THE RESCUE OF STEVE.
The border king ran to the edge of the cliff and peered over. He saw
that there was a sheer descent of more than five hundred feet, with no
trees or shrubs to break a fall--nothing but a smooth face of bare rock.
Far below, lying upon a heap of fallen bowlders, he could see, through
his field glasses, the body of the Shawnee chief.
There could be no doubt that he was dead. Every bone in his body must
have been broken by that fearful fall.
Cody promptly returned to his horse and rode back to the scene of the
fight, where his companions were awaiting him. He briefly told them of
the fate of Evil Heart and ordered them to mount and ride back on the
trail. He wished to follow the other trail of the larger Indian party
without delay and do what he could to recover the girls.
“Wait a moment, Cody,” said Mainwaring, who had distinguished himself
in the fight. “I’ve got a prisoner here, and I want to know what you
are going to do with him.”
“A prisoner!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill, in amazement. “How did you get a
chance to take one in such a fight as this, where quarter is neither
asked nor given?”
“Here he is,” said Mainwaring, pointing to a young Shawnee, who was
sitting upon the ground, closely guarded by two Pawnees with tomahawks
in their hands. “I guess he was a young brave just out on his first
trail. Anyway, he got scared when I had the drop on him. He threw down
his tomahawk and begged for mercy, and I hadn’t the heart to shoot him
then.”
“A strange thing for an Indian to do,” remarked Buffalo Bill. “Well,
it’s a nuisance. I don’t see what we are going to do with him.”
“The Pawnees were keen to kill and scalp him,” said Mainwaring. “I had
a good deal of trouble in preventing them.”
“I dare say you had,” commented the border king grimly. “They don’t
approve of such mercy.”
It was plain from the looks of the two Pawnees who were guarding the
brave that they did not. Their fingers clutched their tomahawks with
a nervous grip, as though they yearned to send the deadly weapons
crashing into the skull of the captive.
The Shawnee looked up beseechingly into the face of the border king. He
was evidently afraid to die, and he knew that his fate rested in the
hands of the renowned Long Hair.
“White Feather will tell the great chief about the paleface maidens if
he will spare his life,” he said. “He will tell how they were taken
from Evil Heart and who took them.”
He spoke in his own tongue, which Buffalo Bill understood.
“That’s another matter,” replied the king of the scouts. “Let White
Feather speak straight words and tell me all I want to know, and he
shall not only have his life, but he shall go free. He is not a warrior
we need fear.”
The Shawnee was too nervous for himself to resent or even notice the
last cutting remark. He plunged into his story eagerly.
It appeared that the Shawnees had fled from the wrecked wagon train
because one of their scouts had signaled the approach of a strong
war party of Utes, far outnumbering their own. As the Utes, like the
Apaches, had their hands against almost all the other tribes, Evil
Heart had feared to meet them.
The Utes had not seen them, apparently, but they had done all they
could to hide their trail, without knowing that the white men were
after them.
But, nevertheless, quite by accident, the war party of Utes had sighted
them later on the prairie and ridden up to them, compelling them to
halt. This explained the mystery of the two converging trails.
The Utes were under the command of a famous chief named Bear Killer,
and they were out on the warpath against the Snake Indians, having
traveled far from their own lodges for that purpose.
Bear Killer and Evil Heart had held a palaver, the result of which was
that the Ute chief had demanded that the two white maidens should be
handed over to him as the price of his letting the Shawnees go on their
way without a fight.
Evil Heart had been loath to grant this, but his braves had prevailed
on him to do so, for the Utes so far outnumbered them that a battle
would have meant their almost certain extermination.
The Ute chief had ridden away with his followers, saying that he would
hunt for the Snakes, and after he had vanquished them he would return
to his home far across the great mountains, and make the eldest white
maiden his squaw, while his brother, who was with his war party, would
take the other to his lodge.
This was valuable information, and Buffalo Bill did not grudge the
captive his liberty as the price of it.
Grateful at having saved his life, even at the price of showing
cowardice, White Feather departed on foot to seek the lodges of his
people.
Buffalo Bill gave the word to ride as swiftly as possible back to the
point where the Utes had met the Shawnees.
When they got there the scouts scattered around and examined the tracks
carefully in order to estimate the strength of the Utes as nearly as
they could.
The result was to show that it was a party of such strength as it
seemed almost foolish to try to tackle.
While they were busy in this work Wild Bill heard a low moan coming
from a small clump of bushes near by. He called Buffalo Bill to him,
and together they hastened to the spot.
There they found a man lying on the prairie. He had been staked out on
the ground, so that he would perish of hunger and thirst.
Buffalo Bill cut him loose, helped him to his feet, revived him with a
drink, and asked:
“How long have you been here?”
“About five hours, I reckon, pard.”
“Who did it?”
“Utes.”
“A large party?”
“No.”
“Any white girls in it?”
“No.”
“How many braves?”
“Ten.”
“That can’t be Bear Killer’s gang,” said Buffalo Bill, turning to Wild
Bill.
“There are Utes all over the country,” said the rescued man. “Several
bands. They are spread all over, looking for the Snakes.”
“I know you now,” remarked Buffalo Bill, looking keenly at the man.
“You are Steve Hathaway. You used to be a government scout, but you
turned outlaw.”
“That’s right, Buffalo Bill,” said Hathaway, who was an old man,
hanging his head in shame. “But I’ve got tired of the life and want to
be an honest and decent man again. I joined the Death Riders, but I
couldn’t stand for their ways, so I left ’em at the risk of my life,
an’ I was trying to reach the settlements when the Utes caught me.”
“If you want to turn over a new leaf, I’ll do all I can to help you,
Steve,” said the chivalrous knight of the plains. “You used to be a
good man in the old days. Now, listen:
“We are chasing the Utes to recover two white girls. If they are as
numerous as you say we shall want help. I am going to send a man to
Fort McPherson to ask for a troop of cavalry. Will you go and guide
them to me? I will send two scouts back later on to meet you and help
to direct you.”
“Sure, pard,” replied Steve. “There’s nothing I’d like to do better. If
you will trust me I won’t betray your trust. You have saved my life,
and it is yours. I will go to Fort McPherson and bring the troopers
along, or die in the attempt.”
Hathaway stopped only to eat and drink a little, and then, being
supplied with a horse, he rode off to the fort.
When, after some hard riding, he reached there, he gave the commandant
a letter with which Buffalo Bill had intrusted him, explaining the
nature of the situation.
“Order Captain Meinhold and Company B to go at once,” said the
commandant to his adjutant. “They are the boys for this kind of work.
Tell Captain Meinhold to spare no effort to bring the girls back. That
is the first consideration. Even the punishment of the Indians is a
secondary matter.”