CHAPTER LV.A STARTLING REVELATION.
In that motte, there on the wild plain, few cared to seek sleep, with the dead and wounded everywhere around them. General Canton and his officers still sat around the camp fire, though midnight had come and gone.
Presently the sound of rapidly advancing hoofbeats was heard, the sentinel challenged, and the answer came in the stern, deep voice of the scout.
The next instant he dashed up to the fire, accompanied by the negro, Buttermilk, the servant of Ricardo.
Another man was with him, and this man was none other than Alfred Carter, who had followed on, hoping to be in the fight against the outlaws. Alfred Carter was wild in his rage against Ricardo and the outlaws.
“Thank God! you have come, Cody. We feared danger had befallen you,” cried the general.
“No, sir; I took the trail of this negro, and I caught him. Where is the body of Ricardo?”
“Lying where he fell, I suppose.”
Walking hastily away into the timber, the scout soon hailed:
“Send me a few men; the chief is not dead.”
A few minutes more, and half a dozen troopers approached the fire, bearing between them the wounded form of Ricardo, the chief of the Brotherhood.
“Gently, men, gently; do you not hear his groans,and he is no man to cry out at trifles. Lay him there,” said Buffalo Bill, and around the wounded chieftain gathered General Canton, the scout, Captain la Clyde, the negro Buttermilk, Alfred Carter, and several others.
“Ricardo Carter, for that is your real name, do you know that you are dying?” suddenly asked Alfred Carter, in an earnest tone.
“Yes, my sands of life are ebbing out rapidly; but who are you that calls my name—a name that has been dead to sound for long, long years?” replied the chief, speaking with difficulty.
“I will tell you, and you must say whether I speak true or not.”
“I am listening; hasten, for death keeps back at the bidding of no man.”
After a moment’s silence Alfred Carter began speaking in a low but distinct voice, plainly heard by all.
“Nearly thirty years ago there were two brothers, sons of wealthy parents, living on the Missouri River. One of these brothers, in his eighteenth year, left his home to serve in the army of his country.”
Ricardo started up, staring; then, it seemed, for the first time he recognized in this man one whom he had known before.
As he made this discovery he fell back with a cry of terror, but still continued to stare into the face of the man before him.
“You set out to be an honest soldier, Ricardo, but, dismissed from the service, you leagued with robbers, roaming over the Western and Southwestern plains for years, until at length you became the leader ofthe Branded Brotherhood. Have I truly told your life, Ricardo?”
“You know all,” sadly replied the chief, “and you are my brother! And I would have killed you. How did you discover me?”
“Through some papers you were foolish enough to leave in the place where I was held a prisoner. Yes, I am your own brother, Ricardo; yet you killed my wife and son, let your fiends hold me a prisoner and carried my daughter away a captive. Now you are a prisoner, and you have received your death wound, yet I am sorry for you, for you are still my brother.”
The scout, pained by this interview, had walked away from the camp fire, and only the groans of the chief broke the silence, but whether Ricardo groaned most from pain of body or mind none knew, for he never spoke again, and with his head supported in the arms of the negro Buttermilk, who had so faithfully followed his master’s evil fortunes, his breath grew shorter and more labored, until, with a curse half uttered upon his lips, Ricardo, the chief of the Branded Brotherhood, was dead.
When the scout left the camp fire he mounted Midnight and rode away across the prairie. Shortly after sunrise he beheld a horseman approaching, and upon a nearer view discovered him to be none other than Howard Lawrence.
When Buffalo Bill recognized the horseman he put Midnight into a rapid gallop and started toward him.
Whether it was a guilty conscience of intending wrong to the scout, or fear, we cannot tell, but Howard Lawrence instantly turned to fly.
The scout at once urged his horse forward in pursuit.
Across the rolling prairie Howard Lawrence urged his steed, and, heading for a piece of timber, soon disappeared in its leafy recesses.
“Ha, he has taken cover and intends to fight me! So be it,” said the scout.
The next instant a look of disappointment was upon his face, for he saw the fugitive dart out on the other side of the motte and continue on across the prairie.
The next moment Midnight had reached the timber and was circling around it, when, suddenly, a shrill call was heard, and, glancing into the thicket, Buffalo Bill beheld the Red Bud of the Forest just preparing to mount Fer white mare, which stood near.
Instantly he wheeled alongside of the Indian girl, and in surprise asked:
“What does the Red Bud here alone?”
“She came to seek the great white scout. Yonder goes the enemy of the noble scout, the man who taught the Rose of the Pawnees to love him—the Man of Many Faces.”
“Yes, I am now on his trail, Red Bud, for I would take his life, for did he not try to destroy the Pawnee maiden, and was she not ever kind to me when I lay sick and wounded in her father’s wigwam? The scout has a heart and has not forgotten. But why did you seek me?”
“The Red Bud came to warn the great scout that Many Faces was his enemy who would strike him in the back, for Red Bud heard the words of the wicked man and the warrior from the great fort.”
“Ha! that must have been Major Belden.”
“The great scout speaks straight; the two wicked braves were to kill the great white scout, and the Many Faces was to make one of the paleface maidens his squaw.”
“This is news, Red Bud, and I thank you for it. Now I must be off after yonder running hound. Come!”
Away darted Midnight, and close behind followed the steed of Red Bud.
But gradually the trained and swift horse began to draw away from his less fleet companion, and once more, with tremendous strides, he was drawing nearer the magnificent animal ridden by Howard Lawrence.
Thus an hour passed, and Midnight was not a hundred feet behind the fugitive, while two miles distant upon the prairie came Red Bud, urging her white mare forward at the top of her speed.
With his repeating rifle Buffalo Bill could have brought down both horse and rider, but he cared not to do either, as that would have ended the affair too soon.
A few more tremendous bounds, and Howard Lawrence saw his pursuer almost upon him. Drawing his pistol, he opened a rapid but harmless fire.
Instantly Buffalo Bill seized his lasso, which hung at his saddle bow, and which he could throw with wondrous skill. It made a sweep around his head. With a cry of horror, Howard Lawrence saw it coming and endeavored to dodge the fatal noose.
Too late! Like a lightning flash it settled around him, and lie was jerked violently from his saddle.
Instantly Buffalo Bill dismounted, and, loosening the lariat from around his enemy’s waist, bade him arise.
“What means this, sir?” sternly asked Howard Lawrence as he slowly arose to his feet.
“It means, sir, that I have pursued you, and now have captured you.”
“And why, may I ask?”
“Because of the wrong you have done that poor Indian girl. Once, when I was sick in her father’s village, she nursed me back to health, and for that, though she is an Indian, I regard her almost as if she were my own sister. You have ruined her life, you base scoundrel and villain!”
“Is that all?” the young man asked, with a sneer.
“I know, also, that you are the son of the bandit chief, Ricardo, who is now dead.”
A flush stole over the pale face of Howard Lawrence, and he was silent.
“Whether you know that Ricardo, the chief of the Branded Brotherhood, was your father,” said the scout, “or whether you are ignorant of it, I am not assured, but such is the case, and you are a fit son for such a father, for under numerous disguises you have led a most villainous life.
“You have brought ruin and death upon more than one household, and were plotting the ruin of Rose Carter, and also Sibyl Conrad, after having won the affection of yonder beautiful Indian girl, only in the end to tire of her, after she had given up all for you, and cruelly desert her to her fate.”
The scout turned and pointed toward Red Bud, who at that moment rode up, and in silence gazed upon the two.
“You have, then, become the champion of all theredskin and paleface girls on the border?” sneeringly replied Howard Lawrence.
Casting aside the noose, young Lawrence flashed out a knife and attacked the scout with great fury. But Buffalo Bill met him with steel, and the blades flashed in the sunlight like a circle of fire.
Both were men of splendid physique, and were noted for their strength, agility, and courage, and therefore the duel between them was one of deadly ferocity.
For many long moments in breathless suspense Red Bud of the Forest, the poor, trusting, loving, but deserted squaw, watched the terrible encounter.
Then her eyes gleamed with joy as she saw Buffalo Bill spring within the guard of his enemy and once, twice, thrice drive his gleaming blade into his bosom.
With a half-uttered cry, Howard Lawrence sank to the ground, a dead man.
“Well, Red Bud, he will do no more harm. But I hated to do it. It was his life or mine.”
“Many Faces gone to happy hunting grounds. Stranger scout is great brave, big chief.”
The scout looked at her kindly.
“Now let Red Bud of the Forest return and sing in her native wigwam, where her people dwell around her; the stranger scout will always think kindly of the Pawnee maiden.”
“The great scout has spoken,” she answered, “and Red Bud will return to the village of her people.”
Sadly the lonely Indian maiden turned away, and before the scout could prevent bounded upon her horse, and the next moment was flying across the prairie.
“It is better thus. Now I must bury this body, foreven my enemy I cannot leave for the wolf to tear in pieces.”
Thus saying, with his knife the scout dug a grave in the soft soil, and, taking the body, placed it within the narrow resting place, which was soon filled up with earth.
Mounting his horse and leading the steed of his late enemy, Buffalo Bill then set off across the prairie, just as the sun was sinking from sight beyond the distant horizon.