THE RETURN.
When the three forces got under way they marched at a speed according
to the distance they had to travel, that all might make the same camp
the first night on the way.
The command from the lower ford made twenty miles, and, camping
early, they were joined in the afternoon by the party under
Lieutenant Worth.
At dark the third command, under Lieutenant Percy, came in, and
Walter Worth surveyed his little army with pride at being the
superior officer.
When they pulled out from camp early the next morning, seeing that
the news that the outlaw had gone to Pioneer City made Sergeant
Fallon anxious, he said to him:
“Sergeant, you and Buffalo Bill can push on ahead to the fort, for
the command cannot get in to-night without crowding the horses very
hard and riding late, and there is no necessity for either.”
The face of the sergeant brightened at the order of the lieutenant,
and he said:
“Thank you, sir; I shall be most happy to go on ahead.”
“Say to Colonel Carr I will arrive with the command to-morrow, not
caring to push the cattle.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sergeant at once reported to Buffalo Bill what the lieutenant
had said, and the two started off at a pace more than double that at
which the troops were traveling, retarded as they were by the guns, a
couple of ambulances, and some pack mules.
The sun was yet above the horizon when the sentinel on the watchtower
reported the coming of two horsemen by the trail leading to the
Indian country.
The coming of the scout and Sergeant Fallon was soon reported to the
colonel.
Their stories were told, the sergeant telling his first, and both
were listened to with the greatest attention by the colonel, who then
said:
“Sergeant, your daring and gallant conduct shall be reported, with a
strong recommendation, added to others already sent to Washington,
for your promotion to a lieutenancy.”
“I thank you, sir.”
“It will be a well-won appointment, sergeant, but, as you request
it, it will be best to say as little as possible about your going
into the Indian lines, as it might reach the ears of the outlaw, who
you say left the camps after your first visit, presumably going to
Pioneer City.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then he will be up to more deviltry, I fear; but, sergeant, your
daughter is not here, you know, or had you heard of her departure?”
“My daughter not here, sir?” Sergeant Fallon’s face turned to the hue
of death.
“Don’t be alarmed, man, for she only went by Jack Jessop’s coach this
morning to Pioneer City to see her lawyer, who wrote to her that he
was laid up there with rheumatism, and wished both of you to come on
there.
“As she did not know you would return, she went alone; but what ails
you, sergeant?”
“Colonel Carr, that letter was a trick of the outlaw chief to get my
child into his clutches again!” gasped the sergeant.
The words of the sergeant fairly startled the colonel, and he looked
anxiously toward the scout and said:
“Cody, the sergeant is too deeply moved to speak.
“Tell me yourself what this means?”
“It means, colonel,” answered Buffalo Bill, “that while in the Indian
lines Sergeant Fallon had a long talk with Eagle, the outlaw leader,
and became his ally in an intended capture of himself, the sergeant,
and Miss Fallon. A compact was entered into between them, as I
understood it from Sergeant Fallon, that he should inveigle himself
and Miss Fallon to take the coach to Pioneer City, and he would hold
it up and capture them.
“The outlaw had seen Miss Fallon’s papers and letters, when she was
his captive, copied the address of her lawyer, and secreted a letter
of his so as to forge his writing and signature.
“A letter to her was to be written from Pioneer City, pretending to
come from the lawyer and saying, as he was laid up and unable to come
to the fort, she must come to him on a most important legal matter
that he would explain.”
“I see it all, and she has fallen into the trap, for it was to
Pioneer City that the outlaw went to carry out his infernal plot.
Sergeant, you have my deepest sympathy, and we will do all we can to
rescue your daughter, I assure you.”
“I feel that, sir; but she is now in that man’s power, and----”
“Colonel Carr, may I offer a suggestion?” said Buffalo Bill suddenly.
“Out with it, Cody.”
“The outlaw crossed the river at a point beyond the upper ford, the
Indians told the sergeant, at a secret ford known to him alone.
“Now, I believe he carried Indians along with him, so a trail will be
left, and if he has captured Miss Lucille he will most surely take
her to the village of old Iron Eyes, for nowhere else could he carry
her in safety.”
“Yes, Cody.”
“If he held up the coach to-day it was on the other side of Cañon
River bridge, and it is as far for him to ride from there to his
secret crossing of the river as it is for us to go down from here,
and by hard riding we could get there first, sir; begging your
pardon, if we could start at once, push through and meet Lieutenant
Worth, we could----”
“Cody, you have hit the nail on the head, and you and the sergeant
shall start within half an hour on your ride.
“You, sergeant, can ride my best charger, Spur, for he needs
exercise, and Lieutenant Worth will go back with you and take what
men he deems necessary, leaving the command to Lieutenant Percy to
bring on. Say to Lieutenant Worth, sergeant, that such is my wish.
“Let him pick his horses, and you should reach him in time to-night
to get a short rest there for yours, and be away all together at
dawn.”
“We will, sir; and I thank you deeply for your great kindness. We
will start within half an hour, sir, but I dislike to force Scout
Cody and others on such a hard ride,” said Sergeant Fallon earnestly.
“Oh, don’t mind me, sergeant, for I’ve had more rest of late than I
wanted,” said Buffalo Bill dryly.
“Well, now be off, and remember, sergeant, you are to ride my horse,
Spur.”
“Thank you, sir.”
With wishes for their success, the colonel saw them depart hastily
for their respective quarters.
The long ride they had had was forgotten by both men, for what did
they care for fatigue when it was to save Lucille from the power of
the hated outlaw chief?
Buffalo Bill hastened to his quarters to change his clothing, and
order two of his best horses brought out, for the scout was noted for
the splendid animals he always had ready for use.
One of them he intended to ride, the other to be used as a pack
animal, and he ordered a good supply of provision put in the pack
saddle, and within an hour after leaving the colonel’s quarters he
was ready for the trail. He had his supper, and just at dark rode up
to the sergeant’s quarters.
“Time, sergeant, time!” he called.
The colonel’s magnificent roan, Spur, was there, with the sergeant’s
saddle and bridle on, and there was a place in the pack saddle for
what the soldier wished to carry along.
These were stowed away, and the two friends rode out of the fort side
by side, the pack horse traveling behind.
The traps of the horsemen had been so divided up that the saddle
horses had only the weight of the riders, the pack animal carrying
the balance.
They were gazed upon as they rode away back on the trail they had
come, the soldiers wondering at their going so soon after their
return.
As they left the gate, the scout urged his horse into a slow canter,
the sergeant’s and the pack horse settling down to the same steady
pace.
Thus they went on their way through the darkness, leaving mile after
mile behind them.
“We will reach the camp by midnight, sergeant, and that will give our
horses and ourselves a good rest until dawn, and allow Lieutenant
Worth ample time to select his men.”
“What number do you think he will take, Cody?”
“I should say six of my men and as many soldiers, and this, with the
lieutenant and ourselves, will give us fifteen.”
“Enough, if Lieutenant Worth picks the men.”
“Which he will do, and yet a few more would not be amiss.”
“Well, suggest it, for he is most reasonable.”
“He is, indeed, and one of the bravest and most brilliant young
officers I ever knew.”
“You are right there, and he is making his way well to the front.”
Seeing that they were not distressing their horses, the two kept them
at a still more rapid pace, and it was just before midnight that they
dashed up to the camp.
Lieutenant Worth was at once aroused and the situation explained to
him, and before the sergeant could deliver the colonel’s message he
cried:
“I’ll take a score of men and go back with you, for that villain must
be run down. You know your men best, Cody, so pick out from the three
commands together here ten of your best scouts, and let them take
the finest horses, whether their own or not. You, Sergeant Fallon,
pick a corporal and ten troopers, and see that they get the very best
mounts. The quartermaster shall at once get supplies for a couple of
weeks’ stay, for we must go well prepared, and----”
“I go, too, Lieutenant Worth, for I shall be needed,” cried Surgeon
Denmead, who was present at the interview.
“Ah, Denmead, always the right man in the right place, and I am glad
you spoke, for I will be glad to have you along.”
“Now, prepare all, for we must be in the saddle within the hour.”
There was no use saying wait until dawn, for the dashing young
cavalry officer said:
“We will go ten miles on our way and then camp, for I’ll feel then as
though we had started. If your horses are blown, Cody, you can take
others.”
“I’ll ride another, sir, as will Sergeant Fallon, and take an extra
pack horse, too, so the three we pushed to the camp here can run
loose and thus rest.”
“Yes, and I’ve ordered half a dozen extras driven along loose in case
of breakdowns, for there must be no delay on this ride.”
The party who were to make the ride then had supper, and in just one
hour after the arrival of Buffalo Bill and the sergeant in camp, the
party, twenty-five all told and thirty-five horses, rode off on their
expedition to rescue Lucille Fallon.
“Set the pace, Cody, and don’t make it too slow,” said Lieutenant
Worth, and Buffalo Bill rode to the front, the sergeant with him.
Behind rode Lieutenant Worth and Surgeon Denmead, then the corporal
and his troopers, the pack horses and extras following, and the
scouts bringing up the rear in two detachments, under Will Palmer and
Hugh Hardin respectively.
When ten miles had been passed over, Buffalo Bill began to look for a
camping place, when Lieutenant Worth called out:
“The horses are all right, Cody, so give them another hour of it, and
we’ll reach a good halting place.”
Another hour was given them, and the scout led the command to a fine
camp where water, grass, and wood were plentiful.
They quickly staked out the animals, one scout was put on duty, with
orders to call a relief after one hour, and he to do likewise, until
four hours had passed, when breakfast would be eaten and the ride
resumed.
The men threw themselves down upon their blankets and were soon fast
asleep.
Feeling that all was being done that was possible for the rescue of
his daughter, Sergeant Fallon, knowing his need of rest, followed
Buffalo Bill’s example, and dropped off into a deep slumber.
Two soldiers and two scouts were awakened by the sentinel to get
breakfast, and the others were allowed to sleep on until it was ready.
The meal disposed of, the horses were saddled, and, mounting, away
they started on another mad ride.
Buffalo Bill was leading the command as guide and scout, and
constantly by his side kept Sergeant Fallon, while Lieutenant Worth
and Doctor Denmead were not far in the rear.
The halt was made at noon, but not for two hours, as a consultation
and look at the horses showed that they were not yet used up, save
two, that were left behind.
“They will get a rest when we reach the river to-night, so push them
for all they are worth, Bill,” said the lieutenant.
“Yes, sir; and we must reach the river while it is daylight to find
that trail, and so wait there, for he may come up in the night and go
across,” answered Buffalo Bill.
The halt was, therefore, made at noon for an hour only, and yet the
horses were stripped and rubbed down while they fed.
Then the party mounted again and pushed on, the scout setting even a
faster pace than before. He was determined to strike the river above
the upper ford, and from there up look for the trail coming out where
the outlaw crossed. To do this, hard riding must be made.
Another horse dropped out during the afternoon, and a second soon
after. They were left by the trail side.
Buffalo Bill glanced back to see if he was pushing too hard, but the
lieutenant waved him on, and the sergeant’s face brightened, as he
said, in a low tone:
“God bless that noble young man.”
“Oh, he’s got the nerve to push to the end,” answered Buffalo Bill,
and as he spoke, Lieutenant Worth called out:
“Your horses can stand the strain, Bill, so you and the sergeant push
on ahead, and I’ll send what men after you I can pick out with the
best animals. The rest of us can follow, but you go on and try and
pick up the trail.”
The splendid animals ridden by Buffalo Bill and the sergeant were yet
capable of hard work, as was also the one ridden by Lieutenant Worth,
but he felt that he had better remain with the men.
So he picked out several of the scouts whose horses seemed less
distressed, and told them to push on with their chief.
So on went Buffalo Bill, the sergeant and four scouts following, the
rest bringing up the rear at a slower pace.
Buffalo Bill looked back and saw that they were dropping the command
fast enough for the good of the animals, and so held at the reserved
pace he had set.
On, on they went, halting at a brook for a few swallows of water,
again a few mouthfuls of grass, and then on once more.
The river at last came in sight as they descended a ridge.
They had crossed the trail leading back from the upper ford half an
hour before.
Riding down from the ridge, they reached the river just three miles
above the ford. Here they halted for a moment, two of the scouts’
horses having failed them.
The animals were all panting like hounds, and the riders relieved
them of their weight, and began to go on foot along the river bank,
the scout remarking:
“There is certainly no crossing between us and the ford, for I have
ridden this far above it several times.
“It is above that the secret crossing is, and the outlaw would hardly
have risked it had it been nearer to where the soldiers’ camp was.”
“So I think,” the sergeant remarked.
So on they went, the scout and sergeant walking rapidly and viewing
every foot of ground, while the scouts followed behind leading their
horses.
Thus a mile had been gone over, and the face of the sergeant grew
anxious, for he saw that the sun was drawing near the horizon.
Buffalo Bill’s face was placid, for he never relieved his thoughts,
no matter what was his distress of mind.
On they went, limbering up their legs from long riding by rapid
walking.
At last they came to a rise, when the scout halted. He saw that there
were two ridges running to the river, a deep ravine between them.
Across the river he saw that there was a sand bar, and a point of
sand stretched out into the stream, the swift flow being on the side
where they stood.
The channel here looked narrow, too, and, examining the water, it
appeared to be more shallow than above and below.
“Sergeant, I think here is the crossing.”
“The same thought was mine, sir.”
“Of course, they would have to swim their horses for several hundred
yards, but by riding out upon that sand bar which is well above, they
would land, forced down by the current, about at this ravine--in
fact, if they were swept by, would not land at all.”
“If they crossed from this side, sir?”
“They would have to ride in yonder above at that break in the bank,
and that would bring them on the sand-bar point. I will go there
and see if they could get down to the river, while you look down in
the ravine for their trail,” and the scout started on his way, to
suddenly call out to the sergeant, who was climbing down the ravine:
“Here is the trail coming out, and there were a score of them.”
The sergeant, at the call of Buffalo Bill, hastened to where he
stood. He was passing around the descent to the river between the two
ridges, and had found a trail.
Reaching the spot, the trail was there, made by all of two dozen
horses, they decided after an examination.
“It goes straight down the ravine to the river, and was, as you said,
the landing when they rode in from the bar.”
“Yes, sergeant.
“We will leave the boys here and go on to that break up yonder, for
there is where I feel sure they must cross, and, if my memory serves
me right, there is no other for many a long mile above.”
Calling to the scouts to halt there where they were, Buffalo Bill and
the sergeant pushed rapidly on to the break in the bank, nearly a
mile above.
They reached it just as the sun touched the horizon, and a glance
showed that it was a ravine like the one below, narrow, rocky, and
steep.
But from that point a descent into the river could rapidly be made,
and as the stream had a bend there, a swim would carry them across
for a landing on the sand bar below.
Going around to the head of the ravine, Buffalo Bill and the sergeant
came to a halt, as though they had been shot at.
“Too late!” said Buffalo Bill.
“They have crossed,” said the sergeant, and his face was white.
“Yes, not two hours ago, from the looks of the trail.
“That man knows the secret pass through Skeleton Range, or he could
never have reached here in this time, for that cuts off all of thirty
miles in coming from the Overland Trail to the upper ford.”
“Yes, I have followed the regular trail, long ago, but knew of no
secret pass.”
“There is one, however, as an old trapper once led me through it. The
outlaw must have known it, to have reached here before us, riding as
we have, for, remember, it is just twenty-four hours since we left
the fort, and we have come a little over a hundred miles.”
“Very true; we have done our duty, but in vain, for my daughter is
still in that man’s power, and has been carried on to the Indian camp
in the mountains.”
“I fear so.”
“What can we do now?”
“I’ll tell you.
“We came here on foot, so have left no trail. We will go to the lower
ravine and join the boys, then draw off for a camp, for horses and
men must rest.”
“True.”
“We passed a spot some distance back that will make a splendid camp,
back from the river, and where the fires cannot be seen by the
Indians, who must still be guarding the fords.”
“Yes.”
“Now to see if this trail was made by the same party, for I took
notice of peculiarities I can readily discover, as there were two
shod horses, and large animals, the others being ponies.”
“That means the outlaw’s two horses and the ponies of the Indian
allies.”
“Just that,” and the two began to examine the trail.
“Yes, here are the tracks of the two iron-shod horses, Mr. Cody.”
“There are more shod horses--six more, sergeant--and that means----”
“The six horses of the stagecoach,” quickly interrupted the sergeant.
“Just that.”
“That tells the story, then, for the other tracks agree. It is
growing dark, so let us hurry back and make a camp for the tired men.”
They walked rapidly back down the river bank, joined the two scouts
awaiting them, and told the sad story to them that they were too late!
Mounting their horses, they rode back in the gathering twilight for
a mile, when they met the other two scouts, who had dropped back on
account of their horses.
They had halted just where the scout intended to make the night camp,
and, seeing that the place was thoroughly sheltered, they began to
build fires.
Just as the fires began to burn well, the command came in sight, and
the tired horses gained courage and hastened on.
They were soon all there, the stragglers dropping in one by one, and
a sadness fell upon all as they heard the ill-omened words: “Too
late!”
Lieutenant Worth listened, with stern face and flashing eyes.
Then he said:
“Our first duty is to care for our worn-out cattle.
“Then we will have supper, and, afterward, hold a council of war,
Bill, and decide what must be done, for Miss Fallon shall be rescued;
yes, and that villain, Lamar, must be hanged.
“Those two duties must and shall be done!”