CHAPTER IX.DELL AND CAYUSE ALSO DELAYED.
From the moment Dauntless Dell’s shrill cry echoed through the cañon, panic struck at the hearts of Captain Lawless and his men. The villainous crew saw five determined foes bearing down on them.
“Scatter!” yelled Captain Lawless, and immediately suited his actions to the word.
Keeping themselves under cover of the rocks, the stampeded scoundrels finally gained the shelter of the scrub, and could be heard thrashing about in a mad endeavor to get to their horses and away.
At this point, Nomad’s ardor got the better of him, and caused him to lose his prisoner, Coomby.
Pushing fiercely toward the bushes, and shoving Coomby ahead of him, Nomad was making a wild effort to keep up the fight.
Coomby, unable to stand up under the pressure exerted on him from behind, stumbled over a stone. Nomad, who could not stop his headlong rush, went sprawling over Coomby, and both lay for an instant in a tangle on the ground.
Fear did for Coomby what the lust for battle could not do for Nomad; and the outlaw succeeded in beating the trapper in getting up, and was off and away before he could be caught.
Dell and Cayuse shot on along the cañon in pursuit. Buffalo Bill got astride Bear Paw, Nomad found Wah-coo-tah’spony, and Wild Bill picked up the cayuse belonging to the dead Ponca.
Lawless and his men had torn their horses loose from the bushes where they had been secured, and had lost themselves in the chaparral.
The scout and his pards hunted the cañon through, up and down and from side to side, but without result. Lawless and his gang had made their escape.
“Whar ther bloomin’ blazes did they go, anyways?” demanded Nomad, his voice heavy with chagrin and disappointment, when he and the rest of the scout’s party rounded up once more in the vicinity of the ore-dump.
“They know the country better than we do, Nick,” said Buffalo Bill, “and they have made a clean get-away.”
“Waugh, but et shore glooms me up!” growled the trapper. “I got er bone ter pick with thet outfit.”
“So have I,” put in Wild Bill, with a soothing grin, “but I reckon the bone can wait. What’s the use of being in a rush, Nomad?”
“We kin afford ter wait, as fur as thet goes, but I like ter make a clean up as I purceed.”
“We’ve had enough of this for a while,” put in the scout. “Hickok has been pretty active for a man who has been so long without anything to eat or drink, and it will be close to supper-time when we get back to Spangler’s. We’ll ride for Sun Dance, and leave Lawless and his men to be dealt with later. Ah!” the scout added, facing about in his saddle. “Come here, Wah-coo-tah. I was just wondering what had become of you.”
During the flight and pursuit, the scout had lost track of the Indian girl. She now came around the base of the ore-dump and hurried toward him.
Dell Dauntless and Cayuse scrutinized the girl curiously.
“Who is she, Buffalo Bill?” asked Dell.
“Wah-coo-tah is her name,” the scout answered. “She is the daughter of Fire-hand, otherwise Captain Lawless.”
“Ugh!” muttered Little Cayuse.
“His daughter!” echoed Dell.
“She’s a friend of ours, though, for all that,” said the scout, taking in a kindly grip the hand Wah-coo-tah held out to him.
With a swing, he landed the girl on Bear Paw’s back at the saddle-cantle.
“You see,” explained the scout, “Nomad and I saved Wah-coo-tah from a Ponca warrior who had bought her from Lawless for five ponies. Wah-coo-tah was not pleased with her father’s arrangement, and broke away from the Ponca. Nomad and I happened to be near enough to interfere in her behalf. She did not forget what we had done for her, but has rendered us good service in this affair of Wild Bill’s. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Wah-coo-tah, it is probable Wild Bill would have lost his life, and perhaps Nomad, too.”
Dell Dauntless spurred her white cayuse, Silver Heels, alongside of Bear Paw, and took Wah-coo-tah’s hand.
“If you have done all this,” smiled Dell engagingly, “you’re entitled to the friendship of all of us. You must be a brave girl, Wah-coo-tah.”
The Cheyenne maiden studied Dell for a few moments, then turned away rather curtly.
“What’s the matter with her?” whispered Dell to Wild Bill.
“Well, she thinks she’s got first lien on the scout,”laughed Wild Bill, “and you look to her like a claimant for first honors.”
At that Dell laughed, too.
“You can’t tell about these Injuns,” went on Wild Bill, “especially when they happen to be breeds. Wah-coo-tah is mighty pretty, though.”
“Do you think so?” asked Dell.
“I do, for a fact. What’s more, I’ll never forget what she has done for me.”
After Buffalo Bill had dismounted and got his riata from the shaft, he climbed into his saddle again and gave the word that started the party for Sun Dance.
“You and Cayuse are several hours behind schedule, Dell,” said the scout. “Did you meet with trouble on the way?”
“We lost the trail,” said Dell, “and it took us several hours to find it.”
“Rather queer that Cayuse should have gone astray like that,” commented the scout, with a look at the Piute.
Cayuse seemed very much abashed.
“It wasn’t his fault, pard,” went on Dell. “I thought we could take a short cut, just as you and Nomad did, and maybe save an hour. That, as I figured it, would bring us into Sun Dance not more than an hour behind you. Cayuse said we couldn’t do it, and that the country was so hard to travel even jack-rabbits couldn’t get over it. I had my way, though, and the upshot of it was that we had to give up and go back to the trail. But the trail was hard to find, and that’s where we lost our time. You seem to have been having plenty of excitement on this part of the range,” Dell added, with a questioning look around at the scout and his pards, “and Cayuse and I have missed all of it.”
“Ye had er taste o’ ther excitement, Dell, when ye rode inter thet leetle shoot-fiesta o’ our’n,” spoke up Nomad.
“Umph!” grunted Cayuse. “That no fight. Him all over before Yellow Hair and Cayuse come.”
“How did it happen, Buffalo Bill?” asked Dell.
“There’s a whole lot of it, pard,” the scout answered, “and to get at it from all sides would take a heap of time. Over our supper, at Spangler’s, is where we can hold our powwow. Wild Bill there hasn’t had anything to eat for two days.”
“Don’t keep reminding me of it, Cody,” said Wild Bill. “Just because you mentioned the fact, I’ve got to pull my belt up another hole. If that starvation-act of mine is referred to many times more, I’ll be cut in two.”
Dell laughed at the grimace which accompanied the words.
“What sort of business did you want Buffalo Bill for, Wild Bill?” she asked.
“I had a bunch of rascals holed up in that mine back there, and wanted Pard Cody to come on and help me run them in. By the time Cody got here, the rascals had got out and had runmein.”
“But what was the work?”
“A job of salt, Miss Dauntless. Lawless and his gang were blowing fine gold into a played-out mine with a shotgun. I saw some of the performance. While I was looking on, two of the gang saw me. I managed to get away, but it was a close call; then, the next day, my charitable and amiable disposition steered me right into the bunch of trouble-makers once more, and they had me so I couldn’t move. That paper-talk I sent to Buffalo Bill went astray, I understand, and Crawling Bear was killed by Cheyennes. Too bad, too bad! I thinkCrawling Bear stacked up closer to a white man than many other Indians I’ve known. By the way, Cody, what are you going to do with Wah-coo-tah?”
“There’s nothing for me to do, I reckon, but to send her back to the Cheyennes.”
“No, no!” cried Wah-coo-tah. “Me no go back to Cheyennes.”
“It’s like this, Wah-coo-tah,” explained the scout. “The Ponca who gave up the five ponies for you is dead, and your father won’t dare show himself among the Cheyennes after what has happened here in Sun Dance Cañon. You’ll be perfectly safe with your people.”
“Me want to stay with Pa-e-has-ka!” averred Wah-coo-tah. “Pa-e-has-ka good friend of Wah-coo-tah. No like to go back to Cheyennes.”
“What did I tell you?” Wild Bill whispered in Dell’s ear.
“Of course,” flared Dell, “Wah-coo-tah couldn’t travel with the scout and his pards.”
“Of course not!” agreed Wild Bill. “Petticoat pards are all right, but they make a heap of trouble, now and then. You’ll be going back to your ranch in Arizona, one of these days, I suppose——”
“Just as soon as I can,” snapped Dell, and Wild Bill wondered what it was that had put an edge to her temper.
The shadows were lengthening across the flat in Sun Dance Cañon when Buffalo Bill and his pards rode up to the door of the Lucky Strike Hotel.
The bulky proprietor was sitting in front, as usual, but his ragged palm-leaf fan lay beside him. The cool of the evening was always grateful to Bije Spangler.
“Whoof!” sputtered Spangler, as the cavalcade of ridersdrew to a halt in front of his establishment. “What’s this, Buffalo Bill? You escortin’ a band o’ Injuns ter a new reserve, or what?”
“We’re here to stay with you for a while, Spangler,” said the scout.
“It’s agin’ my rules ter take in any reds,” averred Spangler.
“You’ll have to take these in,” said the scout. “The boy is my Piute pard, Little Cayuse, and the girl is the daughter of Captain Lawless. Miss Dauntless, my girl pard, will share the room Wild Bill occupied, and which Nomad and I later put up in, with Wah-coo-tah. The rest of us will bunk where we can. And a word to you, Spangler,” the scout added, dropping down from his saddle, “anything you say against one of my pards, white or red, you say against me. Just remember that.”
The tone in which the scout spoke sent a shiver through Spangler.
“No harm meant, no harm meant,” he sputtered. “O’ course, Buffalo Bill, whatever you say goes.”
“It’s an honor to your one-horse hangout for a boy like Little Cayuse, or a girl like Wah-coo-tah, to stay in it. Is supper ready?”
“The Chink jest come out an’ hammered the gong,” said Spangler. “Walk right in an’ set down whenever ye’re ready.”
The party dismounted and went into the hotel office. Cayuse led away the horses, and saw that they were properly cared for.
Buffalo Bill, Nomad, Wild Bill, Cayuse, Dell Dauntless, Wah-coo-tah, and one other, had a table all to themselves. The “one other” was a slender little man in a neat black suit, which spoke relentlessly of the East.
The little man was painfully pale, and seemed dismayed to find himself surrounded by such an assortment of white men and Indians.
His first “break” was to ask the Chinaman who waited on their table for a napkin. The Chinaman went back and exchanged some heated words with the other Chinaman in the kitchen; then both Chinamen went out in front of the hotel and held a low conversation with Spangler. As a result, Spangler waddled into the dining-room, and walked to where the little man in black was sitting.
“Looky here, you!” rumbled Spangler, his great body shaking all over with suppressed wrath, “was you the one as asked the Chink fer a napkin?”
“I—I have always been accustomed to eating with napkins,” answered the little man, with a frightened, upward glance.
“Mebby you take this here eatin’-joint fer the Palmer House, hey? Or mebby it’s the Delmonico restaurant ye think it is? I’ve run this feedin’-place fer two years, an’ this here’s the first time any one who has ever fed here has insulted me!”
“I had no intention of insulting you, sir, I assure you,” said the little man. “I—I—why, it is customary to have napkins at meals in—in Chicago, where I come from.”
“Out here ye kin use the back o’ yer hand fer a napkin,” growled Spangler, “an’ if ye’re afeared o’ gittin’ anythin’ on yer clothes, why, don’t wear clothes that’s so easy sp’iled. Do yesabemy pidgin? If ye don’t, an’ if what I say don’t set well, ye kin take yer ole carpet bag an’ hike.”
Under this wheezy torrent of words the little man wilted. When Spangler turned around and waddledoff, the stranger was ready to throw aside his knife and fork and eat with his fingers if any one had suggested it.
“My friend,” said the scout, smothering a laugh and leaning toward the stranger, “does your name happen to be Bingham?”
The little man jumped.
“It is,” said he; “Alonzo Bingham.”
“And you hail from Chicago.”
“I do, yes, sir.”
“You have come here to look over the Forty Thieves Mine with a view to buying it of Captain Lawless?”
“Why, my gracious!” cried Alonzo Bingham, “how did you ever find out about that?”
“Isn’t it a fact?” asked Buffalo Bill.
“Yes, it is a fact, although I’m troubled to know where you got your information.”
“We troubled some ter git et, Mr. Bingham,” put in Nomad, with a wink at Wild Bill.
“Exactly,” said Wild Bill, “and I hope I’ll never be troubled so much in the same way again. I don’t believe I could stand it.”
“As I understand, Mr. Bingham,” proceeded the scout, “if the rock you took from the Forty Thieves assayed properly, you were to pay Lawless a hundred thousand for the mine?”
“I and some friends were going to form a syndicate and buy the mine, if it proved as represented,” said Mr. Bingham.
“Ther comp’ny you an’ yer friends hev formed,” announced Nomad gravely, “ain’t a marker ter ther skindicate thet was formed at this end o’ ther line.”
“I—I am at a loss to understand you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Bingham, wrinkling his brows.
“Lawless and some friends of his,” explained Buffalo Bill, “have salted the mine.”
“Salted the mine? Really, what does that mean? I never heard of such a thing.”
Nomad sank back in his chair with a groan.
“Draw er diagram o’ et fer him, somebody. He’s got ter hev et pictered out.”
“It’s this way, Mr. Bingham,” proceeded the scout. “Lawless and his friends went to the mine and filled the rocks in the end of the level with gold. Understand? When you go there to get your samples, you will find rock that has been doctored. It will assay way up, but the assays will fool you. It’s a case of plain robbery, and nothing more.”
“Dear me!” said Alonzo Bingham, looking worried.
“Look here, Cody,” said Wild Bill, dropping his voice and taking something out of his pocket. “You’re telling friend Bingham the truth about the salting, but you’re wide of your trail when you say the Forty Thieves is worthless. Cast your eyes over that.”
Wild Bill rolled upon the table a piece of ore as big as an egg. It was the sort of ore occasionally described as “gold with some quartz in it.”
Little wires of yellow metal covered it all over, encasing it like a spider-web.
“Jumpin’ cougars!” breathed Nomad.
“What in the world!” piped Alonzo Bingham.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill, picking up the ore-sample. “Where did you get that, Hickok?”
“I found the pay-streak that the original owners of the Forty Thieves must have lost,” chuckled Wild Bill. “That bit of ore almost cost me my life, Cody. It came from that walled-off end of the stub-drift. The explosionat the entrance jarred down some rock and uncovered the pay-streak. I struck a match, when I first found myself with hands and feet free, and that pay-streak was the first thing I saw. When I realized that burning matches consumed oxygen, and that oxygen was the only thing to keep me alive, I quit striking lights, and, almost mechanically, dropped that bit of ore into my pocket.”
“Mr. Bingham,” said the scout, “I beg your pardon. The Forty Thieves, from this showing made by my friend, Mr. Hickok, looks like a good purchase. But Lawless doesn’t know anything about that pay-streak. In negotiating for the mine, if I were you I wouldn’t say anything about it.”
“When he goes out to find Lawless and close up the deal,” said Wild Bill, “Mr. Bingham, I’m afraid, will have to do a good deal of hunting. In his efforts to beat somebody, Lawless has salted a bonanza onto Mr. Bingham and his Chicago syndicate. All I ask, Mr. Bingham, for this friendly tip I have given you, is that you communicate with me as soon as you find Captain Lawless, of the Forty Thieves.”
“I shall be glad to do so,” returned Mr. Bingham.
During the rest of that meal the scout and his pards discussed their adventures, pro and con, all more or less for the benefit of Dell and Little Cayuse.
Mr. Bingham, sitting by, heard everything. He learned, as the story fell graphically from Wild Bill’s lips, how the Laramie man had been knocked down, tied hand and foot, carried to the Forty Thieves, placed in the end of the crosscut, and then walled into a living tomb by a neatly placed blast.
Mr. Bingham also heard of the adventures that had befallen old Nomad, and of the manner in which he hadbeen bowled over, carried to the mine, and subsequently released by the scout.
The talk ended in a description of the battle that had taken place in the cañon, when there was so much shooting and no casualties—plenty of noise and excitement, but no one “gouged er skelped,” as Nomad put it.
For some time Mr. Bingham had been growing even more pale than usual. Long before the scout and his pards were done with their talk, the Chicago man had excused himself, and tottered feebly from the room.
Next morning, when the scout and his friends met at the breakfast-table, there were two less at the board than at supper the evening before.
Mr. Bingham especially was noticeable by his absence. Spangler explained that he had said he wouldn’t buy a mine in such a country if some one would offer him a second Comstock lode for the price of a square meal. Not daring to remain longer in such a lawless region, Mr. Bingham had hired Spangler’s Mexican to take him to Montegordo in Spangler’s buckboard during the night.
Wah-coo-tah had likewise disappeared from the hotel during the night, and her cayuse had vanished from the stable. So quietly had the girl left, that Dell, in whose room and with whom she was lodging, had not been aware of her going.
“I presume,” said Buffalo Bill, “that Wah-coo-tah has gone back to her people.”
“That’s the best place for her, pard,” said Dell.
“No doubt about that,” returned the scout.