THE REDSKIN ROVERS.
Unable to sleep, for thoughts of the mysteries surrounding him,
Buffalo Bill was wide awake and fully dressed when the redskins made
their attack on the house.
The attack came shortly before morning, in the darkest part of the
night.
There came first the clattering sound of the hoofs of mustangs. This
was followed by wild and startling Indian yells, accompanied by the
discharge of firearms, and the patter of bullets and arrows against
the walls.
Buffalo Bill seized his revolvers and his rifle and ran out into the
hall, and with quick bounds leaped down the broad stairway. He found
John Latimer in the room below.
Latimer was but half dressed, but he had a rifle, and when Buffalo
Bill caught sight of him he was firing with it through one of the
windows, having incautiously hoisted the sash for the purpose.
A pattering shower of bullets swept through that window, and it was
only luck that kept Latimer from being hit. Buffalo Bill seized him
by the arm and drew him against the wall, out of range of the shots.
“That is suicidal, Latimer,” he said. “Stand back here.”
“It is Indians!” said Latimer, in great excitement.
“Yes, I know it.”
“They are attacking the house!”
“Yes, I know that, too. But you don’t want to let yourself be killed
by them. Lie down here; it’s safer.”
He drew Latimer down, dropping to the floor himself.
Some of the Indian bullets were coming through the walls, showing
that they had a few rifles of strong power.
Sounds of Indians trying to break into the house at the rear caused
the scout to leave that spot a minute later; and John Latimer leaped
up and went with him.
The Indians had broken in the kitchen door, and were raiding the
kitchen and the food closets. Apparently, they were bent on looting,
as much as anything else.
Latimer became so excited when he saw this that he rushed out into
their midst like a wild man, striking with his clubbed rifle.
Before Buffalo Bill could prevent, Latimer had been knocked down by
them, and, seeing this plight, the scout fired into the Indians he
saw grouped over the fallen man.
When he jumped back to avoid the return fire, they beat a retreat
from the kitchen. In going they took Latimer.
The scout heard the Indians riding round the house, yelling like
fiends. Then he dimly beheld a form before him, the form of the girl
whom he had seen previously.
“Come!” she cried tremulously, advancing toward him, with hands
extended. “Come!” she repeated. “Now is the time!”
Buffalo Bill almost forgot the howling of the Indians. Because of the
darkness he could see her form but faintly, and her face not at all;
but that she was young was shown by the lightness of her step and
by the tones of her voice. Here was a chance to solve the baffling
mystery, so far as she was concerned. He decided to attempt it.
She clutched him by the arm; and when he did not resist she began to
drag him, rather than lead him, toward a room whose door opened not
far off.
“Come!” she urged, in an agitated whisper, as she crossed the
threshold, clinging to him, and pulling at him with nervous, almost
frantic, haste.
The scout stumbled as he crossed the threshold, and her grasp of him
was broken; but he tried to follow her as she fled on. Then he came
to a sudden realization that this was the room into which Nick Nomad
had gone and from which he had not returned.
This realization had no sooner come to him than he felt the floor
sink beneath him, and heard an ominous click, which at the moment
he thought the click of a revolver. He was precipitated violently
downward, and, as he fell, he heard that click again.
When he struck, he landed on an earthen floor that was dry and firm.
He had not fallen far, he knew, yet he felt dazed and dizzy; for,
in addition to the surprise of it, the fall had been heavy and had
jarred him considerably.
He no longer heard the yelling Indians. That the girl was not near
him he knew. He was alone. The feeling that he had been trapped--had
been deliberately led by this girl into a trap--was irresistible.
As soon as he could sufficiently get his wits together, he felt for
his metallic match safe. Always in this water-proof safe he kept a
few matches, that were sure to be dry and reliable. One of these he
struck, and by its light he looked about, without rising.
Above him were the boards of a floor. About him were the walls of a
narrow tunnel. Apparently he had been dropped through a trapdoor from
the room above into this tunnel.
He recalled that he had thoroughly searched that room and even had
sounded the floor, but he had not found that trapdoor.
It was as plain now as anything could be that through that trapdoor
Nick Nomad had dropped, in the same way as himself, and, of course,
had landed in this same tunnel. It seemed probable, too, that the one
who had trapped him had trapped old Nomad. He was in a fair way of
solving at least one of the mysteries.
Before the light of the match went out he saw the direction and trend
of the narrow tunnel, and decided to follow it. Manifestly, it would
be impossible to regain the room from which he had so violently
tumbled.
Being anxious, he lost no time in carrying out this resolve. He moved
forward along the tunnel, feeling his way with his feet and hands.
He had no desire to fall into any hole that might be there. At
intervals he lighted one of the matches, to reassure himself.
The tunnel was not long, though in the cautious manner in which he
passed through it some time was required before he reached its end.
When he came to the end he found the little river before him, and
about him a thick growth of bushes.
The river end of the tunnel opened on the side of the high, rocky
bank, and was so bushed about that it could not be seen readily.
It seemed to the scout now that John Latimer must be aware of the
existence of that tunnel.
Latimer had built the house, and had lived in it since its erection.
Obviously, he could not have been unaware of the tunnel and the
trapdoor; yet Latimer had not spoken of them when the scout was
making his futile search for Nomad, nor had he hinted of their
existence since. More and more it was apparent that Latimer was not
“playing fair;” but even yet there was so much of mystery about the
whole matter that Buffalo Bill was too bewildered to reach any clear
conclusion.
The Indians had gone, and daybreak was at hand by the time Buffalo
Bill got out of the tunnel and out of the river gorge, and had made
his way back to the vicinity of the house and stables.
The house was silent and deserted; nevertheless, he made a cautious
approach, fearing treachery.
When sure that no foes lay in wait, he entered the house, finding the
kitchen door wide open.
The looting Indians had gutted the kitchen, taking everything that
struck their fancy. The rest of the house they had not disturbed,
there being nothing in it that they apparently cared for.
Buffalo Bill visited the room through whose floor he had made that
violent plunge.
As when he had made his previous examinations of it, the hidden door
was so cleverly concealed that he could not find it at first; but
feeling sure now that such a door was there, he persisted, and by
and by he discovered that by setting his foot in a certain place and
stamping in a certain way the door dropped downward, revealing the
black hole beneath.
He examined the door and the tunnel minutely, being compelled to
spring the door open again, as it was weighted in such a manner that
it closed instantly after being opened.
As he made his critical examination, he saw that there was a
possibility that the girl had not known of the door, or intended to
trap him; she might have set her foot on that particular spot by
accident and thus opened the door, unintentionally precipitating him
thus into the tunnel. Yet he could not make himself think she had
done it without intention.
When he had made a thorough search through the big house and had
found no one there, he went out to the stables.
His own horse was gone, but old Nebuchadnezzar, the horse belonging
to Nomad, remained, and now whinnied the scout a recognition.
The Indians had not deemed old Nebuchadnezzar worth taking away.
Indeed, the old horse would not have won favorable attention from
any judge of horses. He was raw-boned, old, and seemingly had seen
his best days. Yet Buffalo Bill remembered the good traits of
Nebuchadnezzar, and looked on him almost with affection.
The scout recalled now that since the evening before he had not seen
Pizen Kate.
Giving attention to the needs of the horse, by watering and feeding
him, Buffalo Bill left him in the stall, and went out to look over
the grounds. He found that the unshod hoofs of the Indian ponies had
not made heavy prints in the soil, yet their marks were plain enough.
“They are the Redskin Rovers,” was his conclusion. “That is the only
band operating in this section, or near it. Whether half of them, or
more, are white men, I don’t know.”
He found that the Indian pony tracks came together some distance
beyond the house, and that here a tolerably plain trail led away
toward the hills. Having worked that out, the scout returned to the
stables and brought forth Nebuchadnezzar.
The old bridle and saddle, and the saddle pouches used by Nomad, had
been left undisturbed, and these the scout put on the horse.
When this had been done, he tied the horse, returned to the house,
and ate some food he found there, taking some also for the saddle
pouches. After that he mounted Nebuchadnezzar and rode forth alone
on the trail of the Redskin Rovers.
Whether he could solve any of the mysteries by following the redskins
was problematical. Yet it seemed likely that Latimer was a prisoner
in their hands. Possibly others were; perhaps even Nomad.