THE SHOT ON THE CLIFF.
The secret sleuths all seemed particularly pleased with their chief
and themselves, when they felt that they had not been turned out of
their beds by the carrying on of the “ghosts” during the night.
Those who had been most superstitious took heart also, and began to
feel that the “dead folks” were not so much to be dreaded, after all.
The guard at the entrance had reported that the cattle had shown no
restlessness, and he had neither seen nor heard anything to alarm
him, save the wild shrieks up at the hacienda.
Buffalo Bill had picked out four men to accompany him to the cliff,
when night came, to remain there on watch.
A guard was also to be stationed in the tower, one at the gate and
another at the entrance of the living wing.
In case of an alarm five more scouts were to hasten over the wall,
and, led by Lone Star, who knew the way, go to the help of those upon
the cliff.
Buffalo Bill had selected to accompany him Texas Jack, Kit Kingdon,
Rio Grande Dick, and Blue Jacket Bob, all of them splendid fellows in
a close fight.
And all were to take their rifles along.
They were to carry their blankets as well, so that all could sleep
except one who watched.
Quietly they slipped out of the gate, after dark, and, Buffalo Bill
leading the way, they went around the wall to the cliff and began the
steep climb by the aid of the trees.
It was no easy task by day, and doubly dangerous in the darkness.
But the climb was made in safety, and when the plateau was reached
the five men formed a line, and, spreading their blankets upon the
ground, lay down to watch.
Buffalo Bill had taken the center position, and he told his men that
they could go to sleep, as he would remain on guard and call them if
he had any grounds for alarm.
The men were thus stretched right across the plateau from one
cliffside to another, and about a hundred yards apart, just over the
ranch.
But though each man spread his blanket, he did not go to sleep.
All were too anxious to make some discovery that would enable them to
entrap the outlaws.
If there was an alarm, they were to rally toward their chief, and if
their foes proved too numerous they were to give a signal for help
from the hacienda, and then retreat toward the cliff overlooking it.
Midnight came and passed without any sound, and then Texas Jack, who
held the end position on the right, beheld a form in white coming
from the cliff that looked down from the range over the plateau, and
which rose several feet above it. He was instantly on the alert, and
expecting that the one he saw was not alone, he dared not yet give
the alarm.
Nearer and nearer drew the form in white, gliding quickly along,
until suddenly Texas Jack called out sharply:
“Halt! Hands up!”
There was a startled cry, a quick shot at random toward Texas Jack,
and the white form was off like a deer toward the cliff.
Seeing that he must get away, Texas Jack raised his rifle and fired
as the shadowy form was disappearing in the darkness.
Instantly all was excitement on the plateau, the scouts rallying
quickly toward Texas Jack, who had darted forward in pursuit, calling
to his comrades to follow.
Buffalo Bill was the first to reach his side, and he was bending over
a man lying upon the ground and groaning with pain.
“Stay and see what you can get out of him, Jack. Blue Jacket, run to
the cliff and give the alarm for Lone Star Sam and his party to come
in. Dick, light those lanterns and have them ready, but under cover,
and then all of you follow me.”
With these orders Buffalo Bill moved rapidly on toward the cliff, and
as quickly as possible his men followed, two of them with lanterns.
Buffalo Bill reached the cliff of the range rising above the spur,
and as the others came they stretched out along its base.
Blue Jacket Bob called out to say that Lone Star Sam and the others
were coming, and in a quarter of an hour they were on hand, and half
a dozen lanterns were following like fireflies along the wall of rock
which towered above the plateau.
But not another soul was seen, nothing was found, and the whole cliff
seemed to be nowhere scalable.
But the scouts kept up their search until the dawn, determined to see
then if there was any discovery that could be made.
Stevens, the surgeon, had been called to the wounded man, and as
Buffalo Bill went to where he lay, just as day broke, he found
the scout doctor seated by his side, Texas Jack having left the
unfortunate fellow to his care.
“Well, doc, how is he?”
“Perfectly conscious, sir, but he will utter no word.”
“His pallid face shows that death is not far off.”
“Yes, sir; I have told him that he must die, that he can live but
an hour or more, and that I could do nothing for him, though I have
tried. But the wound is mortal.” Stevens showed where the bullet had
torn its way.
Buffalo Bill knelt by the side of the dying man, who was beyond doubt
an American, for his hair was light in hue, and his eyes dark blue.
He was dressed in buckskin leggings, a blue woolen shirt, moccasins,
and a slouch hat, but, in strange contrast, about him was wrapped a
large white robe, intended to be white, though much soiled. He had
had on a belt of arms, but it had been removed by Texas Jack to make
him more comfortable.
The man’s blue eyes rested upon Buffalo Bill with a strange
expression in them.
“My poor fellow, I am sorry I can do nothing for you,” said Buffalo
Bill kindly.
The man shook his head.
“Can you not talk?”
“Yes.” The word was distinctly uttered.
“Will you not tell me if I can serve you in some way?”
Again the wounded man shook his head.
“Why were you playing ghost, for you thus brought your death upon
yourself?”
No reply.
“Have you no kindred, no friends to whom you wish to send a last
word?”
“I will leave no word.”
“But would it not be best?”
“No.”
“If you wish your friends to know of your death, upon my word I will
not tell them what you are.”
“Let me die in silence.”
“Doc, can you not give him something to relieve his sufferings?”
“He refused it--he will soon be beyond suffering.”
Just then Texas Jack approached, and as he did so Buffalo Bill said:
“Texas Jack, the poor fellow is dying, but will utter no word to
commit himself or betray his comrades.”
The blue eyes of the dying man rested upon the face of Texas Jack in
an earnest way:
“Jack Omohundro, I know you. We were boys together in far-away
Virginia. And your hand has ended my career. So be it, for I might
have met a worse death---- Ah! I see that you know me now, but do not
betray me here, nor to the people at home, who believe me dead years
ago. Give me your hand, Jack.”
Into the bright eyes of the Texan, who had witnessed many a death
scene, came tears that rolled down his bronzed cheeks, as he grasped
the hand, while he said softly:
“Yes, Ned, I know you, my boyhood friend. We never dreamed of this in
those old days. I will not betray you.”
The Texan’s form quivered with emotion, and a smile swept over the
face of the dying man.
Buffalo Bill’s fine face grew stern as death, but it was to force
back the flood of feeling that rushed upon him, and Doc Stevens
hastily drew his sleeve across his eyes.
“Jack, I will atone all I can for my evil past, I will tell you that
which will let me die easy in mind, for it will save many from sorrow
and suffering, yes, and some lives, too--listen to me while I can
talk.”
The scouts walked away, but the dying man recalled Buffalo Bill, who
had removed his broad sombrero, as Texas Jack’s fell from his bowed
head.
Bold, fearless, reckless fellows that they were, the scouts all saw
that their chief was respecting a death scene, even though it was an
outlaw that was dying. They beheld the attitude of their lieutenant,
Texas Jack, saw that his hand clasped that of the dying man, and they
bared their heads in compassion, for they knew that there was some
link that bound the two together.
Later came the last words of the dying man:
“Jack, old friend, good-by.”
All heard the words, saw the smile, and then beheld the ashen hue
deepen on the face of the dying man, as the end came.
Texas Jack folded the hands upon the breast, and wrapped the white
shroudlike robe about the form.
“He was my boyhood friend, pards, and as he asked me to keep his
secret it will die with me,” said the Texan. And to his dying day
Texas Jack never made known the identity of the outlaw.
After the body of the dead outlaw had been decently buried down in
the ranch graveyard, Texas Jack motioned to the chief of scouts, and
the two walked apart together.
“You heard his strange story?”
“Yes, Jack.”
“And who the leader of these secret foes is?”
“Yes, he is known as El Diabolo, the Cowboy King, is feared by
everybody, and is the chief of cowboys on the ranch of the girl
hermit.”
“And you will act upon the information he gave us, Bill?”
“Of course, but not too hastily, as I wish to make a clean sweep of
all the guilty ones, and have none of the innocent suffer.”
“You are wise in that; but if you could trust your friend, Señor
Otega, he might help greatly.”
“Yes, but I’ll know just who to trust before I make a move. I shall
make a visit to Silver Lake City and see how matters are there,
for I wish to see the priest, and also have a talk with Riel, the
innkeeper. In fact, I expect to go on a still hunt and be much away,
so you take full control here, and at the right time we will act and
make no mistake.”