THE LOST VALLEY.
Still another day and another went by, and each night brought the
scouts farther and farther into a most beautiful country, yet one
that thus far had been most fatal to all palefaces venturing there,
lured to risk life and untold hardships and suffering in search of
the yellow dross that buys men so readily, body and soul.
Buffalo Bill once owed his life to Don Miller when he was a scout,
and liked the man; but he had given up scouting, and had gone to
lawless gold hunting in the Big Horn, and the report had come that
his whole party had been massacred; but Cody was only glad that his
friend had escaped.
Noon the next day brought them to a perfect garden spot in the Big
Horn Mountains. The springs were as clear as crystal and as cold as
ice, the trees grand, and the little valleys most inviting for a camp.
Black Bill boldly asserted that the Indians would never come there,
that they believed these mountains the abode of the evil spirits.
Buffalo Bill knew, in spite of Miller’s protestations and nerve,
that Don was not yet well, but good food, rest, and bathing in these
springs would help him; so he decided to go regularly into camp
there.
They need have no dread of Indians there, and they had left no trail
to be followed easily.
They would halt there, for the men needed the rest, and he and Black
Bill would take short searches to try and find the Lost Valley and
its mysterious people.
Several times in the last day the giant negro had halted and regarded
his surroundings in a fixed way. He seemed to be trying to recall
some feature in the landscape as though he had seen it before.
It had been two months and more since he was there before, if he had
passed that way in his wanderings, and then the trees were bright
green, in midsummer.
Now they were changing to autumn tints, and, as is well known, this
changed the whole aspect of the country.
The springs the negro had not seen, though there were people from the
Lost Valley who had been there.
“Black Bill has been near here before, I feel certain, Sergeant Buck,
and our plan is to scout about the mountains until we strike some
locality familiar to him.”
“Yes, chief, that is just it, sir.”
“We can all have a rest, and Miller is really not well yet.”
“No, sir, and it is not any wonder, when you think them red devils
had his hands tied behind him during all their retreat, and his legs
so tightly bound that the flesh was cut into.”
“Yes; but he will rally quickly here and soon will be well.
“He is a brave and noble-hearted man, if he did break the law by
invading this country as a gold boomer.”
“He is all you say of him, chief, and the boys are very much attached
to him, sir.
“Then, too, sir, he’s another strong arm and brave heart, if we get
into trouble, which I now believe we will not, as Black Bill seems to
be a terror the redskins won’t face,” said Sergeant Buck.
“But will you pick the camp?”
“Yes.”
The spot selected was all that could be wished.
Wikiups were built as a shelter, for the cold nights were coming
on, and the men made themselves most comfortable right near a large
spring.
Leaves furnished good mattresses to spread blankets upon, the
provisions were plentiful, and very little use had been made of the
ammunition, save to kill game.
As there was no game near the spring, it was decided to send several
scouts on a hunt the next day to get deer, and in the streams the
fish were plentiful.
The scouts had realized the virtue of being blacked up in that
country, and Don Miller had transferred himself also, in appearance
at least, to a negro.
Without a guard, the scouts lay down to sleep, and nothing disturbed
their slumbers.
The next morning Corporal Milk took a party hunting up the valley
with him, and Buffalo Bill and Black Bill began their real search for
the Lost Valley.
The hunters were gone all day, and when they returned to the camp at
sunset they carried very heavy loads of game of various kinds.
But the scouts who remained in the camp could give no reply as to
what had become of Buffalo Bill and the negro.
They had not put in an appearance, and it was certainly thought that
they should have done so.
“Was it any one else than the chief, I would be anxious,” said
Sergeant Buck hopefully; but all could see that he was anxious, even
though it was the chief.
Buffalo Bill had said that they would be back before night. He had
not returned. It had been his intention, they knew, to go out each
day with the negro, and in a different direction, to try and come
upon some scene Black Bill would recognize.
If he did not do so from that camp, they would move to another, and
in that time Don Miller would be as well as any of them, and they
would see what discovery could be made.
But here, the very first day of the search, the chief of the scouts
and the giant negro did not return. What could it mean?
Buffalo Bill was not the man to get lost anywhere. He could find
his way in the darkness right through an unknown country. It was a
talent with him--an instinct--and his men never feared for him, save
from an ambush from an enemy, or treachery.
There were several of the scouts who still doubted the black guide.
They could not feel the faith in him which their chief did. In spite
of the seeming honesty of the negro, they doubted him. He was an
object of mystery to them--a man to dread.
They could not believe that he had started alone to find aid, to look
up Buffalo Bill, and yet could not find his way back to the point
whence he had started. It looked strange to them. Now he had gone off
alone with the chief of scouts, and they had not returned. This to
some looked like treachery.
The scouts awaited supper for some time, and then ate it, as the
chief and the negro did not return.
The meal was, however, not enjoyed by any one.
Bedtime came, and yet what could be done? No one could go out at
night to look for the missing chief and the negro.
If nothing had happened, then Buffalo Bill would find the way to the
camp in a mountain storm.
All knew that the scout did not go without his blanket, a haversack
of food, and was prepared to spend the night anywhere he might be
overtaken.
A search of the traps of the negro showed that he had gone also
prepared for a stay, if necessary.
At last the scouts decided to retire and put the best face on the
nonreturn of the chief by saying that they had doubtless gone so far,
made some discovery, and to carry out their intention had decided to
camp where they were for the night, to be on the spot early in the
morning, rather than return to camp.
“We will start on the hunt, pards, if they are not here to
breakfast,” said Sergeant Buck.
Dawn came, but the chief and the negro had not returned.
One of those who appeared to be most anxious about the chief was Don
Miller. He wanted to go on the search.
“We will all go, and divide in twos, and if we cannot find their
trail we will go the way we think they must have gone.
“You take care of the camp, Mr. Miller, and each one of us, as he
gives up the search, will come in; only I do not wish any man to give
up until he is certain that he cannot find the chief, and must get
back here by night.
“Yes, I want every man back here in camp by night.
“You will see where we are located, and no man need get lost.
“Come right back to camp if any discovery is made; and, I tell you,
boys, we must find the chief.
“If he has been treacherously dealt with, as I see some of you
believe, then we know who did it, and we must find him.
“Now, pards, let us be off!” said Sergeant Buck.
Such was the sergeant’s speech to his comrades, and they all started
on their search.
And in the lone camp, Don Miller remained by himself, watching them
as they disappeared on different trails, and musing to himself in a
very determined way:
“Buffalo Bill must be found, dead or alive; and, if dead, he shall be
avenged!”