We must transport our reader now to a locality somewhere in the region
lying between New Mexico and Colorado. Here, in a mean-looking
out-of-the-way tavern, a number of rough-looking men were congregated,
drinking, gambling, and spinning yarns. Some of them belonged to the
class known as cow-boys--men of rugged exterior, iron constitutions,
powerful frames, and apparently reckless dispositions, though underneath
the surface there was considerable variety of character to be found.
The landlord of the inn--if we may so call it, for it was little better
than a big shanty--was known by the name of David. He was a man of cool
courage. His customers knew this latter fact well, and were also aware
that, although he carried no weapon on his person, he had several
revolvers in handy places under his counter, with the use of which he
was extremely familiar and expert.
In the midst of a group of rather noisy characters who smoked and drank
in one corner of this inn or shanty, there was seated on the end of a
packing-case, a man in the prime of life, who, even in such rough
company, was conspicuously rugged. His leathern costume betokened him a
hunter, or trapper, and the sheepskin leggings, with the wool outside,
showed that he was at least at that time a horseman. Unlike most of his
comrades, he wore Indian moccasins, with spurs strapped to them. Also a
cap of the broad-brimmed order. The point about him that was most
striking at first sight was his immense breadth of shoulder and depth of
chest, though in height he did not equal many of the men around him. As
one became acquainted with the man, however, his massive proportions had
not so powerful an effect on the mind of an observer as the quiet
simplicity of his expression and manner. Good-nature seemed to lurk in
the lines about his eyes and the corners of his mouth, which latter had
the peculiarity of turning down instead of up when he smiled; yet withal
there was a stern gravity about him that forbade familiarity.
The name of the man was Hunky Ben, and the strangest thing about him--
that which puzzled these wild men most--was that he neither drank nor
smoked nor gambled! He made no pretence of abstaining on principle.
One of the younger men, who was blowing a stiff cloud, ventured to ask
him whether he really thought these things wrong.
"Well, now," he replied quietly, with a twinkle in his eye, "I'm no
parson, boys, that I should set up to diskiver what's right an' what's
wrong. I've got my own notions on them points, you bet, but I'm not
goin' to preach 'em. As to smokin', I won't make a smoked herrin' o' my
tongue to please anybody. Besides, I don't want to smoke, an' why
should I do a thing I don't want to just because other people does it?
Why should I make a new want when I've got no end o' wants a'ready
that's hard enough to purvide for? Drinkin's all very well if a man
wants Dutch courage, but I don't want it--no, nor French courage, nor
German, nor Chinee, havin' got enough o' the article home-growed to
sarve my purpus. When that's used up I may take to drinkin'--who knows?
Same wi' gamblin'. I've no desire to bust up any man, an' I don't want
to be busted up myself, you bet. No doubt drinkin', smokin', an'
gamblin' makes men jolly--them at least that's tough an' that wins!--but
I'm jolly without 'em, boys,--jolly as a cottontail rabbit just come of
age."
"An' ye look it, old man," returned the young fellow, puffing cloudlets
with the utmost vigour; "but come, Ben, won't ye spin us a yarn about
your frontier life?"
"Yes, do, Hunky," cried another in an entreating voice, for it was well
known all over that region that the bold hunter was a good story-teller,
and as he had served a good deal on the frontier as guide to the United
States troops, it was understood that he had much to tell of a thrilling
and adventurous kind; but although the men about him ceased to talk and
looked at him with expectancy, he shook his head, and would not consent
to be drawn out.
"No, boys, it can't be done to-day," he said; "I've no time, for I'm
bound for Quester Creek in hot haste, an' am only waitin' here for my
pony to freshen up a bit. The Redskins are goin' to give us trouble
there by all accounts."
"The red devils!" exclaimed one of the men, with a savage oath; "they're
always givin' us trouble."
"That," returned Hunky Ben, in a soft voice, as he glanced mildly at the
speaker,--"that is a sentiment I heer'd expressed almost exactly in the
same words, though in Capatchee lingo, some time ago by a Redskin
chief--only he said it was pale-faced devils who troubled _him_. I
wonder which is worst. They can't both be worst, you know!"
This remark was greeted with a laugh, and a noisy discussion thereupon
began as to the comparative demerits of the two races, which was ere
long checked by the sound of a galloping horse outside. Next moment the
door opened, and a very tall man of commanding presence and bearing
entered the room, took off his hat, and looked round with a slight bow
to the company.
There was nothing commanding, however, in the quiet voice with which he
asked the landlord if he and his horse could be put up there for the
night.
The company knew at once, from the cut of the stranger's tweed suit, as
well as his tongue, that he was an Englishman, not much used to the ways
of the country--though, from the revolver and knife in his belt, and the
repeating rifle in his hand, he seemed to be ready to meet the country
on its own terms by doing in Rome as Rome does.
On being told that he could have a space on the floor to lie on, which
he might convert into a bed if he had a blanket with him, he seemed to
make up his mind to remain, asked for food, and while it was preparing
went out to attend to his horse. Then, returning, he went to a retired
corner of the room, and flung himself down at full length on a vacant
bench, as if he were pretty well exhausted with fatigue.
The simple fare of the hostelry was soon ready; and when the stranger
was engaged in eating it, he asked a cow-boy beside him how far it was
to Traitor's Trap.
At the question there was a perceptible lull in the conversation, and
the cow-boy, who was a very coarse forbidding specimen of his class,
said that he guessed Traitor's Trap was distant about twenty mile or so.
"Are you goin' thar, stranger?" he asked, eyeing his questioner
curiously.
"Yes, I'm going there," answered the Englishman; "but from what I've
heard of the road, at the place where I stayed last night, I don't like
to go on without a guide and daylight--though I would much prefer to
push on to-night if it were possible."
"Wall, stranger, whether possible or not," returned the cow-boy, "it's
an ugly place to go past, for there's a gang o' cut-throats there that's
kep' the country fizzin' like ginger-beer for some time past. A man
that's got to go past Traitor's Trap should go by like a greased
thunderbolt, an' he should never go alone."
"Is it, then, such a dangerous place?" asked the Englishman, with a
smile that seemed to say he thought his informant was exaggerating.
"Dangerous!" exclaimed the cow-boy. "Ay, an will be as long as Buck Tom
an' his boys are unhung. Why, stranger, I'd get my life insured, you
bet, before I'd go thar again--except with a big crowd o' men. It was
along in June last year I went up that way; there was nobody to go with
me, an' I was forced to do it by myself--for I _had_ to go--so I spunked
up, saddled Bluefire, an' sloped. I got on lovely till I came to a pass
just on t'other side o' Traitor's Trap, when I began to cheer up,
thinkin' I'd got off square; but I hadn't gone another hundred yards
when up starts Buck Tom an' his men with `hands up.' I went head down
flat on my saddle instead, I was so riled. Bang went a six-shooter, an'
the ball just combed my back hair. I suppose Buck was so took by
surprise at a single man darin' to disobey his orders that he missed.
Anyhow I socked spurs into Bluefire, an' made a break for the open
country ahead. They made after me like locomotives wi' the
safety-valves blocked, but Bluefire was more'n a match for 'em. They
kep' blazin' away all the time too, but never touched me, though I heard
the balls whistlin' past for a good while. Bluefire an' me went, you
bet, like a nor'-easter in a passion, an' at last they gave it up. No,
stranger, take my advice an' don't go past Traitor's Trap alone. I
wouldn't go there at all if I could help it."
"I don't intend to go past it. I mean to go _into_ it," said the
Englishman, with a short laugh, as he laid down his knife and fork,
having finished his slight meal; "and, as I cannot get a guide, I shall
be forced to go alone."
"Stranger," said the cow-boy in surprise, "d'ye want to meet wi' Buck
Tom?"
"Not particularly."
"An' are ye aware that Buck Tom is one o' the most hardened,
sanguinacious blackguards in all Colorado?"
"I did not know it before, but I suppose I may believe it now."
As he spoke the Englishman rose and went out to fetch the blanket which
was strapped to his saddle. In going out he brushed close past a man
who chanced to enter at the same moment.
The newcomer was also a tall and strikingly handsome man, clothed in the
picturesque garments of the cow-boy, and fully armed. He strode up to
the counter, with an air of proud defiance, and demanded drink. It was
supplied him. He tossed it off quickly, without deigning a glance at
the assembled company. Then in a deep-toned voice he asked--
"Has the Rankin Creek Company sent that account and the money?"
Profound silence had fallen on the whole party in the room the moment
this man entered. They evidently looked at him with profound interest
if not respect.
"Yes, Buck Tom," answered the landlord, in his grave off-hand manner;
"They have sent it, and authorised me to pay you the balance."
He turned over some papers for a few minutes, during which Buck Tom did
not condescend to glance to one side or the other, but kept his eye
fixed sternly on the landlord.
At that moment the Englishman re-entered, went to his corner, spread his
blanket on the floor, lay down, put his wide-awake over his eyes, and
resigned himself to repose, apparently unaware that anything special was
going on, and obtusely blind to the quiet but eager signals wherewith
the cow-boy was seeking to direct his attention to Buck Tom.
In a few minutes the landlord found the paper he wanted, and began to
look over it.
"The company owes you," he said, "three hundred dollars ten cents for
the work done," said the landlord slowly.
Buck nodded his head as if satisfied with this.
"Your account has run on a long while," continued the landlord, "and
they bid me explain that there is a debit of two hundred and ninety-nine
dollars against you. Balance in your favour one dollar ten cents."
A dark frown settled on Buck Tom's countenance, as the landlord laid the
balance due on the counter, and for a few moments he seemed in
uncertainty as to what he should do, while the landlord stood
conveniently near to a spot where one of his revolvers lay. Then Buck
turned on his heel, and was striding towards the door, when the landlord
called him back.
"Excuse my stopping you, Buck Tom," he said, "but there's a gentleman
here who wants a guide to Traitor's Trap. Mayhap you wouldn't object
to--"
"Where is he?" demanded Buck, wheeling round, with a look of slight
surprise.
"There," said the landlord, pointing to the dark corner where the big
Englishman lay, apparently fast asleep, with his hat pulled well down
over his eyes.
Buck Tom looked at the sleeping figure for a few moments.
"H'm! well, I might guide him," he said, with something of a grim smile,
"but I'm travelling too fast for comfort. He might hamper me. By the
way," he added, looking back as he laid his hand on the door, "you may
tell the Rankin Creek Company, with my compliments, to buy a new lock to
their office door, for I intend to call on them some day soon and
balance up that little account on a new system of 'rithmetic! Tell them
I give 'em leave to clap the one dollar ten cents to the credit of their
charity account."
Another moment and Buck Tom was gone. Before the company in the tavern
had quite recovered the use of their tongues, the hoofs of his horse
were heard rattling along the road which led in the direction of
Traitor's Trap.
"Was that really Buck Tom?" asked Hunky Ben, in some surprise.
"Ay--or his ghost," answered the landlord.
"I can swear to him, for I saw him as clear as I see you the night he
split after me," said the cowboy, who had warned the Englishman.
"Why didn't you put a bullet into him to-night, Crux?" asked a comrade.
"Just so--you had a rare chance," remarked another of the cow-boys, with
something of a sneer in his tone.
"Because I'm not yet tired o' my life," replied Crux, indignantly.
"Back Tom has got eyes in the back o' his head, I do believe, and shoots
dead like a flash--"
"Not that time he missed you at Traitor's Trap, I think," said the
other.
"Of course not--'cause we was both mounted that time, and scurryin' over
rough ground like wild-cats. The best o' shots would miss thar an'
thus. Besides, Buck Tom took nothin' from me, an' ye wouldn't have me
shoot a man for missin' me--surely. If you're so fond o' killin', why
didn't you shoot him yourself?--_you_ had a rare chance!"
Crux grinned--for his ugly mouth could not compass a smile--as he
thought thus to turn the tables on his comrade.
"Well, he's got clear off, anyhow, returned the comrade, an' it's a
pity, for--"
He was interrupted by the Englishman raising himself and asking in a
sleepy tone if there was likely to be moonlight soon.
The company seemed to think him moon-struck to ask such a question, but
one of them replied that the moon was due in half an hour.
"You've lost a good chance, sir," said Crux, who had a knack of making
all his communications as disagreeably as possible, unless they chanced
to be unavoidably agreeable, in which case he made the worst of them.
"Buck Tom hisself has just bin here, an' might have agreed to guide you
to Traitor's Trap if you'd made him a good offer."
"Why did you not awake me?" asked the Englishman in a reproachful tone,
as he sprang up, grasped his blanket hastily, threw down a piece of
money on the counter, and asked if the road wasn't straight and easy for
a considerable distance.
"Straight as an arrow for ten mile," said the landlord, as he laid down
the change which the Englishman put into an apparently well-filled
purse.
"I'll guide you, stranger, for five dollars," said Crux.
"I want no guide," returned the other, somewhat brusquely, as he left
the room.
A minute or two later he was heard to pass the door on horseback at a
sharp trot.
"Poor lad, he'll run straight into the wolf's den; but why he wants to
do it puzzles me," remarked the landlord, as he carefully cleaned a
tankard. "But he would take no warning."
"The wolf doesn't seem half as bad as he's bin painted," said Hunky Ben,
rising and offering to pay his score.
"Hallo, Hunky--not goin' to skip, are ye?" asked Crux.
"I told ye I was in a hurry. Only waitin' to rest my pony. My road is
the same as the stranger's, at least part o' the way. I'll overhaul an'
warn him."
A few minutes more and the broad-shouldered scout was also galloping
along the road or track which led towards the Rocky mountains in the
direction of Traitor's Trap.