THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR.
When Bloody Ike reached the top of the basin, where Price was waiting
impatiently, and consumed with curiosity, he was out of breath and
unable to express his feelings, but he shook his fists, waved his arms,
gasped and choked in impotent rage.
“Did you get any grub?” asked Price.
Ike pulled bread and meat from his pockets.
Price fell to and kept his mouth so full that he could not ask
questions until Ike had had opportunity to regain his wind.
Ike’s first words indicating a state of reason, after a broadside of
oaths and imprecations hurled in the direction of the lights which
could be seen moving about down below, were:
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Can’t we hide among the rocks somewhere until they give up the chase?”
“They’ll never give up the chase--who do you suppose is there?”
“No; who?”
“Buffalo Bill and his pards.”
“The devil!”
“Worse than that; Buffalo Bill is ten devils and a million imps when he
is on a man’s trail, curse him. I’ve tried over and over again to blow
him to kingdom come, and he defeats me every time. He bears some sort
of a charmed life and it’s no use for me to buck up against ’im.”
“What was the blow-up?”
“A can of blasting powder that ought to have lifted the whole bunch of
them into next week, but that long-haired representative of Uncle Sam
and the hot place jumped out just in time to see the fuse, dig the can
out of the rocks and throw it into a chasm before it exploded. Oh! if
it only had gone off in his hands, instead of three seconds later!”
“Pretty bold thing to do!”
“Curse him, yes. He isn’t afraid of man or devil, and it is his
everlasting readiness to act and take the chances that wins. If I’d
been ten seconds later he’d probably pumped me full of lead, into the
bargain!”
“He’s a bad man to buck up against; I’ve found that out, Ike.”
“Well, I said we’ve got to get out of this place, and the sooner we go
the better--are you ready?”
“Which way shall we go--out across the plain again?”
“Great Scott! no. They’ve got horses and would pick us up as soon as
light. We’ve got to stick to the mountains, where a horse can’t go,
and keep out of sight--and keep going. I’d rather have old Split-hoof,
himself, on my trail than Buffalo Bill.”
“We can’t live in these mountains long--there isn’t so much as a
catamount to eat.”
“We’ll have to go hungry, then, for I’m going to keep as far from Cody
as possible.”
“You seem to have got a new appreciation of the scout.”
“Well, you’d have, if you had seen him lift that can of blasting powder
above his head when he was expecting it to go off every second, and
throw it farther than I could throw a ten-pound weight. I tell you a
man that’s got nerve and strength like that is too many for Ike.”
“All right, lead the way; I feel better after eating, but I’m so tired
and sore I can’t go fast or far. I wish you’d got hold of more grub.”
“I did, and a can of powder, and started with them, but when I saw
Cody dig out my blast and throw it away I lost my nerve and dropped
everything. I knew then it was no use for me to try to do him, and all
I thought of was getting as much space between me and him as possible.”
“You are gone bad, aren’t you?” said Price.
The pair clambered away over the rocks, slipping and sliding in the
darkness and muttering bitter anathemas because of their misfortunes.
In their case, as in all others, the way of the transgressor is hard.
If the hardships are not physical and apparent to the world, they are
mental, and the one who defies the laws of God and man is undergoing
torture which he is too great a moral coward to admit. The right way is
not only the best way, but the easiest way, and if reward does not come
in dollars and cents, it comes in the satisfaction of knowing that one
has done his best.
Price still held to his nerve, while Ike’s had been shattered by one
incident--the demonstration of a brave man that he has no fear to do
right, whatever the consequences.
Price was suffering physical torture and readily admitted it to his
partner in crime, but he had not weakened to a degree that would cause
him to admit, even to Bloody Ike, that he feared for the future, other
than for its physical discomforts.
“Look out!” cried Ike, who was in the lead, suddenly. He clung to a
stunted evergreen and saved himself from plunging down a dark chasm,
which yawned at his feet.
But his warning came too late for Price, whose tottering condition sent
him headlong.
As he felt himself going into the black depths below, the former Indian
agent and gambler, who had bled more tenderfeet than any other bad man
of Bozeman, uttered a wild cry of despair.
But Price’s last hour had not come. After a fall of not more than ten
feet he landed in a deep pool of ice-cold water, and went down, down,
till his head seemed bursting before he reached the top again.
Gasping and thrashing about, calling wildly for help, and begging Ike
to save him, Price raised a pitiful howl that irritated Ike.
“You make more noise than a gang of scared young ones,” said Ike. “If
you don’t shut up I won’t bother to pull you out. Buffalo Bill’s gang
can hear you all over the mountain.”
Price continued to plead, and, striking a match, Ike was able to see
his way down the rocks to where he could reach his struggling companion.
That ended their journey that night, for Price absolutely refused to
proceed in the darkness. He was shivering and exhausted, his teeth
chattering and his courage ebbing out with his strength.
Ike groped about until he found a gash in the gully they had been
pursuing, where a thick growth of stunted spruce and fir had found
footing. In a pocket in the rocks he started a fire and Price hovered
over it in an attempt to warm his body and dry his clothing.
Ike lay down to sleep, and declared with half-suppressed anger that he
didn’t care what happened.
Standing over the fire, until he choked from the smoke of it, and
slapping himself to increase the blood flow, Price almost fell over
and his knees knocked together from some cause other than cold, when a
voice beside him said:
“Indian agent cold now; be hot enough in next world.”
“Wh--who’re you?”
“Me White-man-runs-him, friend of honest palefaces; hate thieves and
liars.”
“Do you know Buffalo Bill?”
“Him greatest man in world; him white friend of red men.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Wuh; him in mountains; mebby find white cutthroats, take um back to be
hung.”
“For how much money will you take us out of here and show us the way to
Laramie?”
“Me not trade with white thief. Buffalo Bill take you Laramie.”
“If I would give you one hundred ponies, wouldn’t you get us out of
this place?”
“Much as the red man loves these hills and plains, he would not sell
his services for it all, to the white thief who stole the lives of
squaws and papooses,” and the stern red man waved his arms to signify
all around him.
“Won’t you procure us food for money?”
“If the red chief had the rotten meat you have given his red brother,
he would sell it to you.”
“See!” cried Price, attempting to awaken pity in the heart of the
Indian, “I shiver and die.”
“If the red chief had the rags you have given his braves for blankets,
he would burn them that the sight might rekindle the fires in the
paleface robber’s blood.”
Price said no more, but held his trembling hands in the feeble blaze
and waited. All his offers were spurned, and he knew that any further
appeal would be useless.
“I go, paleface dog,” said the Crow trailer, “but I shall come again,
and your paper lies shall hang over the same fire and shrivel, and
squirm, and burn with you.”
“Don’t tell Buffalo Bill where I am!” gasped Price feebly.
“Buffalo Bill’s heart too big and soft. Sioux warriors hate the agent
with the forked tongue.”
The Indian vanished and Price sank down by his little fire, broken and
disheartened. In a short month he had come to this from a position of
importance in a respectable community. Then he spent money right and
left and lived in luxury, with henchmen to do his bidding; now he was
freezing, starving, and men of all races turned their hands against him.
When Bloody Ike awoke at daylight, Price told him of the visit of the
Indian.
“Yes, the red sneak has gone after a posse of grunters to capture us.
I hope we are taken by a different party than the one which nabbed us
before; perhaps then your pretended letter from Sitting Bull would go
again,” said Ike.
“No, this White-man-runs-him seems to be awake to the trick, for he
said ‘paper lie’ would burn with us.”
“Excuse me! if they are going to talk fire before they take us, I, for
one, am not going to be taken easily. The sooner we get out of this
part of the country the better. We had better keep to the rocks as much
as possible, so the trailers can’t follow us. And another thing we must
remember, is to keep well down in the gullies and dark places, where
Buffalo Bill’s party can’t see us, if they are on the watch from the
heights.”
At mid-forenoon Price was exhausted and unable to stagger any farther.
So they descended into a deep cañon where the gloom at that time of day
was like evening, and there found a brook and in it sizable grayling.
They had neither hook nor line, but by damming the brook, at a narrow
place above, Price and Ike allowed the water to run from a pool below
and then picked up a bounteous roast of the little fishes.
The prospects of relief from hunger somewhat cheered these fellows, who
were getting a foretaste of torment, even before they had departed the
terrestrial sphere.
Both men became quite cheerful as they hastened up the gully in search
of material that would acknowledge the influence of fire.
They found some dry-kye and pitchy knots, which promised a fire that
would seem friendly and at the same time cook the precious little pile
of fishes.
As they made their way back to the spot chosen for a camp ground, and
from whence their smoke could not be seen in any direction, they were
quite cheerful, and chatted together in low tones, for they had not yet
overcome the fear that enemies were lurking near.
But when they came to the opening in the rocks what a surprise and
disappointment awaited them.
A large grizzly bear sat munching their fish with apparent approval and
satisfaction.