EVIL HEART’S SUICIDE.
Although the Indians had obtained only a short start of the border king
and his men, the chase was a long and difficult one.
As the scouts and their Pawnee allies followed the trail, it became
more and more evident that every expedient of redskin craft had been
employed to hide it.
Even Buffalo Bill’s skill was often at fault, and sometimes for
hours--once even for a whole day--the tracks were lost completely and
only recovered after the most arduous search.
“Evil Heart is one of the best chiefs on the plains, both in fighting
and in running away,” said Buffalo Bill to Wild Bill, as they were
riding side by side on the fifth day of the chase. “But I think we
shall get him this time, after all. The trail is freshening all the
time.”
“Yes, that is so,” Wild Bill replied, “and, of course, you must have
noticed one thing--that during the last few hours not a single effort
has been made to hide it. That strikes me as being rather strange, for
they have done all they could to conceal their tracks up to now.”
“Yes, I have noticed that,” said Buffalo Bill, knitting his brows in
some perplexity, “and it has seemed peculiar to me.”
It was not long before this mystery, which so much puzzled the
experienced scouts, deepened.
They had not ridden more than a mile when Buffalo Bill, who was in
front, pulled up his mustang, with a cry of astonishment.
“Here is another trail!” he exclaimed to Nick Wharton and Wild Bill,
who instantly pushed their horses up alongside of his.
It was a fact. Another body of Indians, who had evidently ridden across
the prairie from the left at a tangent, had met with the Shawnees.
The tracks plainly showed that the new party outnumbered the first by
more than four to one. The Shawnees had been held up, but there were no
signs to indicate that a fight had taken place.
There had been a halt and a palaver, but evidently that was all.
The newcomers had not joined the Shawnees. Another trail showed that
they had ridden off in a different direction, while the Shawnees had
proceeded on their own course.
What had happened? This was a question which all the experience and
ingenuity of the scouts failed to answer.
Was the second party composed of Shawnees? From the fact that no fight
had taken place, there was some reason to suppose that this was the
case; but, on the other hand, if they were Shawnees, why had they not
joined the party under Evil Heart, the paramount chief of that tribe?
The scouts examined all the tracks with the greatest care, but they
could not solve the riddle.
“Certainly there is more in this than meets the eye,” said the border
king. “It is difficult to know what to do.”
“You mean that it is hard to decide which of the two parties to
follow?” asked Mainwaring.
“Yes. It is just possible, you see, that the stronger party forced the
weaker to give up the girls to them, under threat of attack in case
they refused to do so. The chances are against that having happened,
but still it is a possibility.”
“Could you not divide our party and follow both trails?”
“No. I am afraid that is out of the question. We have few enough men,
in all conscience, to attack the Shawnees, and we could do nothing
against the stronger party. If we divided our force we would be
helpless against either when we caught up with them. We must take our
choice which we will pursue.”
“I can’t speak as an authority,” said Mainwaring, “but, if I may offer
an opinion, I would favor going after Evil Heart’s band. We know he has
the girls--or, at least, that he had them; and the chances are that he
would not give them up without a fight.”
“That is just my way of looking at the matter,” agreed Buffalo Bill.
“But let us hear what the others have to say. It is such a dubious
question that it ought to be decided by the general voice.”
The king of the scouts called Wild Bill, Nick Wharton, and several of
the most experienced scouts and Pawnees around him.
With one exception, they were all in favor of keeping on after the
original band they had been pursuing. The exception was an old Pawnee
warrior named Dead Eye.
“Ugh!” this veteran grunted. “What for other Injuns ride after Evil
Heart? What for they make him stop and hold palaver? They not do it for
nothing. They took no scalps. What else they take? White squaws!”
Having delivered himself of this opinion, in opposition to all the
others who had spoken, the old brave sat stolidly on his horse, as if
the matter had no further concern for him. Indeed, it had not. He was
quite willing to follow either party, for there would be a fine fight
at the end of the chase and a rich harvest of scalps--both of which
things would satisfy his savage nature.
Buffalo Bill looked at him undecidedly.
“How many summers is it since you followed your first war trail and
took your first scalp, Dead Eye?” he asked.
Dead Eye made no reply in words, but he held up the fingers of both
hands five times. He had been a full-fledged warrior for fifty years.
“And how many scalps have you taken?”
Dead Eye handed his tomahawk to Buffalo Bill without a word.
The border king examined it with curious interest. It was covered with
small notches from the blade to the end of the helve. Each notch, of
course, stood for a scalp taken.
“All braves!” grunted Dead Eye. “Me no kill women or children.”
Here was a man, thought Buffalo Bill, whose opinion was worth taking.
“We will go after the larger party,” he said.
But Dead Eye interposed.
“You no do that,” he said. “You have called council. All but me say go
after Evil Heart. You must do that. How Dead Eye feel if other band no
have girls and you follow it?”
Buffalo Bill could not but admit that this view of the matter was a
just one. He ought to abide by the general voice of his advisers, even
though Dead Eye’s brief arguments had impressed him so strongly.
He gave the word to follow the Shawnees at the best speed possible.
After a few hours the trail left the level prairie and wound up into a
range of foothills which led up into frowning mountains beyond. The
scouts now knew, from the exceeding freshness of the trail, that they
were almost on the heels of their enemies and might expect to catch
sight of them at any moment.
Suddenly, as they turned a corner of the broad but rough trail that led
up into the hills, they were startled by a loud yell from Buffalo Bill,
who, as usual, was riding in advance.
“There they are!” he shouted.
The Shawnees were not more than half a mile in advance. They were
toiling slowly and painfully up the trail; for their horses were
evidently much fatigued.
Although they largely outnumbered the scouts, they tried to get away
without a fight; but Buffalo Bill’s party gained on them so rapidly
that they soon saw the attempt was vain and gave it up.
As they turned and scattered out along the trail to take such cover as
they could find, Buffalo Bill saw, to his chagrin and horror, that the
two girls were not with them.
“You were right, Dead Eye!” he said remorsefully, to the old Pawnee. “I
ought to have insisted on taking your advice against that of all the
others, as I was inclined to do.”
“Ugh!” grunted the Indian. “Take scalps of Shawnees first--then go back
and take scalps of others.”
This was obviously the only course now to be adopted. Buffalo Bill gave
the word to charge, and the scouts swept up the trail at a gallop,
recking nothing of the hot but ill-directed fire of the Shawnees.
The redskins had the advantage of position and numbers, but that was
more than counterbalanced by the superior marksmanship of the scouts
and the dash with which they made their assault.
Buffalo Bill’s men had the great advantage of being the attackers, and
under his fine leadership they took full benefit of it.
Twice the number of Indians could hardly have withstood their furious
charge. In a few minutes they were in the midst of the Shawnees, whose
cover then availed them nothing.
Several of the braves, their guns having been emptied vainly, tried to
get at close quarters and use their deadly tomahawks; but they were
shot down before they could do so.
The fight was brief and bloody, but nearly the whole loss was sustained
by the Shawnees.
In a few minutes those who had escaped the first onslaught turned to
retreat up the trail. The retreat was soon turned to a rout, and the
rout into a veritable stampede.
But, with their fagged ponies, the Indians could not escape the
well-mounted scouts. They were ridden down, one after another, until
only one man was left toiling far ahead on a spent horse up the
mountain.
“I know him,” shouted Buffalo Bill, who had taken the leadership in the
pursuit. “He is the chief, Evil Heart. Let no man but myself follow
him. There is an old account to be settled between us, and I will
settle it now, hand to hand, with this!”
The king of the scouts flourished a tomahawk which he had taken from
one of the Shawnee braves whom he had slain.
In deference to their leader’s command, the other scouts held back, and
Buffalo Bill on his fine mustang pursued the Shawnee chief at a gallop.
But soon the track became so rough that he had to slacken his speed to
a trot, and then to a walk.
The foothills had now been left behind, and the way wound steeply up
into the mountains beyond.
From time to time Buffalo Bill lost sight of the man he was following,
for the track, with a sheer cliff on one side, had many turnings. Yet
he was confident that he would catch up with Evil Heart before long,
for he had noted how tired the horse of the chief was.
Presently the trail became so rough and encumbered with bowlders that
his own mustang could barely keep its footing, and he was thinking of
dismounting and following on foot, when he came suddenly on the dead
horse of the Indian.
It had stumbled over a rock and fallen, breaking its leg. Evil Heart
had then promptly stabbed it to death with his knife and fled onward on
foot.
Buffalo Bill had too much affection for his own animal to expose it to
the same risk, so he dismounted, ordered the faithful animal to stand
still and await his return, and then ran up the trail at a good speed.
Turning the next bend in the cliff he saw the Shawnee ahead of him, not
more than five hundred yards away.
Yelling at the top of his voice, the border king challenged the redskin
to turn and fight him hand to hand. He emphasized the command by waving
the tomahawk which he carried in his hand.
Evil Heart looked round as the king of the scouts came swiftly toward
him, gaining at every stride; and when Buffalo Bill came near enough he
saw that sheer terror was written plainly on the redskin’s face.
To a man deeply imbued with Indian superstitions, as Evil Heart
undoubtedly was, it may have seemed that death itself was following on
his trail--so unremitting and relentless had been the pursuit.
Whether this was the case or not, it was plain that Evil Heart,
renowned for many years as a famous warrior, had at last lost his nerve.
He faced Buffalo Bill and flung his tomahawk at him when he was within
about forty yards. But his arm was palsied with fright, and the weapon
did not go within a yard of the intended mark.
Then the Shawnee gave up hope entirely. There was a deep chasm on one
side of the trail and the cliff on the other.
Yelling defiance to his paleface foe, Evil Heart leaped over the
precipice. He preferred suicide to death at the hands of Buffalo Bill.