THE PLAINSMEN ARE OUTWITTED.
As the queer trio loped along to the camp where the rest of the
avengers were eagerly awaiting the return of the two cowboys and hoping
against hope that they would be successful, not only in locating
the old Indian scout, but in persuading him to lend his skill and
assistance in running the Midnight Raider to his lair, Slippery Nig
regaled his companions with tales of his past exploits. And many were
the pointers he gave his eager listeners as to trailing and woodcraft.
But when they drew near their destination, the old scout grew reticent
and by the time they reached their fellows, he was as stolid of feature
and as taciturn as the proverbial Indian chieftain.
“What luck?” called Bowser, as the tramp of the ponies reached the ears
of the waiting men.
“We’ve got him,” returned Ki Yi.
In delight, all the cowboys, Hawks and even the suffering owner of the
Double Cross ranch got to their feet and hastened to greet and get a
glimpse of the man upon whose skill they were depending to send the
spectral raider to his much-deserved doom.
“Hello, old chap!” exclaimed Bowser, extending his hand cordially to
the old scout. “I’m sure glad Deadshot found you. We’re in a mighty bad
way, as I suppose he’s told you.”
But Slippery Nig made no more move to shake the hand or return the
greeting than if the owner of the Double Cross were not in existence.
“Surly old duffer, ain’t he?” grinned Dude.
Yet even this comment upon his manner failed to draw a sign from the
aged scout that he was aware of the presence of the cowboys and the
ranchmen.
Nonplused by the refusal of their advances, the men gazed at one
another in perplexity, deeming that it was necessary for the success of
the pursuit that they should win Nig’s good graces. Even a word from
Deadshot failed to elicit any response, and they were at their wits’
ends to know what to do to restore his good humor, when Grouch chanced
to solve the mystery of his taciturnity.
“Perhaps he’s deaf,” the Star and Moon cowpuncher whispered to Dude.
This aspersion upon his faculties unloosed the floodgates.
“Me no deaf,” snorted the aged scout. “Neither is Scalping Louie. No
wonder paleface no get near um. Make noise like squaws. Louie maybe
hear um and cum see um. See Nig and vamoose. Paleface heap fool. Louie
think Nig in swamp, break for anywhere. Nig have heap trouble trailing
him. Paleface either shut um mouth, or Nig no help.”
“What’s it all about?” asked Hawks, turning to the cowboys who had
fetched the old scout for an explanation of the torrent of wrath.
“Who’s this Louie, anyhow? What’s he got to do with us? Doesn’t the old
duffer know it’s the Midnight Raider we’re after?”
“Easy, easy,” grinned Deadshot. “One question at a time.”
“All right. I’ll keep quiet,” returned the owner of the Star and Moon,
“only for pity’s sake get busy, and explain what we’ve done to bring
down the wrath of this old curmudgeon upon our heads.”
“In the first place, your Midnight Raider is no other than Scalping
Louie, the renegade chief from the Piute reservation, whose specialty
is descending upon lone ranch houses and settlements and scalping all
the women, children and old men he can lay his hands on. He’s broken
from the reservation goodness only knows how many times--it seems he
was one of the parties from whom I saved Nig last summer--and he’s
broken out again within a few weeks.”
If the cowboy desired to produce a sensation by this statement, he
succeeded beyond his fondest dreams.
In blank amazement, the men stared at one another and then from
Deadshot to old Nig.
“Skull and crossbones, as Sandy says!” exclaimed Bowser. “No wonder we
have been outwitted by the fiend. Why, he’s the most dangerous Indian
in the country. Only the other day, when I was at the Centre, I signed
a petition asking that the devil be sent to the United States prison at
Leavenworth--where he couldn’t break out any more.”
“And so did I,” interposed Hawks.
“Then it’s dollars to a coyote flea that’s why you two were singled out
as the first objects of his wrath,” declared Ki Yi. “He probably heard
in some way that you’d put your names to the petition, and then later
that you’d both gone out on the range to round up and drive in your
steers for market. His intentions were, more’n likely, to add Sarah’s
and Amy’s scalps to his collections, but finding you had both returned,
he vented his wrath upon Sam by driving off his cattle and leaving a
trail big enough for a baby to find leading into the Sangammon bottom
lands, so’s he could get you into one of those mudholes. And when he
found Hen was back, he decided to vary operations by burning the home
outfit.”
Though this speech was the longest consecutive one the cowboy had ever
made in his life and was somewhat involved, the others followed it
closely, their thorough concurrence in the views signified by frequent
noddings of their heads.
But the final touch of approval came from Slippery Nig.
“_Some_ paleface plenty wise,” he declared, his weather-beaten and
battle-scarred face breaking into a smile of praise.
“Keep on talking, you two, you’ll soon have him really pleasant,”
chuckled Bowser.
And, in obedience, Deadshot took up the task of interpreting Nig’s
remarks where he had left off when Ki Yi began his explanation of the
raids.
“Nig, knowing Louie’s cunning, did not like the way you-all greeted
us when we came up. He’s out on a little scouting party for Louie
himself--on account of that performance in which I played the part of
the hero, I suppose.
“That’s probably one of the principal reasons why he agreed to join
forces with us. And, because he’s out on this little trip, he doesn’t
want us to make so much noise that Louie will come snooping round to
find what’s doing and get wise to the fact that Nig is with us. For, if
there is anybody slicker in trailing and such things than Louie, it’s
Nig--and Louie knows it.
“Consequently, if Louie should see Nig with us, he would know he was on
the war path and light out--which would spoil what seems like a lovely
little chance for Nig to save Uncle Sam a lot of expense by putting him
where he can’t take any more scalps.”
Another grin of approval from the aged scout greeted this elucidation
of his caustic comment.
“Then, as I understand it, what Nig wants is for us to keep quiet?”
inquired Bowser.
“Heap quiet,” chuckled the scout.
“All right, we will--especially as it seems to be sound sense,”
returned the owner of the Double Cross. “Now, suppose you ask him what
he intends to do, Deadshot.”
Without delay, the cowboy put the question, while his companions
awaited eagerly for Nig’s response.
And, after several minutes, their curiosity was gratified.
“First, must see trail, learn where goes.”
“But we can’t follow it, we’ve tried it once and pretty nearly lost
Bowser in the attempt,” exclaimed Hawks.
“Me no say follow um,” returned the scout, in disgust. “Me say want to
see where um goes.”
“What good will that do?” queried Ki Yi.
“Me know where Louie pitch teppee, burn him out.”
“By thunder, that’s the idea!” ejaculated the owner of the Double
Cross, unable to restrain his delight at the suggestion. “Want any help
from any of us?”
“Uhuh! Me take Deadshot and Ki Yi. Palefaces stay here till we come
back.”
“Don’t worry about our going away,” smiled Hawks, “and we’ll keep
all-fired quiet, too.”
“Good. We no be back till burn Louie out. Palefaces stay on edge of
swamp. When see um fire, watch out. This only trail to Louie’s teppee.
Palefaces stay here and when Louie come, shoot um. We stay on other
side so shoot Louie if run that way.”
“But how about the North and South? Won’t you need some guards for
them?” queried Bowser.
“Naw. No trail to South or North. Mudhole too bad, ’cept near
catacombs.”
“Then hurry up and be going,” exclaimed Hawks. “This scheme looks like
a rip-snorter to me. You won’t be gone five minutes before I’ll have
the others in positions from which they can sweep the trail.”
“Huh! Palefaces watch out no shoot too soon. Louie hear shot, he dodge.”
“Oh, I reckon palefaces aren’t such fools they can’t tell a man front a
shadow,” retorted Bowser.
“Mebbe. But animals, um come from swamp ’fore Louie. Animal smell um
fire before mans.”
“Then we’ll be on the lookout. Now hurry--and good luck.”
“And don’t forget that the success of this whole scheme lies in you-all
keeping dead quiet,” cautioned Deadshot as he and Ki Yi followed
Slippery Nig into the trail.
But, despite this warning, the bunch of avengers, sitting tense and
alert for the appearance of the Midnight Raider, again fell prey to him!
With a cleverness that was uncanny, the old scout led the way through
the swamps, seeming to travel all the time over firm ground, with such
skill did he avoid the mudholes.
And, as the cowboys were marveling at his ability, he suddenly halted
his pinto and raised his hand for them to stop, putting a finger to his
lips to enjoin silence and then, when they had drawn rein, pointing
with his other hand toward the tops of the trees some thirty yards
ahead.
Quickly following the direction, the cowpunchers beheld a faint wreath
of smoke floating lazily off into the air.
And, as they realized that their quarry was in his teppee, their hearts
beat like trip-hammers.
But not long were they allowed to enjoy the sight.
Again the old scout raised his hand, this time beckoning to them to
ride close to him.
“Must be careful now,” he whispered. “Must get on other side of teppee
so set fire. Wind from South. We go North. Louie no smell.”
Wondering how their aged guide could detect the direction of the wind
when they were not even aware there was any stirring, at least, not
sufficient to carry their odor to the shrewd old fiend, the cowboys
followed his lead. But, though as before, Nig picked out only firm
ground for them to ride on, he made frequent halts while he listened
and sniffed, once or twice even dismounting and reconnoitring on foot.
After what seemed to them several hours, so slowly did they advance,
Nig gave the word to halt.
“Isn’t there any more danger of his hearing us?” queried Ki Yi,
surprised to hear the aged scout speak.
“No make difference now,” he replied.
“Why not?” exclaimed both cowboys, together.
“Because we on South side of teppee.”
“But I thought that was the side you wanted especially to avoid?”
remarked Deadshot.
“While we getting here, uhuh. Now no difference. Palefaces at head of
trail. If Louie smell us now, he no think any there and they shoot um.”
During this conversation, the aged scout had been preparing some grass
which he braided with amazing rapidity into a long strand and then cut
into three pieces, two of which he gave to his companions.
“What are these for?” they asked, in chorus.
“Torches.”
“But I never saw any like these,” exclaimed Ki Yi, examining his braid
sceptically.
“No go out easy, no burn too quick.”
And without other explanation, Nig lighted his, and, dismounting, began
to kindle a row of fires in such a direction that the increasing wind
would sweep them down upon the retreat of the Midnight Raider.
At first, it was necessary to rekindle the fires in several places,
especially where the cowpunchers had applied their torches. But, at
last, being shown how to avoid the wet undergrass and light only the
dry tops and the upper part of the underbrush, they soon had a leaping
wall of flame raging through the swamp.
As the wind steadily grew stronger, Nig’s face was wreathed in smiles.
“Palefaces watch out, we get Louie, sure,” he chuckled. “Came near
not, though,” he added. “When we coming round by teppee he come nigh
smelling us.”
“How was that? We weren’t anywhere near his teppee, were we?” asked
Deadshot, surprised at the thought.
“Uhuh. Mebbe ten feet, mebbe rod.”
At this reply, the cowpunchers stared at one another in amazement.
“If we were so near, why didn’t you sneak up and put a bullet into
him?” queried Ki Yi.
“Louie snooping. Me no know where, but me fool um.” And again he
chuckled at the realization his cunning had outwitted his mortal enemy.
But their rejoicing was premature. In their calculations, they had
forgotten the cattle.
As it happened, the steers were grazing not far from where they had
kindled the fires, and quickly the creatures sensed the danger, lowing
and groaning.
“That will give the alarm to Louie, won’t it?” anxiously inquired
Deadshot.
“Uhuh. But steers never get through swamp.”
Yet, though Slippery Nig was right in this contention, the animals came
near causing the death of the trio.
With that perversity which makes steers so impossible to rely on, and
because many animals are prone to rush into fire instead of away from
it, the cattle charged directly at the wall of flame.
Instantly realizing this action, and knowing the danger with which it
threatened them, Nig leaped upon his pony and, calling to the others
to mount behind him and abandon their own horses, he guided the wiry
little pinto to a place of safety just at the edge of the fire. But,
even with such a distance between them and the spot where they had been
standing, they were only able to save themselves by shooting three
steers that thundered down upon them.
Growing impatient as time went by without any action, the rest of the
avengers were suddenly roused to attention by the discovery of the glow
from the flames.
“Where’ll we put the ponies?” asked Dude. “We ought to have them far
enough away so they won’t be frightened by the fire.”
“Take ’em out a couple of hundred yards on the plains,” directed the
owner of the Double Cross. “They’ll be safe there, and we can reach
them in time to dash to the South before the flames get us.”
Quickly this order was obeyed, and the men spread out to cover as much
ground as possible, that their quarry might not escape them.
Eagerly they awaited a sight of Scalping Louie, guns held against their
shoulders.
But, though denizens of the swamps, of all sorts and descriptions,
swarmed forth, never the sight of a human being did they catch.
Already the heat of the flames was becoming intense.
“Do you think he’s got by us?” shouted Bowser to Hawks.
“I don’t see how X----”
But his words were never finished.
For, even as he was speaking, there rang out above the roar of the
fire, a piercing “O-u-e-e!”
Instantly the avengers whirled toward the plains.
Waving his hand in derision, the lone horseman was racing Southward,
driving the ponies of his pursuers ahead of him.