TOO MUCH FIRE WATER.
After three days of easy journeying, the party reached a white
settlement on the shores of the lake, and there Buffalo Bill, Congo,
and Captain Meinhold secured horses on which they could journey to Fort
McPherson quickly.
The rest of the party would follow at their leisure, but it was
imperative for Buffalo Bill to reach the fort, as from that place he
would be able to speedily make the necessary arrangements for Hare’s
ransom.
He well knew the danger of delay in this matter. If the presents did
not arrive within the stipulated time, it was likely enough that
the Indians, always more or less suspicious in their nature, would
decline to wait any longer, but would at once proceed to torture the
unfortunate captive to death.
No doubt Running Water would do his best to prevent this, but his
influence with the tribe over which he was chief seemed to be less than
that of Black Panther--at all events, in this matter.
Fort McPherson was safely reached without any incidents worthy of
record happening on the way.
The commandant already knew of the loss of the schooner; for the men
who had escaped in the other boat, from which the Buffalo Bill party
had been separated in the storm, had made their way to the fort just
before, reporting that they were the sole survivors.
There was naturally much rejoicing among the officers and soldiers when
they found that so many others of their comrades had also managed to
save their lives, and especially at the fact that the women were safe.
The commandant listened with deep interest to the story of their
adventures in Running Water’s village, as told to him by Buffalo Bill
and Captain Meinhold.
He was at first inclined to send a force of soldiers back with Buffalo
Bill to punish the Indians for daring to capture a white man, hold him
captive, and threaten to put him to death by torture.
Buffalo Bill, however, managed to persuade him that this would be
neither fair nor wise.
He pointed out that the Indians had been kind and hospitable toward the
shipwrecked party until Hare shot one of their number, that then they
had only thought to carry out their idea of strict justice, and that in
the end they had been willing to temper even that with mercy.
If soldiers were sent after them under such conditions, the faith of
the redskins in the fair dealing of the whites would be shattered all
through the country.
The commandant recognized the force of these arguments, and satisfied
himself with helping the king of the scouts to get together the
promised presents for the red men.
There was little difficulty in arranging this, and two days after his
arrival at the fort Buffalo Bill set out on his way back to Running
Water’s village, accompanied by Joe Congo, Wild Bill, and Captain
Meinhold, the latter obtaining a short leave of absence for the purpose.
“After deserting you and Hare in the way I did,” the officer said to
the border king, “I could never feel easy in my mind unless I saw the
end of this business.”
“It was not desertion at all,” replied Cody. “You only did what you
thought was your duty to the women. But I shall be very glad of your
company on the trip, all the same.”
The Indian village was reached three days before the end of the period
of reprieve which had been granted by the council to the captive.
“I was beginning to grow nervous,” Hare confessed, as he shook hands
warmly with Buffalo Bill. “I knew you would not desert me, but as the
time drew toward an end I feared that you might have met with some
accident that would delay you, or even prevent you from coming at all.”
The man had been well treated by the Indians during his period of
captivity, but he had been closely watched night and day. Even had he
been disposed to disregard Cody’s advice against attempting to escape,
he would have found no chance to do so.
All of the Indians, from Running Water himself down to the youngest
brave, were delighted with the presents. They fell short in no
particular of the border king’s pictured descriptions. On the contrary,
they exceeded the wildest anticipations of the red men.
The horses and the rifles were particularly admired, for they were far
better than any the tribe could get. But unfortunately there was one
item of the ransom which led to trouble; it was the whisky.
Buffalo Bill had hesitated whether he should bring it with him. He was
much opposed to the selling or giving of fire water to the redskins,
and had always fought bitterly against it.
Sure enough, that night the whisky caused trouble, as it always does
among palefaces as well as redskins.
Buffalo Bill and his friend had arrived at the village in the middle of
the afternoon, and by the time the Indians had finished inspecting the
presents and talking with the whites it needed only about two hours to
sunset.
Buffalo Bill proposed to start on his journey back at once, taking Hare
with him. He feared that the Indians would indulge in a drunken orgy
that night, and it might not be safe for the white men to remain in the
village. At all events, there would be a risk of trouble, for the worst
passions of the braves would almost certainly be aroused by the whisky.
But Running Water would by no means hear of their going. Hospitable as
ever, he begged Buffalo Bill and his friends to stay and take part in
the great feast which would be held that night to celebrate the wealth
that had come to his band.
Buffalo Bill tried hard to get out of the invitation, but the chief and
his braves were so insistent that in the end he was obliged to give
way, very much against his will.
The feast started early, and enormous quantities of meat were consumed
by the gluttonous braves.
Unfortunately enormous quantities of whisky were drunk also.
It was not long before the ugly traits in the Indian character began to
come to the front.
Several of the braves, reeling to their feet, yelled and shouted
defiantly at one another, declaring, as most men are apt to do when
they are drunk, that they could “lick the earth.”
Old enemies and feuds were recalled under the influence of the liquor,
and there would have been more than one deadly fight had it not been
for the restraining influence of Running Water, aided by Buffalo Bill
and the other whites, who had become very popular with most of the
warriors on account of the rich presents they had brought.
The old chief was a pretty clever diplomatist, and he succeeded in
calming down the angry braves until the more drunken and quarrelsome
of them, taking more of the whisky, sank into a stupor.
Black Panther was one of those who had indulged heavily, but the liquor
did not seem to take quite the same effect on him as it did on the
others.
He seemed to retain his senses perfectly, but, as he took drink after
drink, his fierce black eyes became fixed upon the white men with an
even deadlier glance of hatred.
He did not think of any quarrels that he might have with his own
tribesmen. One of the great passions of his life was hatred of the
whites, and it came uppermost now.
This hatred was particularly concentrated upon Buffalo Bill, whom he
knew to be the leader of the little party.
The memory of the presents he had received that afternoon did not
soothe him, by any means. Indeed, he had clean forgotten them under the
influence of the whisky. He thought of only one thing--that he hated
all white men, and particularly Buffalo Bill.
Running Water had not touched a drop of the liquor. When Buffalo Bill
had asked him why, early in the evening, he had replied:
“Fire water bad for de man. Make him fool. Make him act like crazy man.
Running Water must watch his braves. Running Water cannot drink.”
But of all the braves whom the chief watched, there was none he kept
his eye on more intently than Black Panther.
That warrior said no word, but he looked steadily at Buffalo Bill with
a baleful glare that would have done credit to the ferocious animal
after which he was named.
“Black Panther bad to-night,” said the chief, in a whisper to Buffalo
Bill. “He hate all white men--he hate you most. Be ready. He want to
fight, but I try to stop him.”
“All right, chief,” replied the border king. “I’m sure I don’t want to
fight him, if I can help it. You have treated us well, and we don’t
want to have any trouble. We’d like to remain friends with all your
band.”
The words were hardly spoken, when Black Panther rose suddenly to his
feet and commenced to declaim a loud, passionate speech which even
awakened some of the drunken sleepers.
Buffalo Bill could not understand many of the words. Although he was
familiar with some dialects of the Sioux tongue, he did not know the
particular one spoken by this band.
But the purport of his speech was plain enough from Black Panther’s
impassioned gestures and the look of hatred which he concentrated on
the king of the scouts.
Even Captain Meinhold and Hare, although less versed than the two
scouts in the ways of the Indians, could not help seeing that what
Black Panther wanted to do was to provoke a fight with Buffalo Bill.
In the middle of the harangue, Running Water rose to his feet and
motioned to the brave to seat himself on the ground again; but Black
Panther remained defiantly standing.
“What does he say?” the border king asked the chief.
“Him say he fight you with tomahawk--with knife--with revolver--with
anything you like. But we not let him. You our friend. If a brave fight
you here when you eat our meat, the face of my band is blackened.”
Running Water replied in this same strain to Black Panther, but he
might as well have spoken to the wind.
Several of the braves--the more sober of them--supported their chief;
but others wanted to see a fight, and they clamored to let Black
Panther have his way. If the white man did not fight, they said, he was
a coward.
Buffalo Bill caught this, for the word used was the same as in another
dialect of the Sioux, which he knew.
He rose at once, repressing his anger with difficulty, and suggested to
Running Water that he should wrestle with Black Panther. They need not
fight a deadly duel, he urged, but they could at least see who was the
better man.
The chief grasped eagerly at this proposal, for things were beginning
to look serious, and bloodshed seemed imminent.
He translated Buffalo Bill’s challenge to Black Panther, and the latter
fiercely accepted the suggestion.
He knew that he was far and away the best wrestler in the whole of the
Sioux nation--the admitted champion of all the bands--and he had no
doubt that he could vanquish his white opponent easily.
But he reckoned without his host, for he little knew that the king of
the scouts had muscles as strong as steel, and had been trained in
the art of wrestling from his youth up. So proficient, indeed, had
he become in it that he had never yet met the redskin who could beat
him--or the white man, either.
Black Panther stood up, naked to the waist, for the bout. He did not
seem to be much affected by the quantity of whisky he had taken. His
eye was clear, his attitude agile, and his movements as rapid as those
of the animal from whom he had taken his name.
With a loud yell, he darted straight at Buffalo Bill, and in a second
the two men were locked in a close embrace.
It was soon over. Buffalo Bill, with a mighty heave, flung the redskin
clean over his shoulder.
For a few moments Black Panther lay upon the ground stunned. Then he
rose unsteadily to his feet and glared at Buffalo Bill like a tiger.
The king of the scouts held himself ready for another wrestle, if his
opponent chose to take it--but Black Panther had another idea in his
mind.
He whipped a knife out of his belt, and would have rushed at Buffalo
Bill and stabbed him to the heart, but Running Water and several of the
other braves, fearing just this thing, had watched him closely.
In a trice they seized and disarmed him. He struggled furiously, but in
the hands of half a dozen strong braves he was as helpless as a baby.
There was no one to say a word in his defense. Even the most drunken of
the braves condemned his action, for hospitality is a sacred obligation
to the red man. And Black Panther had actually tried to murder a guest!
By command of Running Water he was taken to a lodge and closely guarded
until the white men left the village on the following morning.
Three braves, the most sober whom Running Water could select, watched
him all night, tomahawk in hand.
They had orders to slay him on the spot if he made any attempt to break
out of the lodge.
Black Panther knew this, and he was wise enough to keep still. But the
flame of hatred in his heart burned more and more fiercely as the hours
went by, and he vowed to himself that he would never rest until he had
vengeance on his white opponent.
No man knew this better than Buffalo Bill, who was as familiar with the
nature of the redskins as any white man can be.
Before he left the village with his friends, Running Water apologized
profusely for the behavior of Black Panther, who, he said, had brought
disgrace on all the band.
“He shall not remain with us,” the chief added. “He left us before. He
shall go back to the band he joined. He shall not remain another day in
the village.”
“Don’t drive him out on my account, chief,” said Buffalo Bill. “I bear
him no ill will. It was the whisky that did it.”
“But he feel ill will to you,” replied Running Water gravely. “He kill
you when he meet you, unless you kill him first.”
Buffalo Bill laughed.
“Well, I’ll do my best to look out for myself if I ever do meet him
again,” he said.
“You better shoot quick,” was the parting warning of the chief to the
border king, as he and his friends bade farewell and mounted their
horses for the return journey.
“I reckon Running Water is about right,” said Buffalo Bill to Wild
Bill, as they rode onward.
“How was he on the wrestle?” asked Wild Bill curiously.
“A mighty good man. If it hadn’t been for all that drink that was in
him, he’d have been the toughest proposition to handle that I ever ran
up against. As it was, he was not particularly difficult to throw.”
The fort was reached safely, and soon afterward Hare, the rescued
captive, returned to his relatives, quite cured of any desire for
further experiences of Western life.