DELL AND CAYUSE ALSO DELAYED.
From the moment Dauntless Dell’s shrill cry echoed through the cañon,
panic struck at the hearts of Captain Lawless and his men. The
villainous crew saw five determined foes bearing down on them.
“Scatter!” yelled Captain Lawless, and immediately suited his actions
to the word.
Keeping themselves under cover of the rocks, the stampeded scoundrels
finally gained the shelter of the scrub, and could be heard thrashing
about in a mad endeavor to get to their horses and away.
At this point, Nomad’s ardor got the better of him, and caused him to
lose his prisoner, Coomby.
Pushing fiercely toward the bushes, and shoving Coomby ahead of him,
Nomad was making a wild effort to keep up the fight.
Coomby, unable to stand up under the pressure exerted on him from
behind, stumbled over a stone. Nomad, who could not stop his headlong
rush, went sprawling over Coomby, and both lay for an instant in a
tangle on the ground.
Fear did for Coomby what the lust for battle could not do for Nomad;
and the outlaw succeeded in beating the trapper in getting up, and
was off and away before he could be caught.
Dell and Cayuse shot on along the cañon in pursuit. Buffalo Bill got
astride Bear Paw, Nomad found Wah-coo-tah’s pony, and Wild Bill
picked up the cayuse belonging to the dead Ponca.
Lawless and his men had torn their horses loose from the bushes where
they had been secured, and had lost themselves in the chaparral.
The scout and his pards hunted the cañon through, up and down and
from side to side, but without result. Lawless and his gang had made
their escape.
“Whar ther bloomin’ blazes did they go, anyways?” demanded Nomad, his
voice heavy with chagrin and disappointment, when he and the rest
of the scout’s party rounded up once more in the vicinity of the
ore-dump.
“They know the country better than we do, Nick,” said Buffalo Bill,
“and they have made a clean get-away.”
“Waugh, but et shore glooms me up!” growled the trapper. “I got er
bone ter pick with thet outfit.”
“So have I,” put in Wild Bill, with a soothing grin, “but I reckon
the bone can wait. What’s the use of being in a rush, Nomad?”
“We kin afford ter wait, as fur as thet goes, but I like ter make a
clean up as I purceed.”
“We’ve had enough of this for a while,” put in the scout. “Hickok has
been pretty active for a man who has been so long without anything to
eat or drink, and it will be close to supper-time when we get back
to Spangler’s. We’ll ride for Sun Dance, and leave Lawless and his
men to be dealt with later. Ah!” the scout added, facing about in his
saddle. “Come here, Wah-coo-tah. I was just wondering what had become
of you.”
During the flight and pursuit, the scout had lost track of the Indian
girl. She now came around the base of the ore-dump and hurried toward
him.
Dell Dauntless and Cayuse scrutinized the girl curiously.
“Who is she, Buffalo Bill?” asked Dell.
“Wah-coo-tah is her name,” the scout answered. “She is the daughter
of Fire-hand, otherwise Captain Lawless.”
“Ugh!” muttered Little Cayuse.
“His daughter!” echoed Dell.
“She’s a friend of ours, though, for all that,” said the scout,
taking in a kindly grip the hand Wah-coo-tah held out to him.
With a swing, he landed the girl on Bear Paw’s back at the
saddle-cantle.
“You see,” explained the scout, “Nomad and I saved Wah-coo-tah from
a Ponca warrior who had bought her from Lawless for five ponies.
Wah-coo-tah was not pleased with her father’s arrangement, and
broke away from the Ponca. Nomad and I happened to be near enough
to interfere in her behalf. She did not forget what we had done for
her, but has rendered us good service in this affair of Wild Bill’s.
In fact, if it hadn’t been for Wah-coo-tah, it is probable Wild Bill
would have lost his life, and perhaps Nomad, too.”
Dell Dauntless spurred her white cayuse, Silver Heels, alongside of
Bear Paw, and took Wah-coo-tah’s hand.
“If you have done all this,” smiled Dell engagingly, “you’re
entitled to the friendship of all of us. You must be a brave girl,
Wah-coo-tah.”
The Cheyenne maiden studied Dell for a few moments, then turned away
rather curtly.
“What’s the matter with her?” whispered Dell to Wild Bill.
“Well, she thinks she’s got first lien on the scout,” laughed Wild
Bill, “and you look to her like a claimant for first honors.”
At that Dell laughed, too.
“You can’t tell about these Injuns,” went on Wild Bill, “especially
when they happen to be breeds. Wah-coo-tah is mighty pretty, though.”
“Do you think so?” asked Dell.
“I do, for a fact. What’s more, I’ll never forget what she has done
for me.”
After Buffalo Bill had dismounted and got his riata from the shaft,
he climbed into his saddle again and gave the word that started the
party for Sun Dance.
“You and Cayuse are several hours behind schedule, Dell,” said the
scout. “Did you meet with trouble on the way?”
“We lost the trail,” said Dell, “and it took us several hours to find
it.”
“Rather queer that Cayuse should have gone astray like that,”
commented the scout, with a look at the Piute.
Cayuse seemed very much abashed.
“It wasn’t his fault, pard,” went on Dell. “I thought we could take a
short cut, just as you and Nomad did, and maybe save an hour. That,
as I figured it, would bring us into Sun Dance not more than an hour
behind you. Cayuse said we couldn’t do it, and that the country was
so hard to travel even jack-rabbits couldn’t get over it. I had my
way, though, and the upshot of it was that we had to give up and go
back to the trail. But the trail was hard to find, and that’s where
we lost our time. You seem to have been having plenty of excitement
on this part of the range,” Dell added, with a questioning look
around at the scout and his pards, “and Cayuse and I have missed all
of it.”
“Ye had er taste o’ ther excitement, Dell, when ye rode inter thet
leetle shoot-fiesta o’ our’n,” spoke up Nomad.
“Umph!” grunted Cayuse. “That no fight. Him all over before Yellow
Hair and Cayuse come.”
“How did it happen, Buffalo Bill?” asked Dell.
“There’s a whole lot of it, pard,” the scout answered, “and to get
at it from all sides would take a heap of time. Over our supper, at
Spangler’s, is where we can hold our powwow. Wild Bill there hasn’t
had anything to eat for two days.”
“Don’t keep reminding me of it, Cody,” said Wild Bill. “Just because
you mentioned the fact, I’ve got to pull my belt up another hole. If
that starvation-act of mine is referred to many times more, I’ll be
cut in two.”
Dell laughed at the grimace which accompanied the words.
“What sort of business did you want Buffalo Bill for, Wild Bill?” she
asked.
“I had a bunch of rascals holed up in that mine back there, and
wanted Pard Cody to come on and help me run them in. By the time Cody
got here, the rascals had got out and had run _me_ in.”
“But what was the work?”
“A job of salt, Miss Dauntless. Lawless and his gang were blowing
fine gold into a played-out mine with a shotgun. I saw some of the
performance. While I was looking on, two of the gang saw me. I
managed to get away, but it was a close call; then, the next day, my
charitable and amiable disposition steered me right into the bunch of
trouble-makers once more, and they had me so I couldn’t move. That
paper-talk I sent to Buffalo Bill went astray, I understand, and
Crawling Bear was killed by Cheyennes. Too bad, too bad! I think
Crawling Bear stacked up closer to a white man than many other
Indians I’ve known. By the way, Cody, what are you going to do with
Wah-coo-tah?”
“There’s nothing for me to do, I reckon, but to send her back to the
Cheyennes.”
“No, no!” cried Wah-coo-tah. “Me no go back to Cheyennes.”
“It’s like this, Wah-coo-tah,” explained the scout. “The Ponca who
gave up the five ponies for you is dead, and your father won’t dare
show himself among the Cheyennes after what has happened here in Sun
Dance Cañon. You’ll be perfectly safe with your people.”
“Me want to stay with Pa-e-has-ka!” averred Wah-coo-tah. “Pa-e-has-ka
good friend of Wah-coo-tah. No like to go back to Cheyennes.”
“What did I tell you?” Wild Bill whispered in Dell’s ear.
“Of course,” flared Dell, “Wah-coo-tah couldn’t travel with the scout
and his pards.”
“Of course not!” agreed Wild Bill. “Petticoat pards are all right,
but they make a heap of trouble, now and then. You’ll be going back
to your ranch in Arizona, one of these days, I suppose----”
“Just as soon as I can,” snapped Dell, and Wild Bill wondered what it
was that had put an edge to her temper.
The shadows were lengthening across the flat in Sun Dance Cañon when
Buffalo Bill and his pards rode up to the door of the Lucky Strike
Hotel.
The bulky proprietor was sitting in front, as usual, but his ragged
palm-leaf fan lay beside him. The cool of the evening was always
grateful to Bije Spangler.
“Whoof!” sputtered Spangler, as the cavalcade of riders drew to a
halt in front of his establishment. “What’s this, Buffalo Bill? You
escortin’ a band o’ Injuns ter a new reserve, or what?”
“We’re here to stay with you for a while, Spangler,” said the scout.
“It’s agin’ my rules ter take in any reds,” averred Spangler.
“You’ll have to take these in,” said the scout. “The boy is my Piute
pard, Little Cayuse, and the girl is the daughter of Captain Lawless.
Miss Dauntless, my girl pard, will share the room Wild Bill occupied,
and which Nomad and I later put up in, with Wah-coo-tah. The rest of
us will bunk where we can. And a word to you, Spangler,” the scout
added, dropping down from his saddle, “anything you say against one
of my pards, white or red, you say against me. Just remember that.”
The tone in which the scout spoke sent a shiver through Spangler.
“No harm meant, no harm meant,” he sputtered. “O’ course, Buffalo
Bill, whatever you say goes.”
“It’s an honor to your one-horse hangout for a boy like Little
Cayuse, or a girl like Wah-coo-tah, to stay in it. Is supper ready?”
“The Chink jest come out an’ hammered the gong,” said Spangler. “Walk
right in an’ set down whenever ye’re ready.”
The party dismounted and went into the hotel office. Cayuse led away
the horses, and saw that they were properly cared for.
Buffalo Bill, Nomad, Wild Bill, Cayuse, Dell Dauntless, Wah-coo-tah,
and one other, had a table all to themselves. The “one other” was a
slender little man in a neat black suit, which spoke relentlessly of
the East.
The little man was painfully pale, and seemed dismayed to find
himself surrounded by such an assortment of white men and Indians.
His first “break” was to ask the Chinaman who waited on their table
for a napkin. The Chinaman went back and exchanged some heated words
with the other Chinaman in the kitchen; then both Chinamen went out
in front of the hotel and held a low conversation with Spangler. As
a result, Spangler waddled into the dining-room, and walked to where
the little man in black was sitting.
“Looky here, you!” rumbled Spangler, his great body shaking all over
with suppressed wrath, “was you the one as asked the Chink fer a
napkin?”
“I--I have always been accustomed to eating with napkins,” answered
the little man, with a frightened, upward glance.
“Mebby you take this here eatin’-joint fer the Palmer House, hey? Or
mebby it’s the Delmonico restaurant ye think it is? I’ve run this
feedin’-place fer two years, an’ this here’s the first time any one
who has ever fed here has insulted me!”
“I had no intention of insulting you, sir, I assure you,” said the
little man. “I--I--why, it is customary to have napkins at meals
in--in Chicago, where I come from.”
“Out here ye kin use the back o’ yer hand fer a napkin,” growled
Spangler, “an’ if ye’re afeared o’ gittin’ anythin’ on yer clothes,
why, don’t wear clothes that’s so easy sp’iled. Do ye _sabe_ my
pidgin? If ye don’t, an’ if what I say don’t set well, ye kin take
yer ole carpet bag an’ hike.”
Under this wheezy torrent of words the little man wilted. When
Spangler turned around and waddled off, the stranger was ready to
throw aside his knife and fork and eat with his fingers if any one
had suggested it.
“My friend,” said the scout, smothering a laugh and leaning toward
the stranger, “does your name happen to be Bingham?”
The little man jumped.
“It is,” said he; “Alonzo Bingham.”
“And you hail from Chicago.”
“I do, yes, sir.”
“You have come here to look over the Forty Thieves Mine with a view
to buying it of Captain Lawless?”
“Why, my gracious!” cried Alonzo Bingham, “how did you ever find out
about that?”
“Isn’t it a fact?” asked Buffalo Bill.
“Yes, it is a fact, although I’m troubled to know where you got your
information.”
“We troubled some ter git et, Mr. Bingham,” put in Nomad, with a wink
at Wild Bill.
“Exactly,” said Wild Bill, “and I hope I’ll never be troubled so much
in the same way again. I don’t believe I could stand it.”
“As I understand, Mr. Bingham,” proceeded the scout, “if the rock you
took from the Forty Thieves assayed properly, you were to pay Lawless
a hundred thousand for the mine?”
“I and some friends were going to form a syndicate and buy the mine,
if it proved as represented,” said Mr. Bingham.
“Ther comp’ny you an’ yer friends hev formed,” announced Nomad
gravely, “ain’t a marker ter ther skindicate thet was formed at this
end o’ ther line.”
“I--I am at a loss to understand you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Bingham,
wrinkling his brows.
“Lawless and some friends of his,” explained Buffalo Bill, “have
salted the mine.”
“Salted the mine? Really, what does that mean? I never heard of such
a thing.”
Nomad sank back in his chair with a groan.
“Draw er diagram o’ et fer him, somebody. He’s got ter hev et
pictered out.”
“It’s this way, Mr. Bingham,” proceeded the scout. “Lawless and his
friends went to the mine and filled the rocks in the end of the level
with gold. Understand? When you go there to get your samples, you
will find rock that has been doctored. It will assay way up, but the
assays will fool you. It’s a case of plain robbery, and nothing more.”
“Dear me!” said Alonzo Bingham, looking worried.
“Look here, Cody,” said Wild Bill, dropping his voice and taking
something out of his pocket. “You’re telling friend Bingham the truth
about the salting, but you’re wide of your trail when you say the
Forty Thieves is worthless. Cast your eyes over that.”
Wild Bill rolled upon the table a piece of ore as big as an egg. It
was the sort of ore occasionally described as “gold with some quartz
in it.”
Little wires of yellow metal covered it all over, encasing it like a
spider-web.
“Jumpin’ cougars!” breathed Nomad.
“What in the world!” piped Alonzo Bingham.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill, picking up the ore-sample.
“Where did you get that, Hickok?”
“I found the pay-streak that the original owners of the Forty Thieves
must have lost,” chuckled Wild Bill. “That bit of ore almost cost me
my life, Cody. It came from that walled-off end of the stub-drift.
The explosion at the entrance jarred down some rock and uncovered
the pay-streak. I struck a match, when I first found myself with
hands and feet free, and that pay-streak was the first thing I saw.
When I realized that burning matches consumed oxygen, and that oxygen
was the only thing to keep me alive, I quit striking lights, and,
almost mechanically, dropped that bit of ore into my pocket.”
“Mr. Bingham,” said the scout, “I beg your pardon. The Forty Thieves,
from this showing made by my friend, Mr. Hickok, looks like a good
purchase. But Lawless doesn’t know anything about that pay-streak. In
negotiating for the mine, if I were you I wouldn’t say anything about
it.”
“When he goes out to find Lawless and close up the deal,” said
Wild Bill, “Mr. Bingham, I’m afraid, will have to do a good deal
of hunting. In his efforts to beat somebody, Lawless has salted
a bonanza onto Mr. Bingham and his Chicago syndicate. All I ask,
Mr. Bingham, for this friendly tip I have given you, is that you
communicate with me as soon as you find Captain Lawless, of the Forty
Thieves.”
“I shall be glad to do so,” returned Mr. Bingham.
During the rest of that meal the scout and his pards discussed their
adventures, pro and con, all more or less for the benefit of Dell and
Little Cayuse.
Mr. Bingham, sitting by, heard everything. He learned, as the story
fell graphically from Wild Bill’s lips, how the Laramie man had been
knocked down, tied hand and foot, carried to the Forty Thieves,
placed in the end of the crosscut, and then walled into a living tomb
by a neatly placed blast.
Mr. Bingham also heard of the adventures that had befallen old Nomad,
and of the manner in which he had been bowled over, carried to the
mine, and subsequently released by the scout.
The talk ended in a description of the battle that had taken place in
the cañon, when there was so much shooting and no casualties--plenty
of noise and excitement, but no one “gouged er skelped,” as Nomad put
it.
For some time Mr. Bingham had been growing even more pale than usual.
Long before the scout and his pards were done with their talk, the
Chicago man had excused himself, and tottered feebly from the room.
Next morning, when the scout and his friends met at the
breakfast-table, there were two less at the board than at supper the
evening before.
Mr. Bingham especially was noticeable by his absence. Spangler
explained that he had said he wouldn’t buy a mine in such a country
if some one would offer him a second Comstock lode for the price of
a square meal. Not daring to remain longer in such a lawless region,
Mr. Bingham had hired Spangler’s Mexican to take him to Montegordo in
Spangler’s buckboard during the night.
Wah-coo-tah had likewise disappeared from the hotel during the night,
and her cayuse had vanished from the stable. So quietly had the girl
left, that Dell, in whose room and with whom she was lodging, had not
been aware of her going.
“I presume,” said Buffalo Bill, “that Wah-coo-tah has gone back to
her people.”
“That’s the best place for her, pard,” said Dell.
“No doubt about that,” returned the scout.