THE CAVALRYMEN.
Let us rejoin Dick Arbuckle at the time that the incensed cavalryman,
Tucker, was about to attack the hapless lad with his heavy Sabra.
Had the cruel blow fallen as intended it is beyond dispute that Dick
would have been severely injured.
"Don't!" cried the boy, and then closed his eyes at the terrible thought
of such dire punishment so close at hand.
But just at that instant an interruption came from out of the darkness
of the brush.
"Hello, there! What are you up to?"
Tucker started, and the Sabra was turned aside to bury itself in the
exposed roots of a tree.
"If it ain't Pawnee Brown!" muttered another cavalryman, Ross by name.
"Pawnee Brown!" burst from Dick's lips, joyfully, and, rising, he
attempted to rush toward his friend.
"Not so fast, boy!" howled Tucker, and caught the youth by the collar.
"What's the meaning of this? What are you doing to that boy?" asked
Pawnee Brown as he rode closer, with Rasco beside him.
"He's a horse thief, and we are going to take him to our camp," answered
Tucker, somewhat uneasily, for he had seen Pawnee Brown before and knew
he had a man of strong character with whom to deal.
"A horse thief!" ejaculated Jack Rasco. "Say, sod'ger, yer crazy! Thet
boy a thief! Wall, by gum!"
"That boy is no thief," put in Pawnee Brown. "He belongs to our camp,
and is as square as they make them--I'll vouch for it."
"I ain't taking the word of any boomer," muttered Tucker sourly. "That
kid--hold on! Don't shoot!"
And he dropped back in terror, for the great scout had drawn his pistol
like a flash.
"You'll take my word or take something else," came the stiff response.
"Be quick, now, and say which you choose."
"I didn't mean any harm, Pawnee. Maybe you don't know it, but the boy is
a thief just the same. We just caught him riding my horse--this bay. My
comrades can prove it."
"It's true," said Ross.
"True as gospel," added Skimmy, the third cavalryman. "We caught him
less than half an hour ago."
Without answering to this, Pawnee Brown turned to the youth.
"Tell me your yarn, Dick. I know there is some mistake here."
"There is not much to tell, Major. When the lariat broke up at the
Devil's Chimney and I couldn't make you reply to my calls I ran off to
get help and a rope. I intended to ride your mare back to camp, but when
I got to where the mare had been tethered I found her gone and this bay
loafing around in her place. I got on the bay, but, instead of riding to
camp, the animal ran away with me and brought me here. These fellows
were mighty rough on me, and that man was going to split my head open
when you came along in the nick of time."
"That's a neat fairy tale," sneered Tucker. "This horse was stolen four
hours ago. More than likely the boy couldn't manage him and lost his way
and the horse tried to get back to where he belonged."
"That doesn't connect with what I know," answered Pawnee Brown, quietly.
"My mare was tethered where he went to look for her. I might as well
accuse you of riding down there, taking Bonnie Bird and leaving this nag
in her place."
"Do you mean to insinuate we are horse thieves?" cried Ross hotly.
"I'm giving you as good as you send, that's all. Dick, have you any idea
where Bonnie Bird is?"
"Not the slightest, sir."
The great scout heaved a sigh. The little racing mare was the very apple
of his eye.
"I'll not give up the hunt until I have found her." He turned again to
the cavalrymen. "If the finest little black mare, with a white blaze,
that you ever saw strays into your camp remember she belongs to me," he
went on. "I want her returned at once, and if anybody attempts to keep
her there will be a hotter time than this Territory has seen for many a
day. Dick, hop up behind me," and he turned to his horse.
"That boy is to remain here," blustered Tucker, growing red in the face.
"Hardly, my bantam. Hop up, Dick, and we'll strike back for camp before
the sun comes up and see if the others who are on the search have seen
anything of your father. I saw nothing of him at the bottom of the
Devil's Chimney."
"I'm not going to have a lazy, good-for-nothing boomer lay it over
me----" began Tucker, when once more the sight of Pawnee Brown's pistol
silenced him.
No more was said as the scout, Dick and Rasco rode away down the trail
by which they had come. But, once out of sight, Tucker raised his fist
and shook it savagely.
"I'll get square with you some day, Pawnee Brown, mark my words!" he
muttered between his set teeth.
"We'll all get square," said Ross. "I hate the sight of that man."
"I understand the boomers have made him their leader," broke in Skimmy.
"If they have, he'll try to break through to Oklahoma as sure as guns
are guns."
"And he'll get shot, too," answered Tucker dryly. "The lieutenant is
having all of the boomers' movements watched."
"Pawnee Brown will do his level best to give us the slip, see if he
don't," remarked Skimmy. "Four thousand boomers wouldn't make him their
leader for nothing."
Thus, talking among themselves, the three cavalrymen mounted their
horses and rode back to their various picket stations along the boundary
line of the Indian Territory.
They were a detachment of the Seventh United States Cavalry, and the
lieutenant referred to by Tucker was in command.
For over a month they had been watching the boomers assembling in
Kansas. Other portions of the United States troops were watching the
would-be Oklahoma settlers in Arkansas and Texas.
There was every prospect of a lively time ahead, and it was not far off.
Reaching his station, Tucker drew from his pocket a briar-root pipe,
filled and lit it and began to puff away meditatively.
His face had been ugly before, but now as he began to meditate it grew
blacker than ever.
"Hang me, if everything ain't going wrong," he muttered. "I won't stand
it. I'll make a kick, and when I do----" He paused as a shadow among the
trees caught his eye. "Who goes there?" he called out and drew his
pistol.
"A friend. Tucker, is that you?"
"Vorlange!" cried the cavalryman, and the next moment the newcomer and
the military man were face to face.
"It's about time you showed up," growled Tucker, after a brief pause,
during which the newcomer looked at him anxiously. "Say, Vorlange, when
do you intend to settle up with me. Give it to me straight, now."
"That's why I left the trail to hunt you up, Tucker--I knew you were
anxious about that five hundred dollars."
"Why shouldn't I be? It took me a long time to save it--a good sight
longer than it did for you to gamble it away."
"Tucker, I didn't gamble that away--I'll swear it. I used it in
business."
"Business? What business have you got outside of your position as a land
office spy?"
"A good business, if you only knew it. I've been following up a little
deal that started in the East--in New York. Out there I had to hire a
fellow I could trust to work for me, and that took most of the money.
But the whole thing is coming my way now, and I want to talk things over
with you. How would you like to have a thousand back in return for the
five hundred you loaned me?"
"What sort of a game are you working on me now?"
"A square deal, Tucker. I've been keeping my eye on you, and I reckon
you are the fellow to do what I want done."
"And what do you want done?"
Vorlange stepped closer.
"The boomers are going to try to cross into Oklahoma either to-morrow or
day after. There will be a fight, I am certain of it, and somebody will
be shot and killed. When you fire I want you to pick out your man--two
men--or, rather, a man and a boy, if you can do it. I may be on hand to
take part myself, but there is a possibility that I may be ordered
elsewhere."
"And you are willing to pay me five hundred extra for picking out my
target, Vorlange?"
"You've struck it."
"Who is the man?"
"Can I trust you?"
"Yes."
"Pawnee Brown."
At the mention of the great scout's name Tucker started back.
"Why--why do you want him knocked over?"
"He is my enemy. I have hated him from my boyhood!" cried Louis
Vorlange. "And there are other reasons--he stands in the way of my
pushing the scheme I mentioned."
"Pawnee Brown was here but a short while ago. He insulted and abused
me," growled Tucker. "I'll put a bullet through him quick enough if I
get the chance--that is, in a skirmish. I don't want to run any risk of
being strung up for--you know."
"The shooting will be O. K., Tucker, and I'll help if I'm not ordered
away. Do it and the five hundred extra are yours, I'll give you my
word."
"What about that boy you mentioned?"
"His name is Dick Arbuckle. He is----"
"Dick Arbuckle? I know him. He stole my horse. I captured him and Pawnee
Brown came to his rescue and made me, Ross and Skimmy give him up," and
Tucker gave the particulars in his own version of the affair.
"Then you bear the lad no love?"
"Love?" The cavalryman grated his teeth. "I was wishing I could get a
shot at him."
"Then keep that wish in mind, Tucker, when the time for action arrives."
"If it's worth five hundred to you to have Pawnee Brown knocked over it
ought to be worth more to have both of 'em laid low," suggested Tucker,
who was naturally a grasping fellow.
"Five hundred in cold cash is a good deal in these times," was the slow
answer. "But I'll tell you what I'll do. If, after a fight, you can
bring me absolute proof that Pawnee Brown and Dick Arbuckle are dead
I'll give you an even twelve hundred dollars, the five hundred I
borrowed and seven hundred extra. There's my hand on it. What do you
say?"
"Will you promise to give me the money as soon as you have the proofs?"
"I will," and Louis Vorlange raised his right hand as though to make
good such a blasphemous promise.
"All right, then; I take you up," answered Tucker.