PA-E-HAS-KA TRAPPED.
Buffalo Bill watched Fighting Dan out of sight with his prisoner. About
the latter’s neck a lariat was tied just tight enough so as not to be
choking, yet too close to permit of being slipped. The prisoner was
allowed to cling to the saddlehorn and run by the side of the easily
loping horse--and so they disappeared over the hill.
The scout realized that this hanging talk was all for the prisoner and
his friends, and that the spectacular manner of Red Dick’s taking away
was also to impress the men on the opposite side of the river, who were
raving and yelling themselves hoarse in threats at Fighting Dan.
Buffalo Bill had seen enough of the big gambler to know that he would
not seriously injure Red Dick, but had no doubt there would be a near
lynching to scare the prisoner.
Turning back on the trail until dark, the scout and Cayuse went into
camp, deciding to remain until very early in the morning and then
ride for town so as to reach there early in the day. They had turned
in scarcely more than an hour when they were awakened by hoofbeats of
horses hard pushed. The riders were coming down river at a stiff gallop
and directly at the camp of the scout.
“Make um saddle quick,” said Cayuse, springing up. “Him cowboys,
Pa-e-has-ka,” continued the Indian boy. “No Injun ride same paleface
puncher.”
“I’ll bet it’s Red Dick’s men, who have ridden to the upper ford, and
crossed, and are now after Dan and his crowd,” said the scout.
The party went thundering by within a few rods, but did not see Cody
and Cayuse. It was the cowboys from Bozeman, and there could be no
mistaking their mission. They were shouting ribald threats as they
rode, each trying to outdo his comrades in voicing what he would do to
Fighting Dan.
“Something of an effort to keep up their courage, I should say,”
remarked the scout.
“Ugh! Crows holler loud, all same fly ’way when eagle come,” offered
Cayuse.
Once more the neighborhood was quiet and our friends were not
disturbed, until just at the break of day Navi aroused the human branch
of the expedition by a shrill and prolonged neigh.
Cayuse sprang up and approached his pinto to note the direction the
sensitive nostrils were pointed.
When he returned he said, pointing to the west:
“Injun ponies that way. Mebbyso Crow warriors go cross.”
“Well, I guess we don’t care for their company, so we had better canter
along ahead.”
As they were about to mount, an Indian pushed through a clump of
willows, rode to within ten feet of the scout, stoically refraining
from word or glance until he had halted his pony. Then, fixing his
piercing eyes on the scout, the Indian said:
“What Pa-e-has-ka do here?”
Buffalo Bill looked steadily at the handsome Indian for a moment, and
then answered as he advanced with extended hand:
“To help good Indians like White-man-runs-him against bad palefaces.”
“Ugh! Pa-e-has-ka heap brave paleface. Always friend of red man. Only
one like um--Old Curly.”[A]
“Yes, chief, the Boy General is a friend of the Indians, and so is
Buffalo Bill. The Great Father at Washington has sent Pa-e-has-ka
here to stop the paleface robbers from stealing the red man’s land,
blankets, and game.”
“Better stop bad palefaces selling fire-water to red man, too.”
“White-man-runs-him speaks well. His words are true.”
“Pa-e-has-ka heap brave and strong. Great Spirit love Pa-e-has-ka and
Old Curly.”
The Indian turned his pony and rode away.
“Him honest Injun,” ventured Little Cayuse.
“Yes, Cayuse; good and brave, and he loves his people.”
At Bozeman the first man they saw that morning was Price. He was
apparently in great haste and did not notice the scout and Little
Cayuse. They rode into a stable, and Cayuse immediately started after
Price on foot, at Buffalo Bill’s request.
The scout went to the hotel and waited; but he had hardly seated
himself near the window and was preparing for a good smoke, when a
young man hurried in and asked the clerk for W. F. Cody.
The scout overheard and answered.
“A note for you, sir,” the young man said.
He handed the scout a sealed envelope and went out without waiting for
a reply or giving Cody an opportunity to ask questions.
The note read:
“I am in trouble at the Mason & Moore ranch. Can you not come to me?
---- ----, M. D.”
It was the signature of the young physician who had so favorably
impressed the scout when he attended Hickok.
The scout made hurried inquiries and learned that the Mason & Moore
ranch lay thirty miles to the northeast, up toward Crazy Mountains. He
decided to wait until noon for Cayuse; if the Piute had not arrived at
that time he would go alone.
Cayuse had not returned and at 1 p. m. the scout ordered Bear Paw
saddled, and departed, after leaving word with the clerk for Little
Cayuse when he should come.
If Price and his men had planned to first separate and then destroy
the band of Uncle Sam’s workers, their plans were certainly working to
perfection. Skibo and Nomad were caring for Wild Bill at the abandoned
mine; Buffalo Bill was on a blind errand into a strange country, while
Cayuse had disappeared in the wake of the chief villain of them all.
Buffalo Bill would have had his suspicions aroused by a message from
almost any other person in the town, but he had formed an opinion of
the young physician that was wholly favorable to the man.
He had left the town an hour behind when two men set out in the same
direction.
Buffalo Bill passed a tumble-down hut with slovenly surroundings, but
did not pause. When he had galloped ten miles beyond he was surprised
by the boom of three heavy guns back in the direction of Bozeman. They
were fired at intervals of about thirty seconds.
The scout wondered what it could mean, for he recognized the voice
of an artillery piece--it was not a blast, as the uninitiated might
suspect.
At mid-afternoon he was approaching a pass in a rough section of
country, and the trail showed little usage. The sides of the ravine
were broken and precipitous, while the banks of a small stream along
which the trail ran were thickly clothed in willow. The scout, half
instinctively, looked to his guns, and rode erect and alert in his
saddle.
Somehow those three heavy reports had put a suspicion in his mind.
Bear Paw was nervous. He pranced along the narrow trail uneasily, with
sensitive ears darting forward and back to catch every sound, and
nostrils breathing a half snort at every breath.
Suddenly the intelligent animal sprang forward so quickly as to almost
unseat a rider who had never been thrown, and as he did so several
rifle shots rang out and bullets whistled about the head of the scout.
The shots had been fired from both sides of the trail by men secreted
in the dense growth. The nervousness of the horse had for the moment
saved the scout’s life. The horse skimmed along the trail like a bird
on the wing as the scout wheeled in the saddle with rifle ready to
greet any who might try for a second shot.
In that position the scout was illy prepared for the next dastardly
move of the men bent on taking his life.
A rope suddenly lifted ahead of the horse. The animal tripped over it,
and plunged headlong down an embankment where river and trail veered
sharply, and its rider was hurled far over, landing in several feet of
muddy water and struggling to the surface half stunned by the impact.
The horse regained its feet and limped up the bank. The man swept the
water from his eyes, and started to follow the horse, when four rifles
clicked and a hoarse voice shouted:
“Say your prayers while I’m countin’ twenty, Buffalo Bill, for then you
die.”