CAYUSE SENTENCED TO DIE.
Straight out upon the plain, Hickok, astride his own horse and leading
Bear Paw, fled. He had little fear of being overtaken, and soon
discovered that the Indians had missed his course entirely and were
passing south of him. He decided to circle northward and go back to
the mouth of the long gully, in the hope of learning something of his
companions.
Nearing- the stream again, some distance above the Indian camp, the
Laramie man was suddenly startled by a shrill whinny, and he instantly
knew it to be the call of Navi to his friend Bear Paw.
Wild Bill jerked up the heads of his horses so suddenly that both
desisted from the response which they were ready to give.
The Laramie man made haste to investigate, and so confident was he that
no other pony could imitate the neigh of Navi that he took long chances
of running into an ambuscade. Wild Bill was a man who was ever ready
to take chances if anything was to be gained thereby. If there was but
one in a thousand he would take that one--and Wild Bill’s “luck” was
phenomenal.
The horses made straight for the copse where the scout and pards had
hidden their animals. Hickok dismounted, and looked over the horses to
discover who was paving the Indian camp a visit. Then he laughed to
himself:
“So Cody came on an Indian pony, and without a saddle. Must be Price’s
animal. Wonder what they have done with Price and Ike while the entire
family of pards is away.”
Hickok now heard greater commotion toward the Sioux camp and saw bucks
running with firebrands toward the fringe of cottonwood along the
stream.
“Aha! I guess some of the pards have missed a step somewhere,” mused
the scout. “Perhaps I had better drop down that way.”
To think was to act with Hickok. He left the horses with the others and
hurried away, hoping to connect with his pards. He felt sure that if
Buffalo Bill or any of his comrades had been discovered and were making
a getaway that they would naturally follow the timber to the spot where
they left their horses.
Hickok came to a little bluff that ran down sharply to the brook and
was about to clamber along its base to the thicket beyond when he
discovered that its summit was occupied by several mounted men.
The Laramie man paused. To pass over the open space might expose him
to the full view of those above at any moment, should a torch suddenly
flare above the thicket. Yet he had no doubt some of his pards were
hiding in the brush and perhaps confronted by the same dilemma.
Hickok chuckled as a scheme presented itself.
“Perhaps those fellows think they are going to sit there, like a turtle
on a log, till the harvest moon, but I doubt it,” he muttered.
He hurried back until he was on the other side of the bluff, and had
the horsemen outlined against the light of the fires beyond; then
he quickly but quietly climbed up behind the group, one of whom was
shouting to those with the torches.
Hickok heard a white man speak and recognized the voice of Price. He
had crept to within a scant rod of the heels of the ponies, whose
heads were drooping after a long run.
Suddenly Hickok launched himself on hands and feet at the very heels of
the ponies, emitting at the same time an uncanny cross between a bark
and a growl and switching vigorously at the animals’ heels with a long
withe he had brought for the purpose.
The effect was surprising to the riders, to say the least. They had no
sooner heard the slight rustle behind them than they were startled by
the mad snarling that might have been made by a half dozen catamounts
and a grizzly or two thrown in. Then their ponies nearly leaped out
from under them in a mad dash to get away.
The frightened mustangs dashed down the hill, plunged across the
stream, and, before the surprised torch bearers could guess at what was
happening, some of them were bowled over by the stampeded ponies.
In the midst of the hubbub, Wild Bill gave the signal of the pards from
the top of the mound. Instantly he was answered by the scout from the
ravine, and a minute later the pards had clasped hands and with Nomad
were hurrying toward the hiding place of the horses.
When well beyond earshot of the redskins, Nomad turned on Wild Bill.
“See hyar, Hick, I don’t want you never ter dew northin’ like
thet ergin. Ov all the caterwaulin’ lunkumsluices, an’ snarlin’
molwallopuses thet ever scared a Injun’s hair white, yer ther plumb
wust. Why, when thet thar tarnal kihootin’ begun I thort er sidehill
lounger, w’th feet ez big ez bundles o’ hay, hed bruk loose an’ wuz
go’n ter gobble ther hull pot an’ kittle ov us. What d’ye mean by such
kerryins on, anyhow, Hick?”
The scout and Hickok were laughing quietly at old Nomad’s badinage, and
the trapper wound up with:
“I was so mightily scart thet I plumb fergut ter leave my address with
ther feather pates. Cyant seem ter git over thet yowlin’ nohow.”
“Where is Cayuse?” asked Hickok, when they had come up to the horses.
“He’s er-callin’ on ther big Injuns,” answered Nomad.
“I think we had better wait here a while for Cayuse, and then if he
doesn’t come we’ll take his pinto with us and leave the odd pony for
him if he shows up here after we are gone.”
“Which way do you intend to move?” asked Hickok.
“I guess the long gully is about as satisfactory as any,” answered the
scout.
“I think I can beat it, and right under the Indians’ noses,” said the
Laramie man. He then described the place where he had passed the night
before.
“Good grazing and convenient to water?” asked the scout.
“Never better.”
“I have another plan, then,” said the scout.
“Name it.”
“You and Nick take all the horses and repair to your castle and I will
await Cayuse. I am anxious to know what is the object of all this chin
music.”
At midnight Cayuse had not returned, and the scout once more approached
the encampment, having some misgivings regarding Cayuse’s escape.
He feared the daring boy had been overzealous in his work and had
fallen into the hands of the red warriors. Cody realized that on such
occasions as this a prisoner would receive short shrift at the hands
of these red men on the way to war.
The scout wished to learn where Sitting Bull himself could be found.
He did not expect to find the famous chief with this war party, but
farther south; but hoped Cayuse would learn much from the conversation
of the chiefs and the harangues of the silver tongues.
Were Sitting Bull present Buffalo Bill would not hesitate to walk
boldly into camp. But the scout did not care to take a long journey to
the presence of the chief in the company of the red men. He did not
like their food or their manner of serving it.
Slowly and cautiously the scout worked nearer the fires, where the
festivities were going on as if there had been no break. Confident in
their numbers and knowing that no strong government force would be
in that part of the country, they cared little for the annoyances of
prying settlers who might come to seek revenge for the loss of stolen
stock or the murder of a family.
Suddenly before the scout the tall form of an Indian appeared as if by
magic.
The scout would have sprung upon the red man to check any outcry, but
was halted by a whispered word:
“Long Hair?”
“Yes,” answered the scout.
“It is good--how?”
The Indian extended his hand and the plainsman grasped it.
“How!” he said, “White-man-runs-him?”
“Why does Pa-e-has-ka walk into the arms of the red foe?”
“To learn why the red man is a foe.” Buffalo Bill answered quickly.
“The red warriors gather because they have been robbed,” said the Crow
trailer.
“But they are murdering and plundering innocent people who know nothing
of treaty rights, as they go to join their chief.”
“Pa-e-has-ka knows that there are no dead Indians on the white man’s
ground, but there are many dead white men on the Indian’s land.”
“Very true, because even when the red brother comes on the white man’s
land to steal he is forgiven, but when the weak white man goes to the
red man’s hills to dig gold or to the red man’s valleys to raise corn,
he is slain.”
“Pa-e-has-ka knows the Indian agents keep good blankets and give us
bad; they feed good meat to the white children and rotting bones to the
red papoose.”
“And because a white rascal steals from the red men, the dusky
warriors turn and slay innocent white squaws and little babes.
White-man-runs-him, if the red warriors do not turn back and await a
peaceful settlement of the dispute, it will mean the death of hundreds
of both red and white men, and nothing will be gained. Who is in
command of this party?”
“Rain-in-the-face.”
“Where is Sitting Bull?”
“Big Horn Cañon.”
“Is this force going south now to join Sitting Bull?”
“Not till the snows run into the rivers again.”
“What are the red warriors going to do till then?”
“Make the white man sorry he came to the red man’s country.”
“Can you lead me to the camp of Sitting Bull?”
“Not yet, Pa-e-has-ka--there are many white brothers to warn. Does
Pa-e-has-ka remember the beautiful knife?”
The Indian pulled the shining pearl-handled blade from its sheath, and
said:
“Since Pa-e-has-ka gave knife to his red brother, me swear to be friend
to palefaces, always.”
“When will White-man-runs-him lead me to the tent of Sitting Bull?”
“When the moon hides its face again----”
The Indian was interrupted by a commotion among those about the fires.
There was a scurry and much running about, followed by shouts and then
hideous yells.
The Crow warrior listened and then said:
“Catch spy--mebby torture.”
The scout grasped the Indian.
“Find out for me,” he said earnestly and sternly, “if it is a Piute
boy. If it is, it is Pa-e-has-ka’s loved pard, and he must be saved if
Pa-e-has-ka has to give his own life.”
“Me come back,” said the Crow, and moved away swiftly.
Buffalo Bill awaited impatiently as the minutes lengthened into hours.
At last there was a slight rustle and White-man-runs-him appeared.
“All same so many prisoners,” he began, holding up three fingers. “So
many palefaces”--holding up two fingers--“and so many Piute boy”--one
finger.
“Palefaces have paper talk from Sitting Bull, no die yet. Piute die at
stake when sun looks over hills.”