IN HANGMAN’S GULCH.
The two prisoners fairly quaked under the angry response of “guilty”
to the question of the judge, and Buffalo Bill quickly arose and
signified his desire to speak. The judge rapped for silence and said:
“We will hear what the great scout has to say.”
“I would say, gentlemen, as a government officer, it is my wish to
have full justice done these men. It is true that I caught them
robbing a miner’s cabin, or attempting to do so; but, there are
crimes far more heinous than that, and I beg that you will, in their
case, give them as light a punishment, as possible, for I am sure
they will heed the warning they have had.”
The words of the scout fell upon deaf ears, when he made an appeal
for mercy. He might as well have attempted to stem the current of a
river as stay that mad element of humanity, for all eyes turned from
him to the judge, who said:
“You have heard the appeal of our distinguished friend for mercy, and
we will be merciful. As these men have been unanimously pronounced
guilty, our mercy will be not to long keep them in the agony of
their approaching doom, and hence I do hereby sentence them to be
taken within the hour to Hangman’s Gulch, and there to be hanged by
the neck until all life shall leave them, for the good order of this
community must and shall be preserved.”
Again a roar greeted these words, and once more rapping for silence
the judge said:
“Officers, do your duty.”
The two guards stepped forward, and over the head of each prisoner
placed a noose. Then the judge opened the Bible and read, just why
Buffalo Bill did not know, the story of Daniel in the den of lions.
This he followed with the Ten Commandments. Three hundred voices
then sang the Doxology, and the judge arose, and, locking his arm in
Buffalo Bill’s, led the way to Hangman’s Gulch.
The guards and their prisoners followed, the twelve men who were to
draw the doomed men into mid-air, each grasping the rope of their
respective victim.
A slow and solemn step was kept to Hangman’s Gulch, the many lanterns
casting flickering shadows, as they marched along. At last the place
was reached, already dotted with the graves of many men who had thus
been tried and executed.
Into the dark weird place they filed, and soon approached the gallows
where so many others had died.
The two prisoners were moaning, like men in physical pain, for they
were cowards at heart. Then they began to plead for mercy. But as
well might they have appealed to the cliffs about them as to that
crowd, for while some there were doubtless merciful, they were too
greatly in the minority to dare speak what they felt.
The ropes were thrown over the beam, which was greased, and, at a
signal from the judge, the twelve men upon each line drew their
victims up into mid-air, silencing their cries for mercy.
Then, back from Hangman’s Gulch surged the crowd, laughing and
talking as they went over the affair, and it was generally agreed
that Pocket City would be the better for the hanging.
The Vigilante captain felt that he had done his duty, so repaired
to his store in a very self-satisfied humor, while Buffalo Bill
accompanied him for a short time, and began, in a quiet way, to
question him about Bonnie Belle.
All he could learn was the fact that not a man in Yellow Dust Valley
was there to say one word against her, all holding her as above
reproach. Nothing was known of her antecedents, and there was not
the slightest suspicion that she was connected in any way with the
road-agents under Silk Lasso Sam.
She had gone East upon some business of her own, the storekeeper
said, and Deadshot Dean, the miner, had been her escort, and, not
aware that the latter was a married man, Scott Kindon hinted that he
believed there was a strong feeling of friendship between the two.
This might result in marriage, and the “judge” hoped that it would,
as the miner was a splendid fellow in his opinion.
Then, learning that the driver of the stage-coach was in Pocket City
that night, Buffalo Bill sought him out. He found him at the Devil’s
Den, having just won all the money at poker which his adversary had.
He greeted the scout pleasantly, said that he had come in a couple of
hours before, and was glad to feel that the trail was free of outlaws.
“I wish to ask you, Pard Sandy, something about Bonnie Belle?” said
Buffalo Bill.
At once Sandy was all attention.
“Waal, pard, what kin I tell yer?”
“You took her in your coach when she went East?”
“Sure.”
“And the miner?”
“Deadshot Dean?”
“Yes.”
“He went along, too.”
“Where did you leave them?”
“Waal, she left me at the trail junction.”
“And the miner?”
“He went on East on the regular coach.”
“And Bonnie Belle?”
“She took the upper branch trail via Omaha.”
“East?”
“Yes.”
This answer caused Buffalo Bill to ponder deeply.
Bonnie Belle surely started East. Why then did she leave Deadshot
Dean at the Overland junction and take the upper trail which led her
through Chicago? Why did she turn back unless she had received some
word from the fort, where her brother was a prisoner?
Texas Jack, he recalled, had gone off on a special mission, which had
not been reported to him. He would inquire if Texas Jack had been to
Pocket City. So he asked Sandy if he had seen Texas Jack.
“Oh, yes.”
“Where?”
“He came to Pocket City, and then followed on after the coach.”
“Why?”
“He had a letter for Bonnie Belle.”
“From where?”
“The fort.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he overtake the coach?”
“Yes.”
“Did he deliver the letter?”
“He did, pard.”
“And receive an answer?”
“Not a written one, pard.”
“A verbal answer?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it was?”
“I heard her say, ‘Tell him simply that I will.’”
“Ah! and then?”
“Texas Jack went back on the trail, and I drove on with my
passengers, Deadshot Dean leaving me by one trail at the junction and
Bonnie Belle going by the upper trail.”
“And you did not hear of her passing back over the trail?”
“See here, Buffalo Bill, you is chief of scouts at Pioneer Post I
knows well, and you has a right ter ask all questions of me, but I
wants ter say if it’s ter get Bonnie Belle inter trouble, I’ll be a
dumb man, sart’in, and don’t you fergit it.”
“Pard Sandy, that little woman has no better friend than I am, and I
would protect, rather than do one act to cause her trouble; but I am
on a secret trail, which I wish to see the end of, and you can help
me by answering my questions and perhaps save much trouble, for I
believe there is a plot on hand to rescue Silk Lasso Sam and his men
by force, and you surely do not wish to see those devils again turned
loose upon the trails more revengeful than ever?”
“I does not, and I thanks you for being square with me, Buffalo Bill.
The fact is I did not _hear_ of Bonnie Belle’s going West ag’in, but
I happen to know thet she did go, and that’s all I can tell you.”
“Well, I’ll ask no more, Sandy, to-night at least. Good night,” and
Buffalo Bill remained in the Devil’s Den while the driver left it
with his winnings in his pocket.
The scout was the cynosure of all eyes as he leisurely strolled about
the gambling-saloon, going from table to table, risking a few dollars
at faro, and winning, then being equally as lucky at roulette,
rouge-et-noir, and dice-throwing, when he received a challenge from a
miner to play him a game of cards.
“Oh, yes, I’ll play if you wish, though I had not intended to when I
came in,” said the scout.
“Waal, I plays for big stakes, and don’t you forgit,” was the answer
of the challenger.
Buffalo Bill took his measure in a steady look at him. He thought
that his face was familiar, but he was not sure, for he could not
recall where he had seen him before.
He was a man even larger than the scout, for he was more brawny,
weighing over two hundred pounds and as hard as iron. His face was
bearded, his hair worn long, and he carried no knife in his belt, but
instead four revolvers, two in front and one on each hip, so that
no matter where he dropped his hand it must fall upon the butt of a
“gun.”
He wore no superfluous clothing, either, his miner’s shirt, corduroy
pants, top-boots, and slouch-hat, pulled down over his eyes about
making up his wardrobe.
The carrying of four revolvers had gained him the name of “Pistols,”
and that he knew how to use them, too, several graves upon Sunset
Hill gave testimony.
He was peacefully inclined when not drinking, but when under the
influence of liquor his best friends avoided him religiously, and
those who saw him challenge Buffalo Bill to play cards felt that
the scout had made a mistake in accepting, for they discovered that
Pistols was drinking, and that meant a row they were certain.
In answer to the remark of the man that he played for big stakes,
Buffalo Bill asked in his quiet way:
“What do you call big stakes, pard?”
“What does I call big stakes?”
“Yes, that is the question I asked.”
“Waal, I call a game without a limit big money.”
“Are you able to stand a game without a limit?”
“Is I? Ask my pards if I can’t call yer at a thousand and pay if I
loses.”
“Oh, a thousand is your limit, then?”
“Can you match me?”
“If I could not I would not play with you; but when you said without
limit, I wished to know what you meant, as you can size my pile at a
thousand. Now you know what I can do, so say whether you will play or
back down?”
“Back down?” yelled the miner savagely.
“Yes,” was the perfectly calm response.
“I never backs down agin’ any odds.”
“Then play,” said Buffalo Bill, in the coolest manner possible.
The interest in the games going on in Devil’s Den very quickly were
centered in the match between Buffalo Bill and Pistols.
“I’m out for scalps,” the miner had said, in a voice that was heard
all over the saloon.
At this Buffalo Bill looked him squarely in the face and there was
something in the look that controlled the man, and he said:
“I see now that you have been drinking. Had I suspected this I would
not have played with you, for I never play with a drunken man. Behave
yourself now, or quit before trouble follows.”
There was that in the words and look which mastered the man, for he
made at first no reply; but then he said:
“What did I say to make you mad?”
“Nothing, for I am not angry; but you said you were out for scalps,
and I wish you to understand that I take the same trail when there is
need for it.”
The man appeared cowed, for he said:
“We don’t want trouble, Buffalo Bill, so shall I git a fresh pack of
cards, and will yer take a drink?”
“Thank you, I do not care to drink, and you take my advice and let it
alone. But get the cards.”
An angry gleam came into the eyes of Pistols. He made no reply, and
walked to the bar after a fresh pack of cards.
“Shuffles, give me a fresh pack and some whisky, too,” he said.
“Here’s the cards, Pistols, but take my advice and don’t drink any
more, for Buffalo Bill is a stranger here,” said Shuffles.
“Waal, he wants ter git better acquainted with ther folks. Whisky, I
said, straight, strong, and blistering.”
Had Bonnie Belle been there he would have refused. But to do the
best he could he took a half-empty bottle, hastily poured water into
it, and set it before the man, hoping to have him get but half the
quantity. The miner suspected, held it up to the lamp, and looked at
it.
“Is this pale sherry, Shuffles?”
“It’s whisky.”
“You lies, for you have drowned it with water, so you kin hev it.”
Quick as a flash he dashed the stuff full into the face of poor
Shuffles, who, blinded and maddened, drew his revolver and fired a
shot at random. It was the last act of his life, for he dropped dead
with a bullet in his brain, while Pistols called out:
“He put water into my whisky, pards, and then shot at me, so I kilt
him. Thar he lies ahind the bar.”
To put water in whisky was a criminal offense which the miners of
Yellow Dust Valley could not forgive or forget, and so Shuffles lost
the sympathy of the crowd by his heinous act, while Pistols rose in
their estimation for visiting just punishment upon one who would do
such a thing.
“Now, Pard Studley, I wants some whisky,” and Pistols turned to the
bartender nearest, who quickly placed a fresh bottle before him,
while the miner took the other which had caused the trouble, and,
dashing it against the wall at the rear of the bar, shivered it to
atoms.
“Yer sha’n’t p’izen no one else with watered whisky,” he said.
Then, turning to those who had gathered about him, he said:
“J’ine me, folks, in a lettle beverage, for I’m bettin’ high it will
be ther Simon-pure article. Does yer catch on?”
They “caught on” with alacrity, and with the upturned face of
Shuffles, the eyes wide open staring into his own, Pistols poured his
glass full to the brim and dashed it down his throat.
A hush had fallen upon the crowd during this scene, and a few of the
timid ones, or, rather, those who wished to avoid being in a row,
silently withdrew from the building.
There were several who felt that Buffalo Bill was making a sad
mistake in having accepted the challenge of Pistols, while others
knew that had he not done so, a row would have been precipitated at
once, for he would certainly have insulted the scout then and there.
A few now hastened to tell Buffalo Bill, who had not risen from his
seat, that Pistols had just killed Shuffles, and had then taken a
tumblerful of whisky, so was in a dangerous mood.
“He didn’t have quite enough ter brace him fer trouble with you,
pard, for he has heerd o’ you, as we all has, and that’s why he got
more. He’s primed now, and will go off like a hair-trigger,” a miner
said.
“Yaas, so jist go out and let him alone,” another added.
Buffalo Bill smiled serenely. It was a smile that some who saw it
felt boded mischief. Then he said complacently:
“I never seek trouble, gentlemen, unless I am after a man I know
needs running down, and duty compels me. I sought no trouble with
your comrade, and merely accepted his challenge, so he can turn it
into any game that suits his humor best.”
“Here he comes now,” cried a voice, and just then Pistols was seen
approaching the table where Buffalo Bill sat, a cigar between his
teeth.
With a lurch Pistols dropped into his chair and glared at Buffalo
Bill.
“I has come back!” he said.
“So I see.”
“There’s ther pack o’ cards,” and he tossed them upon the table.
Buffalo Bill picked them up, glanced at them, and said:
“Yes, they are all right.”
“Did yer think I’d git any as wasn’t?”
“Not being acquainted with you I didn’t know.”
“Waal, we’ll git better acquainted, I’m thinking.”
“Perhaps.”
“Come, don’t git skeered, fer I ain’t goin’ ter shoot, only I hed ter
kill a feller over that, just now, and I is loadin’ my gun ag’in.”
“You are very wise.”
“Yer see he insulted me.”
“I can hardly believe that possible.”
There were a number who heard this reply who appreciated its sarcasm.
Pistols felt that there was a meaning in it he could not fathom, so
he did not try, and said:
“Yes, he put water in my whisky.”
“Did he not know you?”
“Yaas, only he tried to play a underhand game on me. We has been
mighty good friends, Shuffles and me, for he has twice saved my life,
and he meant well toward me, I is sart’in, fearin’ I sh’u’d git too
much, so he put water in my whisky, and I’d kill my brother fer a
insult like that.”
“I can believe you; but may he not have been only wounded?”
“Yer don’t know me, pard, for I never wastes powder and lead, but
shoots to kill. I is sorry my poor pard Shuffles committed suicide,
for he should have know’d me well; but he’s out o’ misery now, and
I’ll pay all ther expenses of ther funeral and give him a beautiful
send-off on ther trail ter glory, an’ put up a stone over him with
a inscription as a warnin’ to them who puts water in whisky, which
I drinks ter git all o’ ther leetle devil out of it I kin. Does yer
tumble?”
“Oh, yes; but do you still wish to play with me?”
“Does I?”
“Yes.”
“Why, pard, I is in fer a game o’ anything with you.”
“Then let us begin.”
The words were so quietly uttered, the look of the scout was so calm,
that it checked the devil gaining the ascendency of the man for a
minute.
“All right, pard, I is ready.”
The cards were shuffled, cut for the deal, and Buffalo Bill won. Then
the game was begun.
All who watched the two men, and they were all who could crowd about
them, saw that the scout was as cool as an icicle, showing not the
slightest dread of what any one who was near felt sure must end in a
deadly encounter between the two players.
Buffalo Bill serenely smoked his cigar, his face remaining
impassive, and yet those who watched him closely saw that his eyes
were rather upon his adversary than his cards.
The game was played more carefully by Pistols than those who saw
him believed possible, for he was cautious in all he did and leered
maliciously at Buffalo Bill when he gained a point. At last he seemed
to brighten up and said:
“A hundred on my hand, Buffalo Bill.”
“Mine is worth twice that sum.”
“I’ll add that more to mine.”
“So will I,” was the quiet response.
“I calls yer.”
“Four aces,” and Buffalo Bill laid the cards upon the table.
“Durn yer,” said the miner without showing his hand, and the scout
pocketed the money.
That Pistols felt his loss was evident to all, for his face grew
darker and an uglier look came into his eyes.
“Well, how much is your hand worth, Mister Pistols?” asked the scout,
when the climax of the second game came around.
“It’s worth a hundred,” and Pistols appeared confident, then.
“No more?”
“Well, what is your hand worth?”
“Just five hundred dollars, no more no less.”
The miner started. Could it be possible that the scout held a better
hand than he did this time? No, it could not be. The lightning would
not strike twice in the same spot.
“I jist says show up to ther tune of five hundred.”
Buffalo Bill put up the money he had just won, adding more to it, and
said:
“There, match that with five hundred.”
The miner drew out a greasy buckskin bag and took out a roll of
bills. He counted out very slowly five hundred dollars, and it could
be seen that very little remained in the bag.
“Thar she goes, and yer needn’t squint at ther bag, fer thar is more
whar thet come from. Now I’m thinkin’ your money is mine, so show yer
hand.”
“Four aces,” said the scout, without the change of a muscle.
“Four aces!” roared the miner. “Four aces agin’ my four kings! How
comes that?”
“You dealt, pard, and were more generous to me than to yourself,” and
Buffalo Bill very quietly put the money in his pocket, while he said:
“I’ll play you another game to give you a chance to win back your
money, or lose more, if you wish it.”
“There’s only one more game I’ll play with you, Buffalo Bill, and
that’s with these,” and the miner quickly leveled his revolvers.