CAUGHT IN THE ACT.
Buffalo Bill followed on the trail of the coach, with no desire to be
seen again by the woman whom he was watching. He had not intended to
be seen, but the firing had quickly taken him to the rescue.
“If she goes back to Pocket City she means mischief of some kind,
for having failed to rescue her brother by strategy she will do so
by force, I feel sure. If she was really the ally of her brother it
is certain that the outlaw she wounded did not know it, for no look
passed between them that I could see, and she would not have fired on
him had she known him. I would find it hard to believe that Bonnie
Belle is in league with outlaws.”
Thus mused the scout as he rode on after the coach.
It was night when he reached the station where Horseshoe Ned’s run
ended, and he went at once to the hotel. He found Ned there and
learned that his passenger had taken the outgoing coach eastward.
“That settles it,” mused the scout. “She goes East and not to Pocket
City. She has given up the idea of rescue as impossible. Poor girl, I
pity her, and only wish she loved one in some way worthy of her deep
regard.”
Then he said aloud:
“Well, Ned, what do you think of Miss Arden?”
“I think she is just the dandyest girl I ever crossed ther trail of,
Bill. What a team she and Miss Clarice Carr would make together, for
thar’s another one I sets great store by. But, Bill, ef yer hed seen
Miss Arden work up thet lettle racket to a climax yer’d hev died o’
joy.
“Yer see I give up all for gone, when she talked ther same way and
invited thet sarpint ter take ther things. She opened ther satchel
and out come a gun, and oh, my! Bill, she’s ther deadest shot I ever
seen, barrin’ you and Surgeon Powell.”
“She has nerve of an uncommon order, Ned, and she sends a bullet to
dead center. But where is your prisoner?”
“He’s in ther tavern under guard, the doctor havin’ fixed up his
wounds.”
“Are they very bad?”
“Ther leetle bone in his right arm were smashed, and ther bullet
grazed the one in his left, but he’ll be well enough to hang with
t’others of ther gang, for it’s his neck we wants in prime condition
for thet occasion. But whar is you goin’, Bill?”
“I thought I would ride on here and see if you needed any aid going
back with your man?”
“No, indeed, for I’ll tie him on the box with me; but I’ll be glad of
your company, Bill, if you will go along.”
“Thank you, no, for I’ll continue on in my scouting along the range
to-morrow.”
Staying that night at the tavern, Buffalo Bill left bright and early
the next morning, taking the trail for Yellow Dust Valley.
He was well-mounted, and it was not yet sunset when he rode by the
lonely cabin of the miner, Deadshot Dean, where he had so nearly lost
his life at the hands of the desperadoes who had captured him as Silk
Lasso Sam.
The cabin was closed and doubly locked, and an air of desolation and
desertion was upon all. The scout had hitched his horse down in the
valley, and walked up to the cabin.
Going to the rear of it, around the cliff he stood gazing at the fine
view from that point until suddenly he heard a noise near the cabin.
Quickly he made his way there and felt sure that some one was
striving to break in. Voices reached his ear, too, and one said:
“Yer ain’t moved her, Jerry, so let me get a whack at her, as I fer
one don’t intend ter be caught in this neighborhood arter dark, fer
this is too near ther Hangman’s Gulch ter suit me.”
“And it don’t please me a little bit.”
“Take ther ax and let fly, for thar’s money inside I is dead
sart’in,” was the reply.
The scout placed his foot on the projecting ends of the logs and
quickly ascended to the roof, which was nearly flat and made of
boards on top of logs, slanting toward the cliff under which the
cabin stood.
He drew a revolver in each hand, knelt down, and, peeping over, saw
the two men hard at work to break in the door. So far they had made
no impression upon either the locks or the door, and, covering both
of them with a revolver, Buffalo Bill said sternly:
“Hands up, pards, for I want you both!”
The voice coming from over their heads, and just after their
expressed dread of being so near Hangman’s Gulch when night came on,
brought from the lips of each man a cry of fright. They shrank back,
looked up, and saw their danger.
“Hands up, I say!” roared Buffalo Bill.
Quickly they obeyed, and in an instant the scout had leaped down from
the roof and confronted them.
“Breaking into Deadshot Dean’s home, are you? Well, I am glad I
happened along at this time, for the miner is a friend of mine, and
I guess you are citizens who will not be missed if you are called
suddenly away from Pocket City. I’ll take your weapons, sir,” and the
scout slipped the revolver and knife from the belt of one of the men.
“And yours, too,” and the second one was disarmed.
“Ain’t you Buffalo Bill?”
“So I am called.”
“Waal, I might have knowed it, fer yer is alus around when yer ain’t
wanted.”
“I’m a scout, you know,” was the smiling answer.
“Waal, what does yer treat us this way fer?”
“When I get you to Pocket City it is more than likely you’ll find
out,” was the scout’s significant reply.
The two house-breakers did not relish the reply of Buffalo Bill. They
felt that they were in dangerous hands and had been caught in an act
that would not be tolerated in Yellow Dust Valley.
It would never do to be taken into Pocket City as prisoners. Their
reputations there were of a very unsavory character. They must get
away at all costs, for an enraged border crowd was hard to manage and
would only argue the matter after they were hanged.
“I say, Buffalo Bill, this is a darned good joke,” said one of the
prisoners.
“What is?”
“Your making us prisoners.”
“Yes, it is funny.”
“I doesn’t see ther joke,” growled the other.
“You haven’t the sense of humor that your companion has, for he sees
it,” said the scout.
“But I means this, Pard Buffalo Bill; we was sent here by Deadshot
Dean ter git some things for him, and as he bed lost his key he told
us ter knock in ther door, don’t yer see?”
“I see where you did the knocking, yes.”
“Now jist go with us ter Deadshot Dean, and he’ll say it’s all right.”
“Where is he?”
“Up ther cañon thar. We’ll show yer.”
“Look here, Deadshot Dean went East weeks ago, and you cannot play
any bluff game on me.”
“I tells yer ther truth.”
“You couldn’t tell the truth, either one of you, except by accident.
No, I am going to Pocket City, and you go with me. I caught you
breaking into the cabin of an absent miner, and I shall so report to
the miners and give you up to them.”
“They’ll hang us.”
“That is your misfortune, not my fault.”
“And we so innercent,” whined one.
“See here, Buffalo Bill, we don’t want ter hand in our chips no more
than you does, so if yer plays quits with us we’ll divvy.”
“What will you divide?”
“I’ve got nigh a thousand in money here with me, and Jerry have got
about half as much, so you kin hev all if yer’ll let us go.”
“Yes, all of fifteen hundred dollars.”
“Well, it is more money than I make in a year with chief of scouts’
pay, but if it was ten times as much, you could not bribe me to
do a mean act. I know you are two scamps, and as I caught you
house-breaking, I’ll so report your acts. Come, you go with me. Stand
close up behind this man, sir.”
“Tom, we is goners.”
“Dead sart’in, Jerry.”
Having placed the men at close step, Buffalo Bill buckled their
belts together, and fastened them about their waists.
“I’ll carry ther weapons, Buffalo Bill.”
“No, thank you, Jerry, I can do so,” was the smiling reply.
Shouldering the ax and iron bar the two men had brought with them,
and sticking their weapons in his belt, until he looked like a
walking arsenal, Buffalo Bill made his prisoners march down the hill
before him.
There he found his horse, and, mounting, ordered the men to face
toward Pocket City and march. They did so with low curses and whines.
It was just before sunset, as they passed Hangman’s Gulch, and they
glanced up into the dark recesses of the cañon, with many a misgiving
that they would soon be more intimately acquainted with the weird and
dreaded spot.
Just as twilight was falling, the scout heard the supper-horn of the
Frying Pan Hotel, and from that moment a stream of humanity began to
pour out of the mines and cabins, and flow toward the rendezvous of
the miners on every night.
They quickly caught sight of Buffalo Bill, whose handsome face and
form were seldom seen in Yellow Dust Valley, and, beholding his
prisoners, they began to call out, in many an odd question, as to
what it meant.
“Ho, Tom and Jerry, what’s up?”
“Ain’t thet Buf’ler Bill?”
“What has yer got ’em in limbo fer, pard?”
“Has they been robbin’ a hen-roost?”
“Say, pard, what has they been up ter?”
“Is yer goin’ ter hang ’em?”
“They’ll be no loss.”
“How did yer git yer foot inter it, Tom and Jerry?”
Such questions flowed too fast for replies, and, though the scout
remained silent, the two prisoners tried to explain, but were
constantly cut off by fresh questions. At last a commanding voice
said:
“Ho, scout, what have those fellows been doing?”
The speaker was a storekeeper in the camps and a man of considerable
prominence, being captain of the Vigilantes. He stood in front of the
Frying Pan, where he had gone to get his supper.
“I was coming along the valley, sir, near Deadshot Dean’s cabin,
and went up to take a look at it, when I saw those two men trying
to break in the door. Here is the ax and the bar they used. I
climbed upon the roof and had them where I wanted them, so made them
prisoners, determined to bring them to Pocket City and turn them
over to the miners, with a statement of the facts.”
“They have a very bad record, sir, and have got their heads at last
into the noose. Remember, Tom and Jerry, it has not been a week since
I warned you that you were getting to the end of your rope. You, sir,
I am told, are Buffalo Bill, chief of scouts at Pioneer Post?”
“I am, sir.”
“Then turn over your prisoners to me for trial by our miners’ laws,
sir, for I am Scott Kindon, captain of Vigilantes and proprietor of
the Miners’ Market, as my store is called. I am glad to meet you,
Buffalo Bill, so dismount and be my guest at the hotel to-night.”
Buffalo Bill dismounted and led his horse to the stables. He was
shown to a pleasant room, where he freshened up for supper, and found
every attention bestowed upon him by the clerk whom Bonnie Belle had
left to manage her affairs in her absence, and who seemed anxious to
treat the scout well.
Bonnie Belle’s quarters were all securely locked up in her absence,
but otherwise the hotel was in full blast and the Vigilante captain
and Buffalo Bill sat down to a very tempting supper.
The prisoners had been placed in safe hands and with their guards
were eating supper near, so the scout had an opportunity to see how
much kindness was bestowed upon the two men.
“You see the boys wish to do the best they can for them, as they
regard them as dying men,” explained the storekeeper.
“Dying men?”
“Well it amounts to that, as we shall try them after supper, and that
means a verdict of guilty.”
“What is the use of trying them if the verdict is assured?” asked
Buffalo Bill, with a smile.
“Well, for effect. You caught them trying to break into Deadshot
Dean’s cabin and rob it, and you brought here with you the implements
they used, while you bear testimony to their guilt.”
“True, but why not run them out of the camps, under penalty of death
if they return?”
“That would never do, for, of course, every fellow that is run out
has a purse made up for him by the sympathetic miners, and hereafter
every man that wanted money would do some act to be sent away for,
whereas if we try these men, find them guilty and hang them, Pocket
City will rid itself of two notorious scoundrels and their end will
serve as a wholesome lesson for others.”
“Well, if they are all you say they are they deserve hanging, yet I
suppose it would have been better for me to have taken them to the
fort to get justice.”
“They will get justice here, for we will try them by the law of
right. Now let us go and arrange for the trial.”
“Need I appear in the matter, sir?”
“Well, as I am judge, I’ll ask you to take a seat with me on the
bench.”
“You are very kind, sir; but I am only a witness.”
“Well, you will have to face the prisoners and the crowd, so take a
seat with me on the ‘bench.’”
The “judge” evidently felt the importance of his position, and, as
he left the supper-room, lighted his pipe, and took up his position
upon the piazza, where seats had already been placed for him and the
prisoners.
The _bench_ was one in reality, and Buffalo Bill sat down next to the
judge, while the prisoners were placed in front of them.
The crowd had now increased to several hundred men, yet they were
not noisy, and their silence was more expressive than their shouting
would have been.
The prisoners were white with fear, for they sat where the light of a
number of lanterns fell full upon them. They cast uneasy glances at
the judge, baleful ones at Buffalo Bill, and pleading ones over the
crowd, where they looked in vain for some sympathetic face.
The Vigilante captain called the meeting to order by rapping with his
bowie-knife upon the bench. It was as effective, however, as a golden
gavel in Congress would have been. Instantly there was a death-like
silence.
“Gentlemen,” began the Vigilante captain, after clearing his throat,
“you have honored me by making me captain of the Vigilantes of Yellow
Dust Valley, and also have bestowed upon me the more honored title of
Judge of the Criminal Court of Pocket City.
“There are many of us present who remember that Yellow Dust Valley
was a very dangerous place of abode before the Vigilantes were
organized, for lawlessness and disorder reigned supreme. But since
they began to hunt down criminals and this court to sentence them for
their crimes, see the change. Why, there has not been a murder in
Pocket City for thirty-six hours.
“A short while since this gentleman occupying a seat upon the bench
with me, was ambushed by a gang of desperadoes, and would have
been hanged but for the intervention of our honored fellow citizen,
Deadshot Dean, now absent, who killed the ringleader and saved a
valuable life.
“Two of that gang are now arraigned before you as prisoners, charged
with another offense against law and order. This gentleman, my fellow
citizens, I desire to introduce to you as a man whose name has spread
from pole to pole, from the rising to the setting sun, as you will
know when I tell you that he is Buffalo Bill.”
A wild roar like thunder answered the words of the judge, and Buffalo
Bill arose and bowed to the compliment bestowed upon him.
“Now, gentlemen,” resumed the judge, “let me tell you that on his way
to Pocket City this evening Buffalo Bill saw a sight which I am going
to ask him to relate to you.”
Thus urged, the scout arose and simply told his story as it is known
to the reader. Then the judge resumed:
“You have heard, gentlemen, and this case is tried according to law
and Gospel, for as soon as we have heard your decision in the matter,
and I can guess what it will be, I will pass sentence, after which
I will read a chapter in the Bible and the Ten Commandments to the
prisoners and end by singing the Doxology. Now, gentlemen, are these
men guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty,” came with another roar like thunder.