A COWARD DEFIED.
Rixton Holmes turned from Buffalo Bill to Myra Wilton. His voice was
respectful as he asked: “How is your patient. Head all right?”
“He will live,” the girl answered coldly. “I hope it will be his good
fortune to see you mount the gallows.”
The villain’s face flushed. “You seem determined to regard me as your
enemy,” he said. “Haven’t I explained that I am acting for the best, in
your interest as well as mine?”
Buffalo Bill’s expression of wonderment at this speech was increased
when Myra Wilton suddenly replied in a broken voice: “Forgive me. I—I
had forgotten. I ought to trust you, and I will.”
Holmes gave a sigh of relief. “That’s right,” he said. “I am, indeed,
your friend, and these two scouts, honest men though they are, have been
working against you.”
“You are a liar,” put in the king of scouts hotly. “I can’t guess what
you have said to Miss Wilton to make her believe that you are not a
thief and a murderer, but your statement, whatever it was, was a lie.
You are not her friend. You are her enemy, and you are scheming to get
the fortune which, by the death of Matt Holmes, is now hers.”
Rixton Holmes was not disconcerted at these accusing words. Looking at
the girl, he said quietly: “For Mr. Cody’s benefit, read the letter that
was found on the body of Tom Darke, the wretch who killed your Uncle
Matt.”
Myra Wilton wiped her eyes, and then, from the little bag that was
hooked to her waist belt, took out a letter and read these words:
“MY DEAR NIECE: I am daily looking for you to make your appearance
here, but it may be ordained that we are never to meet in this life.
I have a bitter, remorseless enemy. His name is Tom Darke.”
“Hired by Rixton Holmes to murder Jared Holmes in Taos.”
The interruption came from Bart Angell. He was sitting up, and he winked
at Buffalo Bill as he spoke.
“A mistake,” said the villain calmly. “Go on with the reading, Miss
Wilton.”
The girl, who had shown no surprise at the interruption, continued:
“He has threatened to kill every member of the Holmes family. The
reason for his deadly enmity is the incarceration of his father for
burglary, conviction of the crime being due to the evidence of my
father, whose house was burglarized. I have received information
that Darke is in New Mexico. I am sure he is seeking me. I trust
that I may see you before he finds me, but if I am gone when you
arrive, this letter will inform you that I have made a will leaving
all my property to you and my nephew, Rixton Holmes. In the event of
the death of either of you, the survivor is not to inherit the
estate of the dead one, but said estate is to become the property of
the Territory, and is, when converted into cash, to be used in
hunting down and punishing my murderer.
“That’s all,” said the girl, as she folded the letter and placed it in
the bag.
Holmes immediately followed the reading with this explanation: “Because
I could not convince Mr. Cody that I was an honest man, one who had been
the friend, not the enemy, of Matt Holmes, I permitted him to assume
that I was all that his fertile imagination had painted me. I went to
Bart Angell’s cabin, not expecting to find him there, and if I acted as
if I were not on the side of law and decency, it was because I feared
that he, in his mistaken idea of the situation, would butt in and
prevent me from looking after my own and Miss Wilton’s interests. And
what applies to Buffalo Bill applies, and has applied, to his partner,
Bart Angell. They have been used roughly, but there was no other way by
which they could have been rendered powerless for harm. It is necessary,
in order to obtain the fortune that my uncle has left to me and my
Cousin Myra, that we should be in Denver one week from to-day. The mine
in which the fortune lies is in litigation. The case will be called next
week, and only by my testimony can the mine be saved.”
Holmes looked from Angell to the king of scouts, a complacent smile on
his dark face.
As neither one of his auditors had anything to say at this juncture, he
went on coolly: “The mix-up with the Indians to-day is an unfortunate
affair. They are friends of mine, and they are not at war with the
government. They came with me in order to protect my uncle. I had heard
that Tom Darke was on the way to the flat, and, fearing that murder was
in his heart, I induced Raven Feather and a few of his braves to
accompany me. We arrived too late to prevent arson and murder, but not
too late to slay the murderer. In his pocket I found the letter Miss
Wilton has just read. Darke probably stole it from the cabin while my
uncle was away.”
A quick, meaning glance passed between Myra Wilton and Buffalo Bill. The
latter, without looking at Holmes, said harshly: “I am most surprised
that your cousin has accepted your statement. It must have seemed
plausible. And it will do no good to say that what I have said before,
that you are a liar.”
“Not an ounce of good. You mean well, but you are wrong regarding your
humble servant,” replied the villain.
“And I came mighty nigh, I shore did, in bein’ off my ca-base on your
account,” put in Bart Angell dryly.
The villain grinned. “You played in hard luck, all right, but there are
good times coming to you.” Then he spoke with simulated seriousness. “In
an hour I shall leave the cave for the trail eastward. My cousin will go
with me. Raven Feather has been instructed to hold both of you here for
a week. Then you will be released. If you are inclined, you can come to
Denver, where I will be pleased to give you whatever satisfaction you
may require.”
Again, unperceived by the villain, Buffalo Bill, and Myra Wilton
exchanged meaning glances. Presently Holmes stooped, whispered something
to the girl, whereupon she arose and followed the villain from the
apartment.
They passed through a narrow opening into a large grotto, at the farther
end of which was the trap.
The two scouts waited until assured that Holmes was out of hearing
distance, and then began to converse in low tones.
“The girl is all right,” said Buffalo Bill confidently. “She takes no
stock in the fairy tale that Holmes reeled off to her, though, for
reasons that we must both appreciate, she is pretending that she
believes it as gospel truth. That letter, of course, is a forgery. It
was written to deceive the girl. Rixton Holmes will not kill her as he
has killed Jared and Matt Holmes if she will consent to marry him. See
the point, Bart? He is trying to work himself into her good graces. He
dared not attack either my character or yours, but he thinks he has made
the riffle, all the same. We are well-meaning, honest men, but we have
got the wrong pig by the ear.”
Bart Angell gave a snort of disgust. “He’s ther wust specimen of a white
man that I ever went up ergin, Cody. An’ ter think he was cute ernuff
ter lay ther pair of us by ther heels. I feel like kickin’ myself in
twenty-two places. Rats an’ little fishes, but I’m plumb ashamed of
myself.”
“Are you hurt much?” asked Buffalo Bill.
“No, I got a rap on the coconut when I drapped down ther hole, but I’m
feelin’ now in condition ter tackle ther hull murderin’ outfit.”
“Did you trail the three Navahos to the cave?”
“It ermounts ter ther same thing, Cody. I follered ther trail to ther
bottom of ther ravine, and while I war down thar I seen an Injun poke
his head out of a hole up ther bank, on ther far side of a big flat
rock.”
“I have a hunch that our experiences were identical, Bart.”
“Then they shore ain’t anything ter brag erbout. We war two innercent,
mush-headed flies, an’ that thar Injun, who insinivated his pesky cabesa
outer ther hole, war ther foxy spider. Waugh! Gimme a smoke, Cody. I
wanter to take ther taste outer my mouth.”
Buffalo Bill laughed. It was not a mirthful laugh. “As my hands are
tied, and as you are in the same fix, Bart, I don’t see how I can
accommodate you.”
“Ye’ve got ter,” persisted Angell. “Ef ye refuse ter whack up with ther
terback—ther measly Injun who worked ther spider game swiped mine—I’ll
shore hev ter take it away from yer by main force an’ awkwardness.”
The king of scouts looked queerly at his friend. The big backwoodsman
was more than half in earnest. As his eyes met those of Buffalo Bill, a
big grin overspread his homely face.
“It’s your play,” quietly remarked the king of scouts. “Bring out your
cold deck and proceed to do me up.”
For answer, Bart Angell spread his legs. The cords that had secured his
ankles had been cut, and there between them lay the knife which had
performed the operation.
Bending forward and downward, not without a painful effort, Angell took
the knife between his teeth. Then he lifted his hands and quickly
severed the cords that bound his wrists.
A minute later Buffalo Bill, like his comrade, was free of his bonds.
“It war ther girl,” said Angell, his voice in a whisper. “She did ther
trick while that ornery hound of a Holmes war unwinding his rotten yarn
off onto you.”
The scouts searched the chamber for weapons, but found none.
Disappointed, but not daunted, Buffalo Bill stole to the narrow corridor
through which Holmes and the girl had departed, and listened intently.
The faint sound of voices in the outer and main apartment of the cave
told him that his enemies were still underground. He went forward into
the corridor until he was able to both see and hear. The corridor had
many projections, the walls nowhere were even, and he quickly found a
hiding place.
Rixton Holmes was speaking in the Navaho tongue when the king of scouts
reached his shelter.
“Raven Feather shall have his revenge,” he said, in a cold, even tone.
“After I have gone, the cave and all that is in it is yours.”
“My brother will depart alone?”
There was savage eagerness in the question.
“No,” was the firm answer. “The white maiden will go with me.”
“My white brother forgets,” returned the chief, with equal firmness. “He
promised that the maiden should become the squaw of Raven Feather.”
“‘Circumstances alter cases,’” said the villain coolly. “I had not seen
the girl when I made the promise. She will become the wife of Rixton
Holmes.”
There was silence for a few moments. Buffalo Bill, his interest at fever
heat by the unexpected development, waited for the next words of the
chief of the Navahos.
But it was Crow-killer, the chief’s brother, who was the next speaker.
The giant in a guttural rumble sided with Raven Feather. He insisted
that the promise must not be broken. Raven Feather had agreed to help
the white man, and his reward was to be the white maiden. The white man
must leave her behind.
Holmes compressed his lips, and his eyes flashed ominously. He was not a
brave man, and his demeanor under the circumstances puzzled Buffalo Bill
exceedingly.
Addressing the girl in English, the villain said: “Go back to the other
chamber. There is a hitch. My friends, Raven Feather and Crow-killer,
object to your departure. I must smooth them down.”
As she moved away, the king of scouts drew a deep breath. He felt that a
crisis was approaching.
Myra Wilton was about to pass his place of concealment, her eyes looking
straight ahead, when the king of scouts touched her on the arm,
whispering these words at the same time: “I am watching the grotto.
There is likely to be a mix-up. Tell Angell I need him here.”
The girl frowned. “You must not harm Mr. Holmes,” she said, also in a
whisper. “He gave me the knife, and told me to free your partner.”
Buffalo Bill had met with many surprises in his life, but never one so
great as this. He stared at her without speaking.
“He is a villain,” she quietly went on, “but he means you no harm. I
have seen to that.”
“I don’t understand,” said Buffalo Bill, as he shook his head.
“You will after a while. Rely on me. I know what I am about.”
“I don’t believe you do,” muttered the scout under his breath. But what
he said was this: “I’ll not hurt Holmes while you are in your present
state of mind; but I may pay my respects to Raven Feather and his big
brute of a brother.”
“I have no objection,” she replied, and then left him.
Meanwhile, the two Indians and Rixton Holmes were talking together in
angry tones. The white stubbornly held his ground, and the Indians
finally came to the conclusion that he was not relying on his own
unaided efforts to carry his point.
They might have leaped upon him, and either killed or made him a
prisoner, but a suspicion that caused them both to look toward the
corridor separating the two sections of the cave made them pause.
A lull in the conversation was broken by the descent of the trap. The
Navaho who had guarded the prisoners while Crow-killer was away with the
two braves jumped from the platform, and made this report to Raven
Feather: “When the moon rises, the chief shall welcome the braves of the
village.”
Raven Feather gave a slow nod of approval. Then he looked steadily at
Holmes. “Does my brother understand?” he asked.
“Of course,” was the response, given with indifference. “The other
members of your band are coming from the village. It is now late
afternoon. They will reach here in four or five hours.”
The villain smiled, and then proceeded: “But I won’t be here when they
arrive.”
“If my white brother is not here then, it will be because he has kept
the promise he gave to Raven Feather,” returned the chief, with
decision.
Another smile appeared on the face of the white man. Then he began to
scratch his head, the two Indians regarding him questioningly.
“I have it,” he said; “we’ll leave it to the maiden. Send your brave to
fetch her here, and we’ll each of us put up his side of the case.”
He spoke in English, but Raven Feather understood him.
The chief shook his head. “The maiden shall be brought here,” he
replied, “but she shall not decide the matter. It has been decided. She
stays behind to grace the tepee of Raven Feather.”
Holmes made no response, but he grinned when the Navaho brave started
for the inner chamber.
In a few minutes Myra Wilton reappeared. She was very pale, and her eyes
sought those of her cousin in anxious inquiry.
Holmes beckoned, and she came to his side. He whispered something in her
ear, and she nodded in understanding.
“She says she prefers to go with me,” spoke the villain, as he fixed his
eyes on Raven Feather.
The chief grunted, and Crow-killer clenched his big hands and gritted
his teeth.
The right hand of Holmes was resting on the butt of his revolver in the
holster at his belt. He was eying Crow-killer when Buffalo Bill,
followed by Bart Angell, sprang into the grotto.
Their appearance only became known to the Indians when each was
attacked. The king of scouts paid his respects to Crow-killer, while
Bart Angell tried conclusions with Raven Feather.
At the instant of the assault of the two scouts Rixton Holmes leaped
upon the trap platform. Myra Wilton had already taken her position
there.
While a terrific struggle was going on in the grotto the platform rose,
and the villain and the girl were in the open air long before the
struggle ended.
Myra Wilton stepped from the platform, her lovely face flushed with
anger. “I did not expect this,” she indignantly exclaimed. “You told me
you would stay behind to assist Mr. Cody and his partner.”
“They are able to get away with the redskins without my help,” he
quickly replied. “I saw that they were having things their own way
before I jumped on the platform.”
“I do not believe you,” she said stoutly. “You must go back. Perhaps
your return may prevent a tragedy.”
“I won’t go back,” was his harsh reply. “That is out of the question.”
The girl sat down on the edge of the platform. “Then you may go on
without me,” she declared, a determined expression on her face. “If you
will not go back to the cave, I will.”
“I think not, my dear cousin. You are going with me.” There was a look
in his eyes that she had never seen there before.
A shudder ran through the girl’s frame. But she called up her courage as
she said: “Have you been lying to me? Did you not tell the truth when
you said that you meant no harm to Mr. Cody and Mr. Angell?”
“I told the truth.” But the villain did not meet the girl’s honest eyes
as he spoke.
“Then,” said she, “if you don’t go back to the cave, I must put you down
as a coward. I despise a coward,” she added, in a voice that made the
man wince.
Holmes was in a hole. He had had the faith to believe that he could win
and retain the confidence and respect of his lovely cousin. But the time
had come when he must either expose his hand or permit her to think that
he was showing the white feather. For half an hour no word was spoken by
either of them. Then Holmes concluded to drop deception. By so doing
there could be no change in her attitude toward himself. Despising him
for a coward, she had refused to go on with him; therefore, take
whichever horn of the dilemma he might, he would be compelled to use
force.
“I am not a coward,” he protested; “and at the same time I am not a
fool. I have parted company with Raven Feather and his Navahos. They
have served my turn, and I have done with them.” With these words he
fastened the platform so that it could not be operated.
Myra Wilton observed the action, and a chill seized her. She waited
tremblingly for the next words of the villain.
“I may as well be plain with you,” he went on, as he sat on the platform
and faced her. “I had planned a different detail in the game I have been
playing. I had hoped to win your consent to become my wife.”
“You never would have obtained it,” she said scornfully.
“Perhaps not, but the attempt would have been made if you had not
rebuked me for refusing to go back to the cave and fall into the hands
of Buffalo Bill. I fooled you a while ago, but I have never fooled him.”
“I am glad of that,” was her quick interruption.
“Your joy won’t last,” the villain replied, with a snicker. “He will
never leave the cave. He may, he probably has, got away with Raven
Feather and Crow-killer as he got away with the brave I sent after you,
but his victory will be a barren one. He can never escape from below.
There he will starve and rot.”
Myra Wilton looked at the speaker with eyes that burned his soul.
“To think,” she said slowly, “that I should for one moment have trusted
you. I would rather, far rather, live for the balance of my life as the
squaw of the most despicable red man in these Western wilds than become
your wife. Go! I am sick of the sight of you.”
Rixton Holmes arose to his feet, his countenance black with rage. He was
past the feeling of shame. Advancing to where she sat, he extended his
hands to grasp her by the wrists.
With a quick movement she was on her feet, and Holmes started back as
she drew a pistol from the folds of her gown and pointed the muzzle at
his head. His expression of amazement and alarm brought a smile of
fierce satisfaction to her lips.
“I am able to defend myself, you see,” she coolly remarked. “The
revolver came from the person of the Indian you sent to escort me from
the chamber to the grotto. Mr. Cody, who overcame the Indian, insisted
that I should take the weapon. The other pistol—the Indian had two—was
appropriated by Mr. Cody.”
“Well, I’ll be——”
“You certainly will,” cut in the girl grimly, before the sentence could
be finished. “And now,” she coolly proceeded, “I would thank you to
unbuckle your belt and let your weapons drop to the ground. I mean
business,” she continued, in a hard, menacing voice.
Rixton Holmes gnashed his teeth in the impotence of his wrath and
disgust. The position was ridiculous, to be thus held up by a weak girl!
The fact that she had not immediately insisted upon compliance with her
stern order caused the villain to breathe more freely. His cunning came
to the surface. He resolved to prolong the decisive move, hoping to
catch her off her guard.
“Hang it, Myra,” he said, “you are a thoroughbred. Can’t we come to an
amicable understanding?”
He looked at her eagerly as he spoke. She shook her head. “No,” was her
response, “I will make no more bargains with you. I know you now, and I
shall never trust you again. You haven’t obeyed me. Is it possible that
you failed to guess what would happen if you refused to unbuckle that
belt of yours? You would die.” She advanced a step, and the muzzle of
her revolver was on a line with the villain’s forehead, and not more
than three feet from it.
With the quickness of lightning, Holmes lowered his head and propelled
his body toward her. The pistol exploded, but the bullet passed him by.
The next instant Holmes had her by the wrists.
Myra Wilton screamed, and the outcry was followed by a series of savage
yells.
Releasing the girl, the villain wheeled, and beheld a score or more of
Indians coming up the bank of the ravine.