WAH-COO-TAH AGAIN.
“Oh, he did, eh?” queried the scout. “Do you happen to know, Mr.
Smith, where Wild Bill is now?”
“Why,” fluttered Smith, “isn’t he here?”
“No. He left here last night, right after supper, and hasn’t been
back since.”
“Say, but that’s odd!”
“Spangler, here, says that you went with him.”
“I did go with him, as far as the slope leading down into the
cañon. I have a friend living above here--a man I used to know in
Chicago--and I called on him. He insisted that I should stay all
night in his cabin, and I did so.”
“What is your friend’s name, Mr. Smith?”
“Seth Coomby.”
“Do you know such a man, Spangler?” asked the scout, turning to the
hotel proprietor.
“Sure I know him,” answered Spangler. “He has a little,
three-dollar-a-day placer up the gulch.”
“You say,” went on Buffalo Bill, once more facing Smith, “that you
left Wild Bill on the slope leading into the cañon?”
“Yes.”
“And you haven’t seen him since?”
“Why, no. I supposed he was here. You don’t think he met with foul
play, do you? I took a big liking to Wild Bill.”
“You didn’t have him very long, did you?” asked the scout keenly. “I
understand you only arrived in camp yesterday afternoon, and that you
and Wild Bill started for the slope right after supper. Not much time
to take a liking to a man. Did you know Wild Bill before you came to
Sun Dance?”
“No; never saw him before I got here. We got acquainted with each
other before supper, and had a little talk over our cigars. Then we
ate supper together, and then I started for Coomby’s, and Wild Bill
walked with me as far as the slope. Say, I’m all broke up about this.”
“Wasn’t you talkin’ with a feller in the office afore ye got ter
talkin’ with Wild Bill?” put in Spangler.
“That was Clancy,” said Smith.
“Yep,” returned Spangler, with a shake of his fat sides, “I know
him, all right; and”--here Spangler gave the scout a significant
glance--“Clancy ain’t got none too good a repertation in this camp.”
“You surprise me!” exclaimed J. Algernon Smith.
The fellow’s actions were ingenuous. He talked and acted like an
Easterner, but he _looked_ like a Westerner, for all that.
“You understand, Mr. Smith,” pursued the scout, with the glint in
his eyes that had taken the nerve of many a wily schemer, “that Wild
Bill is my friend, and that I am anxious about him. If he has met
with foul play, as you just suggested, I shall have something to say
to the scoundrels back of it--later. Just now, though, I want all
the information I can get. You will pardon me if I ask you what this
Clancy had to say to you.”
Smith stiffened.
“What Clancy had to say, Buffalo Bill,” he replied, “is, of course,
my own business. Nevertheless, under the circumstances, I recognize
your right to press inquiries. If you will step aside with me, I will
explain.”
Buffalo Bill walked apart with Smith.
“In order to figure this matter down to where you will have a
thorough understanding of it, Buffalo Bill,” went on Smith, in a tone
that seemed perfectly frank and open, “I shall have to tell you my
business in this camp--and that business is one I was told to keep
dark. I have come here from Chicago to examine a mine with the view
of purchasing it. Clancy came to me from the owner of the mine, who
is shortly expected in this camp. What Clancy told me was that the
owner would be here to-morrow or next day, and Clancy advised me
not to tell any one why I was here. That is all. It is news to me
if Clancy does not bear a good reputation. But I don’t suppose that
affects the mine, anyway. I shall not purchase the property until I
take my ore-samples and have them assayed. Then----”
“What is the name of the mine?” broke in the scout.
“It is called the Forty Thieves.”
“Queer name for an honest mine,” said the scout.
“That’s right; but they have queer names for mines--some of them
almost laughable. For instance, I have heard of the Pauper’s Dream,
the P. D. Q., the----”
“Who owns this mine, Mr. Smith?”
“A man by the name of Lawless; Captain Lawless he calls himself.”
The scout started.
“Have you heard of the fellow?” asked Smith eagerly.
“I have heard of a squawman who calls himself by that name, but whom
the Indians call ‘Fire-hand.’ He is said to be an out-and-out rascal.”
“Great glory!” cried Smith. “It looks as though I had landed right
in the hands of the Philistines. Have you ever seen this Captain
Lawless, Buffalo Bill?”
“Never. One of my pards, Little Cayuse, has seen him, but I have not.”
“When will your pard, Little Cayuse, be here?”
The scout’s eyes narrowed.
“What is that to you, Mr. Smith?” he demanded.
“Why, merely that I should like to have Lawless pointed out to me
before I talk with him. If I don’t like his looks, I’ll get away from
here without examining the Forty Thieves.”
These words were the only ones spoken by Smith that struck the scout
as peculiar. On the whole, however, Smith had stood the scout’s
questioning well.
Buffalo Bill turned away and walked back to Spangler. Smith went on
into the hotel.
“What do you know about the Forty Thieves Mine, Spangler?” asked
Buffalo Bill.
“I know it’s no good, Buffalo Bill,” said Spangler, with a choppy
laugh.
“Where is it?”
“Five miles down the gulch.”
“Who owns it?”
“Give it up. It’s changed hands so many times there ain’t no keepin’
track o’ the owners.”
“Do you know a man who calls himself Captain Lawless?”
“I’ve heerd tell o’ such a chap, but I ain’t never seen him.”
“Well,” said the scout thoughtfully, “show me into the room Wild Bill
occupied. I and my pard will stay in it till Wild Bill gets back. Go
for the saddles, Nick,” the scout added. “We’ll keep them in the room
with us.”
Spangler yelled for the Chinaman, and the latter showed the scout
to the room recently occupied by Wild Bill. When left alone in the
place, the scout looked over it carefully.
The first objects to strike his attention were a pair of boots. He
picked them up and looked at them. The heel of one was missing--the
reason, no doubt, the boots had been discarded.
On a chair lay a blue-flannel shirt. Wild Bill had worn such a shirt,
but it might also have belonged to any number of men. The left sleeve
was cut away close to the shoulder, and around the edge of the
abbreviated sleeve were evidences of dried blood.
Deeply puzzled, the scout laid the shirt aside. Wild Bill’s saddle
lay on the floor, and near it his war-bag. There was a box of
cartridges in the bag, and a few other odds and ends, but nothing
that would give the remotest clue to Wild Bill’s whereabouts.
While the scout was examining the bag, Nomad came in with the
riding-gear. There was an odd look upon the old trapper’s face.
“Found out anythin’, Buffler?” he asked.
“No.”
“Didn’t J. Algernon enlighten ye none?”
“Not to speak of. I’ve a sneaking idea, though”--and here the scout
dropped his voice guardedly--“that Smith has put me next to a
pay-streak.”
“Pay-streak? Whar?”
“Why, in an old, played-out mine five miles down the gulch--a mine
called the Forty Thieves.”
“Forty Thieves! What fool ever tacked sich er label onter a mine?”
“Pass the ante, Nick. If what Smith says is true, though, a man by
the name of Captain Lawless is mixed up with the Forty Thieves.”
Nomad stared.
“Meanin’ thet whelp of er squawman ther Cheyennes calls Fire-hand,
Buffler?” he asked.
“The same.”
“Things are heatin’ up some, eh? Ye don’t reckon Wild Bill hes got
tangled up any with Lawless, do ye?”
“I don’t know what to think--just yet.”
“Waal, while ye’re fiddlin’ eround fer a start, I’m goin’ ter give ye
a surprise.”
“What sort of a surprise?”
Nomad drew close to the scout, and whispered in his ear.
“Thet Injun gal, Wah-coo-tah, is out ter the barn, an’ wants ter see
ye immejiate.”
That was a surprise, certainly. How was it that the girl, whom the
pards had left in the hills, had reached Sun Dance so soon after
their arrival? And what was her business with the scout?
Buffalo Bill started for the door, but Nomad caught his arm.
“Ef thar’s anythin’ crooked goin’ on in this camp, Buffler,” said the
trapper, “like as not ye’re bein’ watched. What excuse ye got fer
goin’ ter ther barn, arter ther hosses hev been attended to, an’ ther
ridin’-gear brought in? Ye ort ter hev one, ye know. Hyar! I’ll fix
ye out.”
Nomad dipped into his war-bag and brought out a bottle of
horse-liniment.
“Take this, Buffler,” he whispered, “an’ purtend ye’re goin’ ter rub
thet stuff on Bear Paw’s off hind leg. Thet gal, Wah-coo-tah, is
chuck full o’ important news o’ some kind, but she wouldn’t say er
word ter me, ’ceptin’ I was ter send Pa-e-has-ka ter see her.”
Buffalo Bill took the bottle of liniment and left the room. Out in
front he halted for a word with Spangler.
“My horse strained a tendon coming from Sill,” said he, showing the
bottle, “and I’ve got to take care of him.”
“I got a Mexican that kin do it fer ye, Buffalo Bill,” said Spangler.
“I never let any one take care of Bear Paw but myself,” the scout
answered, as he started for the stable.
So far as the scout could discover he was not watched by any one. The
camp, as usual during the day, was quiet, and he could not see any
one in the vicinity of the hotel.
When he got into the stable he stood for a moment looking around.
Wah-coo-tah was not in evidence, and he turned to go out again.
Before he could leave, however, the low, musical voice of the girl
floated to his ear:
“Pa-e-has-ka no go. Wah-coo-tah make talk with him.”
The voice came from overhead. Buffalo Bill looked up and saw
Wah-coo-tah gazing down at him through the brushy thatch that covered
the stable’s roof.
“Why don’t you come down here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout.
“Wah-coo-tah ’fraid. No can take chances. Me stay here; when me
through talk, me crawl back through bushes to bottom of cañon.”
“Have you seen anything of Big Thunder? Has he bothered you any since
you got away from him?”
“Ponca no bother Wah-coo-tah. Him bother Pa-e-has-ka, because
Pa-e-has-ka save Wah-coo-tah. Big Thunder him in Sun Dance Cañon. Me
watch um come; so me come, tell Pa-e-has-ka look out.”
“Is that why you brought me out here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout,
disappointed. “I’m not afraid of Big Thunder.”
“Big Thunder all same snake, but him no rattle. Him strike, but him
no rattle first.”
“He won’t bother me, Wah-coo-tah, so don’t fret about that. Where are
you going, now that you have left Big Thunder? You won’t dare go back
to your people, because they would give you to Big Thunder again.”
“My mudder no give me up to Big Thunder. My fadder he do that. Me
stay in hills till me git good chance, kill Big Thunder.”
“No, no, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout earnestly, “you must not do
that.”
“Me no like um. Him try kill Wah-coo-tah.”
“Well, even at that, you don’t want the Ponca’s blood upon your
hands. Why are you afraid to show yourself here in this camp?”
“Mebbyso my fadder see me.”
“Is your father in Sun Dance?”
“Him Fire-hand, Cap’n Lawless.”
This was a big surprise for Buffalo Bill. He began now to understand
why Wah-coo-tah was so much more comely than the usual Indian girl.
Her father was an American, her mother a Cheyenne.
And it was the girl’s father who had sold her, for five ponies, to
Big Thunder! That proved to Buffalo Bill, more than anything he had
yet heard against Lawless, what a thorough scoundrel the man was.
“I will protect you against Lawless, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout.
“Him got plenty Yellow Eyes to help um,” returned the girl.
“Well, he hasn’t reached the camp yet. I have been told he won’t be
here until to-morrow, or next day.”
“Him all same in camp now, Pa-e-has-ka.”
“Where?”
“Him stay in hotel. Me see you talk with um in front of hotel.”
The scout was even more startled than he had been before.
“Who is he, Wah-coo-tah?” he demanded.
“Him man long yellow coat.”
“Smith!” muttered the scout, a glitter coming into his eyes.
Then it flashed through Buffalo Bill’s mind that if Lawless would
play the rôle of Smith, he must be doing it for some underhanded
purpose. Quite possibly that purpose had something to do with Wild
Bill, and his mysterious disappearance from the camp.
“Wah-coo-tah,” went on the scout, speaking in a low voice and
hurriedly, “I came to Sun Dance looking for a friend of mine by the
name of Wild Bill. I was delayed in getting to Sun Dance. When I
reached here, though, I discovered that Wild Bill had disappeared
last night. Immediately after supper he was last seen with the man
who calls himself Smith, but who you tell me is your father, Captain
Lawless. The two walked down the slope into the cañon. Lawless says
he left Wild Bill and went to stay the night with a friend named Seth
Coomby, and that he didn’t see where Wild Bill went, and doesn’t know
anything about where he is now. If you can find out anything about
him, I’d like to have you do it.”
The girl’s eyes sparkled at the thought of being able to render
Pa-e-has-ka a service, and so, in a measure, pay him back for what he
had done for her.
“Me find out ’bout Wild Bill,” said she. “Listen, Pa-e-has-ka. Bymby,
in two, three hour, you go to top of road that leads down into cañon.
Look down cañon. You see um Wah-coo-tah’s blanket wave in wind, you
git um horse and come. _Sabe?_”
“I understand. Have you had anything to eat, Wah-coo-tah?”
“Me got plenty ‘jerked’ venison. Me all right. You watch heap sharp
for blanket; and you watch heap sharp for Big Thunder. Wah-coo-tah go
now. Good-by.”
The girl disappeared from the roof, and the scout, amazed by what he
had overheard, left the stable and walked back to the hotel.
J. Algernon Smith was none other than Captain Lawless, and Captain
Lawless was none other than Wah-coo-tah’s father!
Why should Lawless be impersonating Smith, unless he had some ax to
grind? What that ax was, Buffalo Bill was determined to find out.
He went to the apartment taken by Nomad and himself, and expected to
find Nomad there; but the trapper was not in the room.
Having replaced the bottle of liniment in his pard’s war-bag, the
scout returned to the front of the hotel. Just then he was more
particularly interested in finding Smith than in locating Nomad, but
neither one nor the other was in evidence.
The Chinaman came out and pounded the dinner-gong. Buffalo Bill
waited for a few minutes, hoping Nomad would present himself, but he
did not. Thereupon the scout hung his hat on a peg in the office and
went into the dining-room.
He took his time over the meal, keeping his eyes on the alert for a
glimpse of Nomad or Lawless. His watchfulness, however, was without
result.
Puzzled and uneasy, he finished his meal and went out to where
Spangler was holding down his chairs in the shade of the hotel.
“How far up the gulch does Seth Coomby live, Spangler?” he asked.
“’Bout two mile,” replied Spangler.
“What’s become of Smith? Do you know?”
“Not me. He’s harder ter keep track of than the Irishman’s flea. But,
with all his comin’s an’ goin’s, I kin tell him he’s goin’ ter pay
fer the meals he misses, an’ the bunks he hires an’ don’t sleep in.”
“Have you seen my pard recently?”
“I hevn’t seen him, nuther. Mebby he went off with Smith? Your pards
hev a great habit of walkin’ off with Smith and not comin’ back
ag’in. Wild Bill did it last night, an’ mebby Nomad did it while you
was rubbin’ liniment on yer hoss.”
“Did you see Nomad going off with Smith?”
“Nary. I ain’t seen either one of ’em since they was here in front o’
my place an’ you was talkin’ with Smith.”
“I’m going away for a little while,” said the scout, “and if Nomad
returns while I am gone, tell him to stay here and wait for me.”
“Sure I will.”
The scout took to the horse-trail and moved off toward the slope
leading down into the cañon.
What he wanted just now was to locate Smith. Had the fellow, fearing
discovery at the scout’s hands, skipped out?
Nomad had not suspected Smith of being other than he seemed any more
than had the scout. Had Smith taken advantage of this and lured Nomad
away, just as he might have lured Wild Bill?
The scout was going to Seth Coomby’s with the rather vague hope of
finding Lawless there. It was only two miles, and the scout had made
up his mind that he would walk the distance, for a change.
As he halted at the top of the slope, his eyes instinctively scanned
the cañon, up and down.
Down the cañon, against the right-hand wall, he saw something
fluttering from the rocks. At once he thought of Wah-coo-tah, and
of her promise to flaunt her blanket so he could see it in case she
found out anything and needed him.
All thought of visiting Seth Coomby’s in search of Lawless passed at
once from Buffalo Bill’s mind.
He had looked down the cañon in the hope of seeing something of Dell
Dauntless and Little Cayuse, who were already long overdue at Sun
Dance. Dell and Cayuse were not in sight, and the glimpse of that
fluttering blanket, with its call to immediate action, gave the scout
plenty to think of aside from his missing pards.
Whirling on his track, he returned to the hotel and went to his room
after his riding-gear.
“Reckoned ye wouldn’t go ter Coomby’s, eh, Buffalo Bill?” spoke up
Spangler.
“I reckoned I’d ride instead of walk,” the scout answered. “I’m
expecting two other pards of mine to show up in Sun Dance before
long. One of them is a young lady. She is to have the room which
Nomad and I are occupying. If they, or Nomad, come before I get
back, don’t fail to tell them to stay here and wait for me.”
“Ye kin gamble on it that I will,” Spangler answered.
The scout was not long in getting the gear onto Bear Paw and striking
a swift gait for the bottom of the gulch.