small windows, and there was no sign of life in the
vicinity.
“I don’t savvy this layout,” muttered Dunbar forebodingly.
“Why,” returned the scout, “it’s late. Perry and the rest have gone
to bed.”
Dunbar tumbled out of the saddle and threw open the door. The scout,
still sitting on his horse, heard the cowboy moving around in the
cabin and stumbling over chairs and other pieces of furniture.
Presently a glow of light came through the open door. Looking into
the big room, the scout saw chairs overturned and the whole interior
in disorder.
The cowboy ran to the door.
“Something’s happened here, Buffalo Bill!” he cried excitedly.
“There’s been a fight of some kind in the house, and Perry and Hattie
have disappeared. Fiend take the scoundrels! Benner and the barons
are back of this!”
Buffalo Bill dismounted hurriedly and ran into the cabin. He saw at a
glance that the place had been the scene of recent violence and that
some rascally work had been carried out.
“Put up the horses, my lad,” said he calmly to Dunbar, “and then come
in and we’ll do some figuring. Keep your nerve, Nate. If you go to
pieces, you won’t be able to give me the help I need.”
While the cowboy was taking care of the horses, Buffalo Bill surveyed
the interior of the cabin. The fine softening touch of a woman’s hand
was everywhere visible. Over a table hung a book rack with a little
treasury of well-worn volumes.
A lamp stood on the table, and on the side of the table nearest the
lamp a rocking-chair was overturned. An open book lay on the floor.
The scout picked up the book, and found that it was a copy of “Paul
and Virginia.” He laid the book on the floor where he had found it.
There were yarn mottoes on the walls, framed in pine cones: “God
Bless Our Home,” “Haste Makes Waste,” and “The Lord Loveth a Cheerful
Giver.”
Something in those trite and homely sentiments touched the scout’s
heart. The books and mottoes bespoke character--character that seemed
out of place in that rough country--character that should not have
been entangled in such a web of treachery and violence as had been
thrown about the Perrys.
The scout opened one of two doors that were in the rear of the
room, and carried the lamp into the kitchen. Here everything was in
apple-pie order. Dishes were neatly arranged in a crude box cupboard,
and the floor was as clean as a hickory-splint broom could make it.
He tried the kitchen door, and found it locked.
Returning to the living room, he found Nate Dunbar standing in the
middle of it and looking around dejectedly.
“They’ve been run off,” he declared hopelessly; “that’s what’s
happened! If any harm comes to Hattie,” and here his voice fell husky
and murderous, “I’ll camp on Lige Benner’s trail--_and I’ll get him_.”
“Don’t try to take the law into your own hands, Nate,” said the
scout. “We’ll dig up all the information we can here, and then we’ll
lay our plans. Who does most of the reading in this cabin?”
“Hattie. Those books are all hers.” Dunbar waved a trembling hand
toward the shelf over the table.
The scout picked up an overturned chair, and seated himself.
“Miss Perry was here, sitting in the rocking-chair by the lamp and
reading,” said he. “Some one came here and took her and her father
away by force. It hardly seems to me as though these cattle barons,
lawless though they are, would have dared to go to such extremes.
They may be back of what has happened, but some of their hirelings
did the work.”
Dunbar reeled against the wall, and caught his head in his hands.
“Tact and diplomacy!” he bitterly exclaimed. “How can you use weapons
like those against such a pack of scoundrels? Cold steel is what they
need! By Heaven, it’s only a two hours’ gallop to Benner’s! I’ll go
there and make him answer for this!”
The cowboy jumped from the wall, and started for the door.
“Dunbar!”
There was a compelling note in the scout’s voice. The cowboy halted,
and turned his haggard face.
“Sit down!” ordered the scout. “If I and my pards are to help you, I
want you to keep a cool head, and not go off on any fool tangent. You
can be of assistance to me--but only by showing a different spirit.”
“Buffalo Bill,” cried Dunbar, “if you had seen the Perrys tramped on
and mistreated as I have, you’d be murder mad just as I am over this
last outrage.”
“Two wrongs never made a right, Nate.”
“Right! Who talks of right on the Brazos? These barons are jumping on
right and justice rough shod, and what they need is a taste of their
own medicine.”
“They’ll get it, Nate, but they’ll get it in my way. There’ll be
no parlor tactics, and when we hit it will be straight from the
shoulder. But this talk of cold steel begs the whole question. Sit
down and be sensible.”
Dunbar, with an effort, got the whip hand of himself.
“Isn’t there any one living in the cabin but Perry and his daughter?”
went on the scout.
“No. I’ve been putting up here along with Dick and Hattie.”
“Where are the cowboys?”
“All gone--but me. They were scared off by the barons--scared off or
bought off, I don’t know which. When I failed to get back yesterday,
maybe Dick and Hattie thought I’d been bought off, too.”
“No, they didn’t. I’ve only known you for a few hours, Dunbar, but
even that short acquaintance has convinced me that you’ve no yellow
streak in your make-up. Perry and his daughter have known you a
good deal longer than I have, and they’d never think you had turned
traitor to their interests. How many cattle have you and Perry?”
“Perry came in here with a thousand head, but there’s no telling how
many of our brand we could round up now. The herd has been rustled
right and left.”
The scout was thoughtful for a few moments.
“What sort of a man is Perry?” he asked finally.
“The clear quill and as straight as a die.”
“Fighter?”
“As game a fighter as you can find. If he hadn’t been he’d have left
the Brazos a month ago. But he’s too honest, too finely strung to
handle a gang like the cattle barons, even if he had a large enough
force behind him. Perry is an educated man, Buffalo Bill.”
“So I imagined. He hasn’t made the other cattlemen think that he’s
better than they are, has he?”
“Not on your life! That ain’t Perry’s style. He’d be neighborly, if
they’d let him.”
“I don’t believe,” said the scout, “that Perry was here when his
daughter was taken away. There’d have been shooting, wouldn’t there?”
“Right off the reel,” answered Dunbar promptly. “Perry would have
gone any length to defend himself.”
“There are no signs to indicate that revolvers were used. I suppose
Perry kept his guns handy?”
“Always--since the barons turned loose on him.”
“Then here’s the way I figure it: You failed to come back to the
cabin yesterday. Perry and Hattie believed that you had been trapped
by Benner’s men. Perry went off to look for you. While he was gone,
the trouble happened here. Perry may get back any minute, Dunbar,
and then he can help us do our planning. Are there any horses in the
corral?”
“No.”
The cowboy was moody. He could see the logic of the scout’s
suggestions, but he was not in a temper to be sanguine over results.
“How far is Benner’s ranch from here?” asked the scout.
“Twenty miles.” Dunbar showed some interest. “Are you thinking of
going over there?”
“Not yet. We’ll give Perry a chance to get back here first. How long
have you been hooked up with Perry, Nate?”
“Nearly a year. I came here from the Panhandle country, and Perry
had just bought out the Star-A steers. He wanted a foreman, and I
took hold. Later on, when I saw how the other cattlemen were layin’
for him, I dropped a thousand-dollar stake into the pot. It was all
I had. I reckoned, though, that I’d show Benner he had two to buck
against. He had tried to hire me away from Perry, and the thousand I
put up here was an answer to that.”
Buffalo Bill was liking the young fellow more and more. Nevertheless,
he was not overlooking the powerful influence Hattie Perry must have
had with Nate Dunbar.
“You’re all right, Nate,” said the scout. “The situation on the
Brazos has reached a climax, and everything depends on the way you
stack up from this on.”
“But we can’t do what you thought of while we were riding from Red
Steve’s.”
“You mean that about the sky pilot, and eliminating Miss Perry as a
factor in the trouble? That is still the work we must do, Nate, so it
follows that our next step must be to find Miss Perry.”
“Why should those infernal scoundrels carry her off?” cried the
cowboy.
“That was done, I believe, simply to frighten you and Perry, and
force Perry to agree to Benner’s proposals.”
“Perry never’d agree!”
“At any rate, I’m sure the young lady has suffered no harm, and that
she will be considerately treated. We must rescue her. With my pards
to help, I’m sure we can accomplish that part of it.”
“But suppose Perry delays getting back? We ought to be doing
something for Hattie right now.”
The scout pointed to the “Haste and Waste” motto on the wall.
“Keep that prominently before your eyes, Dunbar,” admonished the
scout. “If we get in too much of a hurry we may spoil everything. If
Perry doesn’t come within an hour or two, I’ll send you to Hackamore
after my pards. They ought to be here by sunup.”
“Then what’s to be done?”
“Why, then we’ll ride to Benner’s ranch.”
“Hattie won’t be there. He wouldn’t take Hattie there.”
“Of course he wouldn’t, but if he has had anything to do with
spiriting the girl away from this cabin, we’ll find out about it and
get him to tell us where she is.”
Dunbar shook his head doubtfully.
“If you and your pards go to Benner’s ranch, Buffalo Bill,” said he,
“you’ll be right in the midst of the whole gang. There’s enough of
the outfit to smother you and your pards ten deep.”
The scout smiled.
“I reckon you don’t know much about my pards,” said he.
At that moment the beat of horse’s hoofs were heard, swiftly
approaching. Both the scout and the cowboy jumped to their feet.
“Perry!” exclaimed the scout, starting for the door.
As he stood in front of the cabin, the lamplight pouring through the
open door at his back, a horseman drew to a halt.
“Well, by gorry!” the rider exclaimed, in a flutter of astonishment.
“Have I got the blind staggers? Pard Cody, is that you?”
The surprise was mutual.
“There’s no mistake, Wild Bill,” answered the scout, as pleased as he
was surprised. “Get down and tell me what brings you here.”