PEERLESS AS A SCOUT.
Buffalo Bill and the troopers from Fort Thompson struck the foothills
of the Sepulcher Mountains at daybreak, and were thus able to get
under cover of the scrub that fringed them, and out of sight of any
spies and scouts that Snaky Pete might have sent out.
It had been a hard night’s ride to accomplish this, but it was worth
the exertion.
Buffalo Bill was sure that the road agents had changed their position
since he saw them last. Hence, the first thing to do was to locate
them in their new position.
In spite of the tremendous strain he had been under for so long, he
undertook to do this himself; and he left the troopers in camp in a
grassy nest within the foothills, but close up to the base of the
Sepulcher range.
He rode his weary horse for a few miles, until he struck the trail
made by the outlaws in their retreat. Then he left the horse well
concealed, and began on foot to follow the trail. It was so fresh
looking he thought the outlaws were not far ahead. However, he went
so slowly in order to guard against surprise, that the afternoon was
well advanced before he came in sight of the cuplike hollow where
they were preparing to make their stand.
From an elevation that commanded the hollow he looked with his field
glasses right down into the camp, and saw the busy preparations
making to meet the troopers.
He was much worried, because he could not see old Nick Nomad. He
hoped, however, that the old man was being held in one of the houses.
Once he beheld Pizen Jane, but only for a brief moment or two. She
came out of a low hut, and looked about, and then went in again.
“I must know, if possible, if Nomad is there; and I wish I could do
something to protect that woman when we make our charge.”
His study of the outlaw stronghold convinced him that it would be
folly to attack it from either end of the pass. The barricades were
strong, he saw, and he did not wish to sacrifice the lives of any of
the troopers needlessly. So he began to examine the slopes of the
hills that led down into that hollow.
They were unscalable to horses, but he believed at one point men
might descend them, even in the darkness. He made careful note of
that point, and stowed its landmarks in his memory.
When the shadows of coming night filled the hollow, the scout
moved from his position, and began to work his way down toward it,
screening himself behind rocks and bushes.
Darkness came fully while he was still on the slope of the hill, and
he remained there until he felt it was safe to work still nearer in
to the outlaw camp.
Guards had been set at the barricades, and beyond them in the
passes, and guards were also stationed around the camp at intervals.
The scout approached so near to one of these guards that he heard the
tread of the fellow’s feet and caught the odor of the tobacco burning
in his pipe.
Though he desired to get still nearer in, Buffalo Bill saw the
difficulty of the attempt, for this sentry walked a beat which
crossed the line of his advance.
After working with much care to one side, he crouched in the darkness
and emitted there the well-known “cuckoo” call of the prairie-dog
owl, hoping by it to reach old Nomad, if the trapper still lived.
The guard was not disturbed at first by the call of the little owl,
for it was a familiar sound; but when it was several times repeated,
and with a variation he had never heard in the note, his attention
was attracted.
“A cussed funny dog owl,” the scout heard him mutter; and then heard
him come toward him.
Buffalo Bill desired to keep from the outlaws the fact that their
camp was being spied on, hence he crouched low in the hollow and
waited until the guard had turned back. Then he sent forth again the
“cuckoo” call, with that queer variation which had attracted the
notice of the sentinel.
Unfortunately for the immediate success of the scout’s efforts, Nomad
was at the time asleep in one of the huts, and so did not hear him.
When no answer came to his calls, the scout’s uneasiness concerning
the fate of Nomad grew.
Resolved to know, if possible, if the old trapper lived, he slipped
from his place of concealment when the sentry had walked to the
farther end of his beat, and then went sliding farther down over the
steep rocks.
The sentry was a keen-eared fellow, and heard the displacement of
a small stone, which rattled down the slope. Instantly the scout
flattened himself on the rocks and waited until the stone fell.
After a moment of silence, the sentry again came toward him; and soon
the scout could see him faintly in the dim light of the stars.
“Prairie-dog owls don’t ginerally go to rollin’ stones,” the sentinel
was muttering, as he stood staring up the slope, trying to make out
what it was had started the stone to rolling.
He could see nothing that warranted suspicion.
“Mebbe a coyote tryin’ to git at the owl,” he said to himself; “ain’t
heerd the owl fer a minute er so. P’r’aps it was scared off by a
coyote.”
As he came still farther up the slope, prying and peering, he saw
something, and, pitching up his rifle, he fired at it. What he beheld
was the recumbent form of the scout flattened against the rock.
The scout saw the rifle pointed toward him, and avoided its bullet by
a quick, sliding movement. The lead struck the rock over his head.
That sliding motion was heard and seen by the sentry. He did not
believe, then, that what he had shot at was a man, but thought it a
coyote; and, because it had not bounded away, he thought he had slain
it. He leaped forward, swinging his rifle; while a roar of excited
calls and questions were hurled up at him from the camp.
He beheld the dark ball into which the scout had doubled himself when
he knew he could not easily escape, and plunged toward it, with knife
in hand.
To his astonishment, as he bent down he was caught by the collar
of his coat and jerked flat on his face. He yelled in fright; then
wheezed, as the iron fingers of the scout settled around his windpipe.
The men below were yelling up at him.
Buffalo Bill’s choking fingers reduced him to unconsciousness, and
then flung him aside. The scout still lay where he had been lying;
but now his revolvers were out.
“That aroused the whole camp,” he said to himself, “and I’ll have to
get out of here quick.”
It occurred to him that in arousing the outlaws he had probably
aroused the old trapper, also, if he lived; so he sent forth again,
with that varying quaver, the call of the little dog owl.
Old Nomad, who had been awakened by the rifle shot and the clamor,
heard it, and recognized it at once. He sat bolt upright, listening
for its repetition.
It came again, clear and unmistakable.
“Buffler!” he said, with a thrill of recognition. Then he rolled to
the door of the hut, for he was bound; and from the open doorway
sounded a cry similar to that which had come from the hillside.
When Buffalo Bill heard it, a great load of dread rolled from his
heart.
“Nomad!” he said. “Thank Heaven he is alive!”
Pizen Jane had been standing close by the door, on the outside, when
Nick Nomad uttered that cry of the dog owl.
“That’s queer,” she said, looking at him, seeing him faintly
outlined. “Have you got a dog owl hid about ye?”
“A hull cageful,” he answered. And again he sent out the cry.
Buffalo Bill was already climbing up the slope, knowing that the
outlaws would soon be there. He was glad he had aroused old Nomad,
but he regretted that he had drawn the rifle fire of the sentry; for
he had hoped the outlaws would not guess that an enemy had gained
access to that slope of the hill overhanging their permanent camp.
But regrets were useless. The only thing to be done was to
accommodate himself to the fact.
When the outlaws, climbing up the hill, gained the point where the
sentry lay senseless, they found him, and flashed lights to discover
if he were dead or what had happened to him. By shaking the man, they
aroused him; and he sat up, staring and wheezing, clutching at his
aching throat.
“I thought it was a coyote,” he gurgled.
“And what was it?”
“Well, I dunno; but somethin’ grabbed me and choked me, and----”
“Must have been a man!”
“I thought it--it was a coyote, prowlin’ round after a dog owl,” he
explained. “I heard the dog owl, and then I thought I saw the coyote,
and----”
“Shot at a coyote? That was no way to do!”
“Well, I didn’t know but ’twas mebbe a man.”
They took him down into the camp, where Snaky Pete was nervously
awaiting their report. Snaky Pete questioned him, and inspected his
throat.
“Finger prints there, it looks like,” he said. “’Twas a man. And if
a man, then ’twas an enemy, er he wouldn’t slid out that way. Mebbe
there aire more of ’em up there. Strengthen the guards, and every man
stand to his post.”
Old Nick Nomad, lying in the doorway of the hut, was listening for
some other sound from Buffalo Bill.
“What was the meanin’ of that?” Pizen Jane asked him, after the
helpless sentry had been brought in.
Nomad was silent, and she repeated her question.
“I might say, if I thought I could trust ye.”
“I’ll prove to ye that you can,” she said; “though I’m doin’ jes’
what I have been meanin’ to do all day.” She bent over him and cut
the cords that held him, and then slipped the knife into his hands.
“Now, what was it?”
“Buffler Bill,” said Nomad. “He was out thar. Thet war his signal ter
me; and I answered it.”
“He’s got men with him?” she gasped.
“I dunno. Mebbe he has, and mebbe he ain’t. But he’s silent now, and
prob’bly has cut out, seein’ that the force hyar is too big fer him.
But you bet he’ll be comin’ back ag’in; and when he does, somethin’
will be doin’.”