ENOS SPALDING.
A revolver cracked in the thick boughs of the scrubby oak above the
heads of the men who were thus bent on murdering Buffalo Bill, and Gomez
fell back with a cry, clutching frantically at his breast.
Before he struck the ground the revolver cracked again, and another of
the three men fell. The third dropped the rope and turned to run.
Buffalo Bill’s feet struck the ground with a thump as the lariat was
thus released, and then he toppled over, falling as heavily as either of
the two men who had been dropped by the revolver.
A third time the revolver cracked, and the rascal who was running
uttered a cry, but sped on, moving his heels with marvelous speed.
A chuckling laugh sounded in the top of the oak. Then there was a
rustling of the thick branches, a scraping sound, and a few moments
later a pair of long legs came sliding down the trunk of the tree,
followed by a long, lank, muscular body, and then by a small head that
was covered by a shock of coarse hair and a huge flapping hat.
When this queer figure struck the ground with its big feet and then
straightened up, a tall, slim man was revealed, a man of elderly aspect,
whose shrewd face was twisting with excitement and whose blue eyes
snapped and burned. He wore a billy-goat beard, and his whole appearance
stamped him unmistakably as a “down-East Reub.”
So tall was he that he seemed to have squeezed himself into the clothing
of a boy, the sleeves and the tail of his coat and the legs of his
trousers were so short. The short sleeves revealed a pair of red, bony
wrists, while the stump legs of the trousers showed a vista of
bright-red stockings of coarse yarn. The shoes were big and hobnailed.
“By chaowder!” he grunted, “I reckon I didn’t do that shooting none too
soon. I hate tew pull a deadly weepon on any human critter, but ’twan’t
never in the Spalding blood to allaow what ain’t a square deal ’tween
man and man. And this feller was an American, whilst t’others was yaller
Mexicans, and that’s got tew be caounted in, by gum! An American has got
tew stand up fer another American every time. But, I vum! I dunno but I
was too slow, fer seems ter me he’s stun-dead. One of them Mexicans is
still kickin’, and he’s got a gun, tew! I’ll jes have tew relieve him of
that, fust thing.”
The wounded man lay on his back, glaring at the Yankee. He had been shot
in the shoulder. It was a stunning sort of wound, which had knocked him
out temporarily, though he was probably not fatally injured. But the
other man was dead, and that man was Gomez.
Running his long fingers over the clothing of the wounded man, the
Yankee deftly extracted a murderous knife and a revolver.
“I reckon yeou’re a reg’lar walkin’ ars’nel! What else ye got on ye, in
the way of weepons?”
He found nothing else, but from one of the pockets he brought up a slip
of paper written in Spanish.
The Yankee stared at it, and then deliberately bringing from his pocket
a pair of heavy spectacles he set them on his nose and tried to read the
writing.
“Them hen tracks is tew much fer me!” he admitted, as he tucked the
paper away for future reference.
When he had satisfied himself that the wounded man was now weaponless,
he turned his attention to Buffalo Bill, who was again unconscious,
because the noose cut so sharply into his neck. The Yankee loosened and
cast off the noose.
“Looks like I was a bit tew slow with that shootin’!” he said. “I
hesitated tew long, I reckon. But I didn’t want tew do anything unless I
seen I jes’ had to. I ain’t got any stummick fer killin’ men, even if
they aire Mexicans and aire deserving of death.”
He began to work the scout’s arms up and down, and then, bending over,
he blew into his face.
“If I had any worter!” As he spoke he noticed Buffalo Bill’s flask lying
on the ground, with his field glasses, which the scoundrels had
appropriated. He picked up the flask, opened it, and took a sniff.
“Whisky, by heck! And they tuck it frum _him_. I vum, ef this critter
ain’t a drinkin’ man, and he looked tew me like a plum’ straightforward
critter! Looks is deceivin’.”
He not only sniffed the whisky, but tasted it.
“Fiery as all git-aout, by gosh! Wonder what the Temperance Society
daown at Spalding’s Corners would say ef they should see me tastin’ and
handlin’ the vile stuff? They’d call me a backslider, by heck! But I
ain’t goin’ tew use it on myself, and I reckon it’s use is allowable,
anyhow, as a medicine. Waal, here goes!”
He pried the jaws of the scout apart, and poured some of the whisky down
his throat.
“Makes ye choke, does it? Waal, that’s a sign yeou’re livin’, anyhaow.”
Again he began to move the arms up and down and breathe into the scout’s
face and nostrils.
The color returned to the pallid features, the breathing strengthened,
and the scout was again on the road to consciousness.
The Yankee inspected the cut made by the bullet in the scout’s head.
“That bullet come darn near gittin’ ye, didn’t it? I reckon yeou’re born
tew be draowned in the sea; fer bullets and ropes don’t finish ye. Ef a
man’s born tew be draowned he can’t be killed by hangin’.”
When Buffalo Bill opened his eyes he saw the thin face of the Yankee
close by his own, and heard the Yankee’s harsh yet kindly voice:
“Comin’ raound, be ye? Waal, yeou’ve been a tarnal long time doin’ it.
And every minute we stay here is a resk. One man got away, and it’s my
opinion others like him aire raound here a-plenty. He’ll find ’em, and
come back.” He heard a sound, and glanced around. “Hello! That critter
over there’s movin’!”
The wounded Mexican was trying to crawl to the body of Gomez, to get the
revolver which the Yankee had not removed. The Yankee swung around and
cocked his own weapon.
“Don’t dew it!” he warned. “I’ve killed one man a’ready, and I don’t
want tew haf to kill another.”
The Mexican dropped limply back upon the grass.
“That’s right, jes’ lay there, will ye! And don’t tempt me tew shoot ye.
I don’t want to.”
He turned again to Buffalo Bill, but glanced now and then at the wounded
Mexican.
“I should like to know your name,” said the scout, “you have saved my
life.”
“Me? Waal, call me Enos Spalding, and you’ll git clost to it. It was jes
luck I was up that tree. Feelin’ better, ain’t ye?”
“I think so, very much better.”
“Take another swig o’ this devil’s fire. I don’t believe in whisky,
except as a medicine. It su’prised me tew find yeou had been kerryin’
this flask. But it come in paowerful handy.”
“Yes, that’s why I carried it.”
“Yeou expected to be shot and hung, and tew have need of it?”
“In this wild land one never knows when he may have need for a
stimulant.”
“That’s right, I reckon, jedgin’ by what I seen to-day. I don’t reckon
yeou could set on a hoss, could ye?”
Buffalo Bill tried to lift himself. His head felt dizzy, and a blackness
swam before his eyes when he raised his head.
“Yes, I can sit on a horse,” he said courageously.
“I ain’t wantin’ tew hurry ye any, but one o’ them devils got away, and
I reckon there’s more of his kind raound here. He may come back with
’em. So, the sooner we git tew movin’ the better.”
“You’re right,” said the scout. “Just help me a little.”
“When they skun aout they left their hosses. Your’n is here, tew, I
think. It’s lucky fer both of us; we can have two hosses apiece, and I
didn’t have even one. Mine got away frum me yistidday, and I’ve been
hossless and afoot ever sense. Jes lay back a minute while I bring ’em
up.”
Buffalo Bill lay back on the grass, weak and exhausted, and the Yankee
hastened to get the horses. Then he removed Gomez’s jacket and hung it
in the tree so that it could be seen.
“That will bring ’em to help this critter that’s wounded,” he explained,
and as he helped the scout to the saddle he began to tell his story,
without having been asked to do so.
“As I said, my name is Enos Spalding. I’m frum Varmount, which, as ye
know, is a good ways frum this place; and it’s a better country than
this land of sand and cactus, ef I do say it.
“Waal, I come down here on a sing’lar mission. I’ve got a niece, Irene
Nelson, that is a master hand at singin’. She kin sing jes as easy as a
bird kin warble, and a good deal sweeter than any bird I ever heerd open
its mouth. She’s been ejicated in singin’ abroad, over in France and
Italy. That was all foolishness, I tole her, and jes a waste o’ money,
fer ef a body is a natural singer there ain’t no sense, as I can see, in
goin’ across the ocean to practice yer voice. We’ve got singin’ teachers
right here in Ameriky. There was Tod Bunnell, used tew come raound to
Spalding’s Corners every winter and give singin’-skewl lessons, and he
could ’a’ teached her jes as well as them teachers over in Paris, what
charged sech all-fired prices fer it. That’s what I tole her, but she
couldn’t see it the same way as I did.
“Waal, when she couldn’t, and was baound and determined to be a singer,
I give her the money, though it did cramp me a putty consid’able tew do
it. I paid her way while she was over there with them high-notion
singin’ teachers.
“I dunno whether she sung any better after that than before, but p’r’aps
she did, fer they tuck her up in them foreign cities, and she begun tew
sing in operys. She sent me clippings aout of the newspapers over there
that told abaout her, but most of it was in sech all-fired queer
langwidges that me ner nobody at Spalding’s Corners could make head ner
tail aout of it. If’t hadn’t been fer her letters explainin’, we
wouldn’t knowed what it was all abaout.
“But there was some English papers, that she sent from London and
Manchester, and other taowns in England, and they did praise her right
up tew the mark, I tell yew. So, I reckoned mebbe I hadn’t been sech a
fool, arter all, when I furnished the money fer her musical ejication.
Though at the time every critter in Spalding’s Corners said that I was
the dummedest fool that ever went on two legs.”
Having lifted the scout to the saddle, the Yankee steadied him until he
could put his feet in the big Mexican stirrups. When mounted, the scout
could ride even when he had not strength to walk.
Spalding tied one of the horses by a lariat to the scout’s saddle and
one to his own, the other he mounted.
“We’ll make fer a notch I seen over there yistidday,” he said. “I don’t
know ef any enemies aire layin’ round er not; but it’s healthier to
think they be, and tew keep aout of the way of ’em. It looks like a sin
tew leave that wounded critter here, but there ain’t no help fer it. I
reckon he’ll pull through somehaow; I’ll hope so. His friends will be
putty cert’in tew see that jacket flappin’ in the wind.”
He started the horses.
“I was tellin’ ye about my niece, but I didn’t git through. Waal, arter
she’d sung in England and in Europe, she went to Australy and sung
there. She sent me some o’ the Melbourne and Sydney papers. Then she sot
aout fer home, comin’ across the Pacific, and stoppin’ at the Sandwich
Islands. She sung in Californy a few times, and then, havin’ promised to
visit with a young woman daown in this section, what was a ranchman’s
daughter, she started aout fer the ranch.
“Ye see, she and this young woman had been in skewl together, when they
was gals. My niece’s friend’s mother married a cattleman, named Fernald,
and moved daown here. And that’s haow ’twas.
“You’ll think I’m a long time gittin’ tew it, but naow comes the
queerest part, and the reason fer my bein’ here. She’s disappeared. I’ve
been to that ranch haouse, and I’ve been everywhere, and I can’t find
hoof ner hair of her, tew show what’s happened.
“Three days ago I struck across in this direction, hossback, intendin’
to hit the trail frum San Paz, some’eres below these maountains. I got
lost. Then my hoss got away. All day yistidday I walked and walked.
Seemed like I’d never git raound these maountain walls. This mornin’ I
come over in this direction, fer I thought I seen a hoss, and it might
be mine, but I didn’t find it.
“Then I seen Mexicans ridin’, and I’d heerd so much abaout road agents,
and Mexicans, and cattle like that, I jes hid in that tree.
“Waal, tew make a long story short, I was in there when them three
fellers brought ye there intendin’ tew hang ye. When I seen that they
meant bisness, I jes had to chip in.
“That’s all, except that I ain’t found ary trace of my niece or Miss
Fernald, and it begins ter look as ef I ain’t goin’ tew. But mebbe I was
sent here tew give yeou that lift. I dunno. Things works queer at times.
Ef this was a lawabidin’ country I allaow I’d be arrested for killin’
that Mexican; but sheriffs to arrest a man aire about as skurse here, I
cal’late, as hen’s teeth. Waal, that’s my story, anyhaow.”
Spalding looked at the scout with inquiring interest.
“I’ll hear yours, when yeou’re better able tew tell it. It’ll keep, I
guess. Ef you can stand faster ridin’ we’ll move the legs of these
hosses a little. The furder I git frum that dead and wownded Mexican the
better I’ll be feelin’.”
They rode on, seeking lower ground, leaving the tree which had witnessed
the tragedy quickly behind.
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