THE CAPTURE OF THE MEDICINE MAN.
Unable to do anything to aid Nomad, who was surrounded by a strong
body of warriors, Buffalo Bill continued his retreat toward the point
where he hoped to, at least, find Pawnee Bill.
That sight of Nomad borne away by the redskins inclined him to think
that the trapper had failed in his effort to get fighting men from
the town.
But when he found Pawnee Bill, he found also the wild range riders
whom Nomad had led into the hills. They had met Pawnee Bill, and had
been waiting Nomad’s return, unaware that he had fallen into the
hands of the Indians.
They greeted the noted scout with cheers. He was known personally to
most of them, and by reputation to all. But their cheers changed to
angry calls for vengeance when they learned what had befallen Nomad;
and they asked the scout to lead them toward the village at once.
Buffalo Bill was pleased with the force that had been rallied by
Nomad. As fighting men, they were the best of the border; and he
believed they would be able to whip the Blackfeet even in a stand-up
fight.
But the result to the prisoners was a thing that had to be taken into
consideration.
If the Blackfeet were defeated in an open battle and driven back, the
surviving remnant would seek shelter in the mountains. But before
retreating they would, without doubt, slay their white prisoners.
Victory at such a cost of human life would be purchased all too
dearly.
Nevertheless, Buffalo Bill now set himself at the head of the
rangers, and led them at as rapid a pace as was safe in the direction
of the Blackfoot village.
Lawler, the commander of the rangers, rode at the scout’s side, and
so did Pawnee Bill.
As they went, they discussed the situation with reference to the
safety of the prisoners, and agreed that by some strategy they should
be reached and rescued, if possible. How the thing was to be done was
the puzzle.
As the village was approached the rangers slowed their pace, and the
two noted scouts were sent ahead.
They separated when in the hills overhanging the village, going in
different directions, on the watch for Indian spies, and trying to
ascertain the state of affairs.
When he had gone some distance Buffalo Bill dismounted and descended
on foot a few yards, to where a slight rise offered a better view.
He had got his field glasses and was preparing for a careful study
of conditions in the village when he was aroused by a sound from his
horse and by a sudden patter of moccasined feet. Turning about, he
saw an Indian warrior running to get the horse.
Buffalo Bill did not wish to shoot the brave, lest the report of the
shot should carry too far; so he rushed at the redskin.
The latter tried to leap to the back of the horse, but succeeded only
in dislodging the scout’s rifle, which hung by its strap to the high
pommel.
The horse reared, shaking off the Indian, and the Indian, seeing that
he was in danger, turned about. He slipped and fell in his haste,
dropping his shield of buffalo hide, but retaining his lance; and
then he sprang away.
Buffalo Bill reached his horse, cut the lariat, bounded into the
saddle, and gave chase, almost weaponless, though he had caught up
the shield, which the redskin had dropped.
As he thus gave chase, the Blackfoot stood at bay, and when the scout
tried to ride him down he hurled the lance straight at the scout’s
broad breast.
Buffalo Bill dodged, and caught the Indian’s lance on the shield;
otherwise, it would have gone through his body. But he rode the
horse right over the warrior, and, lunging at him from the saddle,
he caught the redskin by the throat, when both came to the ground
together, the scout on top.
The fight that followed was furious and desperate, but of brief
duration. When it ended, Buffalo Bill was the victor, and the
Blackfoot brave lay panting on his back, the scout’s fingers
clutching him by the throat.
The red warrior gurgled something which he meant as a word of
submission and surrender, but the scout still held him in that
choking grasp, not daring to trust him; and then, before the brave
could get back enough strength to resist, the scout had him bound
tight and fast.
When the Blackfoot recovered sufficiently to talk, Buffalo Bill began
to ask him questions, emphasizing them by a pointed revolver.
The warrior was sullen at first; but by and by he declared that his
name was Spotted Deer, and that he was a subchief, who had been sent
out there to meet and guide into the village a certain medicine man
from another village, who was coming to drive away the evil spirits
that were causing the Blackfeet to fall sick and die. In other words,
this medicine man had been sent for in the belief that he could charm
away the measles that had attacked so many of the Indians.
“I think I want to meet that medicine man,” said the scout to
himself, when he had heard the story. Therefore, he went into hiding,
with his prisoner bound and gagged, his horse concealed some distance
away, and waited with as much patience as he could for the appearance
of the medicine man.
As he thus waited, he shaped the plan that had come to his fertile
mind--a plan that promised aid to the imperiled prisoners.
Within less than an hour the medicine man came in sight, advancing
down the trail that here descended from the higher mountains.
Spotted Deer, though bound and gagged, struggled and gurgled, in an
effort to warn the medicine man of the danger he was in, and he threw
himself about in such a manner, in spite of the scout’s warnings to
him to desist, that he attracted the medicine man’s attention. Yet
the result of his strenuous efforts was not what he had hoped.
The medicine man turned toward the bushes where he beheld the
commotion, stepping with Indian lightness of foot, and when he parted
the bushes to look in, he found himself looking into the deadly tube
of a revolver, with the dreaded Long Hair behind it threatening him.
“Do not try to turn!” the scout commanded in Blackfoot; “for, if you
do, I shall shoot you.”
The medicine man surrendered without a word, seeing that death would
be the result if he refused. Then he discovered the bound form of
Spotted Deer.
Buffalo Bill kept him covered with the revolver, and with Indian
stoicism the medicine man sat down.
“Now, your knife!” commanded the scout.
The Blackfoot produced the weapon and placed it on the ground. His
hatchet was the only other weapon he possessed, and that he also
surrendered.
Then the scout searched him.
Under his blanket the medicine man had what may be called the tools
of his trade--his medicine rattle and drum, pigments and paints of
various kinds, his medicine bag, together with plumes, beadwork, and
other adornments.
When he had possessed himself of these, Buffalo Bill tied the
medicine man, and bound him to the other captured Blackfoot. Then he
tied to the saddle on the back of the horse the articles taken from
the medicine man, and, leading his horse, he drove the two Indians
before him along the trail in the direction from which he had come.
An hour later Buffalo Bill reached the wild range riders, without
mishap, with his prisoners and spoil, finding that Pawnee Bill had
not yet appeared.
But Pawnee Bill came in soon, while the scout was explaining and
elaborating the plan he had conceived for the relief of the white
prisoners of the Blackfeet.
It was so daring, however, that when Pawnee Bill heard it even he
opposed it; for the plan was nothing less than that Buffalo Bill
should paint and disguise himself and enter the Blackfoot village,
pretending to be the medicine man whom the Indians were expecting.
But when Buffalo Bill had painted himself with the paints taken from
the medicine man, had arranged his hair in the Indian fashion and
ornamented it with plumes, had put on the clothing of the medicine
man, wrapped himself in the medicine man’s blanket and robes, and
arrayed himself, with tom-tom, medicine rattle, and other articles,
even Pawnee Bill’s skepticism vanished.
“It almost frightens me to look at you now, Cody,” he said, with a
laugh. “If you can get into the village in the night rigged out in
that way, I think you can fool even old Crazy Snake himself. But we
shall stand ready to rush the village if anything happens to you.
Give us the signal--two wolf howls from the village--and we’ll charge
the redskins, whatever the cost.”
The range riders were as enthusiastic as Pawnee Bill had now
become, and though they were themselves somewhat experienced in such
trickery, they marveled at the skill shown by Buffalo Bill in this
transformation.
With the approach of night the range riders advanced toward the
village, with scouts out in front to guard against surprise and
ambush. But they stopped in the hills above the village.
Then, as night came on, dark and cloudy, Buffalo Bill descended from
the hills. He knew the terrible danger to which he was now to expose
himself--that he was taking his life in his hands. Yet he did not
hesitate at this call of duty.