CHAPTER XVII.THE MYSTERY SOLVED.
Their amazement was not of long duration, however, for the young man proceeded to make explanations. He stated that Latimer was much of the time irresponsible mentally. His stories of the singular disappearances of his servants were simply the fancies of an unbalanced mind. In fact, there were periods when he was a madman. Being a very wealthy man—a millionaire—he had, as a crazy whim, built the big house on the lonely mesa; and with him lived his daughter, and the young man who was her affianced husband.
Their thought was that his mental troubles would soon pass away. Hence they humored his whims. And when he stated that Buffalo Bill was to be his guest, and for reasons of his own he wished the scout to think he resided there alone, they acceded to his wish, and kept out of sight. Yet they were, nevertheless, seen at intervals. On the occasion when the girl came to the scout and whispered to him to follow her, and took his hand to lead him, she, in the darkness, thought he was Latimer.
As for the hidden trapdoor and the concealed door in the kitchen, with their connecting tunnels leading to the river, those were planned and built by Latimer for purposes of safety; and they had justified their erection and planning.
“But what is the reason for his strange action on seeing the dead outlaw?” asked Cody.
“He will tell you that, I think,” replied the young man. “Come, let’s carry him back to the house.”
They did so, but before Latimer revived, old Nick Nomad told his part of the story.
“Buffler,” said Nomad, “we didn’t intend it ter joke ye, but it worked thet way. Yer see, me an’ Pizen thar had sot out to run thet outlaw down. Pizen had got sight of him once, and had likewise seen Latimer in ther town; and the amazin’ resemblance made him think thet Latimer war ther outlaw leader.
“So I come on ter Latimer’s, ter play ther spy bizness, and got a job with him as hostler. And Pizen, he war comin’ on, intendin’ ter git a job as cook, mebbe, er chambermaid, er suthin’. And we war pertendin’ ter be husband and wife, ye see; and him chasin’ me about, in order ter give a proper ixcuse fer me runnin’ frum place ter place and him follerin’ me, er bein’ with me. I tried ter tell yer about it, Buffler, sev’ral times.”
“Pizen Kate,” who was a man disguised as a woman, had stripped away his encumbering skirt, and now sat, grinning, while he listened to Nomad’s explanation.
“We thought it ruther cute,” he admitted. “And, Cody, when we seen how fooled ye was by it, we kept it from yer; and, o’ course, we couldn’t make no confession, and I couldn’t change back ter my proper person, so long as we wasn’t sure of Latimer. And there ye aire.”
He was still as “homely as sin;” and now that he had reassumed masculine clothing, he looked feminine, for his face was womanish and naturally almost beardless.
“Thar war two men we war ’specially lookin’ fer, Buffler,” said Nomad. “One war Persimmon Pete, and t’other George Latimer, who is dead hyar, though ther name we knowed him by war diff’rent from thet.”
“George Latimer!” exclaimed Cody. “Is the dead outlaw John Latimer’s brother?”
“Yep; ye kin take his own word fer it if ye don’t believe me.”
It was true. As Buffalo Bill afterward learned from Latimer himself, the two outlaw chieftains whom he and Nomad and Pizen had come to run down—to their death, it happened—were the white chief of the Redskin Rovers, and Latimer’s brother, the leader of the outlaw band of white men. The shock of seeing his brother dead, a brother who had apparently passed out of his memory, restored the mind of John Latimer; so that when he recovered from it he was again sane and mentally sound.
The wedding which took place in the big house on the mesa soon after, and which united the “mysterious” youth to the equally “mysterious” maiden, was a great event, and was attended by Buffalo Bill, and by Nomad and “Pizen Kate.”
“Katie,” said Nomad humorously, at that wedding, cracking his face open in a grin, “this hyar makes methink o’ ther time when you and me was—not—married thar in Kansas City.”
“Truly, Nicholas, truly!” assented the man known as “Pizen Kate.” “And ter-night I’d be acchilly happy, I think, if I hadn’t lost my old umbreller.”