THE WINNING HAND.
In the afternoon Rising drove out in a two-seated buckboard, bringing
Hawkins with him and a doctor.
He was astounded when told of what had taken place at the Three-ply.
“Everything seems to happen all in a bunch for you and your pards,
Buffalo Bill,” said he. “It would take a lot of average men a month
to do what you and your outfit have cleaned up on in twenty-four
hours.”
“A lot of average men wouldn’t have the Cody-luck,” said the scout,
with a smile.
“I reckon there’s more in that than a person would think.”
“In that, and in having helpers like Nick Nomad and Little Cayuse.”
The doctor examined Jacobs and pronounced him well enough to go back
to town with Rising and Hawkins. After dressing Jacobs’ wound, the
doctor performed a like service for Chislett and Harkness, and was
then sent to the chuck-shanty to look after the baron.
Chislett and Harkness, it was the doctor’s opinion, would soon be as
well as ever.
McGowan told them they were to receive double pay while they were
laid up, and that they could be laid up as long as they pleased.
While the doctor was looking after the baron, Rising and Hawkins were
getting particulars and taking descriptions for use in an effort to
apprehend Bernritter, Bascomb, and perhaps some of the Apaches.
The scout was in front of the laboratory when the doctor came out of
the chuck-shanty and walked in the direction of the mill. The doctor
was wearing a broad grin.
“How’s that Dutch pard of mine, doctor?” asked the scout.
“He’s mighty bad off,” answered the doctor.
“How’s that? Why, I thought his wound----”
“Oh, his wound’s all right. He can be up and around to-morrow, so far
as his wound is concerned.”
“Then how is he bad off?”
“It’s his heart. Bad case of heart-disease. That girl Frieda is the
cause of it.”
The scout laughed, too.
“Is it all one-sided, this affair of the baron’s?” the scout asked.
“From the way Frieda languishes around the baron, I should imagine
not. He wants to see you, Buffalo Bill.”
“I’ll go with ye, Buffler,” said Nomad, who was standing near. “I got
er big notion one o’ our pards is goin’ ter be cut out o’ our herd,
an’ I’d like to be in at the finish.”
“So would I,” chipped in McGowan. “We’ll all go up.”
So it happened that the three of them made their way to the
chuck-shanty, were met by _Frau_ Schlagel, and conducted into the
little bedroom off the kitchen where _Frau_ Schlagel’s Chinese
assistant usually slept.
But now the baron had usurped the Chinaman’s bed. Beside the bed sat
Frieda, holding the baron’s hand in a life-and-death grip.
The baron looked mighty happy.
“Hello, eferypody!” said he. “Frieda und me haf got somet’ing to tell
you. Hey, leedle gum-trop?” and the baron turned a pair of sheep’s
eyes in the girl’s direction.
“_Macht ruhig!_” blushed Frieda. “You vas sooch a comical feller.”
“What have you got to tell us, baron?” laughed the scout.
“Vell, Frieda say dot she vill pecome _Frau_ von Schnitzenhauser ven
I peen vell enough to shtand id.”
“Oh, ho!” cried the scout. “Then you’re not going to travel with this
outfit any more, eh?”
“Vell, I don’d can be in doo places ad der same time; und I couldn’t
take Frieda along oof I draveled mit you some more, couldt I?”
“Not very well,” said the scout. “But what are you going to do to
make a living, baron?”
“I hafen’t t’ought aboudt dot, yet,” admitted the baron, pulling a
long face.
“It’s quite an important thing, baron,” said the scout.
“I can take care oof Frieda some vay, I know dot.”
“Perhaps,” put in McGowan, “I can help you, baron. I will give you a
job, here at the Three-ply; you can work in the mill and Frieda can
continue to help her mother in the chuck-shanty. Between the two of
you you’ll probably make money enough to buy me out, one of these
days.”
“Schust a minid, oof you blease,” said the baron. “You t’ought I
shtole dot par oof goldt. Vat you t’ink now, hey?”
“I know now, baron,” said McGowan, “that you’re an honest Dutchman
and a brave one. You hadn’t anything to do with that bar of gold.
There’s my hand on it. Do you accept my proposition?”
“Villingly, Misder McGowan!” cried the baron. “You make me so habby
dot I can’t see shdraight. Kiss der chentleman, Frieda.”
Frieda did so, much to the “chentleman’s” discomfort. And she did not
stop with McGowan, but, in her excitement, kissed Buffalo Bill and
Nomad, as well.
“Dere, now, dere, now,” cried the baron; “you vas going too far for
my biece oof mindt, Frieda. I don’d like dot. Gif me dree to efen
oop.”
Frieda gave the baron the “three,” and they were hearty ones; then
the scout and the trapper shook the baron by the hand, wished him
luck, and left him--happy.
“Thar goes one o’ yer stand-bys, Buffler,” said Nomad. “Ye’ll never
hev ther blunderin’ baron around ye any more.”
“He was a good fellow,” said the scout, “and he was always loyal.”
“How could a pard be anythin’ else but loyal ter Buffler Bill?”
demanded Nomad.
Down by the laboratory the sheriff’s buckboard was drawn up, ready to
make a start for Phœnix. Hawkins was on the rear seat with Jacobs,
and the doctor was on the front seat. Rising was just gathering up
the lines, and had one foot on the hub of a forward wheel.
“Off for town?” asked the scout.
“On the jump, Buffalo Bill,” returned Rising.
“We’ll be after you in less than an hour.”
“I should think you’d want to hang out here for a week or two and
rest up after your exciting work.”
“We don’t need much rest, Rising; what we do need we’ll secure in
Phœnix. To-morrow we have to start for Fort Apache.”
“Well, the work you’ve done here has put a big feather in your cap.”
The scout smiled.
“Feather!” snorted Nomad. “Give et ter Leetle Cayuse: He’s the on’y
one in our bunch thet wears feathers.”
“He’s entitled to one for this Three-ply work, all right enough,”
said the scout. “What are you going to do about capturing Bascomb and
Bernritter, Rising?”
“To tell the truth, Cody, I don’t believe we can do much of anything.
If those two villains are wise, they’ll not stop until they have
crossed the Mexican line. I’m thinking they’re wise enough for that.
If they are, of course that lets me out.”
“When I get to Fort Apache I’ll talk to the agent about these red
renegades that are helping Bascomb out in his lawlessness. They ought
to be rounded up and sent back to the reservation.”
“That will be a help to the forces of law and order in this county,
Buffalo Bill.”
“Well,” spoke up McGowan, “if five thousand dollars will help any
toward the capture of either Bernritter or Bascomb, I stand ready to
post that amount on each.”
He turned inquiringly to the scout.
“It wouldn’t be any incentive to me,” said the scout.
“I’ll see what can be done about it when I get back to Phœnix,
McGowan,” said Rising.
“I am going to reimburse Cody and the baron,” went on McGowan, “for
their time and the loss of some of their valuables when they were
roped in the hills and taken to that old shaft.”
“That’s the least you can do, Mac,” said Rising, climbing into the
buckboard. “Well, _adios_, friends, till we meet again.”
“_Adios_, gentlemen,” called the scout.
The sheriff whipped up his horses and the buckboard with its
passengers was soon out of sight in the gully.