THE PRICE OF A LIFE.
On that same evening Buffalo Bill and young Mainwaring were sitting
on the veranda of the saloon alone, and the young rancher took the
opportunity to cross-question his friend about the Death Riders.
Buffalo Bill told him how he had met them, and of the danger in which
he and his friends stood from them and also from the Shawnees.
“The scoundrels!” exclaimed the rancher fiercely. “I have heard a great
deal about the doings of these outlaws, and how they have even dared to
defy the authority of the United States and fight American troops.
“I can’t think what has come to our government, that it does not make
them either obey the law or wipe them out. If we only had some of them
on our ranches down in Texas for a few weeks we’d make them precious
sorry for themselves, I can tell you!”
“I wish you had them there,” said Cody, with a laugh.
“Pardon me, gentlemen, but I don’t think you know very much about these
people you are talking of.”
The two friends looked up hastily.
They had thought that they were alone on the veranda, but a man had
stolen up to them as silently as a cat while they were talking, and he
stood at the young rancher’s shoulder, less than a yard away.
He was a big, broad-chested man, with a coarse, bloated face, a
swaggering figure, and a bristling red mustache.
Buffalo Bill recognized him at once.
He was Simon Ketchum, known to everybody as a professional gambler and
suspected to be the spy and agent of the Death Riders in the settlement
of Danger Divide.
“I think I ought to know something about the Death Riders,” said the
border king, after he had looked at the man in silence for a few
moments. “I am in their black books, as you probably know very well.”
“How should I know anything about it?” asked the intruder quickly. “The
Death Riders? There are no such people. It is an old story that they
tell around here to scare tenderfeet.”
“It’s hard to prove, isn’t it?” said the king of the scouts, giving the
man a significant look. “Dead men tell no tales.”
“You seem to be quite nervous about these imaginary Death Riders,”
sneered Ketchum. “I should not have thought that a man with Buffalo
Bill’s great reputation feared anything.”
Buffalo Bill did not reply, for he did not care to assert his courage
in words. But his companion faced the swaggering stranger and said
hotly:
“Cody and one of his friends managed to account for a gang of your
rascally assassins between them. You had better send ten times the
number next time if you want to make sure of your bloody work!
“But you had better be careful. You are suspected, and if we can only
get some good evidence against you, you will find that there is some law
and justice in the West, after all!”
The swaggerer’s red face grew as black as night with rage, and he
seemed about to spring at the throat of his bold challenger, but Cody
stepped in between them and eyed him calmly and steadily.
Ketchum tried to meet his gaze, but he could not do so. He read the
menace of death there, and his cheeks turned pale.
“Get out of here!” said the border king. “We understand one another
perfectly, I think. You can do your worst, and we will be ready to
defend ourselves--and to strike back!”
Frightened by these words, Ketchum turned on his heel and left the
veranda. He knew Buffalo Bill well by reputation, and thoroughly
understood that he was not the kind of man to speak at random.
“You had better not meddle in this affair, old fellow,” said Cody to
Mainwaring when they were alone again. “That man Ketchum is a coarse
brute, and I’ve been inclined to insult him publicly and make him fight
me. But I don’t think it would be the wisest course. I have other plans
for meeting his murderous schemes.”
“Count on me to help you in any way I can,” said the brave young
rancher, setting his lips in a stern line. “It is of no use for you to
tell me to keep out of this business. I am in it, and I’m going to stay
in it.
“Let me tell you one thing: I love May Doyle, and I mean to try to win
her for my wife. It is true I have only just met her, but I fell in
love at first sight. Now, do you expect to persuade me to keep out of
this trouble in order to save my own skin?”
“No, I don’t,” admitted the border king, smiling cheerfully at his
friend. “I wish you luck. You couldn’t find a better girl than May
Doyle if you searched all through the West.
“But let me give you a word of advice about Ketchum. He is a notorious
bully, gambler, and duelist. He has killed several men in duels and has
the reputation of being one of the best pistol shots in this section.
If you meet him again don’t let him draw you into a quarrel.”
An ominous bending of the rancher’s dark brows was his only reply.
Just then May and her father came out to call the two men in to eat the
roughly cooked dinner, which was the best that this frontier hostelry
had to offer, and Mainwaring instantly forgot all about the bully in
the pleasant society of the girl he loved.
But later in the evening the hot-headed young fellow met Ketchum again.
May had gone to bed, after sitting out on the veranda with him for some
time, and he was wandering about the saloon disconsolately, when he
happened to stroll into the card room at the back of the bar. It was
full of men, sitting around little tables and playing poker, écarté,
and other games.
Mainwaring sat down by the open window to smoke a cigar before going to
bed, and presently, happening to turn around, he saw that Ketchum was
playing poker at a small table near him with another of the men staying
at the saloon.
Obeying the instinct of keen observation which had been bred in him by
his life on the ranch, the young man began to watch the game with close
attention.
Ketchum did not seem to like this. He was still sore, perhaps, at the
memory of the meeting earlier in the evening, for he shot angry glances
at Mainwaring now and then.
The other player was having a run of the very worst kind of luck.
After winning a trifle, the cards went steadily against him. He lost
once--twice--thrice--four times running.
He was just about to put down a fifth stake when Mainwaring jumped up
from his chair and stopped him.
“Foul play!” he shouted. “Throw up your hand, sir! This game must not
go on! You are being cheated!”
Instantly an excited group of spectators came pressing around them.
Ketchum rose to his feet, trembling with passion, and asked fiercely:
“Whom do you accuse of foul play, you young whelp?”
“You--you card sharper and thief!” cried the young rancher.
Tearing the cards from the bully’s hand, he dashed them in his face
with such violence that the blood started from his cut cheek.
The two men sprang at one another’s throats, and in a moment they would
have rolled down on the floor, perhaps not to rise again, but the other
men standing around closed in and dragged them apart by main force.
Such a dispute could have but one ending, even without the deadly
insult in which it had culminated.
In those early days in the West dueling was common on very much smaller
cause than this quarrel afforded. Any one who had dared to dissent from
the custom and refused to meet his enemy on the “field of honor” would
have been publicly branded as the most cowardly of men.
“You will meet me to-morrow morning!” hissed the bully, choking back
his rage with an effort.
“Certainly--whenever and wherever you like,” replied the young rancher.
At this point Buffalo Bill, who had been smoking on the veranda and
had heard the scuffle, entered the room. He took in the situation at a
glance and went up to Ketchum.
“I don’t like your face or your manner, Mr. Ketchum,” he said, in a
hard, clear voice, which every man in the room could hear. “It will
give me great pleasure if you will meet me in the morning before you
fulfill your engagement with my friend here.”
Ketchum looked into the eyes of the border king, which were filled with
a somber and dangerous light, and he quailed before them.
“I have no quarrel with you,” he muttered. “My quarrel is with your
friend. He struck me in a most unwarranted manner.”
“Oh, is that all? Well, he’s not the only man who can do it.”
Buffalo Bill stepped lightly forward and struck the bully a smashing
blow between the eyes, which sent him reeling to the floor.
“Have you got a quarrel with me now?” he asked, as the man got up and
wiped away the blood that was streaming from his nose.
“Yes, curse you! I suppose I must fight you, but I insist on my right
to fight this young whelp here first!”
“And so do I!” cried Mainwaring. “Cody, you mean well, but I won’t let
you take up my quarrel in this way. I can fight my own battles, and
I will. But I’ll be very much obliged to you if you will act as my
second.”
“Certainly I will,” said Cody, seeing that it was hopeless to try to
prevent the duel, now that the quarrel had gone so far. “And if you
fall it will not be long before I avenge you. But, you hot-headed young
ass, why couldn’t you leave him alone, as I wanted you to do?”
* * * * *
It was a clear, bright, beautiful morning when the two men went forth
from the little frontier hotel to kill or be killed.
The sun was rising in cloudless glory over the green-clad prairie. All
nature seemed peaceful and glad and bright around these two men who had
murder in their breasts toward one another.
All the men who had witnessed the quarrel on the previous evening were
present. One of them consented to act as a second for Ketchum, who
seemed to have no friends of his own.
As the insulted party, Ketchum had not only the choice of weapons, but
also the decision as to the manner in which the duel should be fought
out. He chose the French “barrier” method, in spite of the protest of
his second that it was altogether too bloodthirsty.
A rope was stretched between two small posts driven into the earth.
Each combatant was to stand at a dozen paces from the rope barrier on
either side and to advance toward it to meet the other. One shot only
was allowed, and it rested with the duelists to fire when they chose
as soon as the signal was given by one of the seconds dropping his
handkerchief.
Thus the duel, while perfectly fair, was almost certain to end in the
death of at least one of the combatants.
The man who fired first, before he got to the barrier, would be
absolutely at the mercy of his opponent if he missed, for he would
be obliged to walk up to the rope and be shot at a few inches’
distance--unless, of course, he chose to confess himself a coward by
refusing the ordeal.
It was a thrilling moment when Ketchum’s second dropped the
handkerchief.
The toughest old fire eater present felt his heart beat quicker when
the two men began to move slowly toward each other, step by step,
gradually raising their weapons as they advanced, and eying each other
like panthers.
Crack!
There was a flash--a puff of smoke--the whistle of a bullet--a quick,
short, indrawn breath from all the onlookers, breaking the tense
silence like a hiss.
Mainwaring had fired--and missed!
He advanced steadily until he touched the rope. Flinging down his
useless pistol, he folded his arms on his breast and stood facing his
enemy, motionless as a rock. There was not a tremor on his lips.
“It’s all over now!” whispered one of the spectators, who was standing
near Buffalo Bill. “Ketchum can hit a silver dollar at ten paces, and
no man could miss under these circumstances.”
The bully eyed the doomed lad with the grin of a demon, and then
advanced toward him, step by step. It seemed an age before he reached
the rope and held his pistol right against the breast of the young
rancher.
“Now, then, you young fool, take back that lie you told about me, or
I’ll shoot you on the spot!” he said loudly enough for all the men
standing around to hear.
“Shoot!” replied Mainwaring sternly. “I said you cheated, and I say so
still!”
The spectators held their breath, for it now seemed that nothing could
save the brave young fellow.
But Ketchum looked around the circle before he pulled the trigger, and
he caught the steely glance of the king of the scouts piercing him
through and through.
That look said as plainly as any words could have done:
“Shoot him, and I will shoot you within five minutes! Spare him, and I
will spare you.”
Fear conquered even the mad passion of hatred that was raging in the
breast of the bully.
“The young fool is mad! He doesn’t know what he is saying!” he
muttered, and he fired the pistol in the air and folded his arms
sullenly.
“Now, I am ready for you, if you wish, Buffalo Bill!” he said.
The border king walked up to him and replied, in a high, clear voice
that all could hear:
“I will stand up to you and fight you, if you wish; but first I wish to
offer you an apology for striking you last night. If you care to accept
it our duel need not take place. It is for you to decide.”
The men standing around were amazed--and not least among them young
Mainwaring. Buffalo Bill apologize and try to avoid a duel! It seemed
incredible, but his courage was so well known that he could afford to
do what would have branded any other man as a coward.
It was the price he paid for Mainwaring’s life, although the young man
never knew it.
Ketchum did not share the surprise of the rest. He understood perfectly.
“I accept your apology, sir,” he said, with a clumsy attempt at
dignity. “As you suggest, the duel need not take place.”
The two men bowed to one another, but did not offer to shake hands.
The whole party then strolled home to breakfast at the little hotel.
Buffalo Bill and Mainwaring walked together, arm in arm.
The young rancher tried to find out what had induced his friend to
apologize to Ketchum, but the border king dodged the subject.
“I wonder what made the fellow spare me when he had me at his mercy,”
the young fellow said, as they walked onto the front veranda of the
saloon.
“I wonder!” Cody echoed, smiling inwardly.
“I suppose it must have been because there was some slight streak of
decency in his nature, after all--though I confess it seems hard to
believe,” said Mainwaring.
“Yes, it does seem hard to believe when you know the man,” Cody
remarked, smiling now openly, somewhat to the surprise of his friend.
As they sat down to breakfast with the Doyles, May remarked brightly:
“You two were out early this morning, were you not?”
“Yes; we took a little stroll for the benefit of our health,” the
knight of the plains replied.
“I suppose you feel that it has done you good?”
“Oh, yes! It has given us a good appetite.”
Not a word was said about the duel, for Cody had a suspicion that the
girl returned the love which Mainwaring confessed he felt for her. He
did not wish to alarm her more than was absolutely necessary, and he
felt that he had only played the first game in the rubber with the
Death Riders.
The stake that hung upon that rubber, as he well knew, was nothing less
than life or death; but he believed that he could play out the game
successfully.
Later in the day, on making inquiries, Buffalo Bill found that Ketchum
had taken his horse, sold all his belongings, and driven away from
Danger Divide.
He evidently had not cared to stay in the place after the proceedings
of the early morning, or perhaps he feared that the king of the scouts
would still call him to account in a manner that would prove fatal for
him.
Everybody in the place was agreed that his departure was “a good
riddance of bad rubbish,” and the only people who felt any regret at
his vanishing were his creditors.
Two days later, the damaged wagon having been repaired, Mr. Doyle and
his party set out from the little settlement to resume their journey.
With much regret, Buffalo Bill and young Mainwaring bade adieu to them,
wondering whether, among the curious chances of life, they would ever
see them again.
The young rancher had almost made up his mind that he would go to
California later on, seek out the party, and renew his acquaintance
with them.
He had not dared to speak to May of his love, after knowing her only
for such a brief time, but it was none the less ardent.
Buffalo Bill, noticing how despondent he seemed after the wagon train
had lumbered off and disappeared from view over the prairie, invited
him to ride with him next day to Fort McPherson.
“We are going to have a big hunt,” the king of the scouts said. “The
supply of food for the soldiers of the fort is running low, and we are
going out to see if we can fall in with a herd of buffalo. There is a
chance of some fine sport. I am to take a band of scouts with me, as
well as some Pawnee friendlies.”
Jack Mainwaring’s eyes shone with delight. He was a sportsman through
and through, and he knew very well that Buffalo Bill could show him
better hunting than any other man in the West.
“Nothing would please me better than to come,” he said.
“And there is another thing that may be an inducement to you,” Buffalo
Bill added slyly: “If Mr. Doyle has taken my advice in the matter of
getting an escort of troopers we ought to strike Fort McPherson about
the time he gets there.
“He has the start of us, but we shall travel faster on horseback than
the wagon train. Besides, the general at the fort is a hospitable
fellow, and he will be sure to detain them as his guests for a day or
two. Visitors of the type of the Doyles are not common at a lonely
military post on the edge of the great plains, and when they do arrive
they are not allowed to go in a hurry, if it can be helped.”
At this idea Jack Mainwaring was more delighted than ever. He might
have a chance of seeing May again, and he was consumed with impatience
to start on the journey to the fort.
But Buffalo Bill had some business to finish up in the settlement, and
it was not until the following morning that they mounted their horses
and rode away.
Buffalo Bill, being in a hurry to reach the fort, took a shorter route
than that ordinarily followed by wagon trains, so that the two men did
not come up with the Doyle party, and when they reached the fort they
found that it had not arrived there.