CHAPTER XLIII.A WHIRLWIND CHASE.
Following hard on the trail of Black John and his companions, Buffalo Bill, Pawnee Bill, and Nick Nomad came to the point where Black John’s men had been fooled by the Indians.
Several bodies, scalped and mutilated, told their own story.
Indian pony tracks were numerous, and all the evidences of a surprise and a fight.
Such “signs†were easy to read by men as experienced as Buffalo Bill and his comrades.
While examining this small battle ground, they heard a feeble shout, and then beheld a young man ride out of a timbered gorge and come toward them.
The man was Bruce Clayton.
His hands were still tied behind his back, and his feet were bound together beneath the pony’s body. He was almost paralyzed from the constriction of the cords, and the fact that he had been in that painful position so long.
He had been unable to guide his horse, except by pressure of his knees, when the Indian surprise and attack came, and so the animal had chosen its own course, dashing away in wild fright.
It bore him into this gorge, and on into the midst of a growth of brushy timber, some distance from the mouth of the gorge. There, by voice alone, he had been able to check it.
For some reason, perhaps because they were pursuing other men, the Indians did not follow him, and he remained there undisturbed a long time, wondering what he ought to do, or could do. He was unable to release himself.
By and by the horse grazed its way back to the mouth of the gorge. Then the unhappy prisoner was able to ride forth, guiding with his knees, and make his predicament known.
Buffalo Bill lost no time in cutting away the cords that had held Clayton so long to the back of the pony.
The youth had to be helped from the saddle. When he began to talk, it was seen that his mental sufferings had been as great as his physical. He told them of the surprise by the Indians, and of what had followed, so far as he had been able to see it. And he also told of his own adventures and experiences.
“Lena was with that leader when I saw her last,†he said. “But I haven’t any idea where she is now. I fear the worst.â€
In spite of their desire to hasten on, the scouts remained there a long time, a thing which gave Black John a good start.
They could not go on with Clayton until his physical condition was improved, nor could they hope to accomplish much until they had gained something like accurate knowledge of what had become of the girl.
To the task of learning this last, Buffalo Bill and Pawnee bent their utmost skill, leaving old Nomad to minister to the needs of Clayton.
The scouts had long before picked out the individual trail of the horse ridden by Black John; but now that he had secured an Indian pony, they were put to their wits’ ends to know what to do.
After much searching they came on a bit of evidence that was of the utmost value. It was a piece of cloth torn by a thorny bush from Lena’s dress. There could be no mistaking it, nor how it came to be there.
By this thorny bush they found pony tracks, heading southward. They studied these tracks, until they were sure they should know them when seen anywhere; for, to the experienced eye of the plainsman, there is as much difference between the tracks made by different ponies as there is between the penmanship of different men.
When they had done this much, and had followed the trail some distance, they returned to where old Nomad was caring for Bruce Clayton.
The brief rest had done a world of good for the young man. He had walked by the stream, and so had got the stiffness and half paralysis out of his body and limbs. He was still “sore as a boil,†as he expressed it, but he had had something to eat and drink; and in his anxiety he now declared that he was himself again, and was ready to go on, wherever the scouts went.
He was much encouraged by the report brought in by his friends, the two scouts. He looked anxiously at the shred of cloth which they showed, and then asked if he might have it.
“I may never see her again!†he said simply, as he put it away in his pocket.
Bruce’s horse was also in better condition now, and was almost as strong as the worn horses of the scout and his pards.
Buffalo Bill was anxious to push on, now that he felt sure they had found the trail of the pony that had borne the girl away.
Whether the man who was supposed to be with her on that pony’s back was Black John, or some one else, they, of course, did not know.
In spite of the jaded condition of the horses, the chase that followed was really of a whirlwind character, as the previous one had been. If their quarry were Black John, they hoped to bring him in sight soon, and they drove their horses on without much mercy.
As has been seen, at a time when Black John began to feel safe, he had found that these human bloodhounds were on his track and coming up rapidly.
On gaining the valley where Black John had stopped to rest and cook some food, the evidences of his presence there was so fresh, and the signs of his quick flight so plain, that Buffalo Bill was sure he was not far ahead. Moreover, as his horse was carrying double, and was tired, as its trail showed, they began confidently to believe that in a short time they would be able to overhaul him and force him to surrender his fair prisoner.
“Crowd ’im, Buffler!†said Nomad, with youthfulenthusiasm. “We’re goin’ ter drive him inter a hole now mighty quick.â€
The next moment he was belaboring old Nebuchadnezzar, to get greater speed out of him.
Thus they swept along, riding hard on the trail of the fugitive.
The Indian pony took to a rocky gorge, where its hoofprints were not easily followed; but, as it could not have left the gorge, they rode straight on at top speed.
“Go ’long, Nebby, you ole crow bait!†said Nomad. “Hyar I’ve allus been braggin’ on you bein’ a reg’lar bird with wings, when it come ter runnin’, and now you’re hurtin’ my feelin’s by turnin’ inter a snail. Go ’long!â€
They came in sight of the pony they were pursuing, at a bend in the gorge, and they almost reeled in their saddles when they saw it, so great was their astonishment.
The pony was riderless!
“Waugh!†Nomad roared, drawing rein and staring stupidly. “Whar’s ther man and ther gal?â€
No one could answer his question.