CHAPTER XIII.A VENGEFUL INDIAN.
A line of brush extended from the mouth of the tunnel to the base of the mountain. The distance was about fifty feet, and in the brush somewhere Black-face Ned and his prisoners were concealed.
Were there three prisoners or two? Buffalo Bill believed that both Colonel Hayden and his daughter were with the leader of the outlaws, and he feared that Alkali Pete was also a prisoner. The lanky plainsman had not been killed, that was certain, for if he had been shot to death, his body would have been found either in the tunnel or the cellar of the castle.
The king of scouts was about to give Bat Wason an unwelcome surprise, when he saw the little outlaw drop to his knees and begin to crawl toward the brush by the tunnel’s mouth. Before the movement was made, a noise resembling the chirping of a cricket had issued from the brush. Occupied with thoughts of the probable situation of his friends the captives, the king of scouts had not at the moment placed sinister construction upon the chirping. But when Wason started for the tunnel the scout scented danger.
It was time to act. With a heavy stone in his hand, he sprang from behind the bowlder and threw the stone at Wason’s head. The aim was true, and the outlaw, flattened on the ground, gave a few convulsive twitches, and then lay still.
At the mouth of the tunnel, trying to peer through the brush, crouched Thunder Cloud, the chief of the Apaches.
The fall of the outlaw had been attended with little noise, and Wason had died without a groan.
But the chirp of the cricket had not been answered, and Thunder Cloud was in doubt as to the situation outside the tunnel.
While the Indian waited for developments, Buffalo Bill, who had possessed himself of the victim’s weapons, was once more behind the bowlder, his countenance expressive of perplexity and indecision. He dared not chirp in answer, for it was probable that a chirp was not the proper response to the signal. The foe was too wily to adopt a mode of communication that under any circumstances could be turned to advantage by an enemy.
Soon was heard a second chirp. Quickly following the noise came the warning, sibilant rattle of a snake.
The king of scouts turned his head quickly, and saw that the snake was within a few feet of the bowlder. Instead of using a revolver, he retreated and came into the open beside the line of brush.
At that moment Thunder Cloud showed his head beyond the brush that masked the mouth of the tunnel. His eyes fell on Buffalo Bill, and the head would have been withdrawn if something terrible had not occurred. The rattlesnake, crawling swiftly from the bowlder to the brush, struck without warning, and the deadly fangs were embedded in the Indian’s cheek.
With a shriek of wild affright he leaped to his feet, the white foe no longer in his mind, and, flinging the reptile from him, began to chant the death song of his tribe.
The king of scouts looked coldly on for a moment, and then his humanity getting the better of his aversion,he stepped forward, removed without resistance the weapons of the sufferer, and then said sternly: “Flatten out on the ground, and I’ll try to save you.”
Thunder Cloud waved the scout off. “No, the hour has come. Thunder Cloud must go to join his fathers in the land of the Great Spirit.”
“Perhaps, but I’ll see about that.”
With these words he tripped the chief, and then sat upon him. With a knife he cut a slit in the cheek where the snake had operated, and, applying his mouth to the wound, sucked out the greater part of the poison.
Then from his pocket he produced a small oilskin package, which, on being opened, disclosed a wad of dried leaves having an aromatic flavor. The leaves were moistened with whisky and then applied to the poisoned cheek.
Thunder Cloud, now passive, followed the operation with staring eyes. After the leaves had been bound in place, Buffalo Bill offered his whisky flask to the Indian. “Drink,” he commanded; “drink the whole of it. The combined treatment I have been giving you will bring you out all right. I know what I am talking about, for I have cured myself more than once. In these snake-infested hills I always carry with me the antidote for the poison.”
Thunder Cloud, in faith and gratitude, drank until not a drop of the liquor was left in the flask.
As he lay on the ground in a half-unconscious condition, the king of scouts stole away to find Black-face Ned and the white prisoners.
He moved with caution, for, though he knew that the leader of the outlaws was not in a condition tooppose physical force against his enemy, yet the villain could use a pistol, and a shot could be made effective from ambush.
But the line of brush was without an enemy or a friend. Black-face Ned, wounded and weak as he was, had disappeared, and with him had gone Colonel Hayden, Sybil, and probably Alkali Pete.
The king of scouts looked up the mountainside, but saw no sign of a human being. Yet it was to be believed that the persons he was seeking were concealed behind one of the many huge rocks that strewed the steep incline.
He whistled, and, receiving no answer, shouted in a voice that could be heard far up the mountain.
Still no answer. “Pshaw!” he said to himself, in disgust, “of course the prisoners are gagged. They could not answer if they wanted to.”
After a short debate with himself he returned to the Indian.
Thunder Cloud was sitting up, and, though his face was flushed, Buffalo Bill knew by the state of his eyes that the danger point had been passed.
“You are out of the woods,” he said kindly, as he came and stood by Thunder Cloud’s side. “In a little while you will be able to walk. But you won’t be in shape for work for several days.”
The Indian’s head was lowered. He was looking fixedly at the ground. The king of scouts waited for the redskin to speak. Several moments passed before Thunder Cloud raised his head and looked his rescuer full in the face. “Thunder Cloud owes his life to the great white warrior. Thunder Cloud must pay the debt.”
Buffalo Bill said nothing in reply. But there was smiling appreciation in his expression.
“Thunder Cloud is no more the enemy of the great white warrior, Pa-e-has-ka,” the Apache chief slowly continued.
“Glad to hear it,” replied the king of scouts earnestly. “This deadly enmity business isn’t what it is cracked up to be.”
“Thunder Cloud asks humbly what must he do to show his gratitude?”
“Well,” said Buffalo Bill, “there are a number of things you can do. First, trot out some information. What made you go into the tunnel?”
“Thunder Cloud went to find out what had become of his friend Black-face Ned.”
“You knew, of course, that there had been a fight in the cellar. What became of the white man who was attacked by Ned and Bat Wason?”
“He is a prisoner in the castle.”
This intelligence was unexpected. Buffalo Bill’s face clouded.
“Was he captured outside the castle?” he asked.
“Yes, he ran into the arms of Thunder Cloud’s braves at the front.”
“Didn’t he make a fight?”
“No, he was running for the door when my braves came out of the grove. They fell upon him before he could turn his head. There were shots fired.”
“After the capture you went to the cellar and found that Black-face Ned and the prisoners had gone, eh?”
“The prisoners had not gone. They were in the room where lies the dead body of the white man they called Pigeon-toed Ike.”
The king of scouts stared at the Indian in amazement. “They did not go off with Black-face Ned and Bat Wason?” he said, incredulity struggling with surprise. “How did that happen?”
Thunder Cloud shook his head. “Can guess why, but don’t know for sure,” he replied.
“Well, give a guess.”
“Black-face Ned and his friend were scared. They wanted to get away, and they thought they couldn’t go fast if they took the prisoners with them. The prisoners might hang back, and they could not be carried.”
“I see,” returned Buffalo Bill, with a nod. “So they hoisted the colonel and his daughter into the castle room where I was confined, and then lit out through the tunnel. This action must have been taken just after the appearance of Alkali Pete. Pete must have been shot at, and not knowing how many enemies were in the cellar, he ran around to the front, expecting, probably, that some one would come out of the front door.”
“He expected the great white warrior to open the door,” said Thunder Cloud. “He told me so.”
“I don’t see how he figured out that I would come that way when I was at the rear, for he had seen me. However, there will be an explanation when we meet.”
This was said calmly, and the Apache chief could not withhold an admiring grunt.
“Good, big, brave Buffalo Bill.”
The king of scouts appeared not to have heard the compliment. He was staring hard at the ground. Suddenly he glanced suspiciously toward the mouth ofthe tunnel. “I am forgetting how I stand,” said he quickly. “Won’t your braves follow you here?”
“If Thunder Cloud does not return inside of an hour they will come.”
“The hour is nearly up. What’s to be done? You are on my side now, and I am willing to receive advice.”
“My braves must not be hurt,” was the grave reply. “Thunder Cloud will keep his word and assist the great white warrior, with the understanding that no more blood is to be shed. Thunder Cloud will go back to the castle, tell his braves that Black-face Ned has forsaken them, that he wants peace with the Comanches, and that the prisoners must be taken through the tunnel and delivered to Thunder Cloud’s friend.”
“That’s the ticket,” cried the king of scouts enthusiastically. “Chief, you have a great head. I am proud to be your friend.”
The Indian’s swarthy face glowed with pleasure. He was rapidly recovering from the effects of the poison and the antidote, and as Buffalo Bill spoke he rose to his feet, and then leaned on the scout for support.
“Think you will be able to get back through the tunnel?” anxiously inquired the scout.
“Yes. The weakness will soon pass, and Thunder Cloud can crawl, if he cannot walk.”
Five minutes later he was out of sight in the underground passage.
Buffalo Bill sat down on the ground, and impatiently awaited the coming of Colonel Hayden, Sybil, and Alkali Pete.
“When they come,” he said to himself, “I’ll considerthe case of Black-face Ned. The scoundrel must be captured, and it ought to be an easy stunt to catch him, for he can’t travel fast on account of his wound.”
The chief had not been gone ten minutes before a series of savage yells smote the air. They came from the direction of the castle, and the king of scouts sprang to his feet, anger and alarm in his eyes.
A discharge of firearms followed the yells, and more yells came on the heels of the shots.
A fight was in progress, and it was clear to the mind of Buffalo Bill that the Apaches were being attacked by the Comanches led by Black Wing and Wild Bill.
Doubtless the Comanches were acting under a prearranged plan. Alkali Pete had been sent out as a scout, and the Comanches were to follow him unless he should return and counsel a different action. He had not returned, and the Yelping Crew were now at the castle, and yelping for all they were worth.
The king of scouts was angry because the well-meant attack of the Yelpers might defeat the program agreed upon between himself and Thunder Cloud. It was not likely that the Apache chief would return with the prisoners while the castle was being besieged by a savage enemy.
Buffalo Bill looked about him, and, observing a log lying on the ground near the bowlder that had recently been his place of shelter, he lifted it and placed it against the high stone wall of the castle inclosure.
He “shinnied” up the log, reached the top of the wall, and looked down into the spacious yard of the castle.
Not an Indian could be seen.
The Apaches were doubtless in the castle, and theComanches were at the front, in the grove, or near there.
While the scout looked, a force of Comanches, with their fantastic make-up, dashed around the side of the castle. They kept close to the building, evidently aware of the safety of this proceeding. The Apaches could fire only from the windows, and these were high up, and so netted with bars that they were of no service unless the enemy should appear far out in the inclosure. At the head of the Yelpers was Wild Bill. He saw the king of scouts perched on the wall, and gave a shout of welcome.
The drop to the ground was about fifteen feet, and for a moment Buffalo Bill had a mind to drop and join his old comrade. But a different counsel prevailed as he saw the Yelpers approach the rear of the castle.
Climbing back to the ground outside the wall, he entered the tunnel and hurried quickly through it. His intention was to reach, if possible, the room in the castle where Alkali Pete had been placed, and then try to find a way to open the back door and admit Wild Bill and his Yelping Crew.
The chances were against him, he had to admit it, but he would make the attempt, nevertheless.
He was halfway through the tunnel when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Halting instantly, he drew his pistol and waited for what might be a deadly encounter. There was a possibility that the on-comer might be Thunder Cloud, but the chances were that the chief was in the castle occupied with more serious concerns than the return of prisoners and the keeping of a sentimental promise.
The darkness prevented the king of scouts from seeingany object in his front, and the person who was coming from the cellar was within touching distance before Buffalo Bill knew it.
The tunnel was narrow, and, therefore, each must discover the presence of the other at the time of passing, if at no other period.
Buffalo Bill reached out a hand, and catching the unknown person by the wrists, flung him sidewise to the ground.
“Who are you?” he whispered, as he tried to hold the struggling victim down.
“Drat yer eyes, I’m Pete,” was the gasping reply.
The king of scouts laughed softly. Then he assisted the angry plainsman to his feet. “Had to act as if you were an enemy,” he said apologetically. “Hope I didn’t hurt you any.”
“My wrists will shore be sore fer a week,” was the sour response. Then he began to chuckle. “I ain’t mad, Buffler. Don’t ye go fer ter think so. I’m mighty glad ter see ye. I war huntin’ ye.”
“And I’m glad you have found me. Did you know that Wild Bill and his aggregation of crack-brained aborigines are in the castle yard?”
“I’m bettin’ that I do, an’ that’s why I hiked out ter see ye an’ git ther benefit of yer vallyble advice. I war in ther room whar ye hed ther scrimmage with Pigeon Toes, an’, guessin’ that no one war in ther cellar, I raised ther trap, an’ hyer I be.”
“Didn’t see the colonel and his daughter, did you?”
“No. They shore must be in some part of ther shebang.”
“Well, what advice do you hanker after?” asked Buffalo Bill smilingly.
“How ter help Wild Bill an’ ther Comanches. They kain’t do anything from ther outside, an’ they kain’t git in ther castle. Ef they expect the ’Paches ter come out an’ have a set-to in ther yard, they aire shore off their cabesas. We gotter scheme out a way ter beat ther doors of ther castle.”
“I was on my way to beat those doors,” said Buffalo Bill coolly. “My idea was to enter the room that held you, and then watch a chance to open the back door.”
“You might watch a year, Buffler, an’ never git that aire chance. I’m gamblin’ that both doors aire guarded.”
“What’s the matter with settling the guard?”
“Ter do that ye’d hev ter pay yer respecks to a mob of ’Paches. O’ course, they aire fillin’ up ther hall.”
“Nonsense, Pete. It is more likely that the most of them are in the room where the windows are, looking out into the inclosure. Come, let’s go back. There is more chance of winning out, now that you are with me.”
“I’ll go ye, Buffler,” said Alkali Pete promptly. “Ye may be right. I hope ye aire; but right er wrong, I’m at yer back until yer stummick caves in.”
“Thank you,” responded the king of scouts heartily. “And now for it.”
The two scouts reached the cellar without trouble. The trapdoor through which Alkali Pete had descended was open, and, climbing upon Buffalo Bill’s broad shoulders, the lanky plainsman looked into the room. It was vacant. The dead body of the outlaw had been removed.
“I shore don’t like ther looks o’ things,” whisperedPete to his comrade. “Ther body war thar when I lit out fer ther tunnel, an’ it bein’ gone sartinly shows that ther ’Paches know I hev vamosed. Mebbe they aire waitin’ fer me ter come back, an’ mebbe thar’s a bullet waitin’ fer ther man that crawls inter that aire room.”
“I don’t believe they expect you to come back,” replied Buffalo Bill. “Why should they? You were a prisoner, and you escaped. Is it the usual caper for a prisoner to voluntarily return to the room of imprisonment?”
“Ye talk mighty fine, Buffler, but all ther same, I’m plumb leery of that aire room.”
“If you are afraid,” began the king of scouts, when his old comrade quickly and roughly interrupted:
“Afraid nothin’,” and upon the words he crawled into the room.
No bullet came to put an end to his existence. He listened a moment, and then stretched himself by the hole and assisted Buffalo Bill in getting through the trap.
On his feet, the king of scouts made for the window. The yard, or, rather, that portion within his range of vision, was clear of Indians. Where had Wild Bill and the Yelping Crew gone? And everywhere was silence. Within the house there were no sounds.
“Pete,” whispered the scout, “are we living in a land of enchantment? Fifteen minutes ago the air was filled with yells and gun reports. Now all is as still as the grave.”
“But ther Injuns kain’t hev left ther castle?” said Alkali Pete, as he vigorously worked his tobacco-filledjaws. “Mebbe they aire all in ther front room. This aire castle is stone, an’ sound don’t travel wuth a cent.”
“I am going to find out what the silence means,” returned Buffalo Bill resolutely. So saying, he went to the door and tried to open it. The effort was vain. The door was barred from the outside.
“Better work back through the tunnel, hedn’t we?” suggested the lanky plainsman.
The king of scouts nodded. The trapdoor was open, and Buffalo Bill was kneeling by it, preparing to descend when the door of the room opened, and Thunder Cloud walked in.
His countenance was grave, and he was shaking his head as he came forward and held out his hand to Buffalo Bill, who, upon the opening of the door, had quickly arisen to his feet.
“I expected to find you here,” the chief said, in the Apache tongue. “I believed you would come when you found that I was placed so I could not immediately keep my promise.”
“Where are your braves?” asked the king of scouts.
“They have gone to the cliff where the Comanches have their home.”
“What?”—regarding the Indian in amazement. “Gone where the Comanches are not?”
Thunder Cloud gravely inclined his head.
“Say,” put in Alkali Pete. “Ye aire shore puzzlin’ us, chief. Ye kain’t ram that aire nonsense down our throats. What aire yer leetle game?”
Thunder Cloud scowled at the speaker. He was not in a mood for pleasantry, and he was offended at Alkali Pete’s tone.
“The chief is all right,” said Buffalo Bill, with a warning glance at his comrade. “He will explain why the braves have left the castle.”
Thunder Cloud bowed slightly, and the scowl departed.
“My braves have gone to the cliff,” he said, “because that was the wise thing to do. Black Wing, who should be chief of the Yelping Crew, has gone with them, and soon there will be peace instead of war between the Apaches and the Comanches.”
The king of scouts tried to guess the riddle the chief was attempting to explain, but it was beyond him. He looked at Alkali Pete, and caught a wink that expressed contemptuous incredulity.
Thunder Cloud imperturbably went on: “The great white warrior fails to understand. He does not know that Black Wing, who came from Mexico to be the chief of the Yelping Crew, was unable, when he reached the cliff to-day, to induce the Comanches to come out and treat with Thunder Cloud.”
“The Yelpers did not want peace, then?” said Buffalo Bill.
“They were under the spell of the white man who has been acting as their chief, and they would not listen to Black Wing, though he is a Comanche, and had been sent for to become their chief.”
“Good thing they didn’t, for they would have been led to a massacre. But who is this white man who possesses more power than Black Wing?” inquired the king of scouts innocently.
Thunder Cloud frowned. “The great white warrior must not speak with a forked tongue. He knows whothe white man is, for he was with the Comanches this morning.”
“Yes, I do know,” replied Buffalo Bill quickly. “I wanted to learn whether or not you knew him.”
“No, Thunder Cloud does not know the name of the white man. He has never seen the white man’s face, and Black Wing was not taken into the white man’s confidence.”
The Apache chief paused, expecting that the king of scouts would volunteer the information that Black Wing had failed to obtain. But Buffalo Bill maintained a severe silence.
The revelation of the identity of the acting chief of the Yelping Crew came from Alkali Pete. Buffalo Bill was looking out of the window when the lanky plainsman spoke. “Did ye ever hear uv a man by ther name uv Wild Bill?” he asked. “He’s shore ther hombre.”
Thunder Cloud started, and it was plain that the announcement unpleasantly affected him.
“The sworn enemy of the Apaches, the white devil who shoots to kill. Yes, Thunder Cloud has heard of him.” He ceased speaking, and looked sadly, reproachfully at Buffalo Bill.
The king of scouts met the look serenely. “Are you at last earnestly desirous of making peace with the Comanches?” he asked.
The chief nodded. “Thunder Cloud has done forever with Black-face Ned, and he now desires to live in peace with both white man and red man. Did not Thunder Cloud say as much when he left the great white warrior at the mouth of the tunnel?”
“Yes, you did, chief, and I accept your statement.Peace you shall have. Wild Bill is a friend of mine, and if I can get speech with him, I’ll soon bring him round to my way of thinking. But you haven’t yet told me how Black Wing purposes to act.”
“He will gain the cliff stronghold, and there wait for the coming of the Comanches.”
“Where are the Comanches now?”
“They are at the back of the castle, crouching against the wall near the door, and waiting for the door to open, or——”
“Or what?” as Thunder Cloud paused.
“Or for some signal from the great white warrior, Pa-e-has-ka.”
“Don’t they know that the Apaches have gone?”
“No. When the Comanches stole around to the rear, my braves quietly went out the front door, and were in the grove before Wild Bill could place watchers at each side of the castle.”
“I see. Hickok would not have counted on such a move on the part of the enemy, and so failed to take precautions against a sudden evacuation of the castle. Well, when the Yelpers return to their home, if they do return without an understanding between me and Wild Bill, they will find Black Wing and your braves in possession of the cliff. Then what?”
“Black Wing will again urge the Comanches to sign a treaty of peace. He will have the whip hand, as you Americans say, and the Comanches may listen this time and agree to accept Black Wing’s suggestion. And again they may not, for that devil, Wild Bill, may again bend them to his will.”
Buffalo Bill’s face was sober. “It’s up to me to act,” he said, with decision. “But before I make anattempt to get speech with Wild Bill, I wish to see Colonel Hayden and his daughter. Bring them here, if you please.”
“Thunder Cloud will bring the white maiden, but the great white warrior cannot see the white maiden’s father.”
This was said with compressed lips and a ferocious expression.
The king of scouts involuntarily clenched his hands. He tried to speak without betraying his feelings.
“Does Thunder Cloud forget what he promised? Did he not say that he would release all the prisoners?”
The Apache chief replied, with lowering brows: “He did so promise, but he forgot when he spoke that one of the prisoners had already been condemned to death. Would Thunder Cloud be willing to forget that Colonel Hayden said ‘yes’ to the order that sent Thunder Cloud in disgrace from the white soldiers’ camp? Thunder Cloud would be a dog if he did not take his revenge upon the white colonel.”
There was a stir in the cellar. Alkali Pete, who was standing nearest the open trap, heard it, but the noise did not reach the ears of the Apache chief.
The lanky plainsman, controlling his excitement with an effort, flashed a warning glance at Buffalo Bill.
The king of scouts interpreted the meaning of the glance, and, therefore, made this response to the chief’s ultimatum: “Bring the girl to me.”
Thunder Cloud glued his keen eyes to the scout’s, as if he would read what was beyond them. But he made nothing from the searching scrutiny. Buffalo Bill was placidly smiling.
With a grunt, the Indian turned and walked toward the door. When he was gone, Alkali Pete stooped by the trap, and called out in a whisper: “Aire ye thar, Hickok?”
“Yes,” was the quick answer. “Come down, won’t you, and pass the word to Cody, if he is up there with you.”
The lanky plainsman raised his head and told Buffalo Bill what had been said.
“Go down,” was the reply, “and tell Hickok that I’ll follow presently. The chief will return in a minute, and I must be here when he comes in.”
Alkali Pete, without hesitation, lowered himself to the cellar. There was a heavy thud as he struck the ground, and at the same moment Thunder Cloud opened the door and pushed Sybil Hayden into the room.