It was Buffalo Bill’s choice to live just then, so he drew rein. He
knew from whom the command came, too, just as well as he knew that
resistance would be useless.
“Up with your hands, or die! Come, take your choice, Buffalo Bill!”
The threatening words were repeated, as Buffalo Bill had simply reined
the horses to a halt and still grasped the lines. He saw at a glance
that bandits had sprung to the heads of his leaders, while he was
covered by the revolver in the hand of Boyd Bennett himself. With no
change of expression the scout said:
“As you seem to hold trumps in this game, Bennett, up go my hands.”
He gave the reins a turn around the lantern, and Buffalo Bill coolly
raised his hands above his head to the apparent relief of the outlaws
at the horses’ heads, for they seemed to have feared that, after all,
he might resist. They knew that, if he had chosen to die fighting, some
of them would have bitten the dust first.
“You have acted wisely, Buffalo Bill, and I am glad to see that even
you can be cowed when you’re in a tight place,” laughed Boyd Bennett.
“We won’t discuss that part of the proposition,” said Cody coolly. “I’m
anxious to get on, so don’t detain me with philosophical remarks.”
“Ah--indeed! In a hurry, are you?”
“I am, Bennett; in a mighty hurry.”
“Well, wait a bit. Go slowly. You’ve got something on that stage I
want--though I didn’t expect to see you driving it.”
“No?”
“But you make as good a driver as any--and you give up just as easy,”
and Boyd Bennett laughed again.
“Well, what is it you want?”
“The gold-box you carry.”
“You’ve got me, old man,” said Buffalo Bill easily. “Guess again.”
“Don’t play with me, Cody, or I’ll have your life.”
“What’s the use of shooting me if you’re not going to make anything out
of it?” demanded the scout calmly.
“I am determined to have that paymaster’s chest.”
“Oh, sho! _that’s_ your game, is it?”
“It is.”
“And you think I’ve got it?”
“I _know_ it’s on this stage-coach.”
“Come, now, what’ll you bet?” drawled Cody easily.
“What are you waiting for, Cody?” demanded the outlaw angrily. “I know
you’ve got it. Shell out!”
“You know a lot, Bennett.”
“I know the gold is there.”
“You’re mistaken.”
“I am not. I had a friend who saw it put on board. You’ve got it, and I
intend to possess it.”
“Go ahead and possess,” drawled the scout.
“Don’t you trifle with me, Cody! I know you wouldn’t have been put up
to drive this old hearse if the soldiers’ money was not aboard.”
“Say! you know a whole lot, Bennett. D’ye mind if I smoke?”
“Keep your hands up!” roared Bennett; “or I’ll puncture you!”
“Thanks! You needn’t be so gruff about it. Didn’t know tobacco smoke
was so offensive to you.”
“Hand down that box before I count three, or you’re a dead man!”
commanded the robber with deadly significance.
“You keep well posted, Bennett; but you’re behind time on this run.”
“What do you mean?” asked the startled road-agent, beginning to
suspect that Buffalo Bill’s ease of manner masked some high card in the
game.
“The coach has already been robbed.”
“You lie!”
Buffalo Bill’s brows met in a sudden frown.
“You’ve got the drop on me, Bennett, or you’d never question my word
aloud.”
“You _do_ lie.”
“Open the coach door and look for yourself.”
“Not for Joe! I’m no spring chicken, Cody,” laughed the outlaw. “Set a
trap for us, have you? Men! fire through that coach--low down.”
Half a dozen or more rifles blazed away. The bullets shattered the
sashes of the coach doors and went through and through the vehicle.
“Scared at nothing, are you?” taunted Buffalo Bill. “If I’d come up
behind you on a dark night and hollered ‘Boo!’ I suppose you’d all run.”
“Men! if he moves, kill him!” commanded the exasperated Bennett, and he
stepped forward and flung open the coach door.
Even Boyd Bennett started at what he beheld there.
“The devil! what does this mean, Cody?”
“Injuns.”
“How did you escape?”
“Wasn’t with the coach.”
“And the treasure-box?”
“Look for yourself.”
“The Indians got it?”
“Whether they did or did not, you lose the game, Bennett,” said Buffalo
Bill, laughing with an appearance of heartiness which he did not feel.
“I don’t believe they got it!” cried Bennett, in rage.
“Well, you can run along and ask ’em. They’re not over a dozen miles
away, I reckon.”
The countenance of Boyd Bennett grew black with passion, and for a
moment he was silent, while into his eyes crept an expression of
devilish intent. Then he spoke, and his words hissed from a throat hot
with passion:
“Buffalo Bill, you have sealed your doom by this act!”
“Say! I’ve heard talk like that before, Bennett.”
“Mine are no idle words.”
“Well, go on with the dance,” quoth the scout coolly.
“Here!” commanded the bandit chief, “two of you men get up on the box
and bind him.”
He was obeyed at once, as far as the climbing to the box went, although
the fellows approached the scout gingerly enough. Buffalo Bill sat
smiling, with his hands still raised above his head. Suddenly, as
the men were about to seize him, and their bodies in some measure
intervened between his own and the rifles and pistol pointed at the
scout, the latter seized both with iron grip.
Giving his war-whoop, the scout leaped up, hurled one of the
road-agents to the ground, and with the other in his arms leaped from
the box of the coach. As they alighted, Buffalo Bill drew a revolver,
and was throwing it forward to fire at the outlaw chief, when the
weapon was knocked from his hand by a blow from behind, and several of
the bandits threw themselves upon him.
“For your lives, do not kill him!” shouted Bennett, springing forward
to join in the fight for the mastery of the scout.
Borne down by the weight of numbers, Buffalo Bill was unable to break
from his foes, and he was soon securely bound, hand and foot. Then the
bandits turned to their chief for further orders. The expression of
fiendish cruelty upon Bennett’s face showed that he had formed some
diabolical plot to avenge himself upon his old-time foe. He believed
that Buffalo Bill had thwarted him in his desire to get the government
money; and, anyway, there was an old score between them, and Bennett
proposed to square the account to date!
“Now drag him up to that box again,” ordered the bandit leader, and
with some effort they accomplished it.
“Lash him there!” was the next command, and the scout was securely tied
to the seat.
“Now throw the reins loosely over the foot-board!”
This order was likewise obeyed, Buffalo Bill the while looking calmly
on, evidently anticipating the crime his enemy intended, yet uttering
no word. He would not plead for his life of the miserable cur who now
had him in his power.
Having executed their work, by lashing Buffalo Bill with lariats firmly
to the box seat and his feet to the foot-board, the outlaws turned to
their cruel captain for further orders. It was at this moment that
Buffalo Bill took occasion to speak; but his voice was calm and his
manner unshaken:
“Hold on, Bennett, before you go too far!”
The bandits’ chief turned with a wicked smile, and asked:
“With what do you threaten me, Bill Cody?”
“The worst fate that ever met mortal man, if you dare commit the deed
you have in view,” was the bold reply.
“Dead men tell no tales!”
“Ah, but they do! It is only the fool that says ‘It is all over!’ when
his enemy is dead by his hand. It is not over. It has only begun! My
fate will become known; a hundred border men will not rest till they
learn who committed this deed; and then a thousand men will not rest
till vengeance is satisfied!”
“Bah! Your friends might be bad men to meet, I’ve no doubt--if they
could prove anything.”
“They’ll prove enough. Your fate will be worse than mine, Boyd Bennett.”
“You seem to be cock-sure of what I’m going to treat you to?” said
Bennett.
“I am.”
“Well, what is it?”
“You propose to lead the horses to yonder fork of the trail, turn them
loose, and start them down Breakneck Hill.”
“Right! Right, by thunder!” roared the road-agent, slapping his thigh
and laughing. “You are a mighty good guesser, Buffalo Bill. That is
exactly what I shall do.”