THE BATTLE IN THE MINE.
Skibo was the hero of the occasion and had won the grand prize. Indeed,
almost any one of the cowboys and miners would have risked his life a
dozen times for the words or the gift of the bride. But probably no
man among all those assembled there could have performed the feat of
strength of the giant negro.
Back in town that night the news of Skibo’s wrestle with a bull had
preceded him, and the modest darky was obliged to retire supperless to
his room and remain there to escape the crowd that swarmed about the
hotel to see him.
That night Buffalo Bill superintended a crew which removed the débris
of the wrecked and burned hotel wing. No bodies were found, and a great
feeling of relief swept over the scout.
But what had become of Hickok? was the question. He had dropped out of
sight as completely as if the ground had opened and swallowed him. No
one had seen him since he retired that night, and his partners had left
for the Red Tiger.
The scout determined to make an active search of the town and
surrounding country at once. He more than half suspected Price had in
some way been concerned in the disappearance of the Laramie man. He
had confided his fears and suspicions to Little Cayuse, and the clever
Indian boy was at work in his own way, while the scout was watching the
removal of the burned timbers from the hotel ruins.
When Buffalo Bill and old Nomad retired, well toward morning, Little
Cayuse had not returned.
Two of the pards already had dropped from the roster in the war on
rascality as practiced against “Poor Lo.”
“Whar’s thet papoose, Buffler?” asked Nomad.
“I don’t know, but I suspect that our Piute pard is hunting for Hickok.
Cayuse is a boy of few words and many deeds. He tells what he wishes to
do after it is accomplished.
“Thet’s jest his caper, an’ if he don’t strike er hoof mark it’s er
mighty blind trail ter Wild Bill’s dodge corner.”
“I’m a little fearful that Hickok started an investigation of his own
and has fallen into a trap of some sort. These men are bad ones, and
would not hesitate at any crime.”
“Was ther rumpus t’other night er celebration in yer honor, Buffler?”
“I think the blow-up was intended for me and my pards, and it was only
by a fortunate move of the wheel of fortune that all of us escaped. We
must locate Hickok next at any cost.”
“I’m with yer, Buffler, ez long’s thar’s any wind in my bellowses.”
Skibo was snoring loudly, and Pa-e-has-ka and Nomad were about to
seek rest, when Cayuse entered the room as silently as a spectre, and
apparently under considerable excitement. He approached Buffalo Bill,
and, after looking about as if fearing the walls had ears, said in low
tone:
“Pa-e-has-ka make um listen! Wild Bill chase heap bad man over plains
into hills after blow-up.”
“How do you know that, Cayuse?”
“Find um Injun sell ponies Bloody Ike and all same stranger.”
“Which way did they go?”
“Sun come up here, him go that way,” answered Cayuse, pointing
southward.
“What time was that?”
“Middle sleep.”
“Well, Hickok has always shown great ability to take care of himself,
but if he doesn’t turn up in the morning we’ll take a look down that
way to-morrow.”
“Cayuse better go now?” asked the boy, his black eyes containing more
of appeal than his words.
“No, not to-night, boy; but in the morning after you have rested and
slept.”
“Ugh! Cayuse all same not squaw,” complained the Piute, as he sought
his hammock, for he could not be induced to sleep in a white man’s bed.
Wild Bill had not arrived in the early morning, so Buffalo Bill and
his three pards set out, their horses in fine fettle for the gallop
into the foothills. They first visited the encampment of Crows who were
peddling beads and baskets, and got a good description of Wild Bill,
also the man of whom he was in pursuit and known to the Indians as
Bloody Ike.
At noon they were far into the hills and had discovered evidences of
recent human occupancy of the mouth of an abandoned mining shaft.
They entered and explored for some distance, but decided that the bird
had flown.
Outside again Cayuse left the others, and his pinto took up the work
of trailing with exceeding care. Half an hour later he returned and
hurried Pa-e-has-ka away to look at a discovery.
Buffalo Bill found evidence of a recent explosion in a trail that led
to the old mine by another way than they had come. For rods around
the ground was covered with newly shivered rock, and a great mass had
crashed down the mountainside.
“You remain here, Cayuse,” said the scout, after studying the situation
for a moment; “I am going down into the gulch. If I am not back in an
hour leave Skibo to guard the horses, and with Nomad follow my trail.”
“Ugh!” was the only reply of the Indian boy.
More than one hundred feet down the sharp and rocky incline the scout
came upon the carcass of a pony.
“Ah!” he said, “the trail was mined, and horse and rider blown over the
brink.”
Careful search revealed no trace of his pard, but still farther down he
found the bushes beaten down, as though a body had been dragged.
It was what he had half feared since finding the evidence of a mined
path--Hickok had been killed by a bomb and his body dragged away
to dump into some old mine shaft or otherwise hidden from possible
searchers.
The scout followed the trail for some distance in the brush along the
base of the dump, and then came to a sharp angle in the rock, where a
narrow shelf led down a circuitous way, apparently into the mouth of
another entrance to the mine above, at a lower level.
The scout crept cautiously forward, ready for instant action if Bloody
Ike or his pals were expecting callers.
But not even Buffalo Bill was prepared for the move which was adopted
by the wretch hidden in the rocks above.
The scout heard a slight movement above him, and instinctively sprang
forward and in close to the wall. As he did so a great mass of rock
came hurtling down, struck the shelf where he had stood, and crashed
onward into the abyss below.
Pa-e-has-ka was well concealed in his present position behind jutting
rocks and a tangle of bushes and vines. By leaning far forward and
peering upward through the thick foliage he commanded a view of the
cliff above from whence the slide had started. He saw a wicked,
bewhiskered face peering over the edge and anxiously scanning the
deeper chasm below.
“Guess that fixed ’im!” the scout heard the man chuckle. “Waal, that
disposes of two of ’em that we know about. Guess ole Long Hair won’t
sashay round here huntin’ trouble right away.”
Buffalo Bill was tempted to put a bullet in the evil brain, but he had
never yet pointed a gun at an unarmed or unprepared human being, be he
ever so bad. He would await his opportunity to take the fellow back
where he would receive just and legal punishment for his crimes.
Making his way cautiously into the mouth of the shaft, the scout
secreted himself in a dark angle behind the rotting timbers, convinced
that the fellow above would go to the base of the cliff to satisfy
himself that his victim had been crushed to pulp in the avalanche of
rock.
He had not long to wait. He saw the fellow clamber nimbly down from
his hiding place, apparently well acquainted with every detail of the
mountainside.
The fellow came within three rods of the entrance, and then suddenly
swung over the edge of the rocky precipice, and was lost to view.
A moment later Buffalo Bill crept out and peered over the edge. He saw
the man below him making his way from rock to rock, clinging to bushes
and roots, and descending into the cañon.
The scout drew back and decided to explore the shaft for a short
distance while the tenant was absent. He believed Bloody Ike was hiding
here until the investigation following the destruction of the hotel had
blown over.
He found his suspicions confirmed. In an alcove in the incline he
discovered a rude cot of straw and blankets, and far down the one-time
muleway he heard a pony whinny.
“So he keeps his pony in here, too,” mused the scout.
But just then he was startled by a human groan near at hand and
promptly forgot the pony.
Striking a match, the scout eagerly scanned the place, and beheld a
sight that sent thrills half joy and half uncertainty to his brain,
while a feeling of rage swept over him.
It was the form of Wild Bill lying on a pile of mouldy hay, bound hand
and foot and a rude gag in his mouth. The Laramie man’s bruised face
and head made him an object of pity. His face, hands, and clothing were
soaked in blood and eyes closed in semi-conscious condition.
The scout’s ready knife slashed the cords which bound his pard, and
then he looked around. Near the cot was a pail filled with water,
probably for the pony. Cody quickly brought it to the side of his
wounded friend, and, kneeling, slopped the water freely in Hickok’s
face and laved his brow and head, washing away the blood and gravel.
He was rewarded in a few moments by seeing the Laramie man open his
eyes and by hearing him faintly ask: “Where am I?”
“With friends, old man; lie still.”
The scout chafed the hands and wrists of his pard and laid a wet
handkerchief on the fevered brow. He poured a little of the water down
the parching throat, and was gently fanning the injured man with his
hat when he heard a slight scuff of a shoe, and, glancing up, beheld
Bloody Ike just entering the shaft.
The man’s eyes had not become accustomed to the darkness, and he groped
his way toward his cot, swearing to himself.
“Don’t know whether I got the ombray or not. Landslide was bigger’n I
expected,” he growled.
“You’ll soon have your mind set at rest!” shouted Buffalo Bill, as with
a bound like a panther he was upon the wretch.
The man attempted to reach knife or gun, but was too slow, and then a
fierce struggle began.
For a minute or two they wrestled, and then both went down, with the
scout on top. The rascal was frantically endeavoring to draw a revolver
when a smashing blow from the scout’s fist ended the set-to.
In two minutes more Bloody Ike was securely bound and had been dumped
none too gently on his cot. Then the scout went to the mouth of the
cavern and sent forth a prolonged “Hoo-hoo-o-o!” for his pards.