BUFFALO BILL’S SUMMONS.
Sim Pierce had left the Star-A ranch, on the occasion of his first
visit, immediately after dinner. While Mrs. Dunbar, happy as a lark,
was clearing away the dishes and singing about her work, the scout
and Dick Perry sat in front of the cabin.
Perry was an educated man--altogether of too fine a grain, the scout
thought, to be “pioneering it” in the cattle country.
“Thanks to you and your pards, Buffalo Bill,” said Perry, “the worst
of the Star-A troubles are over. Hear that girl singing away in
the kitchen!” An affectionate smile crept over Perry’s face as he
listened. “Just to be near happiness like hers, fills me with the joy
of life and living.”
The scout nodded.
“You have a whole lot to be glad about, Perry,” said he.
“If anybody continues to stir up trouble on the Brazos, amigo, it
will be the Benners.”
“Is there more than one Benner, then?”
“Haven’t you heard about Lige’s hunchback brother, Jerry?”
“Come to think of it, I believe I did hear something about a
hunchback.”
“Jerry,” went on the rancher, “is a regular demon. He hasn’t any more
heart in him than a stone, and his wits are as keen as a razor. Jerry
is twice as sharp as Lige and twice as savage.”
The scout laughed.
“I thought Lige was savage enough,” he remarked, “but if Jerry is any
worse, I’d like to see him, just out of curiosity.”
“Jerry’s a schemer,” pursued Perry, “and I’ve heard it said that Lige
is half afraid of him.”
“Lige is a good deal of a coward. Any man who favors
snake-in-the-grass methods in preference to a stand in the open, is a
coward--and a knave, as well.” The scout got up from his chair. “I’m
going over to the hammock, Perry,” said he, “and take a siesta.”
“When will Wild Bill be back?” asked Perry, as the scout moved off.
“Some time to-night.”
“And the baron, Nomad and Cayuse?”
“I’m not expecting them until they get here.”
The scout reached the canvas hammock, swung under a tree near the
place where he and Wild Bill had had their talk earlier in the day,
and stretched himself out comfortably.
The Laramie man was a great deal in his mind. How was he making it at
the Circle-B ranch? Somehow, what Perry had had to say about Jerry
Benner had increased the scout’s worry on Wild Bill’s account.
If Jerry was so much sharper than his brother, it might be that Wild
Bill would stand in a good deal of danger from him.
The scout’s worries did not bother him long. Lulled by the peaceful
quiet of his surroundings, he fell asleep. Several hours later he was
awakened by some one moving round the hammock. He opened his eyes to
find old Nomad, the baron and Little Cayuse clustered about him.
“Buenos, pards!” laughed the scout, sitting up in the hammock. “I
thought you were going to stay all night at Dinkelmann’s?”
“Dere don’d vas anypody ad home,” answered the baron, “neider Fritz
nor Katrina. Ve hang aroundt a vile, und den ve come pack.”
“Nothin’ doin’,” rumbled the old trapper. “Waugh! I never see sich er
quiet time. I ain’t reached a p’int yit whar I like ter fool erway my
time hossback ridin’. Thet’s all thet happened on this ride ter the
Dutchman’s. I was er hopin’ some o’ them measley cowpunchers would
try ter ride circles around us, jest ter give us a chanst ter cop out
a leetle excitement. But nary nothin’ happened. Whar’s Wild Bill?”
Gathering his pards closely around him, the scout told of the warning
of impending trouble that had been sent to the ranch by the sky pilot.
Old Nomad began to mutter wrathfully.
“Shore, oh, shore,” he snorted, “somethin’ ’u’d sartingly git started
ther minit I pulled out. An’ Wild Bill’s gone ter put ther leetle
Hickok kybosh on ther rantankerous doin’s, hey? Whyever did you stay
behind, pard?”
The scout explained that Wild Bill had gone to the Circle-B ranch in
disguise, and that he hoped to find out what the trouble was to be,
in case the sky pilot had not been wrongly informed.
“Sufferin’ catermounts!” mourned the old trapper. “An’ all this hyer
happens while I’m chasin’ up Dutchmen with ther baron. Cayuse, ain’t
ye plumb mad at yerself fer bein’ sidetracked when thar was somethin’
excitin’ goin’ on?”
Little Cayuse had never very much to say on any subject. He merely
grunted in answer to the trapper’s query.
The baron looked very much distressed.
“I peen so sorry as plazes,” said he, “dot I vasn’t here meinseluf
when Vild Pill vent avay. Meppy he vould haf took me mit him. I peen
some fine fellers in a disguise!”
“Hyer thet!” whooped the trapper. “Et don’t make no diff’rence how
the baron’s got up, the lingo he uses is a dead give-away on him.
Wild Bill, I reckon, kin kerry ther game through. I’m hopin’ he runs
inter somethin’ lively--an’ thet he passes et eround. Ranchin’ et is
purty tame bizness, seems ter me.”
The scout and his pards talked until supper time, and after supper
they smoked out under the trees and watched and waited for Wild Bill.
As the hours passed without bringing him, the scout’s uneasiness
increased.
Perry and his daughter were in the house. The girl was reading aloud,
and her father sat in a near-by chair, listening.
It must have been nearly nine o’clock when a beat of hoofs in the
trail brought the pards off the bench.
“Thar he comes!” declared old Nomad, with intense satisfaction. “Now
we’ll know what kind of er b’ar he’s ketched by ther tail.”
A call from the scout brought the horseman to a halt some distance
away from the house.
“That you, Hickok?” asked Buffalo Bill.
“Nary, it ain’t, Buffler Bill,” answered a voice. “This hyer’s Sim
Pierce ag’in. I’m droppin’ in purty frequent, hey?”
“What’s to pay now, Sim?” returned the scout.
“Who’s with ye? I got ter know that afore I open up.”
Sim Pierce slid down from his horse and moved closer to the group
under the shadowy branches of the tree.
“Old Nomad, the baron and Little Cayuse are with me, Sim,” replied
the scout.
“Perry an’ Mrs. Dunbar in the house?”
“Yes.”
“Waal, ther’s the deuce ter pay, an’ no mistake. Dunbar’s been
arrested.”
Startled exclamations went up from the pards.
“What was he arrested for?” demanded the scout.
“For stealing dimings off of a Jew peddler named Abe Isaacs.”
“A frame-up!” breathed the trapper; “a frame-up o’ Benner’s!”
“What proof is there that Dunbar stole the diamonds?” went on the
scout.
“He was ketched by the sher’ff with the stones in his saddlebags.”
“I feel so madt aboudt dot I vish I couldt fight,” flared the baron.
“Tunpar vouldn’t do sooch t’ings, und dot’s all aboudt it. Oof he vas
ketched mit der tiamonts, den somepody pud dem in his sattlepags. You
hear vat I say!”
“Tell us all you know about it, Sim,” said the scout.
Sim unbosomed himself, finally getting down to the point that it was
the sky pilot who had sent him to the ranch this second time, just as
he had done the first.
“He wants ye ter hotfoot it ter Hackamore, Buffler Bill,” finished
Pierce, “kase if anythin’s done fer Nate ye’re the one thet’s got
ter do it. The Hackamore sher’ff’ll pay some attention ter you, which
he won’t ter the rest o’ us.”
“I’ll git the hosses, Buffler,” tuned up the trapper joyfully, “an’
we’ll hit the breeze to’rds Hackamore.”
“Not so fast, Nick!” demurred the scout. “I’m the only one that’s
going to Hackamore. The rest of you are to stay here with Mrs. Dunbar
and Perry. What’s on for to-night is more than any of us know. It’s
a cinch, I think, that this pretended robbery in Hackamore is only a
part of Lige Benner’s plot. He may try to pull off another part of it
here at the ranch, so you fellows have got to stay and keep your eyes
skinned. When Wild Bill gets here, tell him where I am.”
The scout’s order was received in gloomy silence. All the lively
doings seemed to be monopolized by Benner’s ranch and the town of
Hackamore, and the peaceful quiet at the Star-A was not at all
alluring.
Buffalo Bill was not long in getting riding leather on Bear Paw. When
he drew up in front of his pards, he leaned from the saddle for a few
words of caution.
“Don’t tell Hattie and her father anything about this, pards,” said
he. “Jordan and I will get Dunbar out of the scrape, and there’s no
use pestering Perry and the girl with the details. Dunbar can tell
them all about it when we bring him back. And don’t fail to stay here
on guard. Lige Benner isn’t above sending some of his cowboys here to
raise a ruction. If they come, you take care of them.”
The scout straightened in his saddle and gathered up his reins.
“All right, Sim,” said he.
The spurs clinked and the two horses leaped forward into the shadows
that overhung the trail.
“Orders is orders,” growled old Nomad, “but I shore wisht I was goin’
erlong with Buffler, er else over ter pay a visit at the Circle-B.”