THE MUSTANG CATCHERS.
Bruce Clayton, the lover and promised husband of pretty Lena Forest,
appeared at the cabin while Pawnee Bill and Nomad were greeting the
famous scout.
Her face flushed prettily as Buffalo Bill spoke in praise of her
heroic work in rescuing him from the fire. But it flushed even more,
with a glow of love and joy, when Bruce appeared. He had not known of
the death of the girl’s uncle, and was shocked by the news; but he
declared his entire willingness to accompany her in the stage to the
railroad station, and on East, if she wished it. There could be no
doubt that such a journey with the girl he loved would be the supreme
pleasure of his life.
Nomad drew Buffalo Bill aside at the first opportunity.
“Buffler,” he said, “we seen a feller hikin’ toward ther hills fast
as his hoss could go, and he comed from this direction; seemed ter me
he was scai’t about somethin’ er ’nother.”
The old trapper had seen the man who had fled from the cabin--the
eavesdropper whom Buffalo Bill had surprised beneath the tree.
While they talked, Pawnee Bill joined them. He was the same gallant,
debonair, handsome scout, dressed with an attention to appearance
that marked him among the careless bordermen--his velvet jacket, his
gold-mounted revolvers, and the costly saddle that was on the back of
his horse, always drawing attention wherever he went.
“What, ho!” he said gayly, as he joined the scout and the trapper.
“Cody, we’d found a band of mustangers, and we half think they are
mixed up in some way with this stage-robbery business that’s making
the land hereabout notorious. I think we’d better investigate them a
bit.”
Buffalo Bill mentioned the man he had seen, and who had been sighted
by Nomad.
“Oh, yes; he was riding as if the Old Boy was after him.” Pawnee Bill
laughed at the recollection. “He was going so fast that he was only
hitting the high places. And, come to think of it, he was heading
in the direction of the valley where those mustangers hang out at
present.”
Buffalo Bill told him what he suspected, told him of the death of the
girl’s uncle, and of the valuable emeralds with which he had been
intrusted.
“She’d better get out of here with them as quick as she can,” said
Pawnee Bill. “The knowledge of such things can’t be kept; and if she
isn’t held up and robbed of them, it will be because she moves out in
a hurry.”
After discussing the matter with these friends, the scout had another
talk with Lena, speaking also to young Clayton; and it was arranged
that she and Bruce should go that day to Glendive, and there take the
next stage for the railroad, thus getting out of the country with the
emeralds as soon as they could.
Shortly after this talk, Buffalo Bill rode away with his two pards,
disappearing from sight of the cabin, and journeying in the direction
of the camp of the mustangers.
When they reached the valley where the mustangers were, they found
that a mustang drive was in progress.
“This looks honest,” said Buffalo Bill. “Men who make a business of
robbery and road-agent work aren’t going to fool with catching wild
horses; they can make more money in the other line.”
He and his friends looked about for the man who had been seen by him
at the cabin, but failed to find him.
The “boss” of the mustangers was a dark-skinned fellow known as Black
John; a man of herculean build, whose great size did not hamper his
movements, for he was light on his feet and as quick of motion as any
man that followed him.
An extended semicircle of mustangers was closing in on a band of wild
horses. Few words were spoken. Each man understood his duty, and was
doing it.
The three pards rode close up to the line of mustangers and looked on
with interest.
In the old days, the plains and foothills held many bands of
mustangs, or wild horses, small, hardy animals, of great speed
and endurance, and their capture in large numbers was a paying
occupation. In some sections of the great West there are still
considerable bodies of mustangs, but no such bands as once existed.
The method of catching these wild horses required great patience
and persistence. They were not lassoed, after being run down in a
hot race, as many people suppose; they were too fleet for that. The
common method adopted was to walk them down. For days, and even
weeks, the mustangers would follow slowly a band of wild horses.
Always the mustangs held pretty close to a certain grazing ground
to which they were accustomed, and if driven away from it, they
invariably came back to it. Usually once a day they sought some river
or water hole to drink.
Knowing their habits, the mustangers would drive toward a band and
start the animals to moving. At first the wild horses would dash
away, running in fright. The mustangers did not pursue rapidly, but
kept their horses at a slow pace. The object was to keep the animals
continually moving. The first day or so the mustangs would run a
great deal and tire themselves.
The mustangers prevented them from stopping long enough to feed, and
herded them away from the customary watering place. At the end of
a week the mustangs began to show signs of exhaustion. Eventually,
thirst, starvation, and fatigue would do their work, when the horses
could be driven in any direction.
When this much had been accomplished, nooses were concealed in the
grass, with men hidden by them. The mustangs were driven over these
nooses, which were jerked, securing the mustangs by the legs. One
by one they were thus trapped, being driven time after time over
the hidden nooses, until all fell victims to the cunning of the
mustangers.
There were two hundred mustangs or more being driven that day upon
the nooses concealed in the grass along the little stream where the
mustangers had their camp; and Buffalo Bill and his friends, sitting
their horses near by, watched with interest the work of the capture
of these wild horses.
When a mustang was captured, a short chain was affixed to one
foreleg, and he was then released. He could not run; when he tried
it he invariably stepped on the chain with one of his hind feet and
either threw himself or gave himself such a wrench that he soon gave
up trying. Besides, the mustangs were now too tired to make much
effort to get away.
When all had been captured they were to be driven into a high-fenced
corral, and left to recuperate; after which there would be exciting
times in “breaking” them, when such stunts of wild riding and bucking
would be seen as could probably be witnessed nowhere else.
Twenty or thirty of the mustangs that were being crowded upon the
hidden nooses broke away, and made a dash to escape.
Buffalo Bill and his companions were near the point where they broke
out, and started in pursuit of them.
One of them, a handsome fellow, separated from the others; Pawnee
Bill, whirling his lariat, started in chase.
The lariat flew out, and its noose circled the head of the mustang.
But the horse ridden by Pawnee Bill set its foot in a dog hole, and
fell, throwing the dead shot to the ground. At the same instant, the
jerk on the lariat tore it from the saddle. As it flew out it became
wrapped round the body of the fallen rider, dragging him across the
plain.
Buffalo Bill shouted, and rode to the help of his friend, driving his
horse at its highest speed.
Pawnee Bill, caught in the lariat and dragged by the frightened
mustang, would have been dragged to his death if Buffalo Bill had not
ridden quickly to his rescue.
Leaning from his saddle, Buffalo Bill slashed the rope with his
knife; and the mustang raced on, leaving Pawnee Bill on the ground,
somewhat crestfallen and bruised, but practically unhurt. He sprang
up, and ran to get his horse, which had got its foot out of the dog
hole, and seemed to be uninjured.
“Cody, yours forever!” he shouted. “I’ll come to your aid likewise
and also whenever you get into trouble like that.”
Then he was in the saddle, chasing the running mustang, which was
dragging the severed end of the rope. He succeeded in riding around
it, and drove it back toward the herd, where Buffalo Bill noosed it,
and it was subdued.
“Great work, Cody!” called Black John, the leader of the mustangers.
“That is your mustang, if you want him.”
“I’ll make you a present of him, so far as my interest goes,” said
Buffalo Bill. “It seems a pity, though, that such a fine fellow has
to be subdued and turned into a work animal.”
“True enough, Cody; but we men have to work, and why not horses?
He’ll never do enough work to harm him, in my judgment. I get twenty
dollars apiece for these, after they’re a bit broken, and there’s
some money in it.”
A man was galloping across the valley.
“Some one is coming,” said the scout, drawing Black John’s attention
to the horseman. “Who is he?”
Black John looked at the man.
“That’s Toby Sam,” he said; “one of my men.”
“Why Toby Sam?” said the scout.
“Just the name we call him by, that’s all; I dunno what his real name
is.”
Toby Sam was the rascal who had been under the tree at Gordon’s
and had fled when spoken to by Buffalo Bill. He was one of the
mustangers! It was a fact so suspicious that the scout decided to
watch the mustang catchers a while longer, and to find out more about
Toby Sam.
When Toby Sam arrived, and discovered that Buffalo Bill and his
friends were there, he showed much confusion, but tried to cover it
up.
Old Nick Nomad rode up to him.
“Stranger,” he said bluntly, “I’m glad ter know ye, but I has seen
yer before, when you was ridin’ at sech a lickety-clip toward this
valley, from the direction of Gordon’s cabin, over on ther stage
trail. Thet war this mornin’.”
“You’re mistaken,” said Toby Sam. “I wasn’t over there this mornin’.”
“You were not at Forest’s this morning?” said Buffalo Bill, his sharp
eyes boring Toby Sam. “Didn’t I see you under the tree there close
by the house; and, when I spoke to you, didn’t you run and get your
horse, and ride away without answering me?”
“It’s a mistake,” said Toby Sam. “I wasn’t over there at all.”
“Then I beg your pardon,” said the scout. “It was a mistake.”
But he knew that Toby Sam had lied, and he wondered why.
In connection with the fact that Toby Sam might have seen those
emeralds, or heard talk about them, it was so suggestive that the
scout became uneasy.