CHAPTER VII.A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
The three pards passed Juniper Joe’s cabin on foot. Though they attracted some attention as they went along, they were not followed. It had been heralded over Blossom Range that Juniper Joe’s cabin had been robbed in the night, and he and his wife injured. As a consequence, sensation lovers and the overcurious were prowling around in numbers in the vicinity of the cabin. But it was closed.
The scout and his pard avoided these people; and on the hills beyond the cabin proceeded to lose themselves to view, in the brush and trees.
They had deviated several points from a direct line to the spot named by the baron, until they were out of sight; then the baron straightened away for their destination, leading rapidly.
When they reached the place where he had been shot, they found proofs of the truth of his story. The hole where the gold had been placed, then removed, had been but partly filled in. The spot where the baron had fallen when the bullet struck him could also be seen. He pointed it out with trembling pride.
“Himmel! Vhen I am shot it seemed dot der dop uff my headt vly off; unt dhen I ditn’t knowed noddings votsoefer.”
“I reckon he took his crack at ye, Schnitz, frum behind thet bush over thar,” commented the trapper, lookinground narrowly. “Et’s a good thing fer ye thet et’s all o’ twenty yards to thet bush; ef’t had been nearer he’d a hogged ye. Pistols allus shoot high at a leetle distance; which is why ye got his lead on ther top o’ yer head, instid o’ right through et. Funny he didn’t think o’ thet, an’ make a clost enough examination ter find out.”
“I am guessing dot he vos in a hurry,” said the baron. “He vandted to make a gitavay kvick, as somepoty mighdt haf heard him.”
“Schnitzenhauser is probably right about that,” Buffalo Bill agreed. “The rascal couldn’t tell but that the shot would be heard, and bring some one; and it’s a safe gamble that he wouldn’t want to be seen here.”
“Oh, he toughdt I vos deadt, all righdt, unt so dit I; aber I ditn’t knowed eenyt’ings apoudt idt. Vhen I gome to mineselluf pack, I haf a headaches vot you readt apoudt, I pet you. Ach! Idt shoombs yidt, yoost like a grasshobber kicking py der insite uff my heat.”
Buffalo Bill gave the German a sharp look, observing that his florid face was a bit less highly colored than usual.
“I don’t know but you ought to be at the hotel in bed, baron,” he suggested.
“Neffer!” cried the undaunted German. “I aind’t gifing oop undil ve findt dhis veller. Cody, you unt Nomad ar-re as goodt as Inchuns vor drailing; see uff you gan findt der willain’s dracks.”
They began the search; but the ground was like flint, and they accomplished nothing near the cache.
When they picked up footprints, they were at somedistance, but in the direction of the flight of the man who had shot the baron.
“Ah!” said the scout. “Here he goes!”
“Waugh! K’rect ye air, Buffler. Now we’ll hang to ’em. Seems thet he was p’inted out into the hills.”
“I pedt you,” whispered the baron, staring round as if he expected to see Jackson Dane start up out of the brush, “he vos going furdher on, to pury dose puckskin pags ag’in. You see, he iss disdurped py me, unt gan’t hidt dhem here no more; so he iss loogking vor anodder blace.”
It was a very reasonable supposition.
In this opinion, they began to follow the tracks; though even there the trailing was far from easy. The baron acknowledged that he was not enough of a “hoondting tog” to do anything with a trail so dim; but the scout and trapper were as keen-eyed and experienced as Indians, and they went along fast enough.
When they had gone half a mile, covering the ground slowly, they came to what seemed to be another cache.
It was in a sandy place. All round it the sand had been smoothed down—a bush having been drawn over it; so that whatever footprints had been made were wiped out. Even the “cache” had been covered in that manner; but as a good deal of sand had been taken out in digging the hole, all of which could not be put back when the hole was filled in, a slight mound was the result.
The scout and his pards inspected this mound, and the apparent work of track-hiding round it, before they ventured up to it; for they could not be certain that the man who had done the work was not somewhere near, in hiding.
To make sure on this point, they cautiously skirted round the place.
But no human presence was discovered.
Then they came up to the “cache.”
The baron was now much excited; he believed the gold-nugget bags he had seen were buried anew at that spot. Buffalo Bill and Nomad drew their sheath knives and attacked the sand, which, when loosened, they were able to draw out with their hands.
They went down rapidly; but the hole was much deeper than they anticipated.
“Gone down ter Chiny, he did,” grumbled the trapper, “ter make shore thet ther stuff would be safe.”
When they got down near the bottom of the hole, which, after all, was not so very deep, instead of striking against buckskin bags, their knives struck clothing.
“Waugh!” Nomad gurgled in his surprise. “He’s wrapped ther thing up in his coat, I reckon.”
Buffalo Bill began to heave out the sand in great handfuls; when it was discovered thatthe coat hid a body.
The old trapper flung himself out of the grave—for that is what it was—with a snort.
“I’m jiggered ef thet don’t give me ther creeps!” he cried. “Waugh! Cody, there’s a dead man in thar.”
The baron was also tremendously excited.
Buffalo Bill continued to excavate quietly, but hurriedly; and soon revealed a man’s arm.
“I’ll have your help here, Nomad,” he said.
“Br-r-r! I’m er Piegan, Buffler, ef thet don’t give me ther creeps.”
“I am in der same fixings,” said the baron, jumping about. “Ach! A deadt mans! Vot iss der meanness?”
But Nomad sprang down to the aid of the scout; when together they pulled the body out of the sand. It had been doubled and crumpled up in the hole, was fully dressed, and the sand had been simply pushed in on it and trampled down.
Even Buffalo Bill gasped in surprise when the face of the dead man was seen.
For it was the face of Jackson Dane!
“Waugh! Er, waugh!” Nomad was whooping. “I’m er Piegan, ef——”
“Well, it knocks all our theories on the head,” said the scout, breaking in on Nomad’s war-dance accompaniment.
“Idt iss make me veel like I am grazy!” cried the baron, staring goggle-eyed.
The dead man, having been lifted out of the hole, was laid gently on the ground.
Then it was seen that Dane had been shot through the body.
“Probably killed instantly,” was the scout’s conclusion, when he saw the character of the wound. “Nomad, you’d better pike back to town and send officers out to take charge of this. It will be impossible to keep the thing still, I suppose; and I don’t know that there is really any need of it.”
“Who kilt him?” cried the baron. “He couldn’t haf shoodted himselluf unt also puriet himselluf!”
“That’s a fool idea, Schnitz!” the trapper snorted.
“I knowed it iss. But uff he gone here py himselluf—— Vale, somepoty exblanadion idt to me.”
“Apparently, unless we are all off in our guesses, he came out here to bury the stuff the baron saw him have,” suggested the scout; “then some one, seeing him with it,shot him, got away with the gold, and hid the body here.”
Instead of starting off to town, Nomad began to circle round, to see what he could discover.
In a few seconds he let out a cry.
“Hyer’s er trail, Buffler!”
When the scout examined it, he found tracks somewhat larger than those they had been following. They plunged into some bushes off on the right, went on a few yards, then swung round in the direction of Blossom Range.
“Hikin’ back fer home,hewas!” said the trapper. “What does yer make o’ thet, Buffler?”
“The tracks of the murderer, without a doubt. After he covered up the grave, he was in too big a hurry to thoroughly hide his tracks here; though you can see that he was trying to step softly. If he doesn’t take to rocky land, we can probably follow this until the streets of the town are at least reached. He is back there by this time, of course, if he went right along; and there can be no trailing of him in the streets.”
“Somebody might ’a’ seen him, though, when he went inter the town,” Nomad suggested. “You stay right hyar with ther baron, by ther body. I’ll foller these tracks, on my way ter town, and see ef I kin make anything of ’em. You’ll find me back hyar ’fore ye know et.”
The wiry old trapper set off at a sharp jog trot, following the trail of the supposed murderer; and was soon out of sight.
The German, still weak from his wound, though excitement now flushed his face, dropped down on the sand afew yards from the body. Buffalo Bill placed his handkerchief over the face of the dead man; then took a seat beside the baron.
“Vale, vot do you make uff idt?” the baron asked.
“What doyoumake of it?”
“Noddings. I am as mixed oop as a cotton pall vot der pussy cats haf peen blaying mit.”
He breathed heavily.
“You see how idt iss. Ve manufacdure der t’eory dot Shackson Dane he has gone to der capin uff Yuniper Yoe unt ropped him, unt dot he vos oudt here drying to hide der goldt he got py doing so-o. Dot may sdill pe der troot’. Yidt der t’ought vot game py me, vhen I seen der poty, iss dot Yuniper Yoe haf follered him unt kilt him; budt idt tond’t holdt vater. Vor you see, Yuniper Yoe he gand’t pe here unt at der same dime at der capin daking care uff his voundedt vifes. So-o.”
He puffed out his cheeks, and his eyes stared, as he struggled with this knotty problem.
“Unt uff Shackson Dane he iss Dim Penson, unt—Ach! I gif idt oop! You say somedings.”
“Jackson Dane, or Tim Benson; the fellow is dead.”
“Dot iss too blain to sbeak apoudt.”
“And he said that Juniper Joe would kill him on sight.”
“Yaw.”
“Is there any one else he would have been afraid of?”
The German jumped as if a bee had stung him.
“What is it?”
“An itea haf hidt me.”
“Out with it, then.”
“You rememper dot vomans py der Casino in?”
“Vera Bright?”
“Der same. Dhey vas kvarreling vhen on der sdairs at der Casino, yoost pefore he gome avay.”
“But you didn’t see her follow him.”
“I tidn’t. Budt iss idt a sign dot she ton’t? She mighdt haf; and she mighdt haf done dhis shooding here.”
“What about those big tracks Nomad is following? They were not made by a woman.”
The baron jumped up and began to circle round the sandy spot, going farther and farther out, like a dog trying to pick up a lost scent.
At last he whooped a discovery.
“Idt vos der vomans, shure!” he howled, as Buffalo Bill hurried to him. “See der dracks uff dhem liddle shoon.”
The tracks which the baron had discovered were small, as if they had been made by a woman. In their haste, the scout and Nomad had overlooked them, or rather had not searched long enough to find them, after discovering the larger tracks.
“Idt iss a skinch dot idt iss der vomans!” said the baron, his face shining. “Vot you t’ink?”
The scout was following the tracks.
They led off in a direction opposite to those taken by the larger tracks; but circled after a while, and also turned toward the town.
“Vale, vot do you t’ink uff idt?” cried the baron.
They continued to follow the tracks, which led them on toward the town.
But they had gone but a few hundred yards when arifle cracked, and a bullet sped with a whining sound past the scout’s head.
He ducked and fell flat.
“Down!” he urged.
“You are hidt?” the baron squawked, as he also dropped to the ground.
“No; but that came within an inch of me.”
“Py yiminy, dhis iss some excidemendts vot you readt apoudt!”
“You are getting your full share to-day, baron.”
“I pet you!”
They stopped talking, to listen; but they heard nothing.
“Iss he caming?” the baron whispered.
“I think not; I don’t hear anything.”
“Who vos idt?”
“Ask me something easy.”
“He shodt at you?”
“Well, it seemed like it, didn’t it?”
The baron began to crawl off.
“Whereaway?”
“I’m going to loogk vor dot willain.”
“He may be waiting for us to show ourselves; it seems likely.”
In spite of this, the reckless German crept off to a slight knoll, where, in the midst of bushes, he lifted his head, with his hat off, and took a look.
“Better keep your hat on,” the scout warned; “that bandage on your head makes you conspicuous.”
The baron ducked down with a “yeep.”
“Did you see him?” Buffalo Bill asked.
“No; but I ditn’t vanted him to seen me!”
After listening some time longer, the scout joined thebaron; but though they looked about as well as they could, they saw no one.
“He thought he killed me, and let it go at that; or he feared that he didn’t, and that I would get him if he came on. One guess is as good as another.”
“I gan make a guesses dot peadts all uff dhem: I guess dot ve tond’t knowed noddings apoudt idt.”
While they were talking in low tones, they heard a crashing among the brush, but in the direction of the town.
“Vot?” the German gasped.
But the next moment they knew that the sound was made by the men whom the trapper had secured from Blossom Range.
When they came in sight they were seen to be excited citizens, half a dozen in number, accompanying an officer and the coroner, bearing with them a stretcher for the body.
The baron leaped to his feet and swung his hat to direct them; but did not call.
“Petter loogk oudt!” he cautioned, as they came near.
“Who was that shootin’?” Nomad demanded. “We heard a rifle off hyar. Been shootin’ at somebody?”
“Somepoty has peen shoodting at us!” the baron informed him.
“Great gallinipers! Who was et?”
“I vish dot you vouldt toldt me. Der pullet idt seems vos vor Cody; but it ditn’t git him.”
“Couldn’t er been ther feller thet killed Dane?” said Nomad.
“Ve tond’t know who idt vos.”
The scout arose and greeted the officers and citizens.
“We have found other tracks here,” he said, pointing off to the right, where the tracks were to be seen.
Nomad and some of the men ran over there.
“Tracks of a woman!” cried the trapper.
“So we thought.”
“Whar’d they come frum?”
“Near the point where the body was buried,” the scout told him.
“And goin’ toward town?”
“Yes.”
“Then thet woman must er been with ther man what downed Dane.”
“It would seem so. Gentlemen, we can show you where the body lies now,” said the scout, “if you will follow us.”
“Petter loogk oudt vor der man mit der gun!” the baron warned.
But apparently the man with the gun had vanished; for when they set out for the spot where the body had been left, they did not see or hear him.
But still another surprise awaited them, as stunning almost as the first. On reaching the spot where it had been left, the body itself had disappeared.
“Whar’d yer put et?” Nomad asked, puzzled.
The baron and the scout were staring dumfounded at the place where the body had last been seen.
“Idt iss gone!” the baron howled. “Yumpin’ yack rappits, idt iss gone!”
“It’s true, gentlemen,” the scout supplemented; “the body that we left right here has disappeared.”
The thing was astounding.
“More excitement baron!” Nomad yelped.
“Don’t I knowed idt? I am grazy mit excidemendts.”
“Yer air shore gittin’ good measure, Schnitz!” the trapper whooped.
He began to look for the trail of the man who must have borne the body away.
Tracks were found almost immediately—those of a man, whose shoes cut rather deeply into the ground, and made some impression even where the soil was hard; showing that he had borne a burden. There could be not a doubt that the burden was the body of Jackson Dane.
“Vale, I see some daylighdts,” the baron declared; “der mans vot haf done dhis iss der same vun vot haf shoodted at Cody; I am petting on idt.”
“I guess ye’re right, Schnitz,” the trapper agreed. “Now, we’ll see ef we can foller him.”
Buffalo Bill put himself at the head of the excited little party, and the chase began.