A STRANGE DISCOVERY.
Two days passed, and still the wagon train did not arrive at the fort.
It was then evident that Mr. Doyle, true to the obstinacy which was so
strongly ingrained in his nature, had decided not to take the advice
of Buffalo Bill, but had pushed on, with his small force, across the
plains, reckless of the dangers he might meet with.
Buffalo Bill hastened the preparations for his big hunt, for he thought
it was quite possible that in the course of it he might fall in with
the Doyle party.
“And if you do, Cody,” said the general in command of the troops at the
fort, “there is one thing that I want to ask of you: You must bring
that man and his party back, even if you have to do it by force.”
Buffalo Bill smiled queerly.
“That’s a hard proposition you are putting up to me, general,” he said.
“The man is a free-born American citizen. If he wants to travel over
any part of the United States I suppose he has a perfect right to do
so. I don’t see what authority I have to stop him.”
“Consider the position for a moment, Cody,” said the general, leaning
over his desk and addressing the scout with intense earnestness. “This
man Doyle is a national character. He was a United States senator, and
a great one at that! We can’t afford to allow him and his daughters to
get scalped by the Indians, for the sake of our own reputations as the
guardians of the frontier--without taking account, even, of the humane
aspect of the matter.
“If the man is foolish it is for us to save him from the consequences
of his folly. If we don’t do that there will be a national scandal that
will reflect badly on the reputation of the troops who are supposed to
guard travelers by the overland route.”
“You are right, general,” said Buffalo Bill. “I see the point of your
argument perfectly. I will let the hunting slide until I deal with this
matter. All our efforts shall be devoted to hitting the trail of that
wagon train and coming up with it.
“And when we do reach it I will engage that we’ll bring Mr. Doyle back,
even if we have to tie him with rawhide ropes and throw him down on the
floor of one of his own wagons.”
The general rose up from his chair and grasped Cody warmly by the hand.
“That’s like you, Bill!” he exclaimed. “You know as well as I do that
you must necessarily take all the responsibility in this business. If
Doyle gets mad about it and complains to Washington you stand to lose
your position as chief of scouts and all prospects of future employment
in the government service. And yet you are willing to do it!”
“There is no other way, general,” replied Buffalo Bill simply. “It is
clearly my duty--for the sake of those two girls, if not for that of
the obstinate old man.”
“Well, Cody, I won’t forget this in a hurry--and if you get into any
trouble over it you can rely on me to help you through, if I can
possibly do it.”
Buffalo Bill, after bidding farewell to the officer, hastened out to
complete the preparations for the starting of his hunting party.
In view of the new task he had before him--the end of which he felt
that he could not possibly foresee--he was particularly careful to
choose the best men among his corps of scouts and Pawnee friendlies.
He also saw to it that all the men were well mounted, with spare
horses, and that they carried an ample supply of ammunition and dried
meat for food.
This last detail surprised his great friend and comrade, Nick Wharton,
who formed one of the party, as did also Wild Bill, the famous scout
who at that time was only second to Buffalo Bill himself in reputation
as a hunter and Indian fighter.
“What are ye thinkin’ about, Buffler?” growled old Nick. “I never seed
sich a gol-durned lot of meat stocked up by a huntin’ party in all my
born days. We might be goin’ ter hit the trail right across the plains
ter Californy. Don’t ye think we know enough by this time ter be able
ter shoot fur our grub?”
“Everybody knows that you can, Nick--if there’s any game around,”
Buffalo Bill replied to this protest, smiling enigmatically. “But you
never can tell whether we’ll find any. We may not see hoof or hide of a
buffalo for several days. Besides--other things may happen.”
Nick Wharton, unconvinced, went off, growling, to attend to the
saddling of his horse.
Buffalo Bill did not wish to take even his two best friends, old Nick
and Wild Bill, into his confidence concerning the delicate task with
which he had been intrusted.
If he came up with the wagon train--regarding which he had very little
doubt, as he knew the course it must take, and it would necessarily
have a broad, clear trail--he hoped to be able to persuade Mr. Doyle to
return, without having recourse to actual violence.
That being the case, it would be unwise to tell anybody of the lengths
to which he felt authorized to go in case of necessity. He allowed all
the men, even Jack Mainwaring, to think that there was nothing more in
the expedition than a simple hunting trip.
On the day after leaving the fort Buffalo Bill found the trail of the
wagon train.
Much to the surprise of his party he had headed on a course which would
take them clear away from the region in which buffaloes had been last
reported by the Pawnee friendlies.
They thought he was losing his skill as a hunter, but his discipline
over them was so good that they made no open protest, though they
growled among themselves.
They could not know that Buffalo Bill was not looking after game, but
after the Doyle party.
“We’ll follow this trail, boys,” said Buffalo Bill, pointing to the
broad tracks left by the wagons. “It’s pretty fresh, and perhaps the
folks will be able to tell us where the buffaloes are ranging. Anyway,
we can pass the time of day with them.”
“Is Buffer goin’ suddenly crazy?” asked Nick Wharton, in a hoarse
aside, of Wild Bill. “What in the name of the everlastin’ hickory do
we want ter pass the time o’ day with people fur? I thought we cum out
from the fort ter hunt meat.
“It seems we didn’t. We cum out fur a nice sociable ride, payin’ polite
calls on wagon parties! It beats all in my knowledge o’ Bill. As if a
wagon train wouldn’t scare away all the bufflers within ten miles of
it!”
Old Nick only voiced the feelings of the other men. Even the stolid
Pawnee friendlies, trained from their boyhood not to express their
emotions, looked at Buffalo Bill in sheer amazement--but they said
nothing in opposition to his command, and neither did any one of his
white comrades.
They all knew him well--and knew that when he gave an order he meant to
have it obeyed.
The conduct of the border king was fully justified toward the evening
of that same day.
As they were cresting a rise in the prairie the scouts saw the wagons
of Mr. Doyle’s train about two miles away.
Buffalo Bill’s keen eye at once perceived that something was wrong.
The covers of the wagons were torn, the horses and mules were on the
ground, prostrate, and one of the wagons itself was overturned.
The cheeks of the king of the scouts blanched almost as soon as he
topped the rise and got his first glimpse of the wagon train.
“They have been attacked!” he gasped, between clenched teeth. “Heaven
alone knows what has happened to them! Forward, boys, at the gallop!”
Setting the example, he dug his spurs into the horse--a thing which he
did only under stress of the direst necessity--and shot forward from
his party like an arrow from the bow.
They were a hard-riding set--those scouts and Pawnees--but the Texan
beat them all. Jack Mainwaring alone kept up with Buffalo Bill in that
wild ride across the prairie toward the wagons.
Even Wild Bill, one of the hardest riders ever known on the great
plains, was left well behind.
But Jack Mainwaring had the spur of love to urge him on, and to make
him take out of his horse all the speed it had--even at the risk of
killing the animal.
When, in an incredibly short time, they came up to the wagons and
leaped off their panting horses, a terrible sight met their eyes.
All the horses and mules attached to the train were dead. Some of them
had been pierced by bullets, others by Indian arrows.
The frontiersmen who had driven the teams and guided the party were
stretched on the ground beside the animals in attitudes which showed
that they had died only after making a bitter and desperate fight for
their lives.
This, indeed, was proved by even plainer evidence; for around them were
the bodies of more than a score of dead redskins.
“Shawnees!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill, after a single glance at one of
these bodies. “This is Evil Heart’s work.”
“Where is May?” gasped Jack Mainwaring.
Buffalo Bill looked at the young man, and saw that his lips were
quivering under the stress of his strong emotion. He dared not answer
him, for he felt that he could give him no reply which would hold out
any hope of the safety of the girl he loved.
Instead of speaking, he started to search around, in the long grass of
the prairie, for the bodies of the girls.
In this search he was speedily assisted by Wild Bill and the rest of
his party, who came dashing up after him.
Five minutes passed, and then Buffalo Bill came up to Mainwaring, who
was standing like a man dazed, and said to him:
“Neither of the girls has been killed. Their bodies are not to be
found.”
“And that means?”
The young man was pale to the lips as he asked this question. Cody did
not reply.
“You know what it means, Buffalo Bill! They have been carried off by
the redskins. They will be exposed to a fate worse than death. They
will be tortured with the fiendish cruelty of which only the Indian
squaws are capable.”
“Steady! Brace up, old fellow!” said Buffalo Bill. “Don’t give way
to despair at once. All is not lost. We can follow the trail of the
Shawnees, and the chances are good that we may rescue the girls. The
redskins cannot have a big start of us.”
Mainwaring’s face lost its look of blank despair when he heard these
words.
“Thank Heaven, Cody!” he gasped. “You have lifted a load off my mind.
Yes, we will follow. We will rescue the girls, and we will make the
redskins pay dearly for what they have done.”
Before Buffalo Bill could reply he was amazed by hearing a feeble voice
calling to him:
“Marse Cody!”
Turning on his heel, he saw a black face peering out at him from the
upraised tent of one of the wagons. It was the face of Norfolk Ben, the
negro servant of the Doyles.
“Marse Cody!” the faithful black repeated, beckoning to him.
Buffalo Bill had been rooted to the spot in amazement for a moment, but
now he rushed eagerly up to the wagon.
He jumped into it, and a new surprise awaited him. There, stretched out
on the floor, he saw the form of Mr. Doyle, pallid as death and covered
with blood from a gunshot wound through the breast and another through
the leg.
Bending down swiftly, Buffalo Bill placed his hand over the man’s heart
and felt his pulse. To his joy he found that he still lived, and by
a swift examination of the wounds, which he dressed and bound up, he
convinced himself that he even had a fair chance of recovery.
While he was attending to the wounded man in this manner, with
Mainwaring looking eagerly on through the flap of the wagon tent,
Norfolk Ben said nothing.
The poor negro was in a bad way. He had been cut over the shoulder with
a tomahawk, which had inflicted a mere flesh wound, but one which,
nevertheless, had cost him the loss of a great deal of blood.
It was also plainly to be seen that he had been hit over the head with
the butt of a gun with a violence that would have cracked the skull of
any one but a negro.
He sat on the floor of the wagon, nursing his sore head, until Buffalo
Bill rose up from his ministrations to the unconscious old man.
Then he said:
“Marse Cody!--dem two sweet gals! Dem two cherubims! Whar am dey?”
“I don’t know, Ben. I wish I did,” replied the border king sadly.
Ben gave a groan which evidently came from the bottom of his heart and
gave the plainest proof of the sincerity of his affection for his young
mistresses.
“How did this happen, Ben?” asked the king of the scouts. “How does it
come about that you and your master aren’t killed and scalped. It’s one
of the strangest things I ever heard of.”
“I ’clar’ to goodness I don’t know, Marse Cody. Dem Injuns rushed on us
’fore we knowed it. De men with de teams fought like debbils, but dey
went down in a few seconds. I was in dis wagon wid de massa, who was
feeling some sick, so he couldn’t ride a hoss.
“I rushed in front ob him, but I was jess too late. He got hit by two
bullets in the first volley. Then a terr’ble man struck me wid a ax,
an’ I felt stars; an’ anodder hit me wid a gun.”
“But how was it that the Indians went away without finishing both of
you and then scalping you? It wasn’t like them to do that.”
“I seed de reason ob that jess before I fainted off, Marse Cody. Soon
as dem Injuns struck me, dere was a loud yell outside, an’ dey turned
at once an’ run off. I crawled to de side ob de wagon an’ looked out.
“All de red mens was ridin’ off like as if de debbil was behind them.
Anodder red man was tearin’ down on his hoss from de top ob de ridge,
’way off, an’ waving to dem wid his arms.”
“That explains it,” said Buffalo Bill. “They had a scout out there, and
he signaled the approach of our party when he saw us at a long distance
off. Evil Heart at once gave the yell for his band to mount and ride.
But still it is strange they did not wait to lift the scalps. That
would only have taken them a few moments.”
The border king assisted Norfolk Ben from the wagon and told him to
point in the direction from which he had seen the solitary Indian scout
riding and waving his arms.
To his surprise the negro pointed in the opposite direction to that
from which his party had ridden, to another ridge.
“You must be making a mistake, Ben,” said the border king. “We came
front the other side.”
“I dunno whar you came from, Marse Cody,” protested the black man. “But
he was thar.”
He stuck to this so firmly that Buffalo Bill was compelled to believe
him. It was evident that the Indians had not been scared away by the
approach of his party. They had been alarmed by some other danger which
threatened them.
“I give it up,” the scout confessed finally. “But it really makes no
difference. Our course is clear. We must follow the trail of these
Shawnees and rescue the girls, if it can be done.”
“An’ Norfolk Ben will come wid you, Marse Cody,” said the faithful
negro.
“No, Ben,” replied the king of the scouts. “You are wounded. I must
send you to Fort McPherson with your master in one of the wagons. We
can hitch up some of our spare horses to it.”
“No, massa, Ben is all right. He mus’ jess go wid you an’ try to find
dem sweet cherubims.”
He pleaded so earnestly that Cody had no alternative but to give in to
his wish.
The wagon was hitched up, and Mr. Doyle, still unconscious, was sent
off to the fort in it, under escort of three scouts.
The bodies of the slain frontiersmen were then quickly buried, and
Buffalo Bill led his party at a swift pace on the trail of the
Shawnees.