THE WESTERN DEAD SHOT.
The man who had galloped with that yell right into the crowd was none
other than Wild Bill, the Western dead shot.
Many of the men there recognized him, and they were sure his sudden
dash meant an attempt to rescue Buffalo Bill.
Wild Bill reined in his horse so quickly that he threw it back on
its haunches. It reared, its pawing front feet making the men there
scatter, and when it came down, Wild Bill, with a touch of the spur,
drove it to Cody’s side. Then he half wheeled his horse, lifting his
cap to the astonished crowd.
“It seems to me, from the look of things, that you’ve got the wrong
steer by the horns! I know that my friend Cody is too white a man to
ever do anything that would call for a hanging bee.” He smiled upon
Buffalo Bill. “Eh, pard, what have they got it in for you for?”
Not a man there but had heard of Wild Bill, and many of them knew him
by sight; so that when it was known that this was Wild Bill, the most
dare-devil and reckless shot of the West, the man who feared not the
face of clay, and if report spoke correctly would rather shoot than
eat, there was a falling back. Yet they still surrounded Buffalo Bill
and this new rider, and seemed no more disposed to give up their prey
than if they were a band of wolves.
Wild Bill had seen many mobs, and he knew their moods and methods;
yet his flashing eyes betrayed no sign that he really understood the
very dangerous and ticklish position which he and his noted pard were
in. He even seemed to be merry.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “won’t some one enlighten me? Here am I, a
wayfarer, blundering into this tragic scene, but knowing no more what
it is about than if I were the off hind wheel of a prairie schooner.
I can see, though, that you are harboring some sort of hard feelings
against my friend Cody, as white and true a man as ever breathed the
breath of life. What is it? Spit it out!”
They began to “spit it out,” telling him the things with which
Buffalo Bill stood charged.
“And he denies it? Strange that he should deny anything like that!
I’m afraid, though, that I’ll have to help him deny it. For I know
that there is another man who goes round here pretending to be my
pard Cody. I got word of it, not long ago, over in the Bitterroot
country, and I’ve ridden over here to hunt the devil down, just for
my pard’s sake.”
The great scout gave him a look of gratitude.
“I didn’t know that Cody was here, and----”
“That’s jist it!” was yelled at him. “You didn’t think that Buffler
Bill would do the things that it’s known he’s done. Nor we didn’t
think it, till we had the proofs and had to. And here, when you come,
you find him, caught for doin’ the things you wouldn’t believed of
him. And now that we’ve got him we’re goin’ ter make him dance on
air.”
Again that roar of rage broke forth from the surging and excited mob.
The whisky these men had swallowed in the Flash Light had helped to
transform them into human wolves.
For a few moments after Wild Bill had thus tried to interfere they
had held back. They were astonished by his boldness and they feared
his deadly revolvers; but they did not intend to be balked of their
feast of blood. They intended to have the life of Buffalo Bill; and
if Wild Bill interfered and stood in the way, then so much the worse
for him, for they would promptly hang him, too, for being a meddler
and an obstructer of border justice.
Both Wild Bill and Buffalo Bill understood what was seething in their
minds; and, if they had not so understood, the cries that now went up
would have quickly informed them.
“Stand outer the way, thar, Wild Bill!” a man yelled. “We ain’t got
no fight against you; but t’other feller we’re after, and aire goin’
to have.”
Slocum stood on the outskirts of the crowd, trying to make his voice
heard in the uproar. Close by him stood Rainey, revolver ready for
bloody work.
Half of the crowd had revolvers out, and in their drunken condition
they were ready to shoot.
Buffalo Bill spoke again, repeating his story and his denials.
“Hang ’em both!” was roared. The crowd surged forward. The rope was
flourished by the ruffian who parried it, and from some other point a
cowboy’s lasso was hurled forward, for the second noose intended for
the neck of Wild Bill.
The dead shot crowded his horse close against the scout, who, since
the death of his own animal, was afoot.
“Up behind me, pard!” he said, stooping over so that Buffalo Bill
could hear him. “We’ll make a break together, and go down together,
fighting. I think I’m good for a half dozen of these wolves before
they get me, and you’re good for as many more. There will be
something occurring in the graveyard business here to-morrow, anyway.”
His eyes flashed fire, and his voice was tense with determination.
Buffalo Bill saw that delay only increased the danger. Soon those
nooses would be round his own neck and the neck of his friend; and
when that happened the end was not far off.
“All right!” he cried.
Wild Bill swung the horse around as Buffalo Bill sprang for its back.
As he did so, his gold-mounted revolver glittered in the light of the
Flash Light’s lamps.
The time for desperate action on the part of the two pards had come.
What the end would be they did not know, but they were prepared to
die fighting.