IN THE OUTLAW STRONGHOLD.
Snaky Pete’s men, when they returned, reported that no horse they had
could keep in sight of the thoroughbred ridden by Buffalo Bill.
The outlaw chief received the report, lying on a roll of blankets,
gasping and sputtering. The bullet fired by the scout had struck
him on the lower lip, laying it open, knocking out some teeth, and
bringing a spurt of blood from the wound. Snaky Pete had thought he
was killed when he fell and knew that blood was pouring from his
mouth. As a matter of fact, he was not seriously wounded, though the
pain was sharp for a time, and the character of the wound made it
difficult for him to speak.
His fright did not soon pass, however. Even after his men returned
with their report that Buffalo Bill had escaped he still lay on the
blankets, moaning and cursing.
The fact that Buffalo Bill had ridden toward distant Fort Thompson
filled him with uneasiness. Because of it he ordered the horses to
be got ready, and the entire band to move at once into the Sepulcher
Mountains.
He was filled with a sullen and savage rage against Pizen Jane and
Pool Clayton, and against Nick Nomad. He began to believe that Pizen
Jane had guided Nomad and Buffalo Bill; and he now even suspected
that Pool Clayton, in joining the band, was moved by a desire to
betray it into the hands of officers.
He refused to furnish Pizen Jane with a horse, declaring that if she
accompanied him she would have to walk.
She came up to him, as he swayed weakly on the horse to which he had
been helped.
“Git out o’ my way,” he mumbled. “If you hang ’round me I’ll kill ye!”
“But I want to know if you ain’t goin’ to send Pool away? I ain’t
goin’ away myself, but I want Pool turned loose on a horse, with
orders fer him to go back to Cinnabar. I’ve been talkin’ with him,
and he’ll do it. Aire ye goin’ to let him?”
“I’ll furnish you with a horse to clear out on,” he said, speaking
with pain and difficulty.
“Me? La, I ain’t goin’! But I want him to start now, instanter. Here
he’s like a good apple in the middle of a lot of rotten ones. So
I----”
“Go yourself!” Snaky Pete snarled at her.
“No, I stay with you!”
“Why?”
“Well, jest to please myself.”
“To help that old trapper?”
“No; jes’ to please myself. I’m yer wife, ain’t I? Er I was, before I
divorced ye. I think I’ll stay with you.”
“I’ll kill you if you do!” he fumed. “He can’t go! Go yerself, and
I’ll be glad to have you git out.”
She dropped back, to where Pool Clayton was riding.
He slipped from his horse.
“Take it, and I’ll walk,” he said, with a guilty flush.
“I want you to leave these men instanter,” she urged.
“No; I ain’t goin’ to. Why don’t _you_ go?”
“Me?” She leaned toward him. “Because I’ve swore by everything that’s
good and bad that I’m goin’ to kill Pete Sanborn soon’s I git the
chance. He ruined my life, and now he’s ruinin’ yourn.”
Her voice was low, but her face flushed as if she had swallowed fiery
liquor.
Snaky Pete saw her talking with the youth, and then saw her mount the
horse which Pool surrendered to her.
“They’re ag’inst me!” he grumbled, under his breath. “They’ve planned
to break up the band and git me captured. It’s revenge she’s after.
Well, I’ll settle her; and I’ll settle him, and that old trapper,
too! I see now why Pool wouldn’t shoot the old cuss; it was ’cause
he’s in with him. He and she aire in with Buffalo Bill and the
officers. Likely they’re to git a reward, if they land me. Well, I’ll
settle ’em!”
He brooded over this, his anger mounting and his desire to “settle
’em” growing.
“Mebbe I can git out of her what the plans of Buffalo Bill aire; er
mebbe I can git it out of Pool. I reckon that Cody will try to bring
soldiers from Fort Thompson. There’s a nasty fight comin’, I can see.
Well, I’m livin’ yit; and long’s I can straddle a horse and give
orders, I’m worth a dozen men in a fight. And if Cody thinks we won’t
fight he’ll know better when he tackles us.”
His thoughts took another turn:
“P’r’aps I might buy Cody to draw off the soldiers by sending him
word that if he didn’t I’d kill Nomad. It might work, and might be
advisable if we git in a tight hole.”
He was in a fretting and fuming mood when the Sepulcher Mountains
were entered. His wound made him feverish, and that did not add to
his good temper. He snapped and snarled at his men whenever they came
to him for orders, and conducted himself altogether in a disagreeable
way.
“He’s jes’ like a bear with a sore head,” said Pizen Jane, when she
observed these things.
She had kept with the outlaw command, and Pool Clayton had done the
same; both of them avoiding, as much as possible, personal contact
with the irascible leader.
As soon as their permanent camp was gained, in the Sepulcher
Mountains, the outlaws began to put it in order for a fight or a
siege.
The place was a cuplike hollow, with a pass running through it. If an
enemy could gain and hold both ends of that pass the outlaws could
only escape by scaling the mountains. But, on the other hand, if the
outlaws barricaded those entrances into the valley and stationed a
force of riflemen behind the barricades, the troopers who climbed
over them would have the fight of their lives to accomplish it.
Tn spite of the pain of his wound and his feverishness, Snaky Pete
personally superintended the strengthening of the barricades. He saw
that ammunition was properly distributed, and that all arms were put
in the best possible condition.
Night was approaching before all the defenses were in condition to
suit him. He looked them over carefully, as he walked from point to
point, his face swathed in bandages.
“If they climb over them,” he thought grimly, “there’ll be more dead
troopers than live ones. When Snaky Pete gits his back to the wall,
he fights, and they’ll find it out.”