THE GIRL’S FLIGHT.
Ellen West, much relieved by the ceasing of that terrible baying of
the hounds, stumbled on through the darkness, over the rough stones
that cut her feet and tore her clothing, filled with the hopeful
assurance that whatever befell her she was for the time out of the
power of Panther Pete and his gang of desperadoes.
By and by when she felt that she could go not another step, being
utterly spent, she sank down on the ground.
About her was darkness and silence, with the kindly stars looking
down on her. Sometimes she wondered if she were not dreaming, and
would soon awake in her own home and discover that all this was but a
wild nightmare. But the chill of the night air, after her exertions,
told her soon that it was all too real.
She crawled beneath an overhanging rock for shelter, and there, after
a time, she fell asleep.
She was so worn that she slept heavily, in spite of all that had
happened, and did not awake until the sun was beating hot in her
face. She aroused, with a start, and looked about uneasily.
She saw that her clothing was torn and draggled, and that her shoes
were cut by the rocks, which had also cut her feet. Her hands and
arms, and her face, were scratched.
She started up, fearing pursuit; and then, seeing nothing, and
hearing nothing, she began to take stock of her situation. It was bad
enough, but so much better than it had been that she felt hopeful.
She shuddered at the memory of Panther Pete lying as if dead on
the earthen floor of the hut, where she had struck him down.
But she could not blame herself for that seemingly bloody deed;
self-preservation is the first law of nature, and she had acted
according to the law.
When she tried to go on she found that she was so stiff and sore from
her tremendous exertions that at first she could hardly walk; but she
forced herself to move on, and this feeling began to wear slowly away.
She was conscious, too, that she was very hungry, but there was
nothing to eat, except some berries she found growing by the trail.
There was water in little pools in the bottom of the shallow bed of
the stream, and there she drank. Then she went on again, shaping her
course by the sun as well as she could, hoping that by steady walking
she could by and by reach the more open country, and so make her way
back to Scarlet Gulch.
But as she thus went on, and when everything seemed to be in her
favor, she heard again that horrible baying of dogs. The outlaws,
growing anxious, or desperate, had decided to use the dogs again; and
had taken them to the place where, in the night, they had been called
off, and there had set them to work once more.
As that baying broke on the air the startled girl began to run, and
again her heart throbbed with fear. All her bright hopes came as
suddenly to the ground as a bird with a broken wing.
As she thus ran on, her limbs trembling and weak, she saw in the path
before her horsemen.
She thought they were some of the desperadoes of Panther Pete’s band,
and she turned aside, hoping they had not seen her, or that she could
in some way escape them.
They rode toward her, shouting.
Terror shook her, for one of them seemed to be Panther Pete himself.
She ran then as she had never run before.
The horseman came up to her, shouting to her.
When he was quite close on her, and she saw she could not get away,
she turned at bay.
Then she saw that this man was not Panther Pete, though he so
resembled him.
The man was Buffalo Bill, the noted scout; and he rode up to her,
doffing his hat, and spoke kindly to her.
She was so breathless, and so puzzled and startled, that for a time
she could not speak in answer to his queries.
He announced his identity.
“I have a pard back here, and some prisoners,” he said, “one of them
being the notorious road agent, Panther Pete.”
“Panther Pete?” she gasped.
“We captured him but a little while ago,” he said. He looked at her
earnestly and swung out of his saddle. “I think you need this horse
a good deal more than I do,” he declared. “You had better ride now;
you are quite worn out.”
She stood before him, trembling.
“You are not Panther Pete--cannot be!”
“I am William F. Cody,” he said, “better known as Buffalo Bill.”
He lifted his head, listening to the baying of the dogs.
“They are pursuing you, I think,” he remarked.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m here to see that they don’t harm you. Will you please take
my horse? I’ve an idea those dogs belong to the outlaws that I know
are in this section. But we will see that they do not harm you.”
His assurance tended to dissipate her fears. She stared at him with
large eyes, that were still round and terrified.
“I was held by Panther Pete, whom I used to think was Buffalo Bill,”
she stated; “and I escaped from the hut he placed me in, over
somewhere in that direction. I thought I----”
He saw her reel with weakness.
“My dear young lady,” he said, putting forth his hand to sustain her,
“I must insist that you take my horse, if you feel at all able to
ride.”
She glanced at Wild Bill, who was approaching with the prisoners,
Panther Pete and Garland.
The clamor of the dogs broke louder on the air.
“Yes--yes,” she said, when she heard again that terrifying sound. “I
can ride.”
Buffalo Bill helped her mount to the saddle. He was afoot now, and
so was Wild Bill, for the latter had mounted his two prisoners on the
one horse, and had tied them, and held them cowed with his revolver.
Buffalo Bill glanced about. He knew that the dogs were not alone,
and that soon some of Panther Pete’s desperate followers would be in
sight, after which there would probably be a lively battle, with the
odds probably against him and his pard.
He saw a hollow in the rocks just across the path, not far away.
“We can put the horses behind the hill there,” he said to Wild Bill,
“and then we can get into that pocketlike place, and by heaping up
a sort of breastworks make a stand so strong that we’ll trouble the
rascals, if no more.”
“Correct,” Wild Bill assented; “and I guess we’d better move lively.”
They moved lively, and were soon in the hollow spoken of, with the
horses out of sight behind the rise of the hill.
The prisoners were tied anew, and so securely that there was little
chance they could break away; and the girl, who had been taken from
the horse, was asked by the scouts to watch them.
Then Buffalo Bill and his companion set to work to roll some stones
together in front of their hiding place, and behind those stones they
meant to take their stand.
Soon the dogs were in sight, baying, and came on, following the
tracks of the girl, with noses held close to the ground. They were
big brutes, three of them, of ferocious aspect. Behind them appeared
several horsemen, riding at a rapid pace, but not too fast for the
dogs.
It was clear that the girl would soon have been overtaken, if she had
not found friends to aid her.
She looked at the dogs with a shudder, realizing what that pursuit
had meant for her.
“Don’t be frightened, my dear young lady!” said Buffalo Bill.
“But those men will attack you!”
“Oh, yes, we expect that; but it’s a game we can play, also. They’ll
find it warm when they try to get at us here.”
“Aye, they will!” assented Wild Bill, as he looked to his rifle and
revolvers, and poked into them new cartridges. “I’m opining there
will be some dead men decorating that trail in a very few minutes, if
those fellows come on.”
The men came on, with the dogs leading.
Then the dogs discovered the men and the girl in the hollow of the
rocks, and they charged, baying savagely.
“Here’s for dead dog meat!” said Wild Bill, with a reckless laugh, as
his revolver spouted its flame and lead, and the foremost dog pitched
over, rolling down the hill.
The horsemen farther down the trail drew rein.
“Just come on!” said Wild Bill, speaking to them, but in a low tone.
The other two dogs dashed at the barricade. One rolled down hill,
killed by Buffalo Bill’s bullet. The other, frightened by that,
retreated, and dashed back up the trail, barking in a startled manner.
The horsemen dismounted, and began to confer.
There were six of them, but soon more appeared; and then it became
evident that still others were advancing, along another trail that
centered at this point.
The horsemen did not hesitate and confer long. They took their horses
back out of sight, and disappeared themselves.
“They are gone!” said the girl.
“And will come back again,” said Wild Bill.
In a little while a rifle spouted from out of the near-by hills, and
the leaden missile whistled past the girl’s head and struck the rock
behind her.
“Down!” said Buffalo Bill.
Another rifle flamed from another hill, and the lead came into the
hollow. The sharpshooters were beginning their work.
They had located their quarry, and from eminences that gave them
range of the place they opened up now, determined to slay the men who
had taken refuge there.