"Fainted, by Jove!"
So spoke Pawnee Brown as he sprang forward to Mortimer Arbuckle's aid.
The man was as pale as the driven snow, and for the instant the great scout thought his very heart had stopped beating.
He raised Mortimer Arbuckle up and opened his collar and took off his tie, that he might get some air.
"Wot's the row here?"
It was the voice of Peter Day, the backwoodsman who had agreed to take care of Arbuckle during his illness. He had followed the man out of the house to see that no harm might befall him.
"He has fainted," answered Pawnee Brown. "Fetch some water, and hold that—hang it, he's gone!"
Pawnee Brown rushed to the barn door. Far away he saw Powell Dike running as though the old Nick was after him. A second later the rascal disappeared from view. The boomer never saw or heard of him again.
Between the great scout and Pawnee Brown, Mortimer Arbuckle was once again taken to Day's home and made comfortable.
"He insisted on taking a walk to-day," explained the backwoodsman. "I told him he couldn't stand it. I reckon he's as bad now as he ever was."
"Take good care of him, Day, and beware of any men who may be prowling about," answered Pawnee Brown. "There is something wrong in the air, but I'm satisfied that if we help this poor fellow we'll be on the right side of the brush."
Mortimer Arbuckle was now coming around, but when he spoke he was quite out of his mind. The doctor was hastily sent for, and he administered a potion which speedily put the sufferer to sleep.
"It's an odd case," said the medical man. "The fellow is suffering more mentally than physically. He must have something awful on his mind."
"He is the victim of some plot—I am certain of it," was the scout's firm answer.
Not long after this, Pawnee Brown was returning to Arkansas City, certain that Mortimer Arbuckle would now be well cared for and closely watched until he and Dick could return to the sufferer.
"As soon as this booming business is over I must try to clear things for that old gent," murmured the boomer to himself as he rode up to the telegraph office. "I'd do a good deal for him and that noble son of his."
Another telegram had just come in, by way of Wichita, which ran as follows:
"The Lower House of Congress has passed the Oklahoma bill. Pawnee Brown has woke the politicians up at last. Stand ready to enter Oklahoma if an attempt is made to throw the bill aside in the Senate, but don't be rash, as it may not be long before everything comes our way—in fact, it looks as if everything would come very soon."
At this telegram the great scout was inclined to throw up his hat and give a cheer. His work in Kansas was having an effect. No longer could the cattle kings stand up against the rights of the people. He handed the message to a number of his friends standing near.
"Hurrah fer Pawnee Brown!" shouted one man, and standing on a soap box read the telegram aloud.
"Score one fer the boomers!"
"An' a big one fer Pawnee."
"Don't hurry now, Pawnee, you've got 'em whar the hair ez good an' long!"
"It would seem so, men," answered the great scout. "No, I'll be careful now—since the tide has turned. In less than sixty days I'll wager all I am worth we'll march into Oklahoma without the first sign of trouble."
It did not take the news long to travel to the boomers' camp, and great was the rejoicing upon every side.
"Dot's der pest ding I vos hear for a month," said Humpendinck. "Pawnee ought to haf a medal alreatty."
"It's a stattoo we will put up fer him in Oklahomy," said Delaney. "A stattoo wid Pawnee a-ridin' loike mad to the new lands, wid the Homestead act in wan hand an' a bundle o' sthakes in th' other, an' under the stattoo we'll put the wurruds, 'Pawnee Brown, the St. Patrick av Oklahomy!'"
"Ach! go on mit yer St. Patrick!" howled Humpendinck. "He vos noddings but a snake killer."
"Oh, mon!" burst in Rosy Delaney. "A snake killer, Moike, do ye moind thot? Swat the Dootchman wan, quick!"
And Mike "swatted" with an end of a fence rail he was chopping up for firewood. But Humpendinck dodged, and Rosy caught the blow, and there followed a lively row between her and Mike, in the midst of which the German boomer sneaked away.
"Dot Irishmans vos so fiery as der hair mit his head," he muttered to himself. "I dink I vos keep out of sight bis he vos cool off, and den—Mine gracious, Bumpkin, var did you come from? I dinks you vos left behind py Arkansas City."
For there had suddenly appeared before Humpendinck the form of the dunce, hatless and with his black hair tumbled over his face in all directions.
"Ha, ha! where have I been?" cried Pumpkin. "Where haven't I been you had better ask. I've been everywhere—among the soldiers and the boomers and the Indians." He stopped short. "Where is Pawnee Brown?"
"Ofer py Clemmer's vagon. But he ton't vont ter pother mit you now."
"He will bother with me," and so speaking Pumpkin ran off, to reach the great scout's side and pluck him by the coat sleeve.
"At your service, sir," he said, bowing low, for with all of his peculiarities Pumpkin had a great respect for Pawnee Brown.
"What is it, lad?"
"I have to report, sir, that your pard is captured—Jack Rasco; he had a fearful fight and the soldiers have him. Ha! ha! they will shoot Jack—if you let 'em, but I know you won't—will you now?"
"You are certain Jack is captured?"
"Dead sure—saw him with my own eyes. Ha! ha! they tried to catch Pumpkin, but they might as well try to catch a ghost. Ha! ha! but I give 'em a fine run."
It took a good deal of talking to get a straight story from the half-witted youth, but at last Pawnee Brown was in full possession of the facts. Pumpkin had seen Rasco on the march just before Dick was taken.
Immediately after this the boomer held a short consultation with Clemmer.
"I feel it my duty to help Rasco to escape, if it can be done," he said. "Besides, it is high time for me to return to Dick Arbuckle and to find out, if possible, what has become of Jack's niece."
"Shall I go along?" questioned Clemmer, "I wouldn't like anything better."
"All right, come on," answered the great scout.
He had scarcely spoken when a loud cry rang out, coming from the lower end of the camp.
"Buckley's bull has broken loose! Look out for yourself, the beast has gone mad!"
"Buckley's bull!" muttered Pawnee Brown. "I ordered him to slaughter that vicious beast. Why, he's as fierce as those the Mexicans use in their bull fights!"
"He's a terror," answered Clemmer. "If he—By gum, here he comes, Pawnee!"
As he spoke Clemmer turned to one side and started to run. Looking forward the great scout saw the bull bearing down upon him. The eyes of the creature were bloodshot and the foam was dripping from the corners of his mouth, showing that he was clearly beyond control.
The bull, which was of extra large size, had Clemmer in view, and made after the cowboy, who happened to be unarmed. Away went man and beast in something of a circle, to fetch up near Pawnee Brown less than a minute later. As they came close, Clemmer fell and went sprawling almost at the scout's feet.
"Save me!" he panted. "Save me, Pawnee!"
Pawnee Brown did not answer. Leaping over the cowboy's prostrate form, he pulled out his pistol and his hunting knife and stood ready to receive the bull, who came tearing along, with lowered horns, ready to charge the scout to the death.
For the moment it looked as if Pawnee Brown meant to let the mad bull gore him to pieces.
On and on came the beast until less than two yards separated him and the great scout.
Crack! came the report of the boomer's pistol, and the bull fell back a pace, clipped between the horns. A lucky swerve downward had saved him from a bullet wound through the eye.
There was no time for another shot. With a bellow the bull leaped the intervening space and landed almost on top of Pawnee Brown!
A yell went up from those who saw the movement.
"Pawnee is done fur. The bull will rip him inside out."
"Buckley ought to have killed that bull long ago—that's the second time he's gone on a rampage."
"Somebody shoot him and save Pawnee!"
The last was a well meant cry, but a shot could not be thought of, for man and beast were too close together.
But Pawnee Brown was not yet defeated. He still held his trusty hunting knife, and he was not terrorized as some of the onlookers imagined.
A few words will explain the cause. In his day the scout had visited Mexico more than once, and while there had participated in more than one bull fight, on one occasion defeating a celebrated Mexican fighter and gaining a handsome prize.
As the mad bull charged, the scout leaped like lightning to one side, and drove the hunting knife up to the hilt into the beast's throat.
There was a spurt of blood, a bellow of pain, and the bull staggered back several steps.
He was badly wounded, but by no means out of the fight, as his glaring eyes still showed. He shook his head vigorously, then charged again.
Once more the knife went up and came down, this time just below the beast's ear. A fearful bellow came after the stroke. Before the bull could retire, the knife was withdrawn and plunged in a third and last time. This third stroke wound up the encounter, for limping to one side the bull fell forward upon his knees, gave a kick or two with his hind legs, and rolled over on the prairie grass, dead.
"Hurrah! Pawnee has killed him."
"Talk about yer bull fighters! They ain't in it with Pawnee!"
"Yer saved my life," exclaimed Clemmer, who had risen. "I shan't forget yer, Pawnee," and he held out his broad hand for a shake.
The bull dead, Pawnee Brown called Buckley up and gave him a lecture for not having killed the vicious beast long ago.
"You have no business to bring such a bull into camp in the first place, Buckley," he said. "Be more careful in the future, or you'll have to get out, bag and baggage. That bull might have killed half a dozen people had he charged the crowd."
A short while after this the great scout and Clemmer set off from Honnewell along the ravine in search of Dick, Rasco and Nellie Winthrop. The cheering news from Washington had set Pawnee Brown at rest so far as his duty to the boomers was concerned, and he felt quite free to pursue his own affairs and those of his immediate friends.
"If possible I would like to meet Louis Vorlange and have a talk with him," he said to Clemmer, after having related what had occurred near Peter Day's home. "I think that spy can clear up much of this mystery concerning Mortimer Arbuckle, if he will."
"It ain't likely he'll open his trap," answered Clemmer. "By doin' thet he'd only be gettin' himself in hot water."
"We'll make him speak," was Pawnee Brown's grim response.
An hour of hard riding brought them to the spot where Dick had been left. Not a single trace of the lad could be found. Both men looked blank.
"Bet he's wandered off and got lost," said Clemmer, and Pawnee Brown nodded.
"We'll strike off eastward, Cal, and see if we can't find some trace of him. It is no use of going westward. If he had gone that way, he would have reached the ravine and come up into Kansas."
Once again they set off. An hour was spent here and there, when suddenly Clemmer uttered a cry.
"Been a struggle hyer, Pawnee. See them footprints?"
"Three people," answered the scout, making an inspection. "A boy, a girl or a woman, and an Indian. Can they have been Dick, Nellie Winthrop and Yellow Elk? Hang me if it doesn't look like it."
"Hyer's where the trail leads off," said Clemmer. "And that's the boy's. Can't see nuthin' o' the gal's."
"That means the Indian carried her off," ejaculated Pawnee Brown. "Let us follow his trail without delay."
"But the boy's?"
"You follow that, and I'll follow the redskin. If he had the girl I want to know it."
A few words more and they separated. Pawnee Brown was on his mettle and followed Yellow Elk's trail with all the keenness of an Indian himself. In half an hour he had reached the brook. Here he came to a series of rocks and was forced to come to a halt.
But not for long. Fording the water-course, he began a search which speedily revealed the trail again, leading to a small river a quarter of a mile further on.
He followed the river for less than fifty feet, when a number of voices broke upon his ears.
"I'm sure I saw the redskin on the river, and he had a girl with him, Ross."
"You must have been dreaming, Tucker. No redskins up here."
"All right, I know what I am talking about."
"I think I saw something, too," said a third voice, that of Skimmy, the calvary man.
The three calvary men were out on a scouting expedition, to learn if the boomers were in the vicinity of the river.
Tucker especially was on the lookout for Pawnee Brown, determined to bring the great scout down and thus win the reward Louis Vorlange had promised.
The scout listened to the talk of the cavalrymen for fully ten minutes with great interest.
He had just started to move on, satisfied that it would be of no benefit to remain longer, when Tucker turned and walked his horse directly toward the spot where he was concealed.
"A boomer behind the brush!" shouted the cavalryman. "Come, boys, and take him!"
Immediately there was a rush, and Pawnee Brown was surrounded. He had his pistol out and in return came the weapons of the trio.
"Well, gentlemen, you seem to want to make me your prisoner," said the scout, coolly.
"Thet's wot," cried Ross. "Eh, Tucker?"
To make Pawnee Brown a prisoner would be of no personal benefit to him.
"You seem to bear me a grudge," said the boomer, eying him sharply.
Tucker could not stand that gaze and his eyes dropped.
"Yes, you're a prisoner," said Ross. "Let's bind him up, Skimmy."
"Take that!"
Pawnee Brown leaped forward and hurled both Ross and Skimmy to the ground. Ere they could rise he had turned upon Tucker. The tall calvary man had his pistol cocked, and now he blazed away almost in Pawnee Brown's face, and then both went down, with the scout on top.
The flash of the pistol had scorched the boomer's skin, but the bullet sung over his head, missing him by less than an inch. As he came down upon Tucker he hit the cavalryman a terrific blow in the jaw, breaking that member and knocking out several teeth.
"On him!" yelled Skimmy, and tried to rise. But now Pawnee Brown was again up, and flung Skimmy on top of Ross. In a moment more he was running along the river bank.
He was almost out of sight, when there came two shots, from Ross and Skimmy. Neither hit him, however, and he continued on his way, while the two cavalrymen turned back to pick up Tucker, who lay in a heap, groaning and twisting from intense pain. The tall cavalryman could not, of course, talk, and his wound was so serious that there was nothing to do but to carry him to his horse, support him in the saddle and ride back to the fort for medical assistance. It was a clean knock-out, and one that Tucker had good cause to remember to the day of his death.
It was some time ere Pawnee Brown struck the trail of Yellow Elk again, but having once spotted it he pursued his course with increased vigor. The trail led along the river to where there was almost a lake. This had just been reached, when he heard a scream. Instantly he recognized Nellie Winthrop's voice.
"Thank heaven I came as soon as I did," he murmured, and dashed forward to the spot from whence the sound had proceeded.
When Nellie Winthrop recovered sufficiently to realize what was going on around her, she found herself upon Yellow Elk's back, with her hands tied together at the wrists behind her.
Away went the redskin until the vicinity where the encounter with Dick had occurred was left far behind.
The brook crossed, the Indian chief set off for the river. Not once did he stop or speak until a pond was gained.
Beyond the pond was a shelter of trees, growing in a circle which was about fifteen feet in diameter. Against the trees the brush had been piled, forming a rude hut.
Taking Nellie inside of this shelter, Yellow Elk deposited her on the ground. Of the cord which bound her hands there were several feet left, and this end he wound around a tree and tied fast.
"Now white girl no run away," he grinned. "Stay here now until Yellow Elk ready to let her go."
To this she made no answer, for what would be the use of talking to such a fierce creature? She looked at his hideously painted face and shivered.
Yellow Elk now went off, to be gone a long while. When he came back he found her so tired she could scarcely stand beside the tree. She had tried to free herself from her bonds but failed, and a tiny stream of blood was running from one of her tender wrists.
"Yellow Elk got horse now," said the redskin. "We ride now—go many miles."
"Where to?" she faltered.
"Never mind where—white girl come on."
Yellow Elk's manner was so fierce she was frightened more than ever. The Indian had stolen a horse and he had also stolen a lot of "fire-water," and this drink was beginning to make him ugly. He drew out his hunting knife.
"White girl got to become Yellow Elk's squaw!" he cried, brandishing the knife before her face. "No marry Yellow Elk me cut out her heart wid dis!"
At this Nellie gave a shriek and it was this which was borne to the ears of Pawnee Brown.
"Crying do white girl no good," growled the redskin. "Come with me."
"I will not go another foot," and Nellie began to struggle. The Indian chief upbraided her roundly in his own language and ended by raising his knife over her once more.
"Help!" cried Nellie, and a moment later Pawnee Brown burst into view. A glance showed him the true situation, and without hesitation he fired at Yellow Elk.
His bullet clipped across the redskin's chest. By this time Yellow Elk had his own pistol out, and standing erect he aimed straight for the boomer's heart.
Nellie screamed, and knowing nothing else to do, gave the Indian a vigorous shove in the side, which destroyed the aim and made the bullet fly wide of the mark.
In a second more the two men were at it in a hand-to-hand encounter each trying his best to get at the other with his hunting knife, being too close together to use a pistol. As Pawnee Brown afterward said:
"It was Yellow Elk's life or mine, and I made up my mind that it should not be mine—I considered myself worth a good deal more than that worthless redskin."
A cut and a slash upon each side, and the two broke. Yellow Elk had had enough of the fight, and now ran for it in sudden fear. He did not take to the river shore, but skirted the pond and began to ascend a slight hill, beyond which was another fork of the ravine which has figured so largely in our story.
"Let him go! he may kill you!" called out Nellie, when she saw Pawnee Brown start in pursuit. But the scout paid no attention to her. His blood was up and he was determined to either exterminate Yellow Elk or bring him to terms.
In a second more the two men were in a hand-to-hand encounter
The top of the hill was reached. Yellow Elk paused, not knowing exactly how to proceed. Looking back, he saw Pawnee Brown preparing to fire upon him. A pause, and he attempted to leap down to a ledge below him. His foot caught in the roots of a bush and over he went into a deep hollow headlong. There was a sickening thud, a grunt, and all became quiet.
Yellow Elk had paid the death penalty at last.
When Pawnee Brown managed to climb down to the Indian's side, to make certain the wily redskin was not shamming, he found Yellow Elk stone dead, his neck having been completely broken by his fall. He lay on his back, his right hand still clutching his bloody hunting knife.
"Gone now," murmured the great scout. His face softened for an instant. "Hang it all, why must even a redskin be so all-fired bad? If he had wanted to, Yellow Elk might have made a man of himself. I can't stop to bury him, and yet——Hullo, what are those papers sticking out of his pocket?"
The boomer had caught sight of a large packet which had been concealed in Yellow Elk's bosom. He took up the packet and looked it over. It consisted of half a dozen legal-looking documents and twice that number of letters, some addressed to Mortimer Arbuckle and some addressed to Louis Vorlange.
He read over the letters and documents with interest. Those of Dick's father related to the mine in Colorado and were evidently those stolen by Louis Vorlange upon the night of the opening of this tale. The letters belonging to the government spy were epistles addressed to Vorlange from a former friend and partner in various shady transactions. Of these we will hear more later.
"Yellow Elk must have robbed Vorlange of these," mused the great scout, as he rammed the packet in his pocket. In this he was right. Vorlange had dropped the packet by accident and the Indian had failed to restore it, there having been, as the reader knows, no love lost between the two rascals.
Having placed the dead body among the bushes in a little hollow, Pawnee Brown climbed out of the ravine again and rejoined Nellie, who was growing impatient regarding his welfare. The story of what had happened to Yellow Elk was soon told, the scout softening out the ghastly details. Then, to change the subject, he asked her if she knew her uncle was a prisoner of the soldiers.
"Yes," she replied. "Oh, sir, what will they do with him?"
"I don't believe they can do much, Nellie," he answered. "According to the news from Washington, everything is to be smoothed out, and of course the government will have no case against any of us."
"Can I get to my uncle from here? Where is he?"
"About five miles from here. Yes, we can get to him if we want to." Pawnee Brown mused for a moment. "I'll risk it," he said, half aloud. "They can't arrest me for coming to expose a criminal, and I have the facts right here in my pocket."
A moment later he was riding the horse Yellow Elk had stolen, while Nellie was seated upon Bonnie Bird. In this manner they struck out for the agency, called by the soldiers a fort.
About three miles had been covered, when suddenly there came a shout from a thicket to one side of them.
"The cavalry!" gasped Nellie. "What shall we do?"
"Take it coolly, Nellie. I have a winning card this trip," smiled the great scout.
A few seconds later half a dozen fine looking men rode forward, a well-known official of the Indian Territory at their head.
"Pawnee Brown!" ejaculated the official, on recognizing the scout. "It would seem we had made quite a capture. What are you doing with Sergeant Morris' horse?"
"Is this the animal?"
"It is.
"I found him in the possession of a runaway Indian, Yellow Elk. If he is your property you are welcome to him," and Pawnee Brown leaped to the ground.
"Humph! That is all right, but what are you doing here? Don't you know you are on forbidden ground?"
The scout's coolness was a great surprise to the official.
"I would be—under ordinary circumstances, sir. But just now I am on a mission to the agency: a mission I am convinced you will not attempt to hinder."
"What is it?"
"I wish to expose a great criminal, a man who is now in the active service of the United States, although he ought to be in prison or on the gallows."
The official was much surprised.
"I would like to know some of the particulars, Pawnee."
"Are you bound for the agency?"
"Yes."
"Then we will go together, and you can see what takes place. It will probably be well worth your while."
"This is no trick—I know you are itching to get into Oklahoma."
"I will give you my word of honor, sir. I have received word from Washington, and I feel certain that ere long this whole matter will be settled to our mutual satisfaction. In the meantime, booming can wait," and Pawnee Brown smiled in a quiet way.
A few words more followed, and Nellie was introduced. Then the whole party set off on a gallop for the agency, where was to be enacted the last scene in this little drama of the southwest.
As Vorlange uttered his dire threat into Dick's ear, the boy turned pale and staggered against the wall of his prison.
"Wot's that yer sayin'?" demanded Jack Rasco, who plainly saw the changed look upon his companion's features.
"It is none of your business, Rasco," muttered the spy. "I told the boy; that's enough."
Dick breathed hard. Part of that mystery of the past was out at last. His father was accused of murder—Vorlange held the evidence against him. Like a flash came back to him several things he had almost forgotten. He remembered how on more than one occasion his father had sent money to the West after a letter had come which had upset him greatly. That must have been hush money, to keep this rascal quiet.
"I—I—do not believe you!" he cried in a faint tone. "My father is as upright as any gentleman in the land."
"Is he?" sneered Vorlange. "All right, if you think so, just drive me to the wall and see."
"Where was this crime committed?"
"In Creede, Colorado—at the time the camp was started."
"Who was killed?"
"A miner named Rickwell. He was once a partner of a man named Burch, of whom you have no doubt heard ere this."
"Yes, Burch left us the property you know all about, since you stole the deeds to it. Louis Vorlange, you are playing a deep part but you cannot make me swallow your statements about my father."
"Do you want me to expose him?"
"We'll see about that later. Rasco and I will certainly try to show you up for what you really are."
"Very well," blustered Vorlange. "Your father is a murderer, and he shall swing for it—unless you keep your mouth shut. I——"
Footsteps outside of the prison interrupted Louis Vorlange. An instant later Pawnee Brown and half a dozen others stepped inside of the apartment.
"Pawnee Brown!" cried Dick and Rasco together.
"Are you a prisoner, too?" continued the boy.
"Hardly," smiled the great scout. Then he noticed Vorlange. "Just the men we are after."
"Me?" ejaculated the spy.
"Yes, you."
"What do you want of me, Pawnee Brown? I want nothing to do with such as you—a thieving, low-down boomer—who—oh!"
Vorlange ended with a yell, for Pawnee Brown had caught him by the ear and almost jerked him off his feet.
"Let up! Let up! Oh!"
"Now keep quiet Vorlange," said the scout sternly. "You can thank your stars that I didn't put a bullet through you for letting your tongue run so loosely."
"Thet's so, b'gosh," was Rasco's comment. "But say, Pawnee, he's a reg'lar snake in the grass."
"I know it." Pawnee Brown looked at Dick. "Has he been threatening you, lad?"
"Yes; threatened me and my father, too."
"Have no fear of him, Dick. Louis Vorlange, you have about reached the end of your rope."
"What do you mean?" and the spy's lips quivered as he spoke.
"I mean that I am here to expose you." Pawnee Brown turned to the others who had come in. "Gentlemen, let me introduce to you Louis Vorlange, alias Captain Mull, once of Creede, Colorado."
"Captain Mull!" exclaimed several. "Do you mean the Captain Mull that was wanted for several shady doings, Pawnee?"
"The same Captain Mull, gentlemen."
"It is a—a lie!" screamed Louis Vorlange, but his looks belied him.
"It is the truth, gentlemen, he is the man who once sported under the name of Captain Mull. But that is not all."
"What else, Pawnee?"
"Some years ago a man by the name of Andrew Rickwell was murdered in the Last Chance hotel at Creede. At that time Creede was but a small place and Captain Mull ran the hotel. Who murdered Rickwell was not discovered. But he had occupied a room with another man, a mining agent from New York named Mortimer Arbuckle, the father of this lad here, and some thought Arbuckle had done the foul deed, and he had to run away to escape the fury of a mob. The horror of this occurrence unbalanced the man's mind and to this day he sometimes thinks he may be guilty. But he is innocent."
"He is guilty!" shrieked Louis Vorlange. "I saw him do the deed!"
"I see you acknowledge you were in Creede at that time," answered Pawnee Bill, and Vorlange staggered back over the bad break he had made. "As I said, Mortimer Arbuckle is innocent. There is the murderer, and here are the documents to prove it—and to prove more—that Vorlange is a thief, that he assaulted Mortimer Arbuckle in the dark and left him for dead, and that he is now acting against the best interests of the United States government."
As Pawnee Brown ended he pointed at Vorlange, and held aloft the packet he had taken from Yellow Elk.
"My father's documents!" cried Dick.
"The letters!" shrieked Louis Vorlange. Then he made a sudden leap to secure them, but Pawnee Brown was too quick for him. The scout turned to the captain of cavalry standing near.
"You had better arrest him before he tries to escape."
"They shall not arrest me!" came from Louis Vorlange's set lips. "Clear the way!"
Like a flash his pistol came up and he fired into the crowd, which parted in surprise and let him pass. But not more than ten steps were covered when Pawnee Brown caught him by the arm and threw him headlong to the ground. At the same time the prison sentry fired, and Vorlange was mortally wounded in the side.
"I'll not forget you!" he cried to Pawnee Brown. "But for you I would have lived in clover the balance of my life!" Then he fell into a faint from which he recovered presently, to linger for several days in terrible anguish, dying at last in convulsions.
With the death of Vorlange we bring our story to a close. By what was said during the man's last hours on earth, Mortimer Arbuckle was entirely cleared of the cloud which had hung over his honorable name. Soon after this his right mind came back to him and to-day he is as well and happy as it is possible to imagine.
Whatever became of Stillwater and Juan Donomez is not known.
With the truce declared by the actions of the authorities at Washington and the word given by Pawnee Brown that no attempt should be made to enter Oklahoma for the present, it was not deemed advisable to hold either Dick or Rasco longer, and the two were given their freedom, to journey at once to Honnewell, in company with the great scout and Nellie Winthrop.
From Honnewell, Dick rode post haste to carry the glad news to his father. A scene followed which no pen can describe, a scene so sacred to the two it must be left entirely to the imagination of the reader. Never was a man more proud of his son than was Mortimer Arbuckle of Dick, or more grateful than was the mine-owner to Pawnee Brown for his courageous and marvelous work in clearing up the mystery.
"He is a man among men," he said. "God bless him!"
Nellie Winthrop was overjoyed to be with her uncle once again, and took good care that nothing should separate them. As for Jack, he guarded her with a care which could not be exceeded.
"Ef they carry her off again it will be over my dead body, b'gosh," he murmured more than once.
And yet Nellie was carried off four years later. But this time the carrying off was done by Dick Arbuckle, and both Nellie and Jack were perfectly willing. The wedding was a grand one, for the Colorado claims had panned out big for the Arbuckles, and the best man at the affair was Pawnee Brown.
In due course of time the bill concerning Oklahoma was passed by the United States Senate and signed by the President. This was followed by a grand rush of the boomers to get the best of the land granted to them. The advance was led by Pawnee Brown, who, riding his ever faithful Bonnie Bird, covered twenty miles in the short space of sixty-five minutes and located his town site at the mouth of Big Turkey Creek. This town site, along with his other Oklahoma possessions, made the great scout a rich man. He never grows weary of telling about this great rush into Oklahoma. "It was grand, awe-inspiring," he says. "I would go a thousand miles to see it again—those hundreds of wagons, thousands of horsemen and heads of cattle, all going southward, over hills, through forests, crossing brooks and rivers—all bound for the land which has since made them so prosperous and happy."
And here let us take leave of Dick Arbuckle, Pawnee Brown, and all their friends, wishing them well.