AT THE HOUSE ON THE MESA.
When Buffalo Bill and his friends went forth and inspected the
battlefield, and examined the body of the painted leader of the
Redskin Rovers, both Pizen Kate and Nomad identified him as Persimmon
Pete, who, it seems, after leaving Kansas City, had turned outlaw and
disappeared on the border.
Pizen Kate seemed mystified by this identification. Yet Buffalo Bill
saw that her mystification was assumed rather than genuine.
“Mr. Cody,” she said, “I axes yer pardon. But if you’ll take a look
at this man, you’ll see that when he wore ther same kind o’ mustache
and beard that you do he looked mighty like you. That’s what made me
think you was him.”
“I hope that in no particular am I as he was!” said the scout, with
much earnestness.
“No, ye ain’t; ’cept that he was big and good-lookin’, and so aire
you. I hope it won’t make ye blush fer a lady ter say it.”
“There will be at least fewer outlaws, white and red, to trouble the
border,” the scout remarked, as he looked over the bloody field. “If
they had only made a complete thing of it, like the Kilkenny cats,
and wiped each other out, the world would be better off.”
“Now kin we go on to that house, Mr. Cody?” Pizen Kate asked.
“Why aire ye so anxious?” said Nomad.
She screwed her face into a vinegary smile. “Nicholas,” she said,
“when I git ye there I’ll have ye jes’ that fur on the road home.
Don’t think I ain’t goin’ to take ye back with me, fer I am; you’re
goin’ with me back to Kansas City, there to be my true and lovin’
husband, er I’ll whale the hide off ye.”
They helped themselves to the best of the weapons to be found on the
battlefield.
The way was open before them now, and they set out across the mesa,
hastening on toward the house of John Latimer.
Buffalo Bill was as anxious as any one to reach that house. He felt
reasonably sure that Latimer had been taken there by the young man
and the young woman, and it seemed that there some explanation might
be found of the things that had mystified him.
The afternoon was waning when they reached it.
Though the house seemed tenantless, horses were in the stable.
The scout was sure they were the horses he had seen ridden by the
mysterious young man and young woman.
When he advanced with Nomad and Pizen Kate to the house, he found the
doors locked. This was but another proof, however, that the house had
been visited during his absence, for when he had left it, shortly
after the raid of the Redskin Rovers, the doors had stood wide open.
Buffalo Bill was on the point of forcing one of the windows, when he
heard a sound over his head, and glancing up quickly, he beheld in
the window above him the face of the mysterious young woman.
The head was withdrawn instantly, and neither Nomad nor Pizen Kate
saw it.
“Waugh!” cried Nomad, when informed of it. “Ef it’s ther female that
trapped you, and I reckon trapped me, look out fer more happenin’s.”
“Nicholas,” protested Pizen Kate, “why don’t you say ‘lady,’ instead
of ‘female?’ It’s ongallant of ye.”
Nevertheless, Pizen Kate was as anxious as any to get into the house
and discover what it meant, when, after calling, Buffalo Bill could
arouse no one.
The scout now forced one of the windows, and they entered the house
by that. Apparently no one was within.
“She may ’a’ gone inter thet tunnel, Buffler,” suggested Nomad.
But when they sprung the hidden trapdoor and explored the tunnel
beneath they found no one there.
“Waugh!” said Nomad. “Their hosses aire out thar in ther stable,
hobnobbin’ now with ole Nebby, and we’ll jes’ camp down hyar until
they try to git their hosses.”
Buffalo Bill and his companions took possession of the house quite as
if it were their own, and they made so thorough an inspection of it
that it seemed impossible any one could be in it and they not aware
of it. Yet Buffalo Bill was sure that the young woman had not left
the house, unless she had done so by some exit of which he had no
knowledge.
With the coming of night they tried to make themselves comfortable.
If Latimer was not hiding in the house, Buffalo Bill might expect his
arrival at any time. As Latimer’s guest, he felt that he had a right
in the house. Hence, he prepared supper, using some food overlooked
by the looting redskins, and then he and his companions sat in the
darkness of one of the front rooms, waiting for whatever might happen.
After an hour or two the silence was broken by a gentle rapping on
the front door.
When Buffalo Bill answered this without opening the door, a man’s
voice was heard, begging admission.
“I’ve lost my way,” said the man, “and I’d like to stop here for the
night.”
Buffalo Bill had already heard soft footsteps outside and low
whispers, and he knew the man was lying.
“You are alone?” he asked.
“Yes, alone, and I’ve lost my way.”
“What are you doing in this remote section?”
“Prospecting.”
“Well, the prospects for you getting into this house before daylight
are not good just now. Come around in the morning, and if you are all
right we’ll try to give you your breakfast, anyway. But we can’t open
the house now.”
As Buffalo Bill expected, the answer to this was a shot through the
door.
Being prepared for it, he had stepped softly aside, and the lead
plowed harmlessly through the panel and lodged in the wall. Following
the shot there was a rush upon the door, in an attempt to smash it
from its hinges; but the door was a stout affair and resisted this
attempt to force it.
When the rush had failed, silence followed for a short time; the
outlaws were only preparing for a more desperate attempt.
“I think, Buffler, thet they knows you aire in hyar, and they’re
after yer hair,” said Nomad.
“I think so,” the scout agreed.
“They knows that you’re a dangerous man ter the likes of their kind,
and they intends ter wipe yer out, and all of us thet’s with yer.”
“I think you are right. But while they’re getting ready to beat the
door down, or fire the building, or some other pleasant diversion,”
said the scout, “you might tell me, Nomad, what several times you
have said you wished to tell me.”
Nomad laughed in his chuckling way.
“Buffler, I’d ’a’ told ye long ago, but every time, as you’ll
reck’lect, John Latimer was nigh and listenin’. Then ther thing got
ter be a sorter joke wi’ me, and I kep’ it goin’ fer ther fun of it.
But when fust I come ter this hyar house----”
Even yet old Nick Nomad was not to be permitted to tell his secret;
for the outlaws made another rush at this instant, and they jammed
against the door a heavy beam of wood, making the panels snap and the
stout hinges groan.
Buffalo Bill fired a shot through the door, but it was not a
deterrent, and when the log of wood hit the door again the panels
splintered and the door fell.
In the dim light a number of men were seen, and their faces were
lighted by the flashes of the scout’s pistols. Some of the men went
down; but the others rushed on, cursing and howling, treading on the
bodies of their fallen companions.
Buffalo Bill and his friends fell back before this deadly rush,
knowing that their position was too exposed. The result was that the
door was left undefended and the outlaws swarmed through into the
house.
The scout and his companions made their way at once toward the room
which held the hidden trapdoor, intending to defend the room as long
as they could, and then retreat by way of the tunnel to the river.
But before they gained this room the mysterious young man appeared
before them, beckoning.
“This way!” he called, in a shrill whisper. “Don’t hesitate! Your
lives depend on it!”
Yet Buffalo Bill hesitated, though the cursing outlaws were in the
hall behind him and coming on, held only in temporary check by a
healthy fear of his revolvers.
“Shall we resk it, Buffler?” Nomad asked.
A rush of outlaws toward them along the hall caused Buffalo Bill’s
hesitation to vanish. “Yes,” he said, answering Nomad.
Then they followed the young man, who made a dash toward the kitchen.
When they gained that, ahead of the pursuers, the young man stopped
long enough to fasten the door, which was provided with a heavy bolt
and chain.
“This way,” he said, again.
A cupboard apparently built solidly into the wall he now swung
outward, revealing back of it a door.
“In here,” he said. “Quick!”
The outlaws were already at the closed kitchen door and hammering on
it in a way to make the bolt and chain rattle.
The air of the young man was so kindly and anxious that Buffalo Bill
entered the dark opening behind the cupboard. Nomad hesitated, then
followed, with Pizen Kate.
When they had passed through and seemed to be standing in a dark,
windowless room, the young man came after them, and closed the
opening by swinging the cupboard back into position.
“They’ll think we went on through the kitchen,” he whispered. “This
way.”
He took Buffalo Bill by the hand; and together he and the scout
descended a narrow stairway, being still followed by Nomad and Pizen
Kate.
As they did so they heard the kitchen door give way before the
onslaught of the outlaws, and heard the trampling of their feet on
the kitchen floor, together with their angry oaths.
When they had descended a short distance, the scout judged they were
in another tunnel somewhat like the one he had been in before.
He found this was true; and after a short walk a faint light appeared
in the tunnel before him. Then all emerged into an open space, and
found it to be a natural cup-shaped hollow hanging on the side of the
river ledge like the nest of a bird. Vines and bushes grew about,
screening it from view of any one on the opposite side of the stream;
and a narrow path, bush-hidden, led to the top of the bluff, where,
through a bushy fringe, a view could be had of the house and grounds.
The light which brightened this cuplike space was starlight, but it
was bright enough to enable the scout and his companions to make
an astonishing discovery; which was, that John Latimer and the
mysterious young woman were in this spot, and apparently awaiting
them.
Latimer, however, seemed to be injured, or sick; for he was lying
down, with some garment under his head for a pillow, and he did not
rise when Buffalo Bill and the others entered.
Buffalo Bill was too grateful to ask questions.
The mysteries of the house, at least, were becoming no longer
mysteries. For it was plain that it had been constructed with a view
to quick and secret entrance and exit, which, of course, necessitated
the hidden doors and secret passages. All of which might be used in a
perfectly legitimate manner, as this land of danger made the use of
such devices exceedingly wise at times.
“Even if they should find that tunnel,” said the young man, “they
couldn’t easily reach us here by coming through it; for one man at
this end of it could hold it against a hundred, if properly armed.
And it wouldn’t be easy for them to get down here by way of the
path from above, nor could they readily climb up from below in the
darkness. In the morning, of course, it would be different; they
might reach us then, if they discovered where we were.”
After a time, when it became apparent that the outlaws were looting
the house, Buffalo Bill asked to be shown how to get to the top of
the bluff, and, with some hesitation, the youth piloted him.
Coming out again thus upon the mesa, in the starlight, the house and
its surroundings were clearly visible to the scout, who now advanced
cautiously, anxious to know something more about these outlaws, to
get some clearer idea, if possible, of who they were.
He swerved round toward the stables, in quest of old Nebuchadnezzar,
and, as he did so, he came face to face with a man who challenged him.
“I’m one of the band,” said the scout, at a venture, dropping hand to
weapon.
The man was not deceived. His revolver came out, and the bullet
whistled by the scout’s cheek. Almost at the same instant Buffalo
Bill returned fire, and the man fell.
The shooting drew a number of men out of the house, and the scout saw
it was prudent to retreat.
Crawling back toward the hiding place by the river, he bumped into
Nick Nomad.
“I had ter foller yer, Buffler,” Nomad apologized.
* * * * *
Before morning came the outlaws departed.
As soon as it was light enough to see, the scout, together with Nomad
and Pizen Kate, began to look over the grounds. They were soon
joined by the youth; and then the young woman appeared, accompanied
by Latimer.
Latimer seemed ill and suffering; but his weakness and his lethargic
manner departed together when he came upon the body of the outlaw
who had been slain by Buffalo Bill. He stood looking into the face
of the dead man with an appearance of stupefied unbelief. Then, with
something akin to a scream, he toppled over, insensible.
When the scout and the others looked into the face of the dead man
they observed how remarkable in appearance it was to the face of John
Latimer.