THE PARDS VISIT THE INDIANS.
It did not take long for the scout and Hickok to decide to pay the
wooded area among the mountain tops a visit. They were probably two
hundred feet above the woodland, and hoped they could make their way
down the side with ease.
It proved no easy task and the last lap was a hard one. At the edge
of the woodland was a perpendicular drop, an unscalable cliff as far
as they could discover entirely around that side of the great basin,
varying in height from thirty to seventy feet.
Fortunately, when they had hidden the saddles, they had taken off their
lariats, and retained them for possible use in mountain climbing.
They selected a spot where the evergreens grew close to the wall and
the scout fastened one end of his lariat to a stout cedar and slid over
the rim. He landed lightly in the moss at the base and then Hickok
followed.
The lariat was left hanging for future use, and the pair, marking well
the spot, set out on a tour of inspection. Their progress in the moist,
springy moss was noiseless, but they realized that quick-eyed Indians
on the watch could also move as noiselessly as they.
The pards traveled a rod or two apart and constantly scanned their
surroundings. They were in the enemy’s country and it behooved them to
exercise great caution.
At last the scout paused to listen. He had caught the sound of a human
voice. It was far away across the forest, but it was unmistakably the
call of a man.
The answer came and the pards stared at each other in amazement--the
voice was that of a white man, and an American.
As the pards approached, the voices became more distinct, and at last
they could distinguish words exchanged between two men who were some
distance apart and carrying on a conversation. The men were busy at
some labor, and presently the scouts made out that the strangers were
picking boughs, probably for a bunk.
Buffalo Bill was surprised again that whites should be here and
apparently so free from fear of interruption by red men.
“Who could they be?”
They might be miners, but this location must be at least two miles from
the seams and gashes of the mountain rock, in any direction. They could
not be mining in the centre of this deep, mucky soil that furnished
food for a great forest.
The pards crept nearer, and at last, secreted behind evergreen shrubs,
could see the men plainly.
Buffalo Bill rubbed his eyes, looked again, and then turned to glance
questioningly at Hickok.
The Laramie man stared at the strangers, scratched his head, pulled out
his field glass and tried to see them through it, and then turned to
the scout.
Both looked again at the men who were bundling up their boughs to carry
away. Buffalo Bill stole over toward his pard and Hickok hitched nearer
the scout.
“Are my eyes on duty?” whispered the scout.
“They look all right to me, but I fear mine are out for a joke,”
returned Hickok.
“Who do you call that pair?” asked the scout.
“Well, if my eyes ain’t lying and these woods are not playing the deuce
with my think machine, I’ve been looking at that knave Price and his
worse comrade, Bloody Ike. How do they look to you?”
“You’ve expressed my feelings,” said the scout. “Let’s follow them.”
It was an easy matter to trail Price and his partner to the Indian
village without being discovered, for the two men seemed to have no
thought of interruption.
Hiding in the thick evergreens for several hours the pards studied the
village from all sides. They wished to know the strength of the camp
and if they had any prisoners. Price and Ike moved about at will and
might have owned the village, from all appearances.
The pards decided that the village contained about one hundred
people--bucks, squaws, and papooses. With the party they had seen set
out in the morning they believed there might be sixty warriors.
The camp was as peaceful as a country village on Sunday. None seemed to
expect visitors or to care to exert themselves enough to do guard duty.
They evidently considered that the guard in the cañon with the ponies
was sufficient.
The camp was admirably located for summer and winter quarters, the
forest breaking the cold winds and hot sun and furnishing abundant
fuel, while water was convenient and plenty.
One tepee was guarded by two smoking, sleepy bucks, and securing a good
position, Buffalo Bill waited patiently, hour after hour, for some one
to pull aside the flap and reveal the interior.
At last Price himself appeared and, looking in, sang out:
“Well, Cayuse, you red dog, how do you like it? Guess Buffalo Bill
himself can’t save you this time. These red brothers of yours are
planning on a sort of Thanksgiving celebration, and you are to be the
roast turkey. Never mind, though, Piute, when I see Cody I’ll tell him
you cried like a spanked papoose and wanted to go home to ma.”
Price turned away, grinning, but if Cayuse made any reply it was so low
that the scout could not hear it.
The pards withdrew, at last, to some distance from the village, where
they could talk over what they had seen.
After comparing notes they decided to await darkness and once more
visit the village. They had spent many hours in reconnoitring the camp,
and night was at hand by the time they had paid their compliments to
the haversacks.
The Indians seemed to have gathered around the camp fires between
the rows of tepees to listen to the stories of the day’s hunt by the
returned warriors. They had killed twenty buffaloes and had had a brush
with a great army of pony soldiers.
The Indians had called at the sacred mountain to leave a tender young
cow buffalo for the daughter of the moon, when they saw the pony
soldiers approaching.
There were hundreds of the white warriors, according to their tale, and
the red men had attacked them and slain many, but had escaped without
a wound themselves. The white warriors were coming to make offering at
the sacred mountain, the red men believed.
Price and Ike were present, and the former made a speech setting
forth the valor and bravery of the red warriors, and telling them that
the white men were becoming afraid of the Sioux braves and would be
swept back across the great river and forever leave the plains for the
Indians. He was cheered and the cowskin drums were beaten wildly.
But while this was going on Buffalo Bill and Hickok had not been idle.
They readily selected the tepee in which Cayuse was confined, and a
sharp knife running down through the buffalo skin back gave no sound
that could be heard above the hubbub at the fires.
An Indian sat on either side of the front of the tepee, as they had
done in the afternoon, but they were so engrossed with the performance
as to be oblivious to the light sounds made by the scout as he entered
the wigwam through the slit in the back.
The firelight shone in past the flap and revealed to the scout that
Little Cayuse was not there.
At first the scout feared he had entered the wrong tepee, but he soon
reassured himself by finding the thongs that had bound the Piute’s feet
and hands.
Little Cayuse had made his escape from the village unaided, but whether
he could manage to pass the guard at the head of the cañon before he
was missed was another story.
The scout made haste to find Hickok and the two set out for the cañon,
realizing that the moment the alarm was sounded that the prisoner had
escaped from the tepee an attempt would be made to cut off his escape
down the narrow, difficult trail to the cañon.
Every moment they expected to hear shouts of enraged savages behind
them, and knew that in their hurried progress through the forest they
were likely to step into the arms of warriors at any instant.
But they reached the incline that led up out of the wooded basin before
the descent to the cañon begun, without incident. As they left the
moss for the rocks they could see the top of the wall plainly outlined
against the sky--and at that moment at the crest could be seen a
crouching, silent figure just going over the rim.
“Cayuse,” spoke the scout in a low tone, and the figure paused, then
slid back toward them.
It was the Indian pard, sure enough, and now there were three to steal
down by the Indian guard in the cañon.
“Do you know how many bucks guard the ponies?” the scout asked of
Cayuse.
“Me see t’ree; mebbe more, but me no see um.”
When the pards reached the foot of the trail there was some sort of
a commotion among the ponies. They were kicking and fighting among
themselves, and soon two Indians appeared with torches and clubs to
quell the riot.
Buffalo Bill and Hickok stole around to that side of the opening to
await the return of the Indians, and Cayuse went searching for another
red man.
When the twain came back talking together, their torches gone out, they
walked into two pair of powerful arms, and found their windpipes closed
before they could emit a sound.
The struggle over, the Indians were bound and gagged and dragged to one
side where they would be out of the way and not likely to be discovered.
About this time, at only a few rods distant, the scout heard a grunt of
surprise followed by a heavy blow and a rustling in the underbrush. He
approached cautiously and saw a dark form at work over another which
was lying on the ground.
“S-s-t!” hissed the scout, and Cayuse answered in a low voice.
“Did you get him?” asked the scout.
“Wuh; him have Cayuse’s belt and knife. All same bump him head hard, no
make um noise.”
This one, like the others, was gagged and tied up like a sheep for
market, and dragged away.
Buffalo Bill was surprised that Cayuse’s absence at the village had not
been discovered and an alarm sounded before this, but he determined to
improve the opportunity.
“Can you find Navi in the dark?” he asked of Cayuse.
“Wuh; Navi smell Cayuse, come all same dog.”
“Good! Get your pinto as soon as possible and we will turn the others
down the cañon.”
In another half hour the cavalcade of riderless ponies thundered out
of the mouth of the cañon upon the plain, free for a time of all
restraint, and bound to make the most of it until recaptured.
The scout and Hickok found their horses where they had left them, and
were soon riding hard for the fort to bring a force to capture the
village.