CHAPTER XXIII.PICTURE-WRITING.
As renegade Cheyennes had been helping Lawless in his criminal work, Buffalo Bill was not taking offhand this Indian’s word that he was a friend.
“You know Little Cayuse?” queried the scout.
“Wuh!” answered the Cheyenne; “me know um for long time.”
“When did he give you this?” The scout held up the piece of birch-bark.
The Indian pointed to the sky, indicating the place of the sun an hour before.
“Where?” went on the scout.
“On trail to Pass Dure.”
“I reckon I know what ye’re gittin’ at, pard,” said Hank Tenny. “Some Cheyennes hev been helpin’ Lawless, an’ ye think mebby thet the Hawk ain’t straight. But I know him, an’ ye kin take my word fer it thet he’s straight goods. What’s the matter, anyways? ’Pears like thar was somethin’ unusual goin’ on hyer.”
At that moment, Wild Bill and Nomad came galloping around the hotel from the direction of the stable. They rode their own horses, and were leading the scout’s big black, Bear Paw, and Dell’s cayuse, Silver Heels.
“My pards will tell you what’s up, Tenny,” said the scout, and turned and went into the hotel office.
Dell was just coming out of her room, spurred, “heeled,” and ready for her ride with her pards.
“Here’s something, Dell,” called the scout, droppinginto a chair by a table and laying the piece of birch-bark in front of him. “A Cheyenne just rode in with this and said Little Cayuse gave it to him.”
“Some of Cayuse’s picture-writing!” exclaimed Dell, drawing near and leaning on the table beside the scout. “It must be a clue to the course taken by Lawless and his gang—that is, if it isn’t a trick Lawless is trying to play on you.”
“I don’t think it’s a trick,” the scout answered. “Unless I’m wide of my trail, Lawless doesn’t know Cayuse is following him, so he wouldn’t have any reason to send in a treacherous red with a piece of birch-bark and say the same came from the boy. Besides, Tenny rode into camp with the Indian, and says he is straight goods.”
“Good!” murmured Dell exultantly. “That means, pard, we’ve got a clue, first clatter out of the box.”
She studied the picture for a space.
“That looks like Cayuse’s work,” she said finally, “and that little horse, down in the right-hand corner, is the way he always signs his name. But I can’t make anything out of it. Can you?”
It took a keen mind to decipher the Piute boy’s communications. Having a keen mind himself, he credited everybody else with the same shrewdness, and drew his symbols with a free hand.
The strip of bark was comparatively fresh, and the picture was drawn with a knife-point on the soft surface that had lain next the tree. Wherever the steel point had traveled it had left a plainly perceptible line.
“Off to the right here,” mused the scout, “is an odd-looking hill.”
“It looks about as much like an adobe house as it does like a hill,” countered Dell.
“Trees don’t grow on adobe houses, Dell. That thing on top of the hill is a tree.”
“Right you are,” assented the girl. “What are those two figures at the top? They seem to be drawn on the margin, and are merely a suggestion of something, it strikes me, and have nothing to do with the main picture.”
The figures to which Dell referred were drawn close to the edge of the piece of bark, and were exactly alike. Evidently they represented one and the same man; but over one was drawn a pair of mule’s ears.
“By George!” exclaimed the scout. “Those figures represent a white man, with a mustache and a sash. Who but Lawless wears a sash? A belt is good enough for every one else in these parts.”
“It’s Lawless,” agreed Dell, “but why are there two of him? And what do those mule’s ears mean over one of the figures?”
“Give it up; that’s something for us to puzzle out later. That part of it is only what you might call a marginal note, anyway. The main picture shows Lawless again, with a figure that is plainly intended to represent a white woman. The woman is Mrs. Brisco, whom Lawless and his gang carried away.”
“Mrs. Brisco?” queried Dell. “I thought no one on the stage knew her name?”
“Some facts,” answered the scout vaguely, “were brought out by that note Billings brought to Gentleman Jim from Lawless.”
The scout did not intend, as yet, to reveal Gentleman Jim’s secret even to Dell. In his own good time, Gentleman Jim himself could tell the people of Sun Dance about his wife.
“Those six marks,” went on the scout, indicating the marks as he spoke, “represent six followers, showing the gang to be composed of seven members, all told.”
“I understood from Billings that there were eight, all told.”
“One was killed by Pete, during the fight that took place at the time of the second hold-up,” explained the scout. Then, proceeding to decipher the picture, he went on: “Back of the marks is an Indian with an eagle-feather. That, of course, is Cayuse, trailing. Over there, in the upper left-hand corner, is a cross representing the four cardinal points of the compass. The hill appears to be northwest of us.”
While this conversation had been going on in the office, the horses had clattered up, and Tenny had been engaged in an excited conversation with Nomad and Wild Bill. Presently some one else joined them, and they all came into the hotel.
“Got any clues from thet pictur’, Buffler?”
The scout looked up and saw the old trapper, Wild Bill, Gentleman Jim, and Hank Tenny.
“It’s from Cayuse, all right,” answered the scout.
“Good enough!” exclaimed the gambler, pressing closer to the table. “It’s a clue, is it, Cody?”
“Yes. Little Cayuse is following the gang, which consists of seven, including Lawless. They have a white woman prisoner along.”
A tremor ran through Gentleman Jim’s lithe form at mention of the woman prisoner; but he quickly pulled himself together, and bent his eager eyes upon the crude drawing.
“There’s a hill there,” pursued the scout, laying one finger on the queer-shaped elevation. “Dell thought itmight be a house, but I claim it’s a hill because that thing on top of it is a tree. It lies northwest of here, and the gang with their prisoner are apparently headed toward the hill.”
Gentleman Jim gave a start.
“Look here, Tenny,” he called. The cowboy miner leaned over beside him. “Doesn’t that look like Medicine Bluff?” asked the gambler.
“It shore does!” declared Tenny. “Thar’s a lone tree on the Bluff, too.”
Gentleman Jim turned his eyes on the scout.
“Did Little Cayuse know anything about Medicine Bluff, Buffalo Bill? Had he ever seen it?”
“Sure he’d seen it!” struck in Wild Bill. “The boy used to be a bugler with one of the companies at Fort Sill. He has traveled all over this part of the country with the doughboys.”
“Hickok is right,” agreed the scout. “If Cayuse ever saw that hill once, he’d be able to draw it a hundred years from now. He never forgets anything.”
“Then,” murmured Gentleman Jim, “Lawless and his gang are headed for Medicine Bluff with my—with their prisoner, and our clue is a hot one. There’ll be no need to go to the arm of the gulch, to pick up the trail on the scene of the second hold-up, for, if this is really from Cayuse, we can mount and ride straight for the Bluff, thereby saving time.”
“Thet’s our cue!” exulted Nomad. “Ye kin trust Leetle Cayuse ter do a thing like this up proper, ev’ry time. Thet kid ain’t got his ekal anywhar in ther West. I’ll back him agin’ all comers, white er red, bar none o’ ther same size an’ y’ars.”
“Are you ready for the trail, Gentleman Jim?” inquired the scout.
“I will be, as soon as I look after Hotchkiss and Pete,” the gambler answered. “It will only take a few moments to take care of their injuries.”
While he was with Hotchkiss and Pete, the scout and the rest of his pards went out in front. Wing Hi was just depositing four war-bags on the ground near the horses. Wild Bill had had the bags filled with rations.
All swung to the backs of their horses, and the war-bags were strapped at the saddle-cantles. Presently Gentleman Jim issued hurriedly from the hotel and climbed into his saddle.
“Hotchkiss and Pete are all right,” he announced. “The only thing that worries them is that they can’t take part in this expedition. If they were to try that, however, I wouldn’t answer for the consequences.”
“They have done their part,” said the scout. “Spurs and quirts, boys!”
Spurs rattled, quirts swished, and the party rode off at a gallop, heading for the rim of the gulch.
There were six of them—Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill, Nomad, Dell Dauntless, Gentleman Jim, and Hank Tenny. Before they had reached the slope leading to the gulch, a yell was heard behind them, and out of a cloud of dust broke De Bray, mounted on a sorrel cayuse, and with a rifle across the saddle in front of him. He was still wearing his “boiled” shirt, collar, red vest, and white trousers, making, all together, a somewhat unusual figure for a foray such as the scout and his pards were then starting upon.
The scout turned in his saddle and looked back; then with a laugh, he remarked:
“It’s a safe bet, pards, we couldn’t lose De Bray.”
“Is he going along with us, inthatrig?” queried Wild Bill.
“I presume he didn’t have time to change, Hickok; but he’ll give a good account of himself in any rig.”