A DANGEROUS ENEMY
Broken Feather had certainly made his escape. There could be no
doubting it. With a quick glance Kiddie searched within the empty
shed; he even exercised his sense of smell, sniffing inquiringly.
"Seems he's bunked," he said, turning round to Gideon. "I'm puzzled to
know just how he managed it. The door was securely padlocked on the
outside. There's no other exit." He looked at the ground for new
tracks of the Indian's moccasined feet, but saw no sign.
"That's kind o' queer," reflected Gideon. "It's a strong shed. You
helped ter build it yourself, years ago, as a storehouse for pelts and
ammunition. Thar's no chimney, no winder; only the door. You may well
ask how did he quit? Say"--the old man clutched Kiddie's arm in
consternation--"d'you reckon he's vamoosed on th' Arab mare?"
Kiddie shook his head decisively.
"That's not possible," he averred. "For one thing, he could hardly
have mounted her with that bullet wound in his leg. For another thing,
the mare's still safe in the stable where I locked her. I heard her
snorting as we passed, a minute ago. Here's the key, if you like to go
and have a look at her."
"Then you figure he's gone away on foot?" pursued Gideon, ignoring the
proffered key. "In that case he sure ain't very far off. We c'n
foller on his tracks. Don't you worry 'bout the way he escaped."
"That is just what I am worrying about," returned Kiddie. "It's a
problem that interests me a heap. He didn't go by the door, that's
plumb certain. He didn't turn himself into air and escape through the
cracks."
"Hold hard!" exclaimed Gideon. "I was forgettin'. The shed was strong
as a prison when you an' me built it. But it ain't just the same as
'fore you quitted fer Europe. Young Rube Carter got mussin' around,
usin' it as a kennel fer his bear cub. Amazin' fond of animals, that
boy is; same as you was yourself at his age, Kiddie. Say, you didn't
happen ter let out a bear cub, time you shoved Broken Feather inside,
did yer?"
"No," Kiddie chuckled. "There was no bear there, only the rancid stink
of one. Nearly knocked me down. Don't wonder at Broken Feather
wanting to quit."
"Then I guess Rube let th' beast out early this mornin', while we was
at the gulch."
Gideon led the way beyond the corner of the shed and pointed to a
well-concealed trap-door in the lower timbers.
"Thar y'are," he went on. "That's sure the way he got out. Clear as
print, ain't it?"
"Yes," Kiddie nodded, contemplating the moist ground, which the sun had
not yet reached. "There are his footprints, covering the boy's smaller
ones. Rube's footmarks were already crushed by the bear's pads, and he
didn't turn back to bolt the door as the Indian did. Quite a baby cub
it seems. But it will soon need a heavier chain than the one it has
now."
"Eh? How d'you know Rube led it out by a chain an' not a rope?"
Kiddie glanced downward.
"Bear trod on it and left an impression," he indicated, as he strode to
the trap-door. "The links are thin and small, hardly strong enough to
hold in a collie dog, let alone a growing young grizzly."
"Grizzly?" repeated Gideon. "But you've not seen th' critter. Might
be a brown bear, or a cinnamon."
"Never knew any but grizzlies to breed about here," explained Kiddie,
moving the loose door along its grooves. "And I presume Rube caught it
himself. Yes," he continued, "this is where the fellow got out. What
perplexes me, however, is why Rube thought it necessary to have a
second door at all."
"Padlock was too high for him to reach," returned Gideon, "an' Rube
didn't notion t' have truck with keyholes, winter nights, when he c'd
shove the cub's grub in by a trap he c'd slide open in the dark."
"Well, there's no great harm done, anyway," smiled Kiddie. "Your mare
and the corral ponies are safe; none of your men are wounded. As for
Broken Feather--we couldn't have kept him a prisoner, you know. We
have no warrant for his arrest."
"Isa Blagg, the sheriff, is here, right now," Gideon told him. "Isa
c'd have arrested him, legal, I guess."
"Even so," resumed Kiddie, "you would soon have had another raid. The
Redskins would have been here like a shot to liberate their chief and
to retaliate on you for having foiled them in One Tree Gulch."
"Sure," acknowledged the Old Man, leading the way to the stable. "An'
even as matters stand, I'm figurin' as Broken Feather 'll notion ter
have revenge on you fer puttin' the lasso on him. He'll try ter git
level with you somehow, Kiddie, sure's a steel trap. You've made him
your enemy--a dangerous enemy--an' he ain't no tenderfoot in villainy.
He's cunnin' as a coyote, he's unscrup'lous, an' he's clever. Real
clever, he is."
Kiddie's glance was roving over the land in search of the fugitive. He
was not seriously concerned at the disappearance of the Indian chief;
nevertheless, his pride was hurt and he did not conceal his annoyance
that his prisoner had escaped so easily.
"Yes," he responded to the Old Man's remarks. "I'd already discovered
that he's not an ordinary lazy and small-minded Redskin. There's
something unusual about him which I don't quite understand. He's a
chief, wearing a chief's war bonnet, with heaps of feathers in it to
show the great things he has done; yet he's hardly more than a boy.
He's a full-blooded Sioux, yet he has many of the ways and habits of
the white man. When I slowed down on Laramie Plain and went back to
slacken the lariat about his arms, I spoke to him in his own tongue.
He answered in clean-cut English. 'Thank you, stranger,' he said,
looking me full in the face as if summing me up. 'That is very much
better. And, since you are so considerate, perhaps you will allow me
to smoke a cigarette.' Naturally I decided that he was going to do
without that smoke. His six-shooter, whether loaded or empty, was too
close for me to let him have his hands free to draw it."
"Not but what you'd have been in front of him with your own," wisely
commented Gid. "He's alert, he's slick; but not the same as you are,
Kiddie."
"You appear to have had experience of him, Gid. Has he molested you
before this morning?"
"Not exactly." The stable door was now open and Gideon was patting his
restored Arab. "Not exactly. I've heard about him. He's the son of
your old-time enemy, Eye-of-the-Moon. He's a man of tremendous
ambition. Thinks a heap of hisself. Notions ter become the boss war
chief of the hull Sioux nation, same as Sitting Bull. Ever since his
earliest youth he's held that ambition in front of him, devotin'
himself to attainin' it; aimin' at excellin' in horsemanship, in
military exercises, and in the knowledge of strategy. 'Fore he'd
gotten outer his childhood, he'd reco'nized that the white man has many
advantages over the red, an' he'd made up his mind t' acquire intimate
knowledge of the ways of civilization, addin' a college eddication to
the trainin' of a nat'rally sly an' crafty Injun. I'm told he attended
one of the big American universities. Guess that's how he come ter
speak what you calls clean-cut English. But Isa Blagg c'n tell you a
heap more about Broken Feather 'n I can. Here's Isa comin' along, with
Abe. They'll be glad ter see you."
While Abe and Isa were heartily welcoming the unexpected return of
Kiddie, and plying him with a multitude of questions, young Rube Carter
watched them from the doorway of the bunk house.
Rube was painfully bashful of this newly-arrived stranger, whom he
regarded merely as a traveller passing along the Salt Lake Trail. Yet
he was curiously fascinated by the man who owned such a beautiful horse
and who knew his way so unerringly about Birkenshaw's camp.
The more he watched, the more the boy was perplexed.
By all appearances the stranger was a person of very great importance;
and yet there were Gideon, Mr. Blagg, and Abe Harum talking and
laughing with him familiarly, as if he were their intimate friend and
they his equals!
Presently all four of them glanced towards the doorway where the boy
was standing. Abe Harum left the little group and strode forward in
advance.
"Rube," he called, "you gotter come along right now an' be interdooced
ter Lord St. Olave. He's just pinin' ter know you."
"Lord Saint Olave?" repeated Rube. "Gee! that's a mouthful! A lord,
is he? I was guessin' he couldn't be no real frontier scout, spite of
his outfit. Say, what'm I ter call him? Have I gotter say 'your
highness,' or 'your ex'lency,' or what?"
"No, nothin' ceremonious," Abe assured him. "You drop in a 'sir' now
an' again, like; an' you takes off your hat when he puts out his hand.
Come along!"
He drew the boy forward. Kiddie advanced. Rube took off his hat and
dropped it.
"This is Rube," said Abe, and to the boy he added: "This is the Right
Hon'rable the Earl of St. Olave--better known along this yer trail as
Kiddie--Kiddie of Birkenshaw's--Kiddie of the Camp."
Rube drew back in astonishment.
"_Kiddie?_" he cried. "Oh, that's diff'rent; that's a whole lot
diff'rent. Why didn't yer put me wise at first? I know th' name of
Kiddie. Ought to. I've heard it often 'nough. Real proud ter see
you, sir," he added, taking Kiddie's outstretched hand.
"What d'you know 'bout him, boy?" inquired Isa Blagg.
"Heaps, sheriff," returned Rube. "Best horseman on all the Salt Lake
Trail, best rifle shot, best swimmer an' trapper--best all round scout
this side the Rocky Mountains; never told a lie, never said a bad word,
never done anythin' he was ashamed of."
Kiddie laughed outright.
"Who's been feeding you up with all that silly rot, Rube?" he asked.
"If that's the reputation you judge me by I shall have a jolly hard
task to live up to it."
"'Tain't a whole lot wide o' the truth, for all that, Kiddie,"
interposed the Boss. "But never heed it fer the present. Come right
in an' have suthin' ter eat. We're all hungry."
Kiddie walked with young Rube, with a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"No, you mustn't think I'm all that, Rube," he said. "I've made many a
false step, fallen into many a mistake I ought to have avoided. Only
this morning, you know, I made the mistake of shoving Broken Feather
into the lean-to without looking if there was a loophole for his
escape."
"My fault as much as yours, sir," said Rube. "I oughter ha' fastened
the trap-door."
"Well, anyhow," resumed Kiddie, "you and I are going to be good
friends. You see, we have a good deal in common. You've spent your
boyhood in this camp, so did I mine. Your father was an English
gentleman, so was mine. Your mother is a Pawnee Indian, so was mine."
"It's a proud day fer me, sir, your comin' back here, an' me walkin'
alongside o' you," faltered Rube. "An' if you're shapin' ter stay here
for a while, I shall learn a lot. You c'n teach me heaps about
trappin' the wild critters, an' livin' in the woods, an' scoutin';
about horses, too, an' buffaloes an' Injuns."
He paused, surprised at the length of his speech.
"Yes," nodded Kiddie. "We'll go on the trail together. We'll go
trapping and fishing and shooting. You shall be my boy scout."
"But thar's one thing as I'm hankerin' to learn more'n all else, sir,"
Rube went on boldly. "You was sayin' right now as my father was a
English gentleman. Well, 'tain't possible fer me to be that, seein' as
I was born here in th' United States; but I guess thar's such a thing
as a 'Merican gentleman, an' maybe you'd teach me how ter be one o'
them."
Kiddie was silent for some moments as they crossed the clearing in
front of the cabin. But at length he said--
"Rather a tall order, Rube, my lad. And it's not just like teaching
you to master a bucking broncho or to trap beaver. It's a longer
process. But at least it's an experiment worth attempting, and we'll
try it together."
"That big bay pony of yours don't feel anyways at home in the stall
where I've put him," said Rube, as they went up the veranda steps.
"I've given him a drink an' a feed, an' I've put his saddle an' bridle
in the best bedroom, where they won't take no harm. I'm sorry t' say,
sir, as thar's a scratch of a bullet on the saddle. Leather's some
torn; but I reckon mother c'n fix it up; same's she done my moccasins
when I tore 'em in the bush, trackin' a lynx."
"The saddle is of no consequence if Regent is all right," Kiddie
assured him. "Regent is the name of the bay. He's an English hunter;
doesn't know anything about the work of a prairie pony."
Rube's mother had done her best to provide a good meal for the hungry
men. They lingered at the table, all listening in wonder to what
Kiddie told them of England and of the cities of Europe and Asia. He
had been for a journey round the world, and had much to tell of his
travels in foreign lands. Gradually as he talked, he dropped the
precise English manner of speech and reverted to the homely phrases and
drawling intonation of the West. And so they ceased to think of him as
Lord St. Olave, regarding him without restraint as their familiar and
unaltered Kiddie.
Towards tea time he took out his watch. Gideon Birkenshaw noticed that
it was a very ordinary one, with a gun metal case, held by a leather
thong.
"H'm!" the Old Man muttered. "I was expectin', Kiddie, as you'd be
wearin' a real gold timepiece with a heavy gold chain. But that
article you're handlin' ain't wuth more'n my own, as I've wore for
twenty year. An' you ain't got no di'mond rings on yer fingers. But
what d'ye want ter look at the time for, anyhow?"
"I'm going to ride back as far as Fort Laramie," Kiddie answered. "My
outfit will be coming along the trail in a day or two, and I'm warned
that it would be well to get a squad of cowboys together to guard it
across the plain."
"Anythin' valu'ble as you're afraid of gettin' stole?" asked Isa Blagg.
"Couldn't it be brought along safe in one o' Gid's farm carts?"
Kiddie smiled.
"Not quite," he answered. "There's too much of it. There's three mule
wagons full, and there's a bunch of English horses. There's new
sporting rifles and beaver traps, there's trunks full of clothing and
personal fixings, material for building and furnishing a new cabin, to
say nothing of money and other valuable property. But it's the horses
I'm anxious about, Isa. If Laramie Plain is what it used to be,
there's Indians and road agents hanging around who wouldn't think twice
about helping themselves if the outfit isn't well protected."
"Best be on the safe side, anyhow," cautioned Gideon.
"And so," continued Kiddie, "I'm going to see Nick Undrell and get him
to undertake the job."
"What?" cried Isa Blagg. "Nick Undrell? Gee! The last man along the
hull trail ter trust with a job like that."
"Why, what's the matter with Nick?" Kiddie asked in surprise. "He used
to be a steady, honest man, and an excellent scout--a friend of
Buckskin Jack's, and that's good enough for me."
"Ah," interposed Abe Harum. "But Nick's a altered man since them days.
He's what y'might call degenerated; a bit too fonder fire-water an'
playin' poker. Ain't above takin' a hand in the road agency business,
either."
"Meaning that he's a drunkard, a gambler, and a highwayman," nodded
Kiddie. "Well, I'll go along and see him, anyhow."
"No need," said Abe. "He's here in this yer camp, right now, with the
boys that hev just rounded up an' corralled Gid's stolen ponies; only
he ain't figurin' ter meet you as knowed him only as a honest man. He
ain't a whole lot proud of hisself, these times, ain't Nick Undrell."
Kiddie reached for his hat, strode across the veranda, and turned
towards the corral. He looked exceedingly tall and handsome as he went
out.
"It's all right," he announced on his return, a quarter of an hour
later. "Nick's going to muster a gang of his pals, and they'll act as
armed escort. It seems that the word of the coming of my outfit has
already been passed along the trail, and that even the Indians have
gotten wind of it."
"Kiddie," said Isa Blagg, "you're makin' a all-fired mistake. Nick
Undrell has jus' canoodled you. That's about th' size of it. I knows
Nick 's well as any one, an' I wouldn't trust him with a cent. Time
after time in my capacity of sheriff of the Sweetwater district I've
had him up before me--once fer stealin' a hoss, once fer robbin' the
mail, once fer shootin' a man in a gamblin' saloon. He's just a
desperado, Kiddie, an' I wouldn't have no truck with him."
"Of course, I shall be there myself," Kiddie explained. "Young Rube
and I will be there."
"Git!" exclaimed the sheriff. "What's one man agin a hull gang o'
scoundrels? You'll sure come a cropper, Kiddie; take my word. As fer
the boy, why, takin' him along o' you's only a added responsibility, a
added danger."
Warnings such as these had very little effect upon Kiddie. Indeed,
they only spurred him with a firmer resolve to the undertaking.
Three mornings later he started for Laramie, well armed, mounted on one
of Birkenshaw's prairie ponies, and accompanied by Rube Carter.
Much to the boy's disappointment, he was very silent during the long
ride. But his eyes and ears were constantly busy, and occasionally he
pointed things out to Rube's notice--the flight of a covey of sagehens,
the track of a herd of buffalo, the ashes of an old camp fire.
Once, after fording Red Pine Creek, Kiddie dropped a glove, apparently
by accident, and dismounted to pick it up. Rube did not observe that,
on remounting, his companion held a black feather between his fingers.
When they rode into Laramie, they found the cavalcade halted before
Brierley's saloon, all ready to start. Nick Undrell rode up to Kiddie,
respectfully touching the wide brim of his hat.
"All s'rene, sir," he announced. "I got a gang o' picked boys
distributed among the baggage. Seen any signs as you come along'?"
"Only this." Kiddie held forth the feather he had found. "What d'ye
make of it?"
"Um, a black crow's wing feather, I guess," said Nick. "I see it's a
_broken feather_. Where'd you pick it up?"
"Alongside of Red Pine Creek," said Kiddie, "with a pebble atop ter
keep it in place. Quill end pointed south-east--direction of White
Bull Ridge."
"Any hoof prints around? Thar was rain last night."
"No; just the touch of a moccasined foot in the moist sand, edge of the
grass."
"We'll start right now, then," Nick decided. "I've gotten all the
bills and doc'ments. You'll sign 'em when the goods is duly delivered.
You'll be ridin' in front, I guess? You'll take the boy along? Say,
if you scents trouble ahead, jes' hustle him back ter make me wise.
Savee?"
Kiddie rode well in advance of the leading wagon, with Rube at his
side. He was now more than ever silent and watchful. Between Horse
Shoe Bend and Hot Springs, where they were among the foothills and
narrow valleys, his gaze was fixed steadily forward over his pony's
restlessly twitching ears. He moved his rifle crosswise in front of
him. Without averting his gaze, he said to the boy--
"Just drop back, Rube, and tell Nick ter close up the ranks."
Still riding forward at an easy pace, he gave no sign that he had seen
anything unusual. The row of dark objects showing along the upper edge
of a projecting rock might well have been mistaken for so many birds
preening themselves in the sunlight, only that his keen eight had
caught the movement of a pony's tail and the half-hidden plumes of an
Indian's head-dress. He dropped the loop of his bridle reins over the
pommel and slowly gripped his gun with a finger on the trigger.
Instantly, the Redskin's head was raised. Kiddie fired at it. There
was a wild, barbaric yell, and from both sides of the ravine Indians
dashed forth from their ambush, riding downward to the attack.