PICTURE-WRITING.
As renegade Cheyennes had been helping Lawless in his criminal work,
Buffalo Bill was not taking offhand this Indian’s word that he was a
friend.
“You know Little Cayuse?” queried the scout.
“Wuh!” answered the Cheyenne; “me know um for long time.”
“When did he give you this?” The scout held up the piece of
birch-bark.
The Indian pointed to the sky, indicating the place of the sun an
hour before.
“Where?” went on the scout.
“On trail to Pass Dure.”
“I reckon I know what ye’re gittin’ at, pard,” said Hank Tenny. “Some
Cheyennes hev been helpin’ Lawless, an’ ye think mebby thet the Hawk
ain’t straight. But I know him, an’ ye kin take my word fer it thet
he’s straight goods. What’s the matter, anyways? ’Pears like thar was
somethin’ unusual goin’ on hyer.”
At that moment, Wild Bill and Nomad came galloping around the hotel
from the direction of the stable. They rode their own horses, and
were leading the scout’s big black, Bear Paw, and Dell’s cayuse,
Silver Heels.
“My pards will tell you what’s up, Tenny,” said the scout, and turned
and went into the hotel office.
Dell was just coming out of her room, spurred, “heeled,” and ready
for her ride with her pards.
“Here’s something, Dell,” called the scout, dropping into a chair
by a table and laying the piece of birch-bark in front of him. “A
Cheyenne just rode in with this and said Little Cayuse gave it to
him.”
“Some of Cayuse’s picture-writing!” exclaimed Dell, drawing near and
leaning on the table beside the scout. “It must be a clue to the
course taken by Lawless and his gang--that is, if it isn’t a trick
Lawless is trying to play on you.”
“I don’t think it’s a trick,” the scout answered. “Unless I’m wide
of my trail, Lawless doesn’t know Cayuse is following him, so he
wouldn’t have any reason to send in a treacherous red with a piece of
birch-bark and say the same came from the boy. Besides, Tenny rode
into camp with the Indian, and says he is straight goods.”
“Good!” murmured Dell exultantly. “That means, pard, we’ve got a
clue, first clatter out of the box.”
She studied the picture for a space.
“That looks like Cayuse’s work,” she said finally, “and that little
horse, down in the right-hand corner, is the way he always signs his
name. But I can’t make anything out of it. Can you?”
It took a keen mind to decipher the Piute boy’s communications.
Having a keen mind himself, he credited everybody else with the same
shrewdness, and drew his symbols with a free hand.
The strip of bark was comparatively fresh, and the picture was
drawn with a knife-point on the soft surface that had lain next the
tree. Wherever the steel point had traveled it had left a plainly
perceptible line.
“Off to the right here,” mused the scout, “is an odd-looking hill.”
“It looks about as much like an adobe house as it does like a hill,”
countered Dell.
“Trees don’t grow on adobe houses, Dell. That thing on top of the
hill is a tree.”
“Right you are,” assented the girl. “What are those two figures
at the top? They seem to be drawn on the margin, and are merely a
suggestion of something, it strikes me, and have nothing to do with
the main picture.”
The figures to which Dell referred were drawn close to the edge of
the piece of bark, and were exactly alike. Evidently they represented
one and the same man; but over one was drawn a pair of mule’s ears.
“By George!” exclaimed the scout. “Those figures represent a white
man, with a mustache and a sash. Who but Lawless wears a sash? A belt
is good enough for every one else in these parts.”
“It’s Lawless,” agreed Dell, “but why are there two of him? And what
do those mule’s ears mean over one of the figures?”
“Give it up; that’s something for us to puzzle out later. That part
of it is only what you might call a marginal note, anyway. The main
picture shows Lawless again, with a figure that is plainly intended
to represent a white woman. The woman is Mrs. Brisco, whom Lawless
and his gang carried away.”
“Mrs. Brisco?” queried Dell. “I thought no one on the stage knew her
name?”
“Some facts,” answered the scout vaguely, “were brought out by that
note Billings brought to Gentleman Jim from Lawless.”
The scout did not intend, as yet, to reveal Gentleman Jim’s secret
even to Dell. In his own good time, Gentleman Jim himself could tell
the people of Sun Dance about his wife.
“Those six marks,” went on the scout, indicating the marks as he
spoke, “represent six followers, showing the gang to be composed of
seven members, all told.”
“I understood from Billings that there were eight, all told.”
“One was killed by Pete, during the fight that took place at the
time of the second hold-up,” explained the scout. Then, proceeding
to decipher the picture, he went on: “Back of the marks is an Indian
with an eagle-feather. That, of course, is Cayuse, trailing. Over
there, in the upper left-hand corner, is a cross representing the
four cardinal points of the compass. The hill appears to be northwest
of us.”
While this conversation had been going on in the office, the
horses had clattered up, and Tenny had been engaged in an excited
conversation with Nomad and Wild Bill. Presently some one else joined
them, and they all came into the hotel.
“Got any clues from thet pictur’, Buffler?”
The scout looked up and saw the old trapper, Wild Bill, Gentleman
Jim, and Hank Tenny.
“It’s from Cayuse, all right,” answered the scout.
“Good enough!” exclaimed the gambler, pressing closer to the table.
“It’s a clue, is it, Cody?”
“Yes. Little Cayuse is following the gang, which consists of seven,
including Lawless. They have a white woman prisoner along.”
A tremor ran through Gentleman Jim’s lithe form at mention of the
woman prisoner; but he quickly pulled himself together, and bent his
eager eyes upon the crude drawing.
“There’s a hill there,” pursued the scout, laying one finger on the
queer-shaped elevation. “Dell thought it might be a house, but I
claim it’s a hill because that thing on top of it is a tree. It lies
northwest of here, and the gang with their prisoner are apparently
headed toward the hill.”
Gentleman Jim gave a start.
“Look here, Tenny,” he called. The cowboy miner leaned over beside
him. “Doesn’t that look like Medicine Bluff?” asked the gambler.
“It shore does!” declared Tenny. “Thar’s a lone tree on the Bluff,
too.”
Gentleman Jim turned his eyes on the scout.
“Did Little Cayuse know anything about Medicine Bluff, Buffalo Bill?
Had he ever seen it?”
“Sure he’d seen it!” struck in Wild Bill. “The boy used to be a
bugler with one of the companies at Fort Sill. He has traveled all
over this part of the country with the doughboys.”
“Hickok is right,” agreed the scout. “If Cayuse ever saw that hill
once, he’d be able to draw it a hundred years from now. He never
forgets anything.”
“Then,” murmured Gentleman Jim, “Lawless and his gang are headed for
Medicine Bluff with my--with their prisoner, and our clue is a hot
one. There’ll be no need to go to the arm of the gulch, to pick up
the trail on the scene of the second hold-up, for, if this is really
from Cayuse, we can mount and ride straight for the Bluff, thereby
saving time.”
“Thet’s our cue!” exulted Nomad. “Ye kin trust Leetle Cayuse ter do
a thing like this up proper, ev’ry time. Thet kid ain’t got his ekal
anywhar in ther West. I’ll back him agin’ all comers, white er red,
bar none o’ ther same size an’ y’ars.”
“Are you ready for the trail, Gentleman Jim?” inquired the scout.
“I will be, as soon as I look after Hotchkiss and Pete,” the gambler
answered. “It will only take a few moments to take care of their
injuries.”
While he was with Hotchkiss and Pete, the scout and the rest of his
pards went out in front. Wing Hi was just depositing four war-bags on
the ground near the horses. Wild Bill had had the bags filled with
rations.
All swung to the backs of their horses, and the war-bags were
strapped at the saddle-cantles. Presently Gentleman Jim issued
hurriedly from the hotel and climbed into his saddle.
“Hotchkiss and Pete are all right,” he announced. “The only thing
that worries them is that they can’t take part in this expedition.
If they were to try that, however, I wouldn’t answer for the
consequences.”
“They have done their part,” said the scout. “Spurs and quirts, boys!”
Spurs rattled, quirts swished, and the party rode off at a gallop,
heading for the rim of the gulch.
There were six of them--Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill, Nomad, Dell
Dauntless, Gentleman Jim, and Hank Tenny. Before they had reached the
slope leading to the gulch, a yell was heard behind them, and out of
a cloud of dust broke De Bray, mounted on a sorrel cayuse, and with
a rifle across the saddle in front of him. He was still wearing his
“boiled” shirt, collar, red vest, and white trousers, making, all
together, a somewhat unusual figure for a foray such as the scout and
his pards were then starting upon.
The scout turned in his saddle and looked back; then with a laugh, he
remarked:
“It’s a safe bet, pards, we couldn’t lose De Bray.”
“Is he going along with us, in _that_ rig?” queried Wild Bill.
“I presume he didn’t have time to change, Hickok; but he’ll give a
good account of himself in any rig.”