CHAPTER XIII.PEERLESS AS A SCOUT.

CHAPTER XIII.PEERLESS AS A SCOUT.

Buffalo Bill and the troopers from Fort Thompson struck the foothills of the Sepulcher Mountains at daybreak, and were thus able to get under cover of the scrub that fringed them, and out of sight of any spies and scouts that Snaky Pete might have sent out.

It had been a hard night’s ride to accomplish this, but it was worth the exertion.

Buffalo Bill was sure that the road agents had changed their position since he saw them last. Hence, the first thing to do was to locate them in their new position.

In spite of the tremendous strain he had been under for so long, he undertook to do this himself; and he left the troopers in camp in a grassy nest within the foothills, but close up to the base of the Sepulcher range.

He rode his weary horse for a few miles, until he struck the trail made by the outlaws in their retreat. Then he left the horse well concealed, and began on foot to follow the trail. It was so fresh looking he thought the outlaws were not far ahead. However, he went so slowly in order to guard against surprise, that the afternoon was well advanced before he came in sight of the cuplike hollow where they were preparing to make their stand.

From an elevation that commanded the hollow helooked with his field glasses right down into the camp, and saw the busy preparations making to meet the troopers.

He was much worried, because he could not see old Nick Nomad. He hoped, however, that the old man was being held in one of the houses.

Once he beheld Pizen Jane, but only for a brief moment or two. She came out of a low hut, and looked about, and then went in again.

“I must know, if possible, if Nomad is there; and I wish I could do something to protect that woman when we make our charge.”

His study of the outlaw stronghold convinced him that it would be folly to attack it from either end of the pass. The barricades were strong, he saw, and he did not wish to sacrifice the lives of any of the troopers needlessly. So he began to examine the slopes of the hills that led down into that hollow.

They were unscalable to horses, but he believed at one point men might descend them, even in the darkness. He made careful note of that point, and stowed its landmarks in his memory.

When the shadows of coming night filled the hollow, the scout moved from his position, and began to work his way down toward it, screening himself behind rocks and bushes.

Darkness came fully while he was still on the slope of the hill, and he remained there until he felt it was safe to work still nearer in to the outlaw camp.

Guards had been set at the barricades, and beyondthem in the passes, and guards were also stationed around the camp at intervals.

The scout approached so near to one of these guards that he heard the tread of the fellow’s feet and caught the odor of the tobacco burning in his pipe.

Though he desired to get still nearer in, Buffalo Bill saw the difficulty of the attempt, for this sentry walked a beat which crossed the line of his advance.

After working with much care to one side, he crouched in the darkness and emitted there the well-known “cuckoo” call of the prairie-dog owl, hoping by it to reach old Nomad, if the trapper still lived.

The guard was not disturbed at first by the call of the little owl, for it was a familiar sound; but when it was several times repeated, and with a variation he had never heard in the note, his attention was attracted.

“A cussed funny dog owl,” the scout heard him mutter; and then heard him come toward him.

Buffalo Bill desired to keep from the outlaws the fact that their camp was being spied on, hence he crouched low in the hollow and waited until the guard had turned back. Then he sent forth again the “cuckoo” call, with that queer variation which had attracted the notice of the sentinel.

Unfortunately for the immediate success of the scout’s efforts, Nomad was at the time asleep in one of the huts, and so did not hear him.

When no answer came to his calls, the scout’s uneasiness concerning the fate of Nomad grew.

Resolved to know, if possible, if the old trapperlived, he slipped from his place of concealment when the sentry had walked to the farther end of his beat, and then went sliding farther down over the steep rocks.

The sentry was a keen-eared fellow, and heard the displacement of a small stone, which rattled down the slope. Instantly the scout flattened himself on the rocks and waited until the stone fell.

After a moment of silence, the sentry again came toward him; and soon the scout could see him faintly in the dim light of the stars.

“Prairie-dog owls don’t ginerally go to rollin’ stones,” the sentinel was muttering, as he stood staring up the slope, trying to make out what it was had started the stone to rolling.

He could see nothing that warranted suspicion.

“Mebbe a coyote tryin’ to git at the owl,” he said to himself; “ain’t heerd the owl fer a minute er so. P’r’aps it was scared off by a coyote.”

As he came still farther up the slope, prying and peering, he saw something, and, pitching up his rifle, he fired at it. What he beheld was the recumbent form of the scout flattened against the rock.

The scout saw the rifle pointed toward him, and avoided its bullet by a quick, sliding movement. The lead struck the rock over his head.

That sliding motion was heard and seen by the sentry. He did not believe, then, that what he had shot at was a man, but thought it a coyote; and, because it had not bounded away, he thought he had slain it. He leaped forward, swinging his rifle; while aroar of excited calls and questions were hurled up at him from the camp.

He beheld the dark ball into which the scout had doubled himself when he knew he could not easily escape, and plunged toward it, with knife in hand.

To his astonishment, as he bent down he was caught by the collar of his coat and jerked flat on his face. He yelled in fright; then wheezed, as the iron fingers of the scout settled around his windpipe.

The men below were yelling up at him.

Buffalo Bill’s choking fingers reduced him to unconsciousness, and then flung him aside. The scout still lay where he had been lying; but now his revolvers were out.

“That aroused the whole camp,” he said to himself, “and I’ll have to get out of here quick.”

It occurred to him that in arousing the outlaws he had probably aroused the old trapper, also, if he lived; so he sent forth again, with that varying quaver, the call of the little dog owl.

Old Nomad, who had been awakened by the rifle shot and the clamor, heard it, and recognized it at once. He sat bolt upright, listening for its repetition.

It came again, clear and unmistakable.

“Buffler!” he said, with a thrill of recognition. Then he rolled to the door of the hut, for he was bound; and from the open doorway sounded a cry similar to that which had come from the hillside.

When Buffalo Bill heard it, a great load of dread rolled from his heart.

“Nomad!” he said. “Thank Heaven he is alive!”

Pizen Jane had been standing close by the door, on the outside, when Nick Nomad uttered that cry of the dog owl.

“That’s queer,” she said, looking at him, seeing him faintly outlined. “Have you got a dog owl hid about ye?”

“A hull cageful,” he answered. And again he sent out the cry.

Buffalo Bill was already climbing up the slope, knowing that the outlaws would soon be there. He was glad he had aroused old Nomad, but he regretted that he had drawn the rifle fire of the sentry; for he had hoped the outlaws would not guess that an enemy had gained access to that slope of the hill overhanging their permanent camp.

But regrets were useless. The only thing to be done was to accommodate himself to the fact.

When the outlaws, climbing up the hill, gained the point where the sentry lay senseless, they found him, and flashed lights to discover if he were dead or what had happened to him. By shaking the man, they aroused him; and he sat up, staring and wheezing, clutching at his aching throat.

“I thought it was a coyote,” he gurgled.

“And what was it?”

“Well, I dunno; but somethin’ grabbed me and choked me, and——”

“Must have been a man!”

“I thought it—it was a coyote, prowlin’ round after a dog owl,” he explained. “I heard the dog owl, and then I thought I saw the coyote, and——”

“Shot at a coyote? That was no way to do!”

“Well, I didn’t know but ’twas mebbe a man.”

They took him down into the camp, where Snaky Pete was nervously awaiting their report. Snaky Pete questioned him, and inspected his throat.

“Finger prints there, it looks like,” he said. “’Twas a man. And if a man, then ’twas an enemy, er he wouldn’t slid out that way. Mebbe there aire more of ’em up there. Strengthen the guards, and every man stand to his post.”

Old Nick Nomad, lying in the doorway of the hut, was listening for some other sound from Buffalo Bill.

“What was the meanin’ of that?” Pizen Jane asked him, after the helpless sentry had been brought in.

Nomad was silent, and she repeated her question.

“I might say, if I thought I could trust ye.”

“I’ll prove to ye that you can,” she said; “though I’m doin’ jes’ what I have been meanin’ to do all day.” She bent over him and cut the cords that held him, and then slipped the knife into his hands. “Now, what was it?”

“Buffler Bill,” said Nomad. “He was out thar. Thet war his signal ter me; and I answered it.”

“He’s got men with him?” she gasped.

“I dunno. Mebbe he has, and mebbe he ain’t. But he’s silent now, and prob’bly has cut out, seein’ that the force hyar is too big fer him. But you bet he’ll be comin’ back ag’in; and when he does, somethin’ will be doin’.”

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