BLACK BILL’S PRISONER.
As Black Bill came on down the valley, the scouts wished to go out to
meet him, to greet him with a cheer.
But this Buffalo Bill would not allow.
“We do not yet know who may have been left in the camp, pards.”
Upon second thought, this was considered the wisest plan, and they
kept in their place of concealment and waited.
Down the valley in silence walked the guide, and at last reached
the camp. He disappeared behind the little thicket of pines, then
reappeared, and, walking to a grazing pony, slung his lariat.
The animal was cleanly caught and led back to the thicket.
Then some minutes passed away, and once more the negro reappeared.
He was leading the pony, and upon the animal, supported by several
saddles and blankets and tied there with lariats, was an Indian brave.
That he was badly wounded the scouts could see at that distance. The
head of the pony was checked up, so that he could not feed, and then
he was led to the trail and started up the valley on the trail of the
Indian village and the braves who had stampeded.
Until the pony disappeared from sight around the bend the giant negro
stood watching him. Then he turned back to the deserted camp and
disappeared in the thicket.
Still Buffalo Bill did not allow the scouts to show themselves.
After another long wait, the negro reappeared, and, looking toward
the cañon, he beckoned several times. “Now, pards, we’ll go.”
With this, Buffalo Bill led the way, and they walked rapidly toward
the Indian camp, Black Bill having returned to the thicket.
When Buffalo Bill and his men reached the camp, they beheld a strange
scene.
The redskins had deserted everything. But that was not all, for they
had left the badly wounded Indian Black Bill had sent off, and two
dead comrades, the latter having evidently just died of their wounds.
And they had left still more, for, lying in the pine thicket was a
prisoner.
It was a white man. He was securely bound, painfully so, and, as
the scouts rode up, they saw Black Bill kneeling by his side and
unfastening the thongs that were about his hands and feet, which were
much swollen.
A glad cry broke from the lips of Buffalo Bill as he advanced toward
the prisoner.
It was Don Miller, a gold hunter the scout knew well.
“Ah, Miller, I am glad indeed to see you, and I have found it hard to
believe you dead,” said the chief, “as I heard you were.”
“Only half dead, Cody; but you have saved me.”
“And glad we are to do so.”
“All the rest were killed--I am the last of my band of hunters.”
“Yes, and the man I would have risked much to save, for I have not
forgotten what I owe you, Miller. Scouts, this is my friend, a
gold-boomer captain, Don Miller.”
The men pressed about him and grasped his swollen hands, which Black
Bill had released.
Turning to the negro guide, Buffalo Bill said:
“Well, Bill, you have kept your word and frightened the redskins into
fits, so I know now surely that there is virtue in what you have
asserted about black spirits being a terror to the Indians of this
Big Horn country.”
“Yes, sah, dey runs like de debbil when dey sees a nigger. I done
tell dis gemman here so. But, Massa Bill, we must git out of here
right quick, for dem Injuns will come right back after dere prisoner
in a short time.”
This was decided upon at once, and preparations to start were begun.
“Yer see, sah, we must not disturb de camp ’ceptin’ de gemman and de
gold, and as I hab sent off dat wounded Injun he’ll tell ’em about me.
“I didn’t open my mouth to him, was still as death, but jist took him
up, put him on a pony, and tied him on all right. Then I started him
off. He think I am de black evil speeret of de Big Horn, and when dey
come back dey’ll find I has let de prisoner go, and what I hab done
wid de gold dey won’t care.”
“Black Bill, you have got a very level head. It is just what we will
do. Come, boys! We must carry Mr. Miller and the gold, too.”
“I’ll divide the gold, pards, for saving me as you did,” said Don
Miller.
“If you can find a man in my band who would touch a dollar’s worth
of it for a service to you I wouldn’t have him with me five minutes
after I knew it,” said Buffalo Bill, somewhat hotly, and the men
joined heartily in their chief’s opinion.
A quarter of an hour after their arrival in camp the scouts started
off, with Buffalo Bill in the lead.
The Indian camp was left just as it was found, with the exception of
the gold and the rescued prisoner.
The gold boomer’s horse and the ponies were left grazing near the
dead redskins, where they had been placed by their comrades, and
there was nothing to reveal that other than the supposed “evil
spirit,” a black ghost, had been there.
The superstitious dread of the Indians all knew would allow them to
believe that the evil spirit had been angry with them for taking the
paleface.
The scouts turned toward the base of the mountains and went along the
range.
Mile after mile they held on until a stream was come to, flowing out
of a cañon, a march of fully a dozen miles had been made, and in a
secure spot Buffalo Bill encamped his men.
Then the swollen limbs of the rescued prisoner were bathed, arnica
put on them, and a good meal cooked for all to enjoy, for Buffalo
Bill saw that a bend in the range would completely hide the smoke
from the Indians up the valley.
It was a good place, too, where the gold could be hidden, for Don
Miller proudly said there was not a man in the party but whom he
would trust with the secret.
If the people of the valley were found, the retreat would be up the
Big Horn to that point, at least, whether they were making for Fort
Aspen or Fort Fetterman, and the gold could be taken up and carried
along or a special expedition made for it.
So the gold, in bright, glittering particles, from the size of a
pinhead to an acorn, and nuggets as large as a hen’s egg, were packed
more closely and hidden in a crevice in the cliff overhanging the
cañon.
The march was not resumed that day, for Buffalo Bill wished to see
whether the Indians did follow, and, if so, that was a splendid place
for a stand, if as “black spirits” the scouts could not frighten them
off, and had consequently a fight on their hands.
The next morning, as not an Indian had been seen, the party took up
the march.
Don Miller expressed himself as feeling much better, and said that he
would be all right soon.
On his account it was slow traveling, but Buffalo Bill felt that he
owed his life to the gold-boomer captain, and could not do too much
for him, and the men had the same feeling toward him for what he had
done for their chief.
Thus another day passed, and Buffalo Bill knew that they had got well
up toward the Big Horn Mountains, and if the people of the valley
lived they could not be so very far from where the camp then was.