INTERESTING ACQUAINTANCES.
Grizzled old Nick Nomad, solitary representative of law and order on
an expanse broader than the eye could span, was making his lonely
way eastward in what he understood to be the wake of his pards. He
was talking to himself, possibly, but his conversation was directly
addressed to Hide-rack, the horse that the famous old trapper and
trailer loved better than any he ever bestrode.
“Now, look hyar, Hide-rack, yew cantankerous ole heifercat, don’t ye
reckon it’s ’bout time ter pitch our tent an’ eat our doughnuts? We’ve
plodded on middlin’ plenty sence sunup, an’ sez I, Nick, ole boy, yer
tummy is makin’ love ter yer backbone. What yer say, Hide-rack, ye ole
rye-an’-Injun mix-up?”
Nomad’s pet names might not have appealed to ears more refined than
Hide-rack’s, but the sound of his master’s voice and the kindly pats on
his neck that accompanied them lifted the tired ears of the courageous
animal, and he briskly increased his pace.
“Waugh! Hide-rack, thet’s jest like ye--better arter a sixty-mile run
than ye wor at ther start-off. Yer ther clear----
“By ther great horn spoon an’ granny’s ole tin ladle! Ef thar hain’t
er c’ral-a-loomin’ up ez big as life right off here whar ther moon is
goin’ ter come up sometime, mebbe. D’ye hyar thet, Hide-rack? The’s
fodderin’s an’ comp’ny ahead. Boom ’er up, ole hoss pard; we wants ter
make er showin’ when we lite.”
Probably Hide-rack did not catch the full meaning of his man pard’s
words, but at about that time his animal instinct served notice that
creatures of his kind were nigh, and, raising his head, the horse, too,
saw the human habitation with all its suggestions of feed and rest.
The tired animal lifted head and tail, and, as Nomad expressed it, “set
sail fer ther c’ral lickerty split.”
Old Nomad dashed up to the ranch, or, rather, the home of a stockman
who had brought his family to the plains, and shouted:
“Whooee! in thar--ye all dead, er on’y jes’ nachally givin’ ther reds
er chanst ter jump in an’ gobble ther hull kerboodle ov ye?”
A tall, dark, broad-shouldered man with piercing eyes and heavy beard
stepped to the door.
“Well,” he said, “I don’t know who ye be, but yer welcome as long as ye
behave yerself.”
“Waugh! Who ever hearn tell o’ ole Nick Nomad doin’ anything else but
behavin’? Stranger, yer better look ergin. Mebbeso ye can see a ombray
what is some tired an’ more er less hungry--mostly more.”
“Climb down, old Nick Nomad, or the Old Nick hisself--neither of ye’ll
ever be turned away from Jasp Avery’s door hungry. Git down, old man,
an’ come right in; I’ll tend to yer hoss, same as if he be my own.”
“Jasp Avery, I likes ther way ye holds yer mouth an’ swings yer under
jaw. So off I comes, an’ hyar’s my hand.”
Nomad went with the cowman, and saw that the “faithful” Hide-rack
didn’t accept an opportunity to plant a pair of steel-shod heels in the
anatomy of the stranger who was offering hospitality.
Inside the home of the herdsman Nomad was introduced to “Father Avery,”
who was lying on a rudely constructed lounge and emitting occasional
groans.
The story of an attack by Indians the previous night soon came out, and
Nomad heard of the climax with satisfaction.
The younger Avery explained that he had foreseen trouble with the
Indians and had sent his wife and children to Fort Sarpy a month
previous. His cowpunchers, four of them, were all far back where they
had gone with the stock to find better grazing. He and his father
were alone, but they were well fortified and had plenty of rifles and
ammunition.
The house had been constructed with an eye to possible hostilities, and
resembled a miniature fort, out of which led an underground passage to
a dugout that was concealed underground and ventilated by an opening
into an almost impenetrable thicket of willow and sage brush.
The arrangement was well calculated to give a strong band of attacking
Indians a warm reception and a mystery to wind it up, if they
overpowered the settler and set fire to the ranch house.
In his story of riding down and disposing of the Indians, the younger
Avery mentioned the two white men he had passed on the plain. He said
he didn’t like the looks of them.
Old Nomad was instantly interested, and demanded a description. Within
five minutes he was convinced that Avery had held conversation with the
escaped Price and the supposed-to-be-dead Bloody Ike.
“I’d bet Hide-rack ergin er grasshopper them’s ther fellers!” he
declared. “An’ by ther harnsome whiskers o’ my Aunt Hannah’s billy goat
I wish Buffler was here.”
“Who’s ‘Buffler’?” demanded Avery.
“Why, Buffler Bill, ther king o’ ther plainsmen’ an’ ther whitest man
thet ever threw er leg over a saddle. He’s my pard, Buffler is, an’
he’s actin’ fer ther gov’ment out here ermong ther redskins. I’m on
’is trail sence day ’fore yistidy f’m Bozeman. ’Twas thar they tol’ me
Price hed ’scaped. I c’n see er hole in er ladder, an’ thet same is as
how Bloody Ike warn’t blowed up, nohow, an’ he worked some scheme ter
git Price out o’ ther hole.”
“Who is ‘Bloody Ike’?” asked Avery.
“He’s ther onerariest polecat south o’ Canady, an’ he travels with er
bag o’ blarstin’ powder, an’ is allers ready ter touch et off when
ennybuddy runs up ergin ’im permiscous.”
“What’s his last name?”
“I hain’t never hearn tell--et’s jes’ ‘Bloody Ike’ over in ther
Gallatin country, an’ et fits.”
“I’d like to know if it’s Ike Peltier, who used to do ther blastin’ in
the Ten-nugget Mine. If ’tis I’d give ten o’ my best hosses to be alone
with ’im about a minute.”
“Waugh! I’d like jes’ erbout ther same time with thet pardner o’ his.
But, say, Neighbor Avery, yore eyes aire some better’n gimlet holes,
I take et--what du ye call thet thar percession ’bout five p’ints ter
ther north o’ yer upper haystack?”
“It’s a party on hossback--one, two--eight, little an’ big, makin’ this
way.”
“What d’ye reckon, neighbor?”
“I ain’t no guesser huntin’ for a record, but I’m willin’ to predict
it’s some rancher over east that’s been raided by Injuns an’ makin’ for
some other ranch or the nearest settlement with what’s left.”
Half an hour later old Nomad was dancing merrily and waving his old
slouch hat as Buffalo Bill, Hickok, Little Cayuse, a sickly-looking
man, a woman, a boy, and two girls rode up.
It was the Corey family, whom Buffalo Bill had offered to accompany to
some spot more secure against the attacks of roving bands of Indians,
or, rather, bands making for the Bad Lands to join Sitting Bull’s war
party. They were warmly greeted by young Avery and his father, and
invited to take up their home there for the present.
Avery assured his visitors that two or three men could defend the place
against ten times their number of hostile red men, and that he would
call in his cowboys and herds to closer quarters.
Corey’s herd with two cowboys were working that way and would reach the
section sometime the next day. Avery promptly suggested that the herds
be consolidated and at least one of the cowboys left always at the
ranch for the protection of the non-combatants.
This arrangement gave vast relief to the Coreys, who had been
thoroughly scared by the attack upon their home, and it also relieved
the minds of Buffalo Bill and his pards, who disliked to leave the
woman and children exposed to the venom of the first outfit of red
marauders who happened to cross that way.
The scout accepted the hospitality of the rancher for the night, and
with his pards set off early next morning on the trail of Price and
Bloody Ike.
“Little Buffalo Bill” pleaded hard to be allowed to accompany the
scout, but was denied by his parents and advised by the scout himself
to remain to guard his mother and sisters.
Suddenly awakened to a new responsibility in life, the boy became
the superior of his father in manly qualities. Of perfect physical
condition and good mental balance, William F. Corey had been awakened
by a crisis from the slumber of youth to the cares of young manhood.
He realized the inefficiency of his father, who was weakened by long
illness and worry for the future of his loved ones.
And the father, too, suddenly became aware that he had a stout staff to
lean upon.
Before the scout and his pards shook hands all around and set off
toward the Yellowstone, they were urged by all to return, and the
younger Avery declared that as soon as he could arrange his affairs,
so that he could feel everything at home was snug and tight, he would
gladly give his services to the scout until the uprising should be
ended.
This offer Buffalo Bill said he might be glad to accept later, and
thanked his hosts for their kindness and hospitality.