ANOTHER STRANGER IN CAMP.
Sun Dance was a very small mining-camp, perched on a shelf up the
side of Sun Dance Cañon. “Six ’dobies stuck on a side hill,” was the
trite and not very elegant way the camp was often described.
The sort of mining indulged in was both quartz and
placer--placer-mining in the gulch and quartz-mining in the
neighboring hills. Only the placer-miners lived in the camp; the
quartz-miners had camps of their own, and only came to Sun Dance for
supplies.
The camp could be reached in two ways: From the bottom of the cañon
by a steep climb, and from the top by a stiff descent.
The stage from Montegordo reached camp by way of the cañon’s rim,
which was its only feasible route; but Wild Bill and Crawling Bear
came from below, and gained the settlement by spurring their horses
up the slope.
Just where the trail crawled over the edge of the flat, there was a
sign-board with the rudely lettered words: “No Shootin’ Aloud in Sun
Dance.” As an indication of how seriously the sign was taken, it may
be mentioned that the lettering could hardly be read for bullet-holes.
By day the camp was practically dead, all the miners being at work on
their placers, and only storekeepers, gamblers, resort proprietors,
and the man who “ran” the hotel being visible. For the most part,
these worthies smoked their pipes and cigarettes during the day, or
played cards among themselves merely to pass the time.
With night everything changed. The camp became a boisterous,
rollicking place.
Miners flocked in, bet their yellow dust on the turn of a card or
a whirl of the wheel, sampled the camp’s “red-eye,” and very often
forgot the warning of the sign, and indulged in shooting that was
very _loud_ and occasionally fatal.
The name of the one hotel in the camp was the “Lucky Strike.” The
proprietor was one Abijah Spangler, a leviathan measuring six foot
ten, up and down, and ten foot six--or so it was said--east and west
at his girth-line. Anyway, Abijah Spangler weighed 300 pounds, and
when he sat down it took two chairs to hold him.
When Wild Bill and Crawling Bear halted in front of the Lucky Strike,
Bije Spangler was sitting down, dripping with perspiration and
agitating the air with a ragged palm-leaf fan.
“You the boss of this hangout?” inquired Wild Bill, surveying
Spangler’s huge bulk with much interest.
“I run it, you bet,” answered Spangler, ruffling his double-chin and
wondering at the red handkerchief about Wild Bill’s arm.
“Got accommodations for two?” queried the Laramie man.
“Fer two _whites_, yes--meals, four bits, and a bed, a dollar.
But”--and here Bije Spangler cast a disapproving eye on the Ponca--“I
don’t feed or house Injuns fer no money. Not meanin’ any disrespect
fer yerself, neighbor,” added Spangler hastily, noting the glint
that rose in Wild Bill’s eye, “but I couldn’t keep open house fer
reds without sp’ilin’ the repertation o’ my hotel.”
The Ponca sat up stiff and straight on his horse.
“Where I stay, he stays,” averred Wild Bill; “what’s good enough for
him is good enough for me. He’s plum white, all but his skin.”
“So’s a Greaser,” grunted Spangler, “or a Chink. Sorry to appear
disobligin’, ’specially as you-all seems to have run inter trouble
somewheres. You’re welcome to stop, but the Injun’ll have ter camp
out in the chaparral.”
Wild Bill was in no mood for arguing the case, and he was about to
ride on, when the Ponca leaned forward and stopped him.
“You want um Ponca take paper-talk to Pa-e-has-ka, hey?” he asked.
“Sure I do, Crawling Bear,” replied Wild Bill, “but I don’t want you
to start for Sill until you have rested yourself and your horse.”
“Ugh! no want um rest. Feel plenty fine. Me take um paper-talk now.”
Wild Bill saw that Crawling Bear meant what he said. The camp not
appearing to be a very safe place for a red man, anyhow, the Laramie
man decided to let his companion have his way.
“Got a place where I can write?” inquired Wild Bill.
“Go through the office an’ inter the bar,” replied Spangler. “You can
write on one of the tables, an’ I reckon the barkeep can skeer up a
patchin’ o’ paper and a lead-pencil.”
Leaving his horse with the Ponca, Wild Bill went into the barroom,
and had soon written a few words to Buffalo Bill, asking him to come
to Sun Dance as soon as possible. Returning to Crawling Bear, Wild
Bill handed him the folded note and a dozen silver dollars.
“Why you give um Ponca dinero?” asked the Indian.
“That’s for carrying the message to Buffalo Bill,” said the Laramie
man.
“Buffalo Bill?” wheezed Spangler, stirring a little in his chair.
“You a friend of Buffalo Bill’s?”
“Yes,” answered Wild Bill, whirling on the fat man. “My name’s
Hickok.”
“Wild Bill!” muttered Spangler. “Say, that’s different. Any Injun
friend o’ Wild Bill’s can stop with me. I’ll break my rules for you,
and----”
Hoofs clattered. Crawling Bear, not waiting further, was off for the
edge of the “flat” on his return journey to Sill.
“You’re too late,” said Wild Bill curtly. “What’s your label.”
“Spangler is my handle.”
“Any strangers in town, Spangler?”
“Only you.”
“When’s the next stage due from Montegordo?”
“To-morrow afternoon.”
“Well, I’m going to stay with you until to-morrow afternoon, anyhow.
Call some one to take care of my horse; and if I can have a room all
to myself, I want it.”
“That’ll cost extry,” said Spangler. “If ye’re goin’ to throw on
style with a private room, you’ll have to bleed ten dollars’ worth.”
“That’s the size of my stack. Hustle, now. I’m fagged, and want to
lie down.”
Spangler lifted his voice and gave a husky yell. In answer to the
signal, a Mexican showed himself around the corner of the house, who
took Wild Bill’s horse. Then once more Spangler indulged in a wheezy
shout. This was the signal for a Chinaman to present himself. After a
few words with Spangler, the Chinaman led Wild Bill into the house,
through the office and the drinking-part of the establishment, and
into a small, corner room, with a window looking out upon the street.
There was a cot in the room, and Wild Bill flung himself down wearily
upon it. In a few minutes he was fast asleep.
He awoke in time for supper, put a fresh bandage around his arm,
and went out into the hotel dining-room. Everything about the Lucky
Strike was exceedingly primitive, and the table, the service, and the
food were about what one would expect in a pioneer mining-camp. Wild
Bill, however, was used to such accommodations and fare.
Following the meal, he smoked a couple of pipes in front of the
hotel, saying nothing to anybody, but keeping up a lot of thinking.
The Forty Thieves--so ran the current of his thoughts--was a
played-out mine. Those five men, under orders from one Captain
Lawless, were salting it. The name of the mine was suggestive, and so
was the name of the man who was engineering the salting operations.
“Captain Lawless, of the Forty Thieves!” said Wild Bill to himself.
“That has sure got a regular rough-house sound. When Pard Cody hears
it, I’ll bet money it will ruffle his hair the wrong way. Crawling
Bear will get that paper-talk through some time to-night, and Cody
will be here to-morrow afternoon. When he arrives, we’ll prance out
to the Forty Thieves and snake those five trouble-makers out of that
hole in the ground; then, if Captain Lawless wants to take a whack at
us, he’s welcome.”
Wild Bill took no part in the hilarious doings of the camp that
night. By 10 o’clock he had locked himself in his room and got into
bed. His arm was a bit painful, so that he was an hour or more in
getting to sleep. When he was once asleep, however, he did not wake
until morning.
His arm felt better. He could use his hand as well as usual. There
was some pain in the arm, but it was not severe.
Following breakfast, he went to one of the general stores and bought
a new flannel shirt, a pair of boots, and a bowie, to take the place
of the one he had lost in the mine.
After that, he sat in front of the Lucky Strike and smoked until
dinner-time; and, after dinner, he smoked until four-thirty, when the
stage pulled over the rim of the cañon and slid down the slope with
the hind wheels tied.
The stage drew up in front of the hotel, and a mail-bag was thrown
off. There was one passenger, a man in a linen duster, and clearly a
stranger.
“He’s the one,” said Wild Bill to himself, knocking the ashes out of
his pipe and getting out of his chair. “The chap doesn’t look much
like an easy mark, though. I wonder if he has any notion he’s taking
long chances with that hundred thousand of his?”
Just then Wild Bill experienced something like a jolt. A man rode
up along the trail that led from the cañon bottom, drew rein in
front of the hotel, dismounted, dropped his bridle-reins over a
hitching-post, and followed the stranger into the Lucky Strike.
The man had his right arm in a sling, and it didn’t take two looks
to inform Wild Bill that the fellow was none other than Clancy!
Clancy, the man who had been blowing gold into the Forty Thieves with
a shotgun! Clancy, the man Wild Bill had left, with four others,
bottled up in the Forty Thieves’ shaft!
Clancy did not pay any attention to Wild Bill. It seemed very
probable that neither Clancy, nor any of those with him in the mine,
had been able to see Wild Bill distinctly enough to recognize him in
another place and in broad day.
Then, too, the Laramie man had a new shirt of a different color
from the blue one he had worn in the mine, and he showed no sign of
injury. All this would help to keep Clancy from recognizing him, even
if he had got a tolerably good look at him in the Forty Thieves.
Reassured on this point, Wild Bill fell to canvassing another. How
had Clancy managed to escape from the shaft?
Clancy and the rest must have had help. Some other member of the gang
must have been abroad in the cañon, and no doubt happened along and
gave his aid.
Wild Bill was disappointed. He had hoped the five would be kept in
the Forty Thieves until Buffalo Bill reached Sun Dance.
Strolling into the office of the hotel, Wild Bill saw Clancy in close
conversation with the man in the linen duster. They were off by
themselves in one corner, and were conversing in low, animated tones.
“Clancy is going to hold the man until this Captain Lawless shows
up,” thought Wild Bill. “I must have a word with that tenderfoot and
show him how he is going to be gold-bricked. I’d hate myself to death
if I ever allowed that gang of robbers to get away with his hundred
thousand.”
Wild Bill, having settled the situation in his mind, strolled out to
the front of the hotel, filled his pipe again, and seated himself in
the chair he had occupied for most of the day.
He was waiting for the stranger, and he had not long to wait. Clancy
came out, unhitched his horse, climbed into the saddle, and clattered
back toward the bottom of the cañon. A few minutes later the stranger
followed, pulled up a chair a few feet from Wild Bill’s, and seated
himself.
“Howdy,” said Wild Bill, with a friendly nod, by way of breaking the
ice.
“How do you do, sir?” answered the stranger, with all the elaborate
courtesy of an Easterner. “Will you try one of these?”
He offered Wild Bill a cigar, and the latter accepted it amiably.
“Stranger, I take it?” pursued Wild Bill.
“Well, yes,” answered the other. “I came in on the afternoon stage
from Montegordo.”
“Looking up the mines?”
A suspicious look crossed the stranger’s face.
“Figuring on examining the Forty Thieves,” pursued Wild Bill, “with
the intention of handing out one hundred thousand cold plunks for the
same?”
The stranger laughed.
“You seem to be pretty well informed,” he remarked. “I haven’t told a
soul about my business here, but you reel it right off, first clatter
out of the box.”
“Steer wide of the Forty Thieves, pilgrim,” said Wild Bill earnestly.
“That proposition is a trap for the unwary. I know. It cost me some
trouble to find out what I’m telling you, but you take my word for
it, and let the property alone.”
“Who are you?” inquired the stranger, with sudden interest.
“My name’s Hickok, William Hickok.”
The stranger hitched restlessly in his chair.
“The man I’ve heard so much about under the sobriquet of Wild Bill?”
he asked.
“Tally! That’s the time you got your bean on the right number.”
The stranger fell silent for a space.
“My name is Smith,” said he finally; “J. Algernon Smith, of Chicago,
and what you tell me is mighty surprising.” He drew his chair closer.
“Would you mind telling me just what you have found out?”
“Sure I wouldn’t mind. I’m hungry to cut into this game, and even up
with the pack of tinhorns that gave me a hot half-hour yesterday.”
And thereupon Wild Bill began telling what he had seen and heard in
the level of the Forty Thieves. When he had finished, J. Algernon
Smith was wide-eyed and staring.
“Really,” he managed to gasp, “this is most astounding.”
“I reckon it’s all that,” mildly answered Wild Bill. “The very name
of that mine, though, is enough to make a man think some. Who’s the
fellow you’re going to deal with?”
“His name, I believe, is James Lawless.”
“That’s another name that’s bad medicine.”
“I’d never thought of the names in that light.”
“That fellow that was talking with you, right after you got out of
the stage, was Clancy, the scoundrel that was blowing gold into the
rock with a shotgun. What did he want?”
“Why, he was telling me that Lawless hadn’t got here yet, and he was
warning me not to say anything to anybody about my business in Sun
Dance.”
“You couldn’t blame him for that,” remarked Wild Bill dryly.
“He asked me to meet him at the foot of the slope, in the bottom of
the cañon, immediately after supper,” went on the stranger, “so we
could have a quiet talk.”
“You can see how they’re working it, can’t you?” returned Wild Bill.
“They’re trying to keep this business dark until Lawless shows up,
and meanwhile Clancy is going to keep your interest at fever-heat by
all kinds of stringing. Any objection to my going along with you when
you meet Clancy?”
“No, indeed, Wild Bill. I was about to suggest that myself. I am sure
I’m very much obliged to you for your interest in me, and----”
“Stow that,” interrupted Wild Bill. “It isn’t my interest in you,
particularly, that leads me to take a hand, but it’s more a desire to
see every man get what’s coming to him. _Sabe?_”
At that moment the Chinaman came out in front of the hotel and
pounded on a gong.
“Suppa leddy!” he announced.
The stranger did not remove his linen duster. It covered him from
his neck to his heels, and Wild Bill thought he kept it on so as not
to soil his Eastern clothes. He and the Laramie man sat at the same
table, and next to each other.
When the meal was over, J. Algernon Smith excused himself for a
minute, and said he would rejoin Wild Bill in front of the hotel, and
they would at once take their way down the slope to the bottom of the
cañon.
Wild Bill waited for five minutes before J. Algernon Smith rejoined
him, and they started across the “flat” toward the top of the slope.
“A tenderfoot has got to keep his eyes skinned,” said Wild Bill, “or
he’ll collide with more trouble, in this western country, than he
ever dreamed was turned loose.”
“I presume you are right,” said J. Algernon Smith. “Only fancy
blowing gold into a mine with a shotgun!” He laughed a little. “If
they knew that, back in Chicago, they’d make game of me,” he added.
“You haven’t told any one about this, have you?”
“Not a soul but you.”
“I’m glad of that, I can tell you. I’d hate to have the business get
out. Of course, I hadn’t bought the mine yet. I was going to take
samples, you know, and have them assayed; then, if the assays showed
up well, the deal would have been made.”
It was very dark, at that hour, on the slope leading down into the
cañon. Bushes fringed the horse-trail, in places, and there was quite
a patch of chaparral at the foot of the slope.
Here Wild Bill and J. Algernon Smith came to a halt.
“Clancy doesn’t seem to be around,” said Wild Bill. “Maybe you’d
better tune up with a whistle, or a yell, so that he’ll know where
you are.”
J. Algernon Smith stared into the depths of a thicket.
“It looks to me as though there was a man in there,” said he. “Can
you see any one, Mr. Hickok?”
Wild Bill took a step forward. His back was to his companion, and,
while he was peering into the bushes, he heard a hasty step behind
him.
He started to turn; and, at that precise instant, a heavy blow, dealt
with some hard instrument, landed on the back of his head.
He staggered, but, with a fierce effort, rallied all his strength,
and turned around. In the darkness he saw the yellow duster pressing
upon him. It was Smith, and Smith was about to land another
treacherous blow.
Wild Bill’s head was reeling, but he had sense enough left to
understand that he had made some sort of a mistake, and that Smith
was other than he had seemed.
Evading the blow aimed at him, the Laramie man gripped Smith by the
throat. Ultimately, in spite of his unsteady condition, Wild Bill
might have got the best of his antagonist had not Clancy taken a part
in the struggle.
The latter plunged through the bushes and assaulted Wild Bill from
behind.
At Clancy’s second blow, Wild Bill’s reason fled, and he dropped
helplessly on the rocks.