TURNING THE TABLES.
The miner’s words and act at once cleared a lane behind Buffalo Bill
and himself between the crowds that had gathered around.
But the act did not appear to disturb the scout. If caught off his
guard by the sudden drawing of his revolvers by Pistols, Buffalo Bill
remained as cool as before, and said:
“Then you are willing to play a square game with me with revolvers,
are you?”
“I is going ter play a game with you, yes, but there’s others in it
besides, for I has something to say to you, Buffalo Bill.”
“Talk fast then, old man, for life’s short, you know.”
“Oh, it’ll be short enough to you, when I tells what I knows agin’
you.”
“What do you know?”
“I knows that you was ther cause o’ havin’ two innocent men strung up
in Hangman’s Gulch this night. I only wish I’d been at ther hangin’,
for them wouldn’t hev been ther men thet got choked.”
“I am listening.”
“But me and my pard, Dave Dunn, got in too late ter save them poor
murdered men, and when I heerd what had been done, says I, thet as
Buffalo Bill will hev ter die ter-night, I’ll jist be his heir by
winning his money fu’st. So I axes yer ter play me.”
“And I did?”
“Yaas, for sure.”
“And I became your heir, as you put it.”
“So far.”
“Well, what else?”
“A heap, for I wants ter let ther folks know thet Dave Dunn and me
were up in ther range and seen you breakin’ inter ther cabin’ o’
Deadshot Dean.”
A murmur went through the crowd at this, while Buffalo Bill said
indifferently:
“Is that all?
“Why, I feel relieved, for I was afraid you were going to accuse me
of cheating you.”
“Oh, no, yer played square enough, for I was a-watchin’ yer; but we
seen yer breakin’ inter Deadshot’s cabin, and Tom and Jerry caught
yer at it. But you was too soon for them, got them under ther muzzle
of yer gun, and trotted them off as house-breakers when you was the
thief.”
“Why did you not at once come to their rescue?” asked Buffalo Bill,
when the uproar which these words created had in a measure subsided.
“We was up in Eagle Nest Mountain, and it took us a long time ter git
down to ther valley and up to Pocket City. Then we found thet ther
folks hed believed you, Buffalo Bill, agin’ them men, and it were too
late. So we talked it over, and thar is jist a large-size community
here ter-night as says you has got ter hang, too.”
“Why not make it by unanimous consent, Mister Pistols, for it would
sound better when reported at the fort to Colonel Dunwoody?”
The crowd gave vent to a murmur of admiration at the scout’s pluck.
He did not appear to be in the least degree disturbed by the danger
he most certainly was in.
“Oh, I knows yer is game, and I has just seen thet yer kin bluff, but
thet don’t go now.”
“What does?”
“Ropes is trumps.”
“You intend to hang me, then?”
“We does.”
“Without judge or jury?”
“We have set on your case, and it is agin’ yer.”
“When am I to be hanged, please?”
“Afore dawn.”
“Isn’t that crowding matters a little?”
“No more than you crowded it agin’ them two poor boys as was hanged
to-night.”
“And you saw me break into Deadshot Dean’s cabin?”
“I did.”
“And the other witness?”
“Was Dave Dunn.”
“I do not believe anybody here who has common sense will believe
any such charge against me,” said the scout, while, with his elbows
resting upon the table at which he sat, Pistols held his revolver,
covering the heart of the scout.
“Yer don’t believe it?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Pards, does I tell the truth?”
In his excitement the miner turned his head, and in that instant his
revolver was struck upward and knocked from his hands by Buffalo
Bill, who now held him covered with his weapon.
“A turn about is fair play, Mister Pistols.”
Some laughed at this, but Pistols swore roundly, yet dared not move,
for he saw he was caught, the left hand of the scout lying upon his
own weapon where it had fallen upon the table, the right holding his
revolver within a foot of his eyes.
But the words of the miner had been answered by a savage chorus of
voices, crying:
“You is right, Pard Pistols, for Buffalo Bill is the guilty man.”
Still, the pluck of the scout did not desert him, and he never
changed expression at the outburst. Encouraged by the cries of his
comrades, though under cover of the scout’s pistol, the miner said:
“See here, Buffalo Bill, you has half a hundred guns on you, but we
don’t intend ter shoot yer, but hang yer, as you got poor Tom and
Jerry strung up, so up with yer hands, mighty quick, says I.”
“Yes, up with your hands, Buffalo Bill!” shouted the crowd savagely,
while scores of revolvers covered the scout as he still sat at table,
facing the ringleader, whom he yet held his revolver upon, the muzzle
within a foot of his eyes.
It certainly did look bad for Buffalo Bill, and for two reasons.
First, the charge of Pistols, backed by Dave Dunn, a reputable
miner, seemed to be believed by a great many of those present.
Second, the crowd that backed Pistols was not only numerous, but
composed of the very worst element in the mines. This shut off many,
who felt that the accusation was utterly false, from lending any aid.
Pistols was certainly in danger of instant death at the hands of the
scout, but the latter was equally in danger of sudden death from the
backers of his accuser. Thus the situation rested until Buffalo Bill
broke the silence with:
“See here, Pistols, I recall that ugly face of yours, now that I get
a better look at it, and I remember you as one of Powder Face Pete’s
gang who ambushed me some time ago, under pretense that I was Silk
Lasso Sam. You wished to get rid of me then, because I make this
country too hot for just such men as you and your ilk.
“Now, what are you going to do about it, Mister Pistols, for if I am
facing death, you are just as close as I am to it, so begin business
when you please, and you’ll find that I’ll never hang, and dying,
will take company along, so as not to get too lonesome on the trail
across the Dark River.”
The splendid pluck of Buffalo Bill, at bay against a crowd,
delighted many present. But those who surrounded him were his foes,
and the better element hung back, feeling that a terrible scene must
follow the first shot fired.
Pistols felt his situation keenly. The danger had sobered him. His
desire was to see Buffalo Bill hanged by the crowd, and it began
to look as though he would not be there to witness it. He felt
how certain death was for him if his comrades pushed the scout to
extremes.
Such was the situation, and the suspense to all was fearful,
especially to Pistols and the scout, though the latter was, as a
miner expressed it to a pard:
“Beautifully serene.”
The crowd was becoming restless, and there were those who did not
love Pistols and would push matters to a climax to get him killed
that they might then hang the scout.
But, just as it seemed that in another instant must come a crash, a
loud, stern voice rang out with:
“What does this mean, holding a government officer under your guns?
Room here, men!” and, hurling men right and left by his giant
strength as though they were children, the Surgeon Scout strode to
the side of Buffalo Bill, who still sat at the table, covering the
miner with his revolver.
A perfect yell of joy burst from many in the crowd, who thus gave
vent to their pent-up feelings as they saw the splendid form of Frank
Powell, the Surgeon Scout, in uniform, stride into the midst of the
scene.
“Ah! doc, just in time to keep me from killing this gent, and being
made a target of myself for half a hundred bullets,” said Buffalo
Bill, still unmoved.
“It seems that I am just in time, Bill, and if I mistake not there
are men in this crowd who will dangle at a rope’s end for this work,
if they harm a hair of your head. What does it mean?”
The ugly element in the crowd was still paramount. It had only
received a temporary check by the coming of the Surgeon Scout.
The greatest number of the miners present were now, however,
decidedly upon the side of law and order, but the devil in the nature
of the others was destined to lead them on to trouble.
They did not care whether Pistols died or not at the hands of Buffalo
Bill. They hated Bill and his body-guard because they were the foes
of the bad element in the mines. They hated the army, because it put
down lawlessness.
Here was a chance to wipe out the chief of scouts and Surgeon Powell,
of both of whom they stood in the greatest awe.
This ugly element were sixty to two, and they had nothing to lose.
The army would sweep down upon the Yellow Dust Valley, of course, but
who could be found who was guilty, who could be punished?
Thus the men who had backed Pistols argued, and with a desire for
a row, a wish to sacrifice Buffalo Bill and the Surgeon Scout, and
enough whisky in them to make them reckless of consequences, they
began to crowd closely upon the center of attraction, where Cody sat
still covering Pistols, and with the Surgeon Scout by his side, a
revolver in each hand.
It was a most critical moment, for the officer and the scout saw that
the authority of the latter was going to be defied.
“Men, don’t mind what Brass Buttons says, for, as he’s chipped inter
the game, he goes with Buffalo Bill. Don’t shoot, for that means
innocent men hurted, but capter them two gamecocks alive and hang
’em. Does I say right?” and the burly ruffian who had constituted
himself leader gazed at the crowd with a look that demanded
recognition.
The yell that greeted his words showed the temper of the crowd,
which began to sway to and fro wildly, preparing for a rush upon the
two men now at bay.
“I am sorry you came, Frank, for it only brings you into a tight
place,” said Buffalo Bill, in a low tone to the Surgeon Scout, and he
at once drew a second revolver from his belt to have it ready, though
he did not take his eyes off of the miner whom he covered.
“I don’t mind it, Bill, and I’m always ready to die, if need be, for
a comrade. If they make a rush, kill that man, then stand back to
back with me and let us make a record before we go under,” was Frank
Powell’s response.
“I’m with you, Frank,” rejoined Cody, and he added, addressing the
miner:
“You started this circus, Mister Pistols, but you won’t see the end
of it.”
“Cuss you, I’ll call ’em off if you’ll call it quits,” returned
Pistols eagerly, now thoroughly terrified when he saw another leader
in the field who meant to precipitate matters independent of him.
“Pard, you talk in your sleep, for you could no more call off that
pack than you could tell the truth. No, you set the tune and the song
must be sung through.”
In the meanwhile, the Surgeon Scout was watching the wildly swaying
crowd, which were gradually drawing closer about them, and he was
just about to open fire when there suddenly rang out a clear voice
above the noisy hum:
“Hold! What does this mean, I should like to know?”
Instantly there was silence, intense in that it followed such an
uproar.
Then hats were doffed, the crowd swayed apart, and toward the table
where Buffalo Bill still held the miner under cover of his revolver,
and the Surgeon Scout stood at bay by his side, glided Bonnie Belle.
She was dressed in a blue dress, trimmed with silver braid, wore a
slouch-hat with a heavy sable plume, and carried a revolver in each
hand. Behind her came Sandy, the driver of the Overland, and then
Scott Kindon, the captain of the Vigilantes.
But, Bonnie Belle neither needed aid nor asked it. Her simple
presence commanded respect.
They had deemed her far away in the East, and like an apparition she
had glided through the door she always entered by, and her white
face, now stern and threatening, showed that she was in no humor to
trifle with.
“Ah! Surgeon Powell, it is you, and you also, Buffalo Bill, whom
these roughs hold at bay? And for what?”
“I was scouting, Bonnie Belle, and came upon two men, Tom and Jerry
they called them, breaking into Deadshot Dean’s cabin. I made them
prisoners, brought them here, and the Vigilantes hanged them.
To-night this man, whom I have covered, accused me of breaking into
the cabin, and he was not long in getting willing hands to hang me,
and, but for the coming of Surgeon Powell, it would have been over
ere this.”
“And I only checked the trouble for a few minutes, Bonnie Belle,
as the men turned upon me, also. I took Buffalo Bill’s trail and
followed him here, for somehow I feared he might need aid. You have
saved us both by your timely coming, unless these gentlemen wish to
push their quarrel to a conclusion.”
But the gentlemen did not seem to be so inclined, or, if they did,
the words of Bonnie Belle checked them, for she said sternly:
“No, there will be no trouble here, for the man who raises a weapon
against you I will kill. As for you, Pistols, if you ever enter my
hotel or this saloon again, I will see that you do not do so a second
time. Shuffles, do you hear what I say about this man?”
A silence followed, and, as no answer came, Bonnie Belle called again:
“Shuffles!”
“If you are calling your man left in charge here, Bonnie Belle, he is
dead,” said Buffalo Bill, as no one else seemed to care to speak.
“Shuffles dead?” she repeated, with a start.
“Yes.”
“When did he die?”
“To-night.”
“Ha! he was killed?”
“Ask one of your men here to tell you about it, Bonnie Belle.”
She called a bartender and was told the story. She listened in
silence, making no comment, and then turned to Scott Kindon and asked:
“Captain, is this not a case of murder?”
“It looks so, Bonnie Belle.”
“This man Pistols has been carrying too high a hand for the safety
and comfort of the good citizens in Yellow Dust Valley, and it
appears to me that he needs disciplining by the Vigilantes.”
“Say the word, Bonnie Belle, and he travels the trail to Hangman’s
Gulch,” the Vigilante captain said very decidedly.
Bonnie Belle was lost for a moment in thought, while Pistols gazed at
her with a look of pleading and despair commingled. At last she spoke:
“No, Captain Kindon, I will not say the word, for I wish no man’s
life upon my conscience, where it can be avoided. The mines will be
the better for the taking off of those men, Tom and Jerry, and it
would make it more respectable to rid us of this man Pistols. He has
no mine or claim here, carries his fortune with him, I believe, so
give him until sunrise to get out of the camps, while, that he may
not be lonesome, let this man who was leading the attack upon Surgeon
Powell and Buffalo Bill go with him.
“Shall it be so, comrades?” and Bonnie Belle glanced over the crowd
which answered with a yell that nearly raised the roof.