THE NOTE AND THE ARROW.
“There’s not a particle of doubt, in my own mind, about Bernritter
and Bascomb being somewhere in these Arizona hills, Buffalo Bill.”
“I won’t dispute the statement, McGowan, although it seems to me they
would be smart enough to look after their own safety. After the way
they were balked in that attempted robbery, they must know that this
section of the country isn’t very healthful for them. I don’t think
you need to worry, McGowan.”
“I’m not worrying about myself. I’ve looked out for Number One
so long that I feel perfectly qualified to do it successfully.
Nevertheless, I have a feeling--a vague and oppressive premonition,
notion, call it what you will--that something is going wrong. That’s
the reason I asked you to delay your departure from the mine last
night. However, I don’t suppose I can reasonably insist on your
remaining here much longer.”
“My old pard has been gone for several hours, McGowan, and Cayuse and
I ought to be following him before long. He had business of some sort
to attend to in Phœnix, and because of that he left in advance of us.”
“At least, Buffalo Bill, you can wait until Golightly gets back with
my daughter. They ought to have got here some time ago, but I suppose
the train was late, and that is what is delaying them.”
“Oh, well, if you desire it, Cayuse and I will wait until Golightly
gets here with your daughter.”
The king of scouts and McGowan sat in the shade in front of the adobe
office building.
McGowan was nervous. This was his natural temperament. The scout, in
judging of his present state of mind, remembered how he had had three
dreams concerning the bullion robberies, and how those dreams had
come true--at least partially.
“You’re fretting too much over those robberies, McGowan,” admonished
the scout. “Forget them. A man ought to teach himself to forget the
things that wear on his nerves.”
“It isn’t the trouble here that wears on my nerves, Buffalo Bill;
it’s the fact that Bernritter has proved himself a scoundrel; and the
fact that Annie must be told of his duplicity when she gets here. I
don’t know how the girl will take it. Certainly it will be a cruel
blow for her, and one that will strike her like a bolt from the blue.”
“When she learns how unworthy Bernritter was of her regard,” said the
scout reassuringly, “she will consider herself fortunate in escaping
an alliance with such a man. She has reason to congratulate herself,
and I believe she will look at it in that way.”
For the dozenth time McGowan got up, walked to the end of the office,
and looked off along the Black Cañon trail in the direction along
which his daughter and Golightly would come on their way from Phœnix.
But still his anxious eyes failed to see anything of the star-faced
cayuses and the buckboard. He turned back to Buffalo Bill, shaking
his head forebodingly.
“Faith,” he remarked, with a strained laugh, “I don’t know
what’s the matter with me, but I’m all on edge. If you ever had
premonitions----”
“I have had,” interrupted the scout, “but I never allowed them
to make me uncomfortable. Life’s too short to spend it borrowing
trouble, or in crossing bridges before you get to them. If I were
you----”
The scout himself was interrupted. Something hummed through the air
with a shrill _swish-h-h_ that made itself plain in spite of the
throbbing of the mill-stamps; and the swishing sound was finished
with a quick _spat_ against the door of the office.
Both the scout and the mine-owner turned their eyes quickly to the
door. A long, thin arrow was quivering in the wood, a bit of white
paper, compactly folded, bound to it midway of its length.
“Ugh! Him Apache arrow!”
The speaker was Little Cayuse. He had appeared from around the office
as suddenly as had the arrow.
Buffalo Bill’s quick eye discerned the scrap of paper, and his quick
wit immediately inferred that the arrow had been launched by some one
who was afraid to appear in person in the camp and bring a message.
“Cayuse!” said he.
“Wuh!” said Little Cayuse.
“See if you can locate the Apache who fired that arrow.”
The boy leaped back, studied the inclination of the shaft, whirled
and swept his eyes over the hills, using the inclination as a clue,
and then started off at a rapid pace.
“Why do you send him to look for the Apache?” asked McGowan.
“Because any Apache now loose in the hills is a renegade,” was the
answer, “and may have had a hand in the dastardly work engineered by
Bascomb and Bernritter. That arrow brings a message.”
“We might first have examined the message, Buffalo Bill, before you
sent Little Cayuse after the Indian.”
“It would then have been too late. It may be too late now. The Apache
who launched the arrow is undoubtedly making the best use of his legs
to get out of the vicinity.”
The scout stepped to the arrow and, with an exertion of considerable
strength, pulled its steel point from the wood. Next he untied the
folded paper, dropped the arrow, and began opening out the paper so
he could read it.
Before he read a word he looked toward McGowan. The mine-owner,
drooping limply in his chair, was shaking like a man in an ague fit.
“Why, McGowan,” cried the scout, “what ails you?”
“Nothing but--premonitions,” returned McGowan huskily, making an
attempt to straighten up. “Go on, Buffalo Bill. Read that message.
Something tells me that the lightning is going to strike.”
The scout read the message first to himself. It ran as follows:
“MCGOWAN: Your daughter is in our hands, and we have a place where
we can keep her safely, defying you and Buffalo Bill and his pards
to find her. You will never see her again unless you give a written
promise not to proceed against us on account of that attempted
robbery, and unless you leave a five-pound bar of bullion at the
mouth of the deserted shaft three miles north of the Three-ply,
just off the Black Cañon trail. Both the written promise and the
bullion to be left at the deserted shaft at midnight to-night. It
is neck or nothing with us, _and we mean business_.
“BASCOMB AND BERNRITTER.”
Buffalo Bill was dumfounded by this message. The first question he
asked himself was whether or not it might be a “bluff.” Then, when
he recalled that McGowan’s daughter was long overdue from Phœnix, he
knew that the fact pointed to the two white scoundrels successfully
accomplishing the stroke mentioned in the note, viz.: the capture, in
some way, of the person of Miss McGowan.
The scout hesitated to read the message to McGowan. Noting his
hesitation, and auguring dire things from it, McGowan gave a wild cry
and flung himself toward the scout.
“What is it?” he demanded; “tell me, quick! I can stand anything
better than uncertainty.”
“Sit down,” said the scout sternly. “Get the whip-hand of yourself,
McGowan, and, if it will be any comfort to you, just remember that
Buffalo Bill and his pards will stand by you, and see you safely out
of the trouble.”
“You will?” cried McGowan, with an air of intense relief. “I could
ask for nothing more than that, Buffalo Bill. I am calm enough now to
stand anything. Go on with the message.”
Buffalo Bill read it slowly. McGowan, with set face and nervously
clenching hands, missed not a word.
So far from being cast down, he threw back his shoulders as though
suddenly relieved from a burden.
“Now,” he observed, “we have something tangible to go on, some object
at which to point our efforts. Hazy forebodings are unsettling; it
is only when we know the truth, no matter how grievous it is, that
we are able to lay out our work and get busy. With you to help me,
Buffalo Bill, I know that Annie will be rescued from the hands of
those two infamous villains, Bascomb and Bernritter. Already I am
beginning to breathe more freely. But--what are we to do?”
“That is something to be thought about and carefully planned.”
“I could make out a written notice that no steps would be taken
against Bascomb and Bernritter, and could leave it, with a five-pound
bar of bullion, at the mouth of the old shaft----”
“Personally,” cut in the scout, “I prefer to fight the devil with
fire. Bascomb and Bernritter deserve a penitentiary sentence, and I
would not allow their plot to succeed.”
“But if any harm should come to Annie----”
“Of course, that is what most concerns you. It is your affair, so do
not let my own sentiments stand in the way of your doing what you
think best.”
McGowan got up and began pacing the ground in front of the office.
Before he arrived at a conclusion, the scout saw two horses and three
riders descending into the valley from the Black Cañon trail.
One of the riders was a woman; the other two, mounted on one horse,
consisted of old Nomad and Golightly.
Old Nomad would not be returning to the Three-ply unless he had
something of importance to communicate; and he would not be bringing
Golightly unless the Irishman also had an important report.
“McGowan!” called the scout; “come this way.”
The mine-owner hastened to the scout’s side, and followed the scout’s
pointing finger with his eyes.
“Why,” muttered McGowan, “it’s Nomad and Golightly! Why is Nomad
coming back? And where’s Golightly’s buckboard and cayuses? Here’s a
puzzle, and no mistake.”
“It’s a puzzle, then, that soon will be solved,” returned the scout.
“Who’s the girl?”
“Dell of the Double D,” answered McGowan; “Dell Dauntless, a friend
of Annie’s.”
The scout, impressed by the girl’s beauty, but somewhat disappointed
by the sight of her showy apparel and accouterments, watched the
party approach.
Now, at last, he felt sure, they were to get developments worth
while.