THE HACIENDA.
After an uneventful journey, Buffalo Bill rode up to the little inn
where he had before halted, and was greeted by the same Mexican
landlord, whom he had not particularly fancied.
Speaking English well, the landlord recognized the handsome scout,
and said in a way that was meant to be hospitable, but which was full
of curiosity:
“Ah, señor, you again come this way--is your stay to be short, as
before?”
“On the contrary, Señor Riel, I am here to stay.”
“Ah, señor! you like the Silver Lake Valley, then?”
“Very much.”
“You are a gambler, perhaps, señor, or you have no business?”
“Oh, no, I am a ranchero, and have come to settle down the valley,
near the lake.”
“You amaze me, señor, for there is no ranch to sell there.”
“There is one unoccupied, and may be for sale. I shall take
possession of it, herd my cattle in the surrounding country, and,
when the owner appears, will pay him what is just. Now, tell me,
Señor Riel, if the padre is at home---- Oh, I see him there now,” and
Buffalo Bill walked rapidly away to where a small, dark-faced man
was standing, dressed as a Mexican priest.
“The Padre Juan, I believe?” he asked politely.
“Yes, my son, but I know you not.”
“No; I am an American, and once passing through this valley, decided
to find a home here. I called upon you, but you were away from home,
and I have just arrived to settle here.”
“How can I serve you, señor?”
“I have some miles away my cattle and horses, and my destination is
the old deserted hacienda down the valley on the lake. I would ask
you if you can place me in communication with the owner?”
“I cannot, my son, for the one who fell heir to that truly accursed
place is a stranger, and was never here. It is a blot upon the
valley, and will be a home of ill omen should you dwell there, which
Heaven forbid.”
“I thank you, padre, but my men and cattle are near, and to-morrow
night I will take possession of the ill-omened place, as you call it,
with the pledge to you to pay what is right for its use. As we are
all men, we need but little household furniture, and that I can buy
at your stores here in Silver Lake City.”
“But, my son, let me tell you that this whole valley is under a
curse, and if you remain here, especially within that dreary hacienda
with its record of death, you but become another upon whom suffering
must fall.”
“I will take all chances, padre, and as the deserted hacienda is to
be my home, let me say that I will be happy to entertain you there
whenever you pass that way.”
“Thank you, señor, thank you, but only in case duty called me would I
cross the threshold of that house, for it is haunted by the crudest
of memories, if not worse. I wish you well, señor, but I have warned
you--it was my duty.”
Returning to the landlord of the little adobe tavern, Buffalo Bill
told him that he wished to make some purchases, and to get a wagon to
take them to the deserted hacienda.
“You will go there, then, señor?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You do not heed the warnings, then?”
“I am not superstitious, and so warnings of imaginary evils have no
dread for me; but, if warned of a real danger, I heed, as I flatter
myself that I am no fool.”
The landlord shook his head; and then said he would furnish the means
of transportation for what the señor cared to purchase, and he would
take him to the best places at which to buy them.
The purchases were soon made, loaded in a wagon, and started upon the
way for the hacienda, the scout, after having dinner at the tavern,
starting on after the men, for they were already well on their way
to the new home of Buffalo Bill in the mysterious valley.
The wagon was soon overtaken, and afterward the herd, and Buffalo
Bill said:
“We now camp, pards, and to-morrow early we go into our home.”
The night halt was made, an early start followed the next morning,
and before noon the cattle were halted upon the rich meadowland on
either side the lake, several scouts left to guard them, while the
rest rode on after their chief, who had gone on ahead to the hacienda.
“If that is not an owl’s roost I’m mistaken,” said one.
“It may be an outlaws’ retreat.”
“The place may be haunted.”
Some laughed, some did not, others looked grave, and said nothing.
The superstitions of a few had been aroused.
But into the walled-in plaza rode the scouts, followed by the wagon,
and there stood Buffalo Bill, but his left sleeve was stained with
blood, his face had a bruise upon it, and he had the appearance of
one who had been in a terrible struggle.
“Boys,” he said calmly, “make yourselves at home, for I am master
here.”
Telling Texas Jack where to halt the cattle and horses, to have a
guard of several men over them, and then come on with the others and
the wagon and animals.
The chief of scouts had cantered on alone to the hacienda.
As he approached it, he saw that all appeared there as he had left it
a month before.
To him it looked as though no one had visited the place, and he saw
not even a skulking coyote. This put him on his guard, for he knew
that when he had visited the place first many coyotes had run out.
Now, having found none about, he at once concluded that some one
had been there within the last few minutes. So he was on his guard.
Leaving his horse in the grounds, he entered the hacienda.
It was a large structure, one story in height, built of adobe, and in
the center was a square towerlike structure, with a top that looked
very much as though the whole space within the walls, several acres
in area, could be swept by even revolvers in the hands of persons
stationed there on the tower roof. In the rear was a lofty cliff. It
commanded, too, a wide range with rifles, and that it was intended
for a stronghold there was no doubt in the scout’s mind.
There were about thirty rooms in the building, some furnished with
chairs and bedsteads, but of all else the place had been swept clean.
Selecting the rooms that were to be their quarters, and being glad
to see that the place within the walls would readily hold all their
horses and cattle in an emergency when the entrance was repaired,
Buffalo Bill was passing out through a long and dimly lighted
corridor, when he beheld before him what appeared to be two diamonds
glittering in the half darkness.
But he was not deceived, he had seen just such balls of fire often
before in his eventful life, and he was as quick as a flash in
dropping his hand upon a weapon in his belt.
It was his knife, and he had just time to draw it and raise the
point, when, with a savage growl there sprang upon him a huge
mountain lion.
The weight of the animal hurled Buffalo Bill backward, and he fell
against the rough wall with considerable force, bruising his face
badly, while he also felt the teeth of the mad animal buried in his
arm.
But he had got his knife on guard, and the long, sharp blade had cut
into the heart of the lion, the force of the spring driving it to the
hilt.
Half dazed by the fall against the wall and the blow of the huge body
against him, Buffalo Bill yet recognized that he must cut, and once
more he drove his knife deep into the shaggy hide.
But to his joy he recognized that there was no need of his doing
more, for the animal upon him was a dead weight, the first knife
thrust had entered his heart, and the teeth that had been driven into
the scout’s arm had not been closed upon it, for the mountain lion
had sprung to a quick and sudden death, the keen blade catching, by
an accident, just in the right spot to kill.
Throwing off the weight, Buffalo Bill arose to his feet.
Was it from the concussion that he had received that made strange
figures appear before his eyes, or did he really behold a ghostly
form, clad in white, at the end of the long, dark corridor, one arm
pointing straight outward, the other down at the ground.
“I’ll tackle you, too, for ghosts are more to my liking than mountain
lions,” said Buffalo Bill grimly, and he rubbed his eyes to see that
they were not deceiving him, and, drawing his revolver now he rushed
forward to grapple with this new foe.
But then, as he felt that it was no vision of the brain, but in
reality a ghostly looking form, not fifty feet from him, he halted
and called out in a voice that echoed through the corridor:
“Hands up, there, or I’ll fire and kill you!”
But the order was not obeyed, the form still standing mute and
motionless, and pointing as before.
Instantly came a red flash from the scout’s revolver, and a sharp
report rang through the hacienda.