Buffalo Bill’s Weird Warning

                                 OR,

                       Dauntless Dell’s Rival


                                 BY
                      Colonel Prentiss Ingraham

  Author of the celebrated “Buffalo Bill” stories published in the
           BORDER STORIES. For other titles see catalogue.


                      [Illustration: Colophon]


                     STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
                             PUBLISHERS
                   79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York




                 +----------------------------------+
                 |                                  |
                 |          Copyright, 1908         |
                 |         By STREET & SMITH        |
                 |              -----               |
                 |   Buffalo Bill’s Weird Warning   |
                 |                                  |
                 +----------------------------------+


              (Printed in the United States of America)

   All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
               languages, including the Scandinavian.




                              CONTENTS

                                                                   PAGE
                IN APPRECIATION OF WILLIAM F. CODY                   1
       I.       MYSTERIOUS DOINGS.                                   5
      II.       ANOTHER STRANGER IN CAMP.                           18
     III.       CAPTAIN LAWLESS.                                    30
      IV.       THE INDIAN GIRL.                                    37
       V.       WAH-COO-TAH AGAIN.                                  50
      VI.       AT THE FORTY THIEVES MINE.                          63
     VII.       LAYING THE “GHOST.”                                 78
    VIII.       THE FIGHT AT THE ORE-DUMP.                          89
      IX.       DELL AND CAYUSE ALSO DELAYED.                       95
       X.       THE STRANGER AND THE STEER.                        107
      XI.       A GIFT WITH A STRING TO IT.                        119
     XII.       THE “FORTY THIEVES MINE.”                          131
    XIII.       DELL AND WAH-COO-TAH.                              144
     XIV.       LITTLE CAYUSE ON GUARD.                            163
      XV.       THE RESCUE OF NOMAD AND WILD BILL.                 176
     XVI.       THE CURTAIN-ROCK.                                  183
    XVII.       THE TURN OF FORTUNE’S WHEEL.                       195
   XVIII.       THE ROUND-UP AT SPANGLER’S.                        202
     XIX.       THE STAGE FROM MONTEGORDO.                         209
      XX.       DOUBLE-CROSSED.                                    222
     XXI.       BUFFALO BILL AND GENTLEMAN JIM.                    234
    XXII.       LETTER, RING, AND LOCKET.                          241
   XXIII.       PICTURE-WRITING.                                   253
    XXIV.       ON THE WAY TO MEDICINE BLUFF.                      260
     XXV.       A COWED OUTLAW.                                    273
    XXVI.       CHAVORTA GORGE AND PIMA.                           280
   XXVII.       A BUSY TIME FOR CAYUSE.                            293
  XXVIII.       A HAPPY REUNION.                                   300
    XXIX.       CONCLUSION.                                        309




                 IN APPRECIATION OF WILLIAM F. CODY

                           (BUFFALO BILL).


It is now some generations since Josh Billings, Ned Buntline, and
Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, intimate friends of Colonel William F.
Cody, used to forgather in the office of Francis S. Smith, then
proprietor of the _New York Weekly_. It was a dingy little office on
Rose Street, New York, but the breath of the great outdoors stirred
there when these old-timers got together. As a result of these
conversations, Colonel Ingraham and Ned Buntline began to write of
the adventures of Buffalo Bill for Street & Smith.

Colonel Cody was born in Scott County, Iowa, February 26, 1846.
Before he had reached his teens, his father, Isaac Cody, with his
mother and two sisters, migrated to Kansas, which at that time was
little more than a wilderness.

When the elder Cody was killed shortly afterward in the Kansas
“Border War,” young Bill assumed the difficult rôle of family
breadwinner. During 1860, and until the outbreak of the Civil War,
Cody lived the arduous life of a pony-express rider. Cody volunteered
his services as government scout and guide and served throughout
the Civil War with Generals McNeil and A. J. Smith. He was a
distinguished member of the Seventh Kansas Cavalry.

During the Civil War, while riding through the streets of St. Louis,
Cody rescued a frightened schoolgirl from a band of annoyers. In true
romantic style, Cody and Louisa Federci, the girl, were married March
6, 1866.

In 1867 Cody was employed to furnish a specified amount of buffalo
meat to the construction men at work on the Kansas Pacific Railroad.
It was in this period that he received the sobriquet “Buffalo Bill.”

In 1868 and for four years thereafter Colonel Cody served as scout
and guide in campaigns against the Sioux and Cheyenne Indians. It was
General Sheridan who conferred on Cody the honor of chief of scouts
of the command.

After completing a period of service in the Nebraska legislature,
Cody joined the Fifth Cavalry in 1876, and was again appointed chief
of scouts.

Colonel Cody’s fame had reached the East long before, and a great
many New Yorkers went out to see him and join in his buffalo hunts,
including such men as August Belmont, James Gordon Bennett, Anson
Stager, and J. G. Heckscher. In entertaining these visitors at Fort
McPherson, Cody was accustomed to arrange wild-West exhibitions. In
return his friends invited him to visit New York. It was upon seeing
his first play in the metropolis that Cody conceived the idea of
going into the show business.

Assisted by Ned Buntline, novelist, and Colonel Ingraham, he started
his “Wild West” show, which later developed and expanded into “A
Congress of the Rough Riders of the World,” first presented at Omaha,
Nebraska. In time it became a familiar yearly entertainment in the
great cities of this country and Europe. Many famous personages
attended the performances, and became his warm friends, including Mr.
Gladstone, the Marquis of Lorne, King Edward, Queen Victoria, and the
Prince of Wales, now King of England.

At the outbreak of the Sioux, in 1890 and 1891, Colonel Cody served
at the head of the Nebraska National Guard. In 1895 Cody took up the
development of Wyoming Valley by introducing irrigation. Not long
afterward he became judge advocate general of the Wyoming National
Guard.

Colonel Cody (Buffalo Bill) died in Denver, Colorado, on January
10, 1917. His legacy to a grateful world was a large share in
the development of the West, and a multitude of achievements in
horsemanship, marksmanship, and endurance that will live for ages.
His life will continue to be a leading example of the manliness,
courage, and devotion to duty that belonged to a picturesque phase
of American life now passed, like the great patriot whose career it
typified, into the Great Beyond.




                    BUFFALO BILL’S WEIRD WARNING.




                             CHAPTER I.

                         MYSTERIOUS DOINGS.


“What was that, Crawling Bear?”

“Ugh! Fire-gun make um big ‘boom.’”

“It was a fire-gun, all right, but where did the report come from?
That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Two horsemen were riding along a bleak, desolate-looking cañon, on
route to the mining-camp known as Sun Dance. One was a white man, and
the other an Indian. The white rider was William Hickok, of Laramie,
better known as “Wild Bill,” and his companion was a Ponca warrior.

Both Wild Bill and Crawling Bear had keen ears, and the muffled
report of the rifle came to them distinctly--not from right or left,
from ahead or behind, or above, but seemingly from the ground under
their horses’ hoofs.

Another report reached them, coming from the same place as the first,
and Wild Bill, with a puzzled look, drew rein and rubbed his hand
over his forehead.

“Am I locoed, or what?” he muttered. “It’s a trick of the echoes, I
reckon. Somebody is having a little gun-play in this vicinity, and
the bottom of the gulch picks up the sound and throws it back to us.”

The Indian made no response, although from his actions it seemed
quite clear that he did not accept the white man’s explanation.

Wild Bill rode on, and a sharp turn in the cañon brought him upon
something which led to a revision of his theory concerning the
rifle-shots.

What he saw was an ore-dump, off at one side of the cañon. The mound
of broken rocks was surmounted by a plank platform. Five horses were
hitched to bushes, not far from the ore-dump, but their riders were
not in evidence.

Wild Bill halted his horse, once more, and looked from the ore-dump
to the horses, and then around the cañon. While his eyes were busy,
there came a third rifle-shot.

“By gorry!” he exclaimed, and gave a low laugh. “This thing begins to
clear up a little, Crawling Bear. There’s a _mine_ here, and probably
the mine has a drift running down the gulch. The shots we heard
really came from under us, but they came from the bottom of the mine.”

“Ugh!” grunted the Ponca. “Why Yellow Eyes make um shoot in mine? No
got um game in mine.”

“Now you’re shouting, my redskin friend. What there is to shoot at,
in that mine, is a conundrum that your Uncle William is going to work
out. Maybe there’s no game to shoot at down there, but there’s a game
being pulled off that needs looking into.”

Wild Bill tossed his bridle-reins to the Ponca and slipped down from
the saddle.

“You go down in mine, huh?” queried Crawling Bear.

“That’s my intention,” was the answer.

“Five ponies, five Yellow Eyes down in mine. Mebbyso Crawling Bear
better go with Wild Bill.”

A smile curled about Wild Bill’s lips.

“Any old day the odds of five to one make me take a back seat,” said
he, “I hope some friend will hand me a good one and tell me to wake
up. I’m going to hide my hand, Crawling Bear. This is a case of find
out what’s doing, and then make a get-away on the q. t.--in case I
can’t help some unfortunate in distress. You look out for the horses;
and, if I can’t take care of myself, then I’m ready to be planted,
for it will be high time.”

With that, Wild Bill stepped to the foot of the ore-dump and climbed
carefully to the plank platform.

An empty ox-hide bucket stood on the platform, off to one side, but
there was no windlass for hoisting the bucket, and there did not
seem to be any ladders for getting down into the shaft. All this
contributed still further to Wild Bill’s perplexity, and at the same
time increased his determination to investigate.

But, if there were no ladders for getting into the mine, there was
a rope. The upper end of the rope was made fast to the edge of the
opening in the middle of the platform.

The Laramie man peered down into the shaft. The blackness was
intense, and he could see nothing, not even the gleam of a candle.

“Can’t tell whether the shaft is fifty feet deep or five hundred,”
he muttered, “but it’s a cinch that none of the men who came here on
those five horses are anywheres around the foot of the shaft. If they
were, they’d jump a piece of lead at me. With my head over the hole,
like this, I’m a good target. Now to go down.”

For an instant Wild Bill sat on the platform, his feet dangling over
the abyss; then, slowly letting himself down, he grabbed the rope and
began to slide.

The shooting continued, the echoes booming louder in Wild Bill’s ears
and increasing his curiosity. Wild Bill was down fifty feet before he
touched bottom. The shaft was not so deep, after all.

Leaving the lower end of the rope, he groped his way around the shaft
wall until he found the opening of the level. In traversing the
level, he dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled.

The level crooked to right and left, and, after Wild Bill had covered
something like fifty feet of it, he began to hear voices, and to see
a glow of light in the distance.

Pushing his head and shoulders around a turn, he suddenly beheld a
queer scene, right at the end of the level.

Five men were there, and four of them carried lighted candles. The
fifth man had no candle, but was armed with a shotgun.

The men had all the earmarks of scoundrels, and each was heeled with
a brace of six-shooters. The fellow with the shotgun had a belt about
his waist, above his revolver-belt, filled with brass shells.

Just as Wild Bill came within sight of the group, the man with the
shotgun was “breaking” the piece at the breach, ejecting an empty
shell and replacing it with one that was loaded. Having finished the
loading, the man threw the gun to his shoulder and shot the charge
into the breast of the level.

“We’re blowin’ a hull lot o’ good stuff inter this bloomin’ country
rock, Clancy,” growled a man with a candle. “Ain’t ye done enough?”

“I started in with fifteen shells,” replied Clancy, the rascal with
the gun, “an’ thar’s five left. We might jest as well close up the
rock with what we’ve still got.”

“How do ye know ther feller’ll take his samples from the place ye’re
puttin’ them loads?”

“He’ll git his samples from the breast o’ the level, won’t he?”
struck in another man with a candle. “By the time we’re done, thar
won’t be a patchin’ he kin pick at but’ll hev its salt. Cap’n
Lawless’ll land him, an’ thar’ll be a hundred thousand ter pass
around. The ‘Forty Thieves’ Mine is a played-out propersition, but
the Easterner won’t find that out until arter us fellers git our
hooks on ther money. Then we’ll hike.”

Clancy banged another load into the rocks.

“Why in thunder ain’t Lawless hyer?” asked another of the
candle-bearers. “He ort ter be helpin’ us, seems like.”

“Don’t you fret none erbout Lawless, Tex,” replied Clancy. “He’ll be
around afore long, ready ter do the fine work an’ land the lobster.
We don’t need him fer this, an’ it’s a heap better fer him not ter
show up in ther cañon while this job o’ salt is bein’ pulled off. If
Lawless ain’t seen around hyer, he won’t be suspected o’ any crooked
work.”

“What’s Lawless doin’, anyways?” queried the man who had spoken first.

“I dunno, but I reckon he’s watchin’ thet ole flash-light warrior,
Buffler Bill. Ye see, Andy, Lawless ain’t anyways eager ter tangle
up with Buffler Bill an’ his pards; not but what Lawless could put
ther scout an’ his friends down an’ out--fer head-work, I backs Cap’n
Lawless, o’ ther Forty Thieves, ag’inst all comers, bar none--but
Lawless is jest startin’ inter this hyer profitable field, an’ he
don’t want ter hev no interruptions.”

“Buffler Bill is workin’ fer ther gov’ment,” said Tex. “He won’t
bother none with the cap’n.”

“Ye never kin tell about him, Tex,” averred Clancy. “Wharever Buffler
scents any unlawful doin’s, he’s li’ble ter butt in; an’ we don’t
want ter give him no chance ter git fracasin’ round with _us_.”

“But if he does,” said Tex, “we’re goin’ ter do him up?”

“We are,” declared Clancy; “him an’ his pards--Nomad an’ ther Injun
kid, Leetle Cayuse. I’m close ter the last ca’tridge, Tex, an’ you
an’ Andy better go up an’ have ther hosses ready. We won’t linger
around ther ore-dump none, arter we come out.”

Wild Bill, screened by the corner of rock, had heard every word of
this talk. The mysterious doings, in the light of the conversation
among the scoundrels, was now clearly explained.

The five men were “salting” the worthless mine; that is, they had
loaded the shotgun-shells with fine gold, and were blowing the gold
into the breast of the level. When the intended victim came to take
his samples of the vein, he would chip off pieces of the doctored
rock, and when the rock was assayed, it would show the mine to be a
heavy “gold-producer.” On this showing, unless the intended victim
was warned, a hundred thousand dollars would change hands, and
Captain Lawless, of the Forty Thieves, whoever he was, would be that
much richer.

“I’ll nip this little scheme in the bud,” thought Wild Bill, as he
drew back and crouched against the wall for Tex and Andy to pass.

The passing of the men, with their candles, was filled with
considerable danger for Wild Bill. If the two ruffians saw him, there
was bound to be a fight, for it would not do to let Wild Bill get
away with the information he had discovered.

Wild Bill drew his revolvers and made himself as small as possible.
Had there been time, he would have hastened back to the shaft, along
the level, and climbed the rope. But he knew he could not have gotten
half-way up before Tex and Andy would have located him. It was better
for Wild Bill to stay right where he was, and hope for the best.

The whole affair, as Wild Bill had planned it, was reckless in the
extreme; but he was daring by nature, and rarely counted the cost
before making a leap in the dark.

This must have been his evil day, and the beginning of a series of
evil days, as will soon appear. Tex and Andy were stumbling past him,
when the former, tripping on a stone that lay on the bottom of the
level, fell sideways, dropping his candle and falling full on the man
from Laramie.

The candle was extinguished, but Tex, encountering the intruder, gave
vent to a wild yell of alarm. Wild Bill’s fist shot out, and Tex
crumpled flat along the floor of the level; the blow was followed
by another, which landed on the point of Andy’s jaw, and threw him
against the hanging wall. His candle also dropped, and Wild Bill set
his foot on the sputtering flame.

By then Clancy and the other three had started at a run to see what
was the trouble. Wild Bill, berating his hard luck, rushed toward the
shaft, but he was running in the dark--a circumstance which brought
him many a bruise and bump. Behind him came three men with two
candles, but Tex and Andy were temporarily out of the race.

From time to time, as he stumbled onward, Wild Bill looked backward
over his shoulder. Suddenly he saw Clancy halt, lift the shotgun, and
shoot along the level.

Quick as a flash, Wild Bill dropped flat. He had no desire to stop a
charge from a brass shell, even though it was of gold.

The fine yellow metal whistled over his head. As the echo of the shot
clamored in the level, Wild Bill sprang up and forged onward with a
reckless laugh.

“They can’t salt _me_,” he muttered, “but I may be able to salt one
of them with lead.”

He paused long enough to chance a shot from his six-shooter. A yell
of pain came from Clancy. The shotgun clattered to the rocks, and he
grabbed at his right arm.

The other two men thereupon began using their revolvers, accompanying
their shooting with savage yells.

Wild Bill, pushing flat against the foot wall, deliberately snuffed
the two candles that remained alight. His wrist had been grazed by
one of the ruffians’ bullets, but it was a small injury, and he gave
it scant attention.

As soon as the level was entirely plunged in darkness, he ran on to
the shaft which, by then, was only a few feet away.

The time had passed for fighting. It was up to him to retreat, and to
see how quick he could get to the top of the shaft, and out of it.

Jabbing his revolver back into his belt, he laid hold of the rope and
started aloft, hand over hand.

Clancy and the rest, meanwhile, had not remained inactive. They
must have been considerably in the dark as to the identity of their
enemy, but they realized that he had caught them red-handed, and that
the success of their whole plot might hang on their capturing him.
Therefore they pushed forward desperately, Clancy in a rage because
of his wound. Tex and Andy, having revived sufficiently from the
sledge-hammer blows they had received, had joined the others.

“Don’t strike any matches,” Wild Bill heard Clancy yell, “and don’t
light no candles. We don’t want the whelp ter make targets o’ us.
Ketch him, thet’s all! Consarn his picter! he’s given me a game arm.
I want ter play even fer thet, anyhow.”

Above him, Wild Bill could see a square patch of daylight as he
climbed. His progress was slow, however, and he knew that when Clancy
and the rest got to the shaft, they would see him swinging in mid-air
between them and the lighted background.

As Wild Bill looked up, he saw the head of Crawling Bear leaning over
the opening and looking down.

“Cover that hole, Crawling Bear!” roared Wild Bill. “They’re after
me, the whole five of ’em. Look alive, now.”

The Ponca was quick-witted, and must have realized the situation. His
head vanished from the patch of light the instant Wild Bill ceased
speaking.

Climbing hand over hand was slow work. Wild Bill’s arms were strong,
and he did his best, but his best did not carry him upward nearly so
swiftly as he could have wished.

Sounds of scrambling feet came from below him, followed by the voice
of Tex.

“Thar he is! See him squirm, will ye? Pepper him! Turn loose at him!”

Just then the hole above suddenly darkened. Wild Bill was still a
target, but not so plain.

The shaft echoed with a patter of reports. A sharp, stinging blow
struck the heel of Wild Bill’s boot, the broad brim of his hat shook,
and he was raked along one side as by a red-hot iron.

“Wow!” he muttered; “if they put a piece of lead into one of my
arms----”

And just then that is exactly what they did. It was Wild Bill’s left
arm. The strength went out of the arm in a flash, and Wild Bill only
saved himself from dropping back to the bottom of the shaft by a
fierce grip on the rope with his right hand.

How could he climb now? The outlook was anything but reassuring.

All this time the Laramie man felt a movement of the rope, as though
Crawling Bear, at the top of the shaft, was tinkering with it under
the cover he had placed over the opening.

“I reckon he ain’t climbin’ no more,” roared the voice of Clancy,
from the depths. “Lay holt, thar, Tex, an’ see if ye kain’t crawl up
an’ haul ther whelp back. He’s winged, mebby, an’ kain’t climb.”

This, as we know, was Wild Bill’s condition. He had twisted the rope
about one of his legs, and was able to maintain his place, but, if he
did not drop downward, neither could he move upward an inch.

Tex, evidently, had grabbed the rope, for it tightened cruelly around
Wild Bill’s leg.

The Laramie man’s arm did not seem to have been very seriously
injured. So far as he could judge, what the arm was suffering from,
more than anything else, was the shock of the bullet.

Twisting the arm about the rope, he drew his knife from its scabbard
at his belt, and bent downward. A quick slash severed the rope in
twain, and a heavy fall and a chorus of oaths came from the shaft’s
bottom. Tex had dropped upon some of his companions, for the moment
demoralizing them.

This move of Wild Bill’s, while necessary for his safety, almost
proved disastrous to him as well as to Tex.

Wild Bill’s left arm was not to be depended upon. At the critical
moment it gave with him; and, had he not dropped the knife and
gripped the rope with his right hand, he would have followed Tex onto
the heads of Clancy and the others.

Before the disorder at the bottom of the shaft could be righted,
and the scoundrels again begin their revolver-work, Wild Bill felt
himself started upward with a jerk.

Crawling Bear was taking a hand! Just what he had done Wild Bill did
not know, but that his means, whatever they were, were effectual,
was proved by the swiftness with which Wild Bill was hauled to the
platform.

In less than half a minute after Wild Bill started upward, his head
struck against a blanket covering the mouth of the shaft, and he was
snaked out onto the planks, and lay blinking in the sun.

At the foot of the ore-dump stood the Ponca with a hand on the bridle
of Wild Bill’s horse. The Laramie man saw in an instant what his red
companion had done.

After covering the mouth of the shaft with his blanket, he had
secured the picket-rope from Wild Bill’s saddle and had tied one end
to the horn; the other end he had secured to the rope leading down
into the shaft, and had then cut the shaft-rope. By leading Wild
Bill’s horse across the cañon from the foot of the ore-dump, the
Ponca had been able to get his white companion to the surface by
horse-power.

“You’re all to the good, Crawling Bear!” declared Wild Bill, sitting
up at the edge of the ore-dump and pulling off his coat. “I had a
close call, down there, and I reckon those yaps would have got me if
it hadn’t been for you.”

Crawling Bear untied the rope from the saddle-horn and began coiling
it in. When he had removed the rope spliced to the end of the
picket-rope, he hung the coil in its proper place at Wild Bill’s
saddle.

“Wild Bill hurt, huh?” he asked, mounting the side of the dump.

“A gouge through the fleshy part of the arm, that’s all,” the Laramie
man answered, examining the injury. “The bullet flickered along the
muscles and went on about its business.”

Wild Bill had cut away the sleeve of his flannel shirt in order to
examine the injury. Out of the bottom of the sleeve he improvised a
bandage, and Crawling Bear helped him put it in place.

When the arm was roughly bandaged, Wild Bill thrust his hand into the
breast of his shirt.

“I’m worth a dozen dead men yet,” he went on, “but that outfit sure
had it in for me. Don’t know as I can blame them, though, as they’ve
got a hundred thousand at stake. I’m going to fool them out of that
hundred thousand--watch my smoke.”

He looked at the bullet-hole through the brim of his hat, then at his
left boot, from which the heel was missing, and finally at the place
where a bullet had raked along the side of his clothes, after which
he laughed grimly.

“They had a good many chances at me, Crawling Bear,” he proceeded,
“but they didn’t make good. We’ve got ’em bottled up in that mine
now, and we’ll keep ’em there until I can get Pard Cody to Sun Dance.
I’ve got a notion he’ll enjoy meeting that gang of trouble-makers.”

The Ponca picked up his blanket from the platform and threw it over
his shoulders.

“Yellow Eyes?” he queried.

“You bet! They’re white tinhorns, every last man of them. It’s up to
you and me to call their little game. It’s a salting proposition,
with a tenderfoot standing to lose a hundred thousand in good, hard
money. Let’s ride for Sun Dance and get there as quick as we can.”

“What about um five _caballos_?” asked the Ponca, his small, beady
eyes gloating over the five horses belonging to Clancy and his outfit.

“Oh, we’ll leave them. Haven’t time to bother with ’em, anyhow.”

Wild Bill descended the slope lamely and climbed into his saddle.
A few moments later, he and the Ponca were continuing on along the
cañon toward Sun Dance.




                             CHAPTER II.

                      ANOTHER STRANGER IN CAMP.


Sun Dance was a very small mining-camp, perched on a shelf up the
side of Sun Dance Cañon. “Six ’dobies stuck on a side hill,” was the
trite and not very elegant way the camp was often described.

The sort of mining indulged in was both quartz and
placer--placer-mining in the gulch and quartz-mining in the
neighboring hills. Only the placer-miners lived in the camp; the
quartz-miners had camps of their own, and only came to Sun Dance for
supplies.

The camp could be reached in two ways: From the bottom of the cañon
by a steep climb, and from the top by a stiff descent.

The stage from Montegordo reached camp by way of the cañon’s rim,
which was its only feasible route; but Wild Bill and Crawling Bear
came from below, and gained the settlement by spurring their horses
up the slope.

Just where the trail crawled over the edge of the flat, there was a
sign-board with the rudely lettered words: “No Shootin’ Aloud in Sun
Dance.” As an indication of how seriously the sign was taken, it may
be mentioned that the lettering could hardly be read for bullet-holes.

By day the camp was practically dead, all the miners being at work on
their placers, and only storekeepers, gamblers, resort proprietors,
and the man who “ran” the hotel being visible. For the most part,
these worthies smoked their pipes and cigarettes during the day, or
played cards among themselves merely to pass the time.

With night everything changed. The camp became a boisterous,
rollicking place.

Miners flocked in, bet their yellow dust on the turn of a card or
a whirl of the wheel, sampled the camp’s “red-eye,” and very often
forgot the warning of the sign, and indulged in shooting that was
very _loud_ and occasionally fatal.

The name of the one hotel in the camp was the “Lucky Strike.” The
proprietor was one Abijah Spangler, a leviathan measuring six foot
ten, up and down, and ten foot six--or so it was said--east and west
at his girth-line. Anyway, Abijah Spangler weighed 300 pounds, and
when he sat down it took two chairs to hold him.

When Wild Bill and Crawling Bear halted in front of the Lucky Strike,
Bije Spangler was sitting down, dripping with perspiration and
agitating the air with a ragged palm-leaf fan.

“You the boss of this hangout?” inquired Wild Bill, surveying
Spangler’s huge bulk with much interest.

“I run it, you bet,” answered Spangler, ruffling his double-chin and
wondering at the red handkerchief about Wild Bill’s arm.

“Got accommodations for two?” queried the Laramie man.

“Fer two _whites_, yes--meals, four bits, and a bed, a dollar.
But”--and here Bije Spangler cast a disapproving eye on the Ponca--“I
don’t feed or house Injuns fer no money. Not meanin’ any disrespect
fer yerself, neighbor,” added Spangler hastily, noting the glint
that rose in Wild Bill’s eye, “but I couldn’t keep open house fer
reds without sp’ilin’ the repertation o’ my hotel.”

The Ponca sat up stiff and straight on his horse.

“Where I stay, he stays,” averred Wild Bill; “what’s good enough for
him is good enough for me. He’s plum white, all but his skin.”

“So’s a Greaser,” grunted Spangler, “or a Chink. Sorry to appear
disobligin’, ’specially as you-all seems to have run inter trouble
somewheres. You’re welcome to stop, but the Injun’ll have ter camp
out in the chaparral.”

Wild Bill was in no mood for arguing the case, and he was about to
ride on, when the Ponca leaned forward and stopped him.

“You want um Ponca take paper-talk to Pa-e-has-ka, hey?” he asked.

“Sure I do, Crawling Bear,” replied Wild Bill, “but I don’t want you
to start for Sill until you have rested yourself and your horse.”

“Ugh! no want um rest. Feel plenty fine. Me take um paper-talk now.”

Wild Bill saw that Crawling Bear meant what he said. The camp not
appearing to be a very safe place for a red man, anyhow, the Laramie
man decided to let his companion have his way.

“Got a place where I can write?” inquired Wild Bill.

“Go through the office an’ inter the bar,” replied Spangler. “You can
write on one of the tables, an’ I reckon the barkeep can skeer up a
patchin’ o’ paper and a lead-pencil.”

Leaving his horse with the Ponca, Wild Bill went into the barroom,
and had soon written a few words to Buffalo Bill, asking him to come
to Sun Dance as soon as possible. Returning to Crawling Bear, Wild
Bill handed him the folded note and a dozen silver dollars.

“Why you give um Ponca dinero?” asked the Indian.

“That’s for carrying the message to Buffalo Bill,” said the Laramie
man.

“Buffalo Bill?” wheezed Spangler, stirring a little in his chair.
“You a friend of Buffalo Bill’s?”

“Yes,” answered Wild Bill, whirling on the fat man. “My name’s
Hickok.”

“Wild Bill!” muttered Spangler. “Say, that’s different. Any Injun
friend o’ Wild Bill’s can stop with me. I’ll break my rules for you,
and----”

Hoofs clattered. Crawling Bear, not waiting further, was off for the
edge of the “flat” on his return journey to Sill.

“You’re too late,” said Wild Bill curtly. “What’s your label.”

“Spangler is my handle.”

“Any strangers in town, Spangler?”

“Only you.”

“When’s the next stage due from Montegordo?”

“To-morrow afternoon.”

“Well, I’m going to stay with you until to-morrow afternoon, anyhow.
Call some one to take care of my horse; and if I can have a room all
to myself, I want it.”

“That’ll cost extry,” said Spangler. “If ye’re goin’ to throw on
style with a private room, you’ll have to bleed ten dollars’ worth.”

“That’s the size of my stack. Hustle, now. I’m fagged, and want to
lie down.”

Spangler lifted his voice and gave a husky yell. In answer to the
signal, a Mexican showed himself around the corner of the house, who
took Wild Bill’s horse. Then once more Spangler indulged in a wheezy
shout. This was the signal for a Chinaman to present himself. After a
few words with Spangler, the Chinaman led Wild Bill into the house,
through the office and the drinking-part of the establishment, and
into a small, corner room, with a window looking out upon the street.

There was a cot in the room, and Wild Bill flung himself down wearily
upon it. In a few minutes he was fast asleep.

He awoke in time for supper, put a fresh bandage around his arm,
and went out into the hotel dining-room. Everything about the Lucky
Strike was exceedingly primitive, and the table, the service, and the
food were about what one would expect in a pioneer mining-camp. Wild
Bill, however, was used to such accommodations and fare.

Following the meal, he smoked a couple of pipes in front of the
hotel, saying nothing to anybody, but keeping up a lot of thinking.

The Forty Thieves--so ran the current of his thoughts--was a
played-out mine. Those five men, under orders from one Captain
Lawless, were salting it. The name of the mine was suggestive, and so
was the name of the man who was engineering the salting operations.

“Captain Lawless, of the Forty Thieves!” said Wild Bill to himself.
“That has sure got a regular rough-house sound. When Pard Cody hears
it, I’ll bet money it will ruffle his hair the wrong way. Crawling
Bear will get that paper-talk through some time to-night, and Cody
will be here to-morrow afternoon. When he arrives, we’ll prance out
to the Forty Thieves and snake those five trouble-makers out of that
hole in the ground; then, if Captain Lawless wants to take a whack at
us, he’s welcome.”

Wild Bill took no part in the hilarious doings of the camp that
night. By 10 o’clock he had locked himself in his room and got into
bed. His arm was a bit painful, so that he was an hour or more in
getting to sleep. When he was once asleep, however, he did not wake
until morning.

His arm felt better. He could use his hand as well as usual. There
was some pain in the arm, but it was not severe.

Following breakfast, he went to one of the general stores and bought
a new flannel shirt, a pair of boots, and a bowie, to take the place
of the one he had lost in the mine.

After that, he sat in front of the Lucky Strike and smoked until
dinner-time; and, after dinner, he smoked until four-thirty, when the
stage pulled over the rim of the cañon and slid down the slope with
the hind wheels tied.

The stage drew up in front of the hotel, and a mail-bag was thrown
off. There was one passenger, a man in a linen duster, and clearly a
stranger.

“He’s the one,” said Wild Bill to himself, knocking the ashes out of
his pipe and getting out of his chair. “The chap doesn’t look much
like an easy mark, though. I wonder if he has any notion he’s taking
long chances with that hundred thousand of his?”

Just then Wild Bill experienced something like a jolt. A man rode
up along the trail that led from the cañon bottom, drew rein in
front of the hotel, dismounted, dropped his bridle-reins over a
hitching-post, and followed the stranger into the Lucky Strike.

The man had his right arm in a sling, and it didn’t take two looks
to inform Wild Bill that the fellow was none other than Clancy!
Clancy, the man who had been blowing gold into the Forty Thieves with
a shotgun! Clancy, the man Wild Bill had left, with four others,
bottled up in the Forty Thieves’ shaft!

Clancy did not pay any attention to Wild Bill. It seemed very
probable that neither Clancy, nor any of those with him in the mine,
had been able to see Wild Bill distinctly enough to recognize him in
another place and in broad day.

Then, too, the Laramie man had a new shirt of a different color
from the blue one he had worn in the mine, and he showed no sign of
injury. All this would help to keep Clancy from recognizing him, even
if he had got a tolerably good look at him in the Forty Thieves.

Reassured on this point, Wild Bill fell to canvassing another. How
had Clancy managed to escape from the shaft?

Clancy and the rest must have had help. Some other member of the gang
must have been abroad in the cañon, and no doubt happened along and
gave his aid.

Wild Bill was disappointed. He had hoped the five would be kept in
the Forty Thieves until Buffalo Bill reached Sun Dance.

Strolling into the office of the hotel, Wild Bill saw Clancy in close
conversation with the man in the linen duster. They were off by
themselves in one corner, and were conversing in low, animated tones.

“Clancy is going to hold the man until this Captain Lawless shows
up,” thought Wild Bill. “I must have a word with that tenderfoot and
show him how he is going to be gold-bricked. I’d hate myself to death
if I ever allowed that gang of robbers to get away with his hundred
thousand.”

Wild Bill, having settled the situation in his mind, strolled out to
the front of the hotel, filled his pipe again, and seated himself in
the chair he had occupied for most of the day.

He was waiting for the stranger, and he had not long to wait. Clancy
came out, unhitched his horse, climbed into the saddle, and clattered
back toward the bottom of the cañon. A few minutes later the stranger
followed, pulled up a chair a few feet from Wild Bill’s, and seated
himself.

“Howdy,” said Wild Bill, with a friendly nod, by way of breaking the
ice.

“How do you do, sir?” answered the stranger, with all the elaborate
courtesy of an Easterner. “Will you try one of these?”

He offered Wild Bill a cigar, and the latter accepted it amiably.

“Stranger, I take it?” pursued Wild Bill.

“Well, yes,” answered the other. “I came in on the afternoon stage
from Montegordo.”

“Looking up the mines?”

A suspicious look crossed the stranger’s face.

“Figuring on examining the Forty Thieves,” pursued Wild Bill, “with
the intention of handing out one hundred thousand cold plunks for the
same?”

The stranger laughed.

“You seem to be pretty well informed,” he remarked. “I haven’t told a
soul about my business here, but you reel it right off, first clatter
out of the box.”

“Steer wide of the Forty Thieves, pilgrim,” said Wild Bill earnestly.
“That proposition is a trap for the unwary. I know. It cost me some
trouble to find out what I’m telling you, but you take my word for
it, and let the property alone.”

“Who are you?” inquired the stranger, with sudden interest.

“My name’s Hickok, William Hickok.”

The stranger hitched restlessly in his chair.

“The man I’ve heard so much about under the sobriquet of Wild Bill?”
he asked.

“Tally! That’s the time you got your bean on the right number.”

The stranger fell silent for a space.

“My name is Smith,” said he finally; “J. Algernon Smith, of Chicago,
and what you tell me is mighty surprising.” He drew his chair closer.
“Would you mind telling me just what you have found out?”

“Sure I wouldn’t mind. I’m hungry to cut into this game, and even up
with the pack of tinhorns that gave me a hot half-hour yesterday.”

And thereupon Wild Bill began telling what he had seen and heard in
the level of the Forty Thieves. When he had finished, J. Algernon
Smith was wide-eyed and staring.

“Really,” he managed to gasp, “this is most astounding.”

“I reckon it’s all that,” mildly answered Wild Bill. “The very name
of that mine, though, is enough to make a man think some. Who’s the
fellow you’re going to deal with?”

“His name, I believe, is James Lawless.”

“That’s another name that’s bad medicine.”

“I’d never thought of the names in that light.”

“That fellow that was talking with you, right after you got out of
the stage, was Clancy, the scoundrel that was blowing gold into the
rock with a shotgun. What did he want?”

“Why, he was telling me that Lawless hadn’t got here yet, and he was
warning me not to say anything to anybody about my business in Sun
Dance.”

“You couldn’t blame him for that,” remarked Wild Bill dryly.

“He asked me to meet him at the foot of the slope, in the bottom of
the cañon, immediately after supper,” went on the stranger, “so we
could have a quiet talk.”

“You can see how they’re working it, can’t you?” returned Wild Bill.
“They’re trying to keep this business dark until Lawless shows up,
and meanwhile Clancy is going to keep your interest at fever-heat by
all kinds of stringing. Any objection to my going along with you when
you meet Clancy?”

“No, indeed, Wild Bill. I was about to suggest that myself. I am sure
I’m very much obliged to you for your interest in me, and----”

“Stow that,” interrupted Wild Bill. “It isn’t my interest in you,
particularly, that leads me to take a hand, but it’s more a desire to
see every man get what’s coming to him. _Sabe?_”

At that moment the Chinaman came out in front of the hotel and
pounded on a gong.

“Suppa leddy!” he announced.

The stranger did not remove his linen duster. It covered him from
his neck to his heels, and Wild Bill thought he kept it on so as not
to soil his Eastern clothes. He and the Laramie man sat at the same
table, and next to each other.

When the meal was over, J. Algernon Smith excused himself for a
minute, and said he would rejoin Wild Bill in front of the hotel, and
they would at once take their way down the slope to the bottom of the
cañon.

Wild Bill waited for five minutes before J. Algernon Smith rejoined
him, and they started across the “flat” toward the top of the slope.

“A tenderfoot has got to keep his eyes skinned,” said Wild Bill, “or
he’ll collide with more trouble, in this western country, than he
ever dreamed was turned loose.”

“I presume you are right,” said J. Algernon Smith. “Only fancy
blowing gold into a mine with a shotgun!” He laughed a little. “If
they knew that, back in Chicago, they’d make game of me,” he added.
“You haven’t told any one about this, have you?”

“Not a soul but you.”

“I’m glad of that, I can tell you. I’d hate to have the business get
out. Of course, I hadn’t bought the mine yet. I was going to take
samples, you know, and have them assayed; then, if the assays showed
up well, the deal would have been made.”

It was very dark, at that hour, on the slope leading down into the
cañon. Bushes fringed the horse-trail, in places, and there was quite
a patch of chaparral at the foot of the slope.

Here Wild Bill and J. Algernon Smith came to a halt.

“Clancy doesn’t seem to be around,” said Wild Bill. “Maybe you’d
better tune up with a whistle, or a yell, so that he’ll know where
you are.”

J. Algernon Smith stared into the depths of a thicket.

“It looks to me as though there was a man in there,” said he. “Can
you see any one, Mr. Hickok?”

Wild Bill took a step forward. His back was to his companion, and,
while he was peering into the bushes, he heard a hasty step behind
him.

He started to turn; and, at that precise instant, a heavy blow, dealt
with some hard instrument, landed on the back of his head.

He staggered, but, with a fierce effort, rallied all his strength,
and turned around. In the darkness he saw the yellow duster pressing
upon him. It was Smith, and Smith was about to land another
treacherous blow.

Wild Bill’s head was reeling, but he had sense enough left to
understand that he had made some sort of a mistake, and that Smith
was other than he had seemed.

Evading the blow aimed at him, the Laramie man gripped Smith by the
throat. Ultimately, in spite of his unsteady condition, Wild Bill
might have got the best of his antagonist had not Clancy taken a part
in the struggle.

The latter plunged through the bushes and assaulted Wild Bill from
behind.

At Clancy’s second blow, Wild Bill’s reason fled, and he dropped
helplessly on the rocks.




                            CHAPTER III.

                          CAPTAIN LAWLESS.


How long Wild Bill remained unconscious he never knew, but it must
have been a considerable time. He had been struck down at the foot
of the rocky slope, and when he opened his eyes he was lying in the
level of the Forty Thieves.

Wild Bill had no difficulty in recognizing the level, for three or
four candles were burning in niches of the rock, and lighted the
place sufficiently for him to make observations.

The Laramie man’s unconsciousness had lasted long enough for his
captors to remove him from the slope four or five miles down the
cañon and lower him into the mine.

His hands and feet were bound, and a savage pain from his left arm,
cramped around behind him, in no wise mitigated the discomforts of
his situation. His head, too, was aching, and his brain was still
dizzy.

He was surrounded by seven men, all but one of whom he recognized.
Clancy was one, Tex was another, and Andy was a third. The faces of
two more he remembered to have seen in the level with Clancy the day
before.

Another of the men, of course, was J. Algernon Smith, in his linen
duster.

The seventh of the outfit was the fellow whose face was strange to
Wild Bill.

The prisoner lay snugly against the hanging wall of the level. He
had made no stir when he opened his eyes, and his captors did not
know that he had recovered his senses. They were talking, and Wild
Bill was content to lie quietly and listen.

“He got away from you,” Smith was saying, “and when he went he took
the rope with him. How did you get out?”

“We was in hyer all night, cap’n,” replied Clancy; “me with this game
arm, an’ all the rest more er less knocked about an’ stove up. We
didn’t hev no water, er grub, er nothin’, an’ I had about calculated
that we’d starve ter death; then, jest as things were lookin’ mighty
dark fer us, Seth, thar, happened erlong, and we heerd him hollerin’
down the shaft.”

“I was left in Sun Dance,” spoke up Seth, who was the fellow Wild
Bill had failed to recognize, “ter watch the stage an’ see if you, er
Bingham, come in on it. Nothin’ came that arternoon, but the mail----”

“It will be two or three days before Bingham arrives here,”
interjected Smith. “Go on, Seth.”

“As the night passed,” proceeded Seth, “an’ Clancy an’ the rest
didn’t come back ter Sun Dance, I began ter feel anxious about ’em.
Arter breakfast in the mornin’, I couldn’t stand the unsartinty any
longer, so I saddled up an’ rode down the cañon. Seen the five hosses
bunched tergether in the scrub, so I knowed the boys must be in the
mine. When I climbed the ore-dump, I seen the rope layin’ on the
platform, an’ I couldn’t savvy the layout, not noways. I got down on
my knees, stuck my head inter the shaft, an’ let off a yell. The yell
was answered, an’ it wasn’t long afore I knowed what had happened.
I drapped a riata down, an’ spliced on the rope layin’ on the
platform, an’ purty soon the boys was on top o’ ground.”

“We all thort the game was up,” said Clancy, when Seth had finished.
“The feller that had came nosin’ inter the mine had drapped his
bowie, an’ we found the name, ‘Wild Bill,’ burned inter the handle.
‘Thunder!’ I says ter the boys; ‘if thet was Wild Bill we had down
here, I ain’t wonderin’ none he got away. He’s a reg’lar tornader!
The wonder is,’ I says, ‘thet some o’ us didn’t git killed.’ In the
arternoon I rode ter Sun Dance ter meet the stage myself, an’ thet’s
how I come ter meet ye, cap’n, an’ ter tell ye a leetle o’ what took
place. But I reckon us fellers ain’t got any kick comin’ _now_.”
Clancy gave a husky laugh. “Wild Bill drapped inter yore hands,
cap’n, like er reg’lar tenderfoot. It was a slick play, yere bringin’
him along when ye come ter meet me at the foot o’ thet slope. The
minit ye jumped at him I knowed somethin’ was up, an’ I wasn’t more’n
a brace o’ shakes in takin’ a hand.”

“It was a tight squeak,” said Smith. “We came within a hair’s breadth
of having this whole story get out. If it had ever reached Bingham’s
ears it would have cost this gang a cool hundred thousand.”

“Ye’re sure Wild Bill didn’t do any talkin’?”

“He says he didn’t, and I believe he told the truth.”

“But thar was some ’un with him. He didn’t git out o’ the shaft
without help.”

“That man was a Ponca Indian. He didn’t stop in Sun Dance long, but
was sent out of camp by Wild Bill, with a paper-talk for Buffalo
Bill, at Fort Sill.”

“Consarn it!” grunted Tex moodily. “Ain’t we goin’ ter work through
this trick without hevin’ Buffler Bill mixed up in it?”

A muttered oath escaped the lips of Smith.

“If Buffler Bill mixes up in this,” said he, “we’ll take care of him,
just as we’re going to take care of Wild Bill. There’s seven of us,
and I’ve got the nerve to think I’m as good a man as Buffalo Bill.”

“You’ve got nerve enough for anything, Smith,” spoke up Wild Bill,
“but when you compare yourself with Cody, you’re a little bit wide of
your trail.”

A sudden silence fell over the gang. All of them turned their eyes on
the prisoner, and Smith got up and stepped toward him.

“Got your wits back, have you?” Smith demanded, with a scowl.

“I didn’t have much sense when I started in to do you a friendly
turn,” said Wild Bill. “That’s where I went lame. Who are you,
anyhow?”

A hoarse laugh broke from the man’s lips. The next moment he had
stripped away the linen duster, revealing a tall, supple form clad
in gaudy costume. About the shoulders was a short jacket of black
velvet, strung with silver-dollar buttons that flashed in the
candlelight; about the waist was a silken sash of red, supporting a
brace of silver-mounted derringers. Boots made of fancy leather arose
to the knee, and a black sombrero capped the flashy apparel.

“In the first place,” said the man, with a fiendish grin, “my name is
not Smith, but Lawless.”

“Well, I’ll be hanged!” muttered Wild Bill. “You’re Lawless, and I
jumped right at you, in the Lucky Strike Hotel, supposing you were
the tenderfoot who’s coming here to drop into your game! That’s a big
one on me, and I reckon that fool play makes me deserve all I’ve
got coming. Well, well! This would be plumb comical if it wasn’t so
blamed serious.”

“It _is_ serious--for you,” said Captain Lawless. “What you know
stands between me and my men and one hundred thousand dollars. Why
did you mix up in this thing, in the first place?”

“I heard shooting down in this mine, and was curious to find out what
it meant.”

“You found out--and that’s what’s going to make you trouble.”

Lawless turned away.

“Is everything ready, Clancy?” he asked.

“The fuses are all ready ter light.”

“Then snake him off down the level and we’ll finish this right up.
See that you make a good job of it.”

Obeying a gesture from Clancy, Andy and Tex caught Wild Bill by the
shoulders and dragged him some ten feet toward the shaft of the mine.
Seth followed with a candle.

A stub crosscut opened off the level at this point, and Wild Bill was
dragged into this and along it for fifteen feet, as he judged. That
brought him to the end of the crosscut, which proved to be a blind
wall.

“We’re going to put you in a pocket, Wild Bill,” said Lawless, who
had followed, “and leave you there. You’ll not be able to bother
anybody; and, of course, you’ll never live to get out, even if you’re
not killed by the blast.”

“I’m not following you very clearly,” said Wild Bill. “Is it your
intention to send me across the divide?”

“That’s it. You know too much, and we can’t take any chances with
you. Look here.”

Lawless passed to the entrance of the crosscut and waved the candle
back and forth. In the candlelight. Wild Bill saw the ends of three
fuses, placed on a line.

“At the end of each fuse,” explained Lawless calmly, “there’s a heavy
charge of powder. Clancy loaded the holes, and he knows just what a
charge will do when it’s put down in any given place. He has set this
blast so as to wall up the crosscut and leave you in a rock cell.
Clancy says that you won’t be hurt by the flying rock when the blast
goes off, but that you’ll be walled in so you can’t get out. You’ll
not have any water or food, and you’ll not have much air. That can’t
be helped.”

“You’re a fiend!” gritted Wild Bill, glaring at the calm face of
Lawless.

“This job of salt is going to win out. Bingham will find less gold in
the Forty Thieves than he imagined; but, if he digs away the barrier
we’re going to throw up, he’ll find something else here that will
surprise him.”

“Why can’t you use a bullet or a knife, if you’re bound to put me out
of the way?” called Wild Bill. “What do you want to go to all this
trouble for?”

“This will look like an accident, if you’re ever found.”

“Look like an accident!” answered Wild Bill ironically. “How do you
figure that, if I’m ever found with my hands and feet tied?”

“If Clancy is right, and you’re not hit by flying rock, or smothered
before an hour or two, you’ll get rid of the ropes.”

“And you’re _white_!” muttered Wild Bill, as though it was hard for
him to couple such a murderous act with a man of that color. “Why,
you inhuman scoundrel, you ought to be black as the ace of spades,
and to wear horns! This may be the end of me, but it won’t be the
end of this business for you. My pard, Bill Cody, is coming to Sun
Dance Cañon to meet me. If he doesn’t meet me, he’ll know something
is wrong, and when he runs out the trail, you’ll owe him something.
_And whatever you owe Cody, you’ll pay!_”

“If I ever owe Cody anything,” scowled Lawless, “I’ll pay him just as
I’m paying you. I didn’t pip my shell yesterday. You’re wide of your
trail, Hickok, if you think I’m not able to take care of myself.”

Lawless disappeared from the mouth of the crosscut.

“Touch off the blasts,” Wild Bill heard him say to Clancy; “all the
rest of you,” he added, “go on to the shaft. We’ve got to make a
quick getaway as soon as the fuses are fired.”

Then, with staring eyes, Wild Bill saw Clancy take a candle and bend
down. From one fuse to another went the candle gleam, leaving a
sputtering blue flame at the end of each fuse.

Having finished his work, Clancy whirled and raced after Lawless and
the rest, who had already started for the shaft.

Turning on his side, with his face against the rocks, Wild Bill
waited for the deafening detonation which was to throw a barrier of
rock across the mouth of the crosscut and wall him up in a living
tomb.




                             CHAPTER IV.

                          THE INDIAN GIRL.


“Whatever d’ye think Wild Bill wants us fur, Buffler?”

“I haven’t any idea, Nick, but he’ll think we’re a long time getting
to Sun Dance.”

“That paper-tork o’ his had a hard time reachin’ us, an’ we’ve had er
hard time gittin’ through ter Sun Dance--leastways, you an’ Dell hev
had. But we kain’t be so pizen fur from ther camp now.”

“This short cut we’re taking through the hills will bring us into the
cañon above the camp. Dell and Cayuse will come in below. We ought to
get to the place we’re going a good two hours ahead of them.”

The king of scouts, and his old trapper pard, Nick Nomad, were riding
through the rough country on their way to Sun Dance.

It was early morning, and the trapper and his pards had been in the
saddle all night.

A number of things had conspired to delay them in taking the trail in
answer to Wild Bill’s “paper-talk.” Among other things, Crawling Bear
had been slain by hostile Cheyennes, and Hickok’s note had come into
the scout’s hands by another messenger.

Some distance back on the Sun Dance trail, the scout and Nomad had
separated from Dell Dauntless, Buffalo Bill’s girl pard, and the
Piute boy, Little Cayuse, the scout and the trapper to travel “’cross
lots,” and Dell and Cayuse to follow the regular trail.

This would bring Buffalo Bill and Nomad into Sun Dance a little
earlier than if they had kept to the trail, and they were already so
late that they were anxious to save even an hour or two.

The course they took was a rugged one, and they had to climb steep
hills and ridges, and urge their mounts over ground that would have
tried the strongest nerves.

But it was all for Pard Hickok, and no loyal pard ever called on
Buffalo Bill in vain.

The scout, however, was vastly puzzled to account for the business
that had led to the call. In his note, Wild Bill had not written a
word about that.

“Wild Bill must hev tangled up with somethin’ purty fierce,” remarked
Nomad, “or he’d never hev sent in a hurry-up call like thet.”

“It may not be anything that concerns Wild Bill, Nick, but something
that concerns _us_,” the scout returned. “Hickok may not be in
trouble; on the contrary, he may know something we’ve got to know in
order to avoid trouble ourselves.”

“Kerect, Buffler. I hadn’t thort o’ ther thing in thet light afore.
We ain’t neither of us very much in ther habit o’ side-steppin’ when
trouble hits ther pike an’ p’ints fer us. This hyar trouble is er
quare thing, pard; plumb quare. Some o’ the people has trouble all
ther time, an’ all ther people has trouble some o’ the time, but all
ther people kain’t hev trouble all ther time.”

The scout laughed.

“What of it, anyhow, Nick?” he asked.

“Nothin’. I was jest torkin’ ter give my bazoo exercise. No man
knows jest when trouble is goin’ ter hit him. Sometimes he kin see
et a good ways off, like er choo-choo train. He kin hyer ther bell
an’ ther whistle, an’ ef he’s a-walkin’ on ther track, he’s er ijut
ef he don’t step off, an’ let et go by. An’ then, ag’in, trouble
comes on ye around a sharp curve. The despatcher mixes orders,
er somethin’, an’ afore ye know et ye’re tangled up in a head-on
collision. Now, thet’s what I call----”

Nomad was interrupted. As if to illustrate his rambling remarks, the
crack of a rifle was heard in the distance, followed by a shrill
scream.

The two pards, at that moment, were on the crest of a rocky ridge.
Instinctively they stopped their horses and shot their glances in the
direction from which the report and the scream reached them. What
they saw set their pulses to a swifter beat.

Speeding toward them along the foot of the ridge was an Indian girl.
She was mounted on a sorrel cayuse, and the pony was getting over
the ground like a streak. The girl was bending forward, her blanket
flying in the wind behind, and her quirt was dropping on the pony’s
withers with lightninglike rapidity.

She was being pursued by an Indian buck, armed with a rifle. The buck
seemed savagely determined to overtake the girl. He was mounted on a
larger, and evidently a fleeter, horse, for at every stride he came a
shade closer.

“Is thet ther ceremony o’ ther fastest hoss, Buffler?” queried the
startled Nomad. “Ef ther buck ketches ther gal, will she marry him?
Hey?”

“That isn’t the ceremony of the fastest horse, Nick,” answered the
scout. “The buck wouldn’t be shooting at the girl if it was.”

“Mebbyso he was jest shootin’ ter skeer her.”

“It’s not the right way to win a bride--or a Cheyenne bride. As near
as I can make out, those two are Cheyennes.”

“Ther gal’s a Cheyenne, but at this distance I take ther buck fer a
Ponca.”

“I reckon you’re right, Nick. The buck is a Ponca and the girl a
Cheyenne. There’s a good deal of bad blood between the Cheyennes and
the Poncas just now, and we can’t overlook the fact that the under
dog, in this case, is a squaw. We’ll save her.”

“Shore we’ll save her!” averred Nomad. “I knowed ye’d be fer doin’
thet all along. We’re jest fixed right ter slide down this hill and
sashay in between ther two.”

“That Ponca is getting ready to shoot again!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill,
as he started his horse, Bear Paw, down the descent. “The next bullet
may not go as wide as the first, and I reckon we’d better give the
buck something to think about, so he’ll let the girl alone.”

As he charged down the slope, Buffalo Bill pulled his forty-five out
of his belt and shook a load in the Ponca’s direction.

The range was too great for pistol-work, but the scout succeeded in
his design of giving the buck “something to think about.”

The crack of the revolver and the “sing” of the bullet caused the
buck to lower the rifle he had half-raised, and to turn his eyes in
the direction of the white men. The girl also, for the first time,
saw that help was near. She flung up one hand in a mute appeal.

“Don’t ye fret none, gal!” roared Nomad. “We’ll look out fer _you_!”

The girl, apparently taking courage from the shot fired in the buck’s
direction, and from the reassuring tone of Nomad’s voice, slowed down
her pony.

A few moments later the pards reached the foot of the ridge and laid
their horses across the Ponca’s path. The Ponca, without speaking,
tried to go around them. This was the girl’s signal to turn her pony
and circle back until she was under the lee of Bear Paw.

“No, ye don’t, Injun!” cried the trapper, kicking in with his spurred
heels and getting in front of the Ponca at a jump. “Mebbyso ye kin
git eround me, but ye kain’t git eround _this_!” and Nomad leveled a
revolver.

The Indian sat back on his horse and glared angrily at Nomad, at the
scout, and at the girl.

“Me take um squaw,” grunted the Ponca. “Her b’long to Ponca.”

“She’s a Cheyenne,” said the scout. “How can a Cheyenne belong to a
Ponca?”

“Me buy um squaw with ponies,” asserted the Indian. “Me take her from
Cheyenne village, and she make um run. Ugh! Give Big Thunder squaw.”

“You bought this girl of the Cheyennes?” demanded the scout.

“Wuh! Pay um all same so many ponies.”

The Ponca held up five fingers.

Buffalo Bill looked at the girl attentively. He had never seen a
prettier Indian girl. Her features were regular, and her large,
liquid-black eyes gave her countenance almost a Spanish cast. Her
garments were of buckskin, beaded and fringed, and her blanket was
of a subdued color, clean and new. Broad silver bands encircled
her forearms and her shapely wrists, and her hands were small and
delicately formed.

The buck, on the other hand, was a rough-looking specimen of a Ponca.

“Speakin’ free an’ free, as between men an’ feller sports,” observed
Nomad, “I kain’t blame ther gal none fer runnin’ erway.”

“Me know um Pa-c-has-ka,” said Big Thunder calmly. “Him friend of
Poncas, and him got good heart. Him no let squaw get away from Ponca
brave.”

“What is your name?” asked the scout of the girl.

“Wah-coo-tah,” was the answer.

“That’s a Sioux name.”

“Me Cheyenne, no Sioux. Name Wah-coo-tah.”

The girl had a rippling, musical voice, very different from the
usually hard, strident voices of Indian women.

“Very well, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout, “I’ll take your word for
it. Why was the Ponca chasing you?”

“Me no like um.”

“Did your father sell you to the Ponca?”

“Ai. Me no like um, me run ’way. Him ketch Wah-coo-tah, then
Wah-coo-tah kill herself.”

Here was a knotty point for the scout. Having bought the girl, by the
girl’s own admission, the Ponca certainly had a right to take her for
his squaw. But the scout could not justify himself in his own mind if
he allowed the vicious-looking Ponca to take the fair Cheyenne.

“Where will you go, Wah-coo-tah, if you get away from the Ponca?”

“Me go where me be safe,” she said.

“How much time do you want to get away?”

The girl turned on her pony’s back and pointed to the top of a
distant hill.

“So far,” she answered.

“All right. We’ll hang onto the Ponca until you get there.”

Before the scout could stop her, Wah-coo-tah caught his hand and
pressed it to her lips. Then she turned her pony and galloped off.

Big Thunder sat silently on his horse for a space, his eyes
glittering fiendishly. Suddenly he jerked his rifle to his shoulder.
Nomad, watching him like a cat, struck up the barrel, and the bullet
plunged skyward.

Quick as a catamount the Ponca dropped the weapon and hurled himself
from his horse’s back--not at Nomad, but at Buffalo Bill. He had a
drawn knife in his hand, and, as he landed on the scout’s horse, he
made a venomous, whole-arm stab with it.

But if the Ponca was quick, the scout was a shade quicker. Twisting
about in his saddle, Buffalo Bill clutched the Ponca’s knife-wrist
with his right hand, and, with his left, took a firm grip of the
Ponca’s throat.

A second later and the struggle carried them both to the ground.

Big Thunder was a powerful Indian, and the nude, upper-half of his
wiry body was liberally besmeared with bear’s grease. The grease made
him as slippery as an eel. Nevertheless, the scout knew how to deal
with him.

A crushing pressure at the wrist caused the knife to drop. With the
Ponca practically disarmed, the fight became one of mere wrestling
and fisticuffs.

Big Thunder slipped his oily throat clear of the scout’s fingers, but
the scout’s hand, leaping upward from the throat, took a firm grip of
the scalp-lock. Holding the Ponca’s head to the ground, Buffalo Bill
released his wrist, and got his right hand about the throat in such a
manner that it could not slip; then, kneeling on the ground, he held
the Ponca in that position until he was half-throttled.

“Waugh!” jubilated Nomad. “Jest see how Pard Buffler tames ther red
savage. I’m darned ef et ain’t as good as a show. Goin’ ter strangle
him, Buffler? Better do et. Ef ye don’t, he’ll camp on yore trail
an’, sooner er later, ye’ll hev ter kill him ter prevent his takin’
yer scalp.”

The scout saw that the Indian had been punished enough for his
attack, and suddenly sprang away from him.

“Don’t worry, pard,” sang out Nomad; “I’ve got him kivered.”

For a second or two the Ponca lay on the ground, gasping for breath;
then, as he struggled to his feet, the point of the trapper’s
revolver lifted with him, the trapper’s menacing eye gleaming along
the barrel.

“Easy, thar, Ponk!” warned Nomad; “make er single hosstyle move, an’
ye’ll be er good Injun afore ye kin say Jack Robinson.”

Big Thunder, seeing how he was corralled, grunted savagely, drew
himself to his full height, and folded his arms.

“Injun thought Pa-e-has-ka friend of Poncas!” he exclaimed scathingly.

“I’m the friend of the Poncas, all right, Big Thunder,” answered the
scout, “but the girl did not want to go with you.”

“Ponca buy her, make um go!”

“Not while I’m around. Keep your hands off that girl, understand?”

“Ponca no keep hands off Pa-e-has-ka. Bymby, Pa-e-has-ka’s scalp dry
in Big Thunder’s lodge; Big Thunder make um Cheyenne girl tie um
scalp on hoop, hang um up.”

“Hyer ther pizen red!” snarled the trapper. “Hadn’t I better rattle
this hyar pepper-box o’ mine at ther threatenin’ varmint?”

“No.” The scout looked in the direction taken by the girl. She had
got far beyond the point to which she had drawn his attention, and
had vanished. “I reckon Wah-coo-tah’s all right, Nick. Put up your
gun and we’ll ride on to Sun Dance.”

Unconcernedly, the scout walked to Bear Paw and mounted.

Big Thunder, still erect and with his arms folded, followed the
scout’s movements with eyes of hate.

“Come on, pard,” said the scout, starting for the next “rise.”

“Mebbyso he’ll open up on ye with thet rifle o’ his, Buffler,”
demurred Nomad.

“He’ll not do that,” was Buffalo Bill’s confident reply, as he
spurred on.

Nomad lowered his revolver, but kept his vigilant gaze on the Ponca
as he followed his pard. When they crossed the next hill, the last
they saw of Big Thunder he was still glaring after them.

“Ye’ve made er enemy out o’ thet red, Buffler,” observed the trapper,
pushing his revolver back into its holster.

“I suppose so,” said the scout thoughtfully. “The worst of it is,
Nick, I can’t blame the Indian. According to the laws and customs of
the red man he is in the right. I had no business interfering between
him and Wah-coo-tah.”

“Any white man would hev done et!” asserted the trapper.

“Any white man who had the right kind of a heart,” qualified the
scout.

“Wah-coo-tah ain’t er common Injun squaw.”

“That’s why I helped her.”

“All this hyar,” commented Nomad, “on’y illustrates what I was er
sayin’ erbout trouble. This excitement come around ther curve,
full-tilt, an’ hit us squar’ in ther face. Thar wasn’t no dodgin’ et.”

Half an hour later the pards descended into Sun Dance Cañon, and an
hour’s ride down the cañon brought them to the foot of the slope
leading to the “flat,” and the mining-camp.

“We’re a good two hours ahead o’ Dell an’ Cayuse,” asserted Nomad,
while they were climbing the slope.

“I hope we’re in time for Hickok’s business, whatever it is,”
answered the scout.

Bije Spangler, as usual, was occupying a couple of chairs in front of
the Lucky Strike. The ragged, palm-leaf fan was working slowly, and
he watched the pards approach with a speculative eye. Spangler had no
difficulty in detecting that they were persons of consequence.

“‘Lucky Strike Hotel,’” said the scout, reading from the sign. “Are
you the proprietor?” he went on, dropping his eyes to the huge bulk
of humanity in the two chairs.

“I run this joint,” wheezed Spangler, “but I ain’t high-toned enough
ter call myself a proprietor.”

“Can we stop here?”

“Can if ye got the price.”

“We want a room by ourselves.”

“Only got one private room, an’ that was took by a feller that
vamosed last night without settlin’ up. Reckon ye kin hev that,
seein’ as I don’t know whether the feller’s ever comin’ back er not.
J. Algernon Smith sorter opined he’d like a room by hisself, too, so
I reckon he’d think he had fust claim on the room, on’y he vamosed as
myster’ously as Wild Bill.”

“What’s that?” demanded the scout, pulling himself together with a
jerk, and peering sharply into the flabby face of Spangler. “Was Wild
Bill Hickok staying here?”

“He was.”

“And you say he left last night?”

“Him an’ J. Algernon went away tergether. That was right after supper
last night, an’ neither of ’em has come back yet.”

“How long has Wild Bill been here?”

“He come day before yesterday, on hossback, with er Injun. J.
Algernon come yesterday arternoon, on the Montegordo stage. Both of
’em’s skedaddled. Who might you be, neighbor?”

“Cody’s my name----”

Spangler tried to express his surprise and delight, but only
succeeded in emitting a throaty gurgle; he likewise tried to get up
and grab the scout’s hand, but his sudden flop displaced one of the
chairs, and he slumped to the ground in a quivering heap.

Nomad got behind him and boosted him up.

“This hyar camp must be er healthy place,” remarked Nomad, “ef et
grows many ombrays o’ yore size.”

“It ain’t as healthy as it looks,” said Spangler. “Buffalo Bill, I’m
glad ter meet ye. Ye kin have this hull hotel if ye want it. I’ll
call a man ter take keer o’ yer hosses.”

“I take care of my horse myself,” replied Buffalo Bill. “Show me the
stable, Spangler.”

Spangler waddled to the corner of the house and pointed to a brush
shelter in the rear.

“What d’ye think o’ this, Buffler?” asked the trapper perplexedly, as
he and his pard led their mounts to the stable.

“I don’t know what to think of it _yet_,” answered the scout, with a
troubled frown.

“Wild Bill was hyar, an’ vanished last night.”

“He vanished with a man called J. Algernon Smith. If we’re to believe
Spangler, both Smith and Hickok departed unexpectedly. It looks bad,
on the face of it, but----”

The rear of the stable was open. As the scout looked in, he saw and
recognized Wild Bill’s horse.

“Et’s Wild Bill’s animile, shore enough,” muttered Nomad, following
the scout’s eyes with his own. “Hickok wouldn’t pull out ter go any
great distance without his hoss.”

“It wouldn’t seem so,” the scout answered, leading Bear Paw into an
empty stall.

Removing the saddle, he rubbed Bear Paw down carefully with the
saddle-blanket, then tore off a layer of hay from a bale, and
loosened it out in the manger.

Nomad, deeply thoughtful, had been caring for his own horse in the
same way.

Presently the pards left the stable and walked back to the front of
the hotel.

Spangler was again seated on his chairs, plying the fan. He was
talking with a man in a long linen duster.

“Buffalo Bill,” called Spangler, “shake hands with J. Algernon Smith,
of Chicago. Smith,” went on Spangler, blowing like a porpoise, “this
here is the Buffalo Bill ye read so much about.”

The scout’s eyes instantly engaged the face of J. Algernon Smith.
Smith, after a moment’s hesitation, stretched out his hand.

The scout was an expert in character-reading, and, inasmuch as Smith
was the last man seen with Wild Bill, he gave him keen attention.

“Well!” exclaimed Smith, “you’re the gentleman Wild Bill has been
expecting. He told me about you.”




                             CHAPTER V.

                         WAH-COO-TAH AGAIN.


“Oh, he did, eh?” queried the scout. “Do you happen to know, Mr.
Smith, where Wild Bill is now?”

“Why,” fluttered Smith, “isn’t he here?”

“No. He left here last night, right after supper, and hasn’t been
back since.”

“Say, but that’s odd!”

“Spangler, here, says that you went with him.”

“I did go with him, as far as the slope leading down into the
cañon. I have a friend living above here--a man I used to know in
Chicago--and I called on him. He insisted that I should stay all
night in his cabin, and I did so.”

“What is your friend’s name, Mr. Smith?”

“Seth Coomby.”

“Do you know such a man, Spangler?” asked the scout, turning to the
hotel proprietor.

“Sure I know him,” answered Spangler. “He has a little,
three-dollar-a-day placer up the gulch.”

“You say,” went on Buffalo Bill, once more facing Smith, “that you
left Wild Bill on the slope leading into the cañon?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“Why, no. I supposed he was here. You don’t think he met with foul
play, do you? I took a big liking to Wild Bill.”

“You didn’t have him very long, did you?” asked the scout keenly. “I
understand you only arrived in camp yesterday afternoon, and that you
and Wild Bill started for the slope right after supper. Not much time
to take a liking to a man. Did you know Wild Bill before you came to
Sun Dance?”

“No; never saw him before I got here. We got acquainted with each
other before supper, and had a little talk over our cigars. Then we
ate supper together, and then I started for Coomby’s, and Wild Bill
walked with me as far as the slope. Say, I’m all broke up about this.”

“Wasn’t you talkin’ with a feller in the office afore ye got ter
talkin’ with Wild Bill?” put in Spangler.

“That was Clancy,” said Smith.

“Yep,” returned Spangler, with a shake of his fat sides, “I know
him, all right; and”--here Spangler gave the scout a significant
glance--“Clancy ain’t got none too good a repertation in this camp.”

“You surprise me!” exclaimed J. Algernon Smith.

The fellow’s actions were ingenuous. He talked and acted like an
Easterner, but he _looked_ like a Westerner, for all that.

“You understand, Mr. Smith,” pursued the scout, with the glint in
his eyes that had taken the nerve of many a wily schemer, “that Wild
Bill is my friend, and that I am anxious about him. If he has met
with foul play, as you just suggested, I shall have something to say
to the scoundrels back of it--later. Just now, though, I want all
the information I can get. You will pardon me if I ask you what this
Clancy had to say to you.”

Smith stiffened.

“What Clancy had to say, Buffalo Bill,” he replied, “is, of course,
my own business. Nevertheless, under the circumstances, I recognize
your right to press inquiries. If you will step aside with me, I will
explain.”

Buffalo Bill walked apart with Smith.

“In order to figure this matter down to where you will have a
thorough understanding of it, Buffalo Bill,” went on Smith, in a tone
that seemed perfectly frank and open, “I shall have to tell you my
business in this camp--and that business is one I was told to keep
dark. I have come here from Chicago to examine a mine with the view
of purchasing it. Clancy came to me from the owner of the mine, who
is shortly expected in this camp. What Clancy told me was that the
owner would be here to-morrow or next day, and Clancy advised me
not to tell any one why I was here. That is all. It is news to me
if Clancy does not bear a good reputation. But I don’t suppose that
affects the mine, anyway. I shall not purchase the property until I
take my ore-samples and have them assayed. Then----”

“What is the name of the mine?” broke in the scout.

“It is called the Forty Thieves.”

“Queer name for an honest mine,” said the scout.

“That’s right; but they have queer names for mines--some of them
almost laughable. For instance, I have heard of the Pauper’s Dream,
the P. D. Q., the----”

“Who owns this mine, Mr. Smith?”

“A man by the name of Lawless; Captain Lawless he calls himself.”

The scout started.

“Have you heard of the fellow?” asked Smith eagerly.

“I have heard of a squawman who calls himself by that name, but whom
the Indians call ‘Fire-hand.’ He is said to be an out-and-out rascal.”

“Great glory!” cried Smith. “It looks as though I had landed right
in the hands of the Philistines. Have you ever seen this Captain
Lawless, Buffalo Bill?”

“Never. One of my pards, Little Cayuse, has seen him, but I have not.”

“When will your pard, Little Cayuse, be here?”

The scout’s eyes narrowed.

“What is that to you, Mr. Smith?” he demanded.

“Why, merely that I should like to have Lawless pointed out to me
before I talk with him. If I don’t like his looks, I’ll get away from
here without examining the Forty Thieves.”

These words were the only ones spoken by Smith that struck the scout
as peculiar. On the whole, however, Smith had stood the scout’s
questioning well.

Buffalo Bill turned away and walked back to Spangler. Smith went on
into the hotel.

“What do you know about the Forty Thieves Mine, Spangler?” asked
Buffalo Bill.

“I know it’s no good, Buffalo Bill,” said Spangler, with a choppy
laugh.

“Where is it?”

“Five miles down the gulch.”

“Who owns it?”

“Give it up. It’s changed hands so many times there ain’t no keepin’
track o’ the owners.”

“Do you know a man who calls himself Captain Lawless?”

“I’ve heerd tell o’ such a chap, but I ain’t never seen him.”

“Well,” said the scout thoughtfully, “show me into the room Wild Bill
occupied. I and my pard will stay in it till Wild Bill gets back. Go
for the saddles, Nick,” the scout added. “We’ll keep them in the room
with us.”

Spangler yelled for the Chinaman, and the latter showed the scout
to the room recently occupied by Wild Bill. When left alone in the
place, the scout looked over it carefully.

The first objects to strike his attention were a pair of boots. He
picked them up and looked at them. The heel of one was missing--the
reason, no doubt, the boots had been discarded.

On a chair lay a blue-flannel shirt. Wild Bill had worn such a shirt,
but it might also have belonged to any number of men. The left sleeve
was cut away close to the shoulder, and around the edge of the
abbreviated sleeve were evidences of dried blood.

Deeply puzzled, the scout laid the shirt aside. Wild Bill’s saddle
lay on the floor, and near it his war-bag. There was a box of
cartridges in the bag, and a few other odds and ends, but nothing
that would give the remotest clue to Wild Bill’s whereabouts.

While the scout was examining the bag, Nomad came in with the
riding-gear. There was an odd look upon the old trapper’s face.

“Found out anythin’, Buffler?” he asked.

“No.”

“Didn’t J. Algernon enlighten ye none?”

“Not to speak of. I’ve a sneaking idea, though”--and here the scout
dropped his voice guardedly--“that Smith has put me next to a
pay-streak.”

“Pay-streak? Whar?”

“Why, in an old, played-out mine five miles down the gulch--a mine
called the Forty Thieves.”

“Forty Thieves! What fool ever tacked sich er label onter a mine?”

“Pass the ante, Nick. If what Smith says is true, though, a man by
the name of Captain Lawless is mixed up with the Forty Thieves.”

Nomad stared.

“Meanin’ thet whelp of er squawman ther Cheyennes calls Fire-hand,
Buffler?” he asked.

“The same.”

“Things are heatin’ up some, eh? Ye don’t reckon Wild Bill hes got
tangled up any with Lawless, do ye?”

“I don’t know what to think--just yet.”

“Waal, while ye’re fiddlin’ eround fer a start, I’m goin’ ter give ye
a surprise.”

“What sort of a surprise?”

Nomad drew close to the scout, and whispered in his ear.

“Thet Injun gal, Wah-coo-tah, is out ter the barn, an’ wants ter see
ye immejiate.”

That was a surprise, certainly. How was it that the girl, whom the
pards had left in the hills, had reached Sun Dance so soon after
their arrival? And what was her business with the scout?

Buffalo Bill started for the door, but Nomad caught his arm.

“Ef thar’s anythin’ crooked goin’ on in this camp, Buffler,” said the
trapper, “like as not ye’re bein’ watched. What excuse ye got fer
goin’ ter ther barn, arter ther hosses hev been attended to, an’ ther
ridin’-gear brought in? Ye ort ter hev one, ye know. Hyar! I’ll fix
ye out.”

Nomad dipped into his war-bag and brought out a bottle of
horse-liniment.

“Take this, Buffler,” he whispered, “an’ purtend ye’re goin’ ter rub
thet stuff on Bear Paw’s off hind leg. Thet gal, Wah-coo-tah, is
chuck full o’ important news o’ some kind, but she wouldn’t say er
word ter me, ’ceptin’ I was ter send Pa-e-has-ka ter see her.”

Buffalo Bill took the bottle of liniment and left the room. Out in
front he halted for a word with Spangler.

“My horse strained a tendon coming from Sill,” said he, showing the
bottle, “and I’ve got to take care of him.”

“I got a Mexican that kin do it fer ye, Buffalo Bill,” said Spangler.

“I never let any one take care of Bear Paw but myself,” the scout
answered, as he started for the stable.

So far as the scout could discover he was not watched by any one. The
camp, as usual during the day, was quiet, and he could not see any
one in the vicinity of the hotel.

When he got into the stable he stood for a moment looking around.
Wah-coo-tah was not in evidence, and he turned to go out again.
Before he could leave, however, the low, musical voice of the girl
floated to his ear:

“Pa-e-has-ka no go. Wah-coo-tah make talk with him.”

The voice came from overhead. Buffalo Bill looked up and saw
Wah-coo-tah gazing down at him through the brushy thatch that covered
the stable’s roof.

“Why don’t you come down here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout.

“Wah-coo-tah ’fraid. No can take chances. Me stay here; when me
through talk, me crawl back through bushes to bottom of cañon.”

“Have you seen anything of Big Thunder? Has he bothered you any since
you got away from him?”

“Ponca no bother Wah-coo-tah. Him bother Pa-e-has-ka, because
Pa-e-has-ka save Wah-coo-tah. Big Thunder him in Sun Dance Cañon. Me
watch um come; so me come, tell Pa-e-has-ka look out.”

“Is that why you brought me out here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout,
disappointed. “I’m not afraid of Big Thunder.”

“Big Thunder all same snake, but him no rattle. Him strike, but him
no rattle first.”

“He won’t bother me, Wah-coo-tah, so don’t fret about that. Where are
you going, now that you have left Big Thunder? You won’t dare go back
to your people, because they would give you to Big Thunder again.”

“My mudder no give me up to Big Thunder. My fadder he do that. Me
stay in hills till me git good chance, kill Big Thunder.”

“No, no, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout earnestly, “you must not do
that.”

“Me no like um. Him try kill Wah-coo-tah.”

“Well, even at that, you don’t want the Ponca’s blood upon your
hands. Why are you afraid to show yourself here in this camp?”

“Mebbyso my fadder see me.”

“Is your father in Sun Dance?”

“Him Fire-hand, Cap’n Lawless.”

This was a big surprise for Buffalo Bill. He began now to understand
why Wah-coo-tah was so much more comely than the usual Indian girl.
Her father was an American, her mother a Cheyenne.

And it was the girl’s father who had sold her, for five ponies, to
Big Thunder! That proved to Buffalo Bill, more than anything he had
yet heard against Lawless, what a thorough scoundrel the man was.

“I will protect you against Lawless, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout.

“Him got plenty Yellow Eyes to help um,” returned the girl.

“Well, he hasn’t reached the camp yet. I have been told he won’t be
here until to-morrow, or next day.”

“Him all same in camp now, Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Where?”

“Him stay in hotel. Me see you talk with um in front of hotel.”

The scout was even more startled than he had been before.

“Who is he, Wah-coo-tah?” he demanded.

“Him man long yellow coat.”

“Smith!” muttered the scout, a glitter coming into his eyes.

Then it flashed through Buffalo Bill’s mind that if Lawless would
play the rôle of Smith, he must be doing it for some underhanded
purpose. Quite possibly that purpose had something to do with Wild
Bill, and his mysterious disappearance from the camp.

“Wah-coo-tah,” went on the scout, speaking in a low voice and
hurriedly, “I came to Sun Dance looking for a friend of mine by the
name of Wild Bill. I was delayed in getting to Sun Dance. When I
reached here, though, I discovered that Wild Bill had disappeared
last night. Immediately after supper he was last seen with the man
who calls himself Smith, but who you tell me is your father, Captain
Lawless. The two walked down the slope into the cañon. Lawless says
he left Wild Bill and went to stay the night with a friend named Seth
Coomby, and that he didn’t see where Wild Bill went, and doesn’t know
anything about where he is now. If you can find out anything about
him, I’d like to have you do it.”

The girl’s eyes sparkled at the thought of being able to render
Pa-e-has-ka a service, and so, in a measure, pay him back for what he
had done for her.

“Me find out ’bout Wild Bill,” said she. “Listen, Pa-e-has-ka. Bymby,
in two, three hour, you go to top of road that leads down into cañon.
Look down cañon. You see um Wah-coo-tah’s blanket wave in wind, you
git um horse and come. _Sabe?_”

“I understand. Have you had anything to eat, Wah-coo-tah?”

“Me got plenty ‘jerked’ venison. Me all right. You watch heap sharp
for blanket; and you watch heap sharp for Big Thunder. Wah-coo-tah go
now. Good-by.”

The girl disappeared from the roof, and the scout, amazed by what he
had overheard, left the stable and walked back to the hotel.

J. Algernon Smith was none other than Captain Lawless, and Captain
Lawless was none other than Wah-coo-tah’s father!

Why should Lawless be impersonating Smith, unless he had some ax to
grind? What that ax was, Buffalo Bill was determined to find out.

He went to the apartment taken by Nomad and himself, and expected to
find Nomad there; but the trapper was not in the room.

Having replaced the bottle of liniment in his pard’s war-bag, the
scout returned to the front of the hotel. Just then he was more
particularly interested in finding Smith than in locating Nomad, but
neither one nor the other was in evidence.

The Chinaman came out and pounded the dinner-gong. Buffalo Bill
waited for a few minutes, hoping Nomad would present himself, but he
did not. Thereupon the scout hung his hat on a peg in the office and
went into the dining-room.

He took his time over the meal, keeping his eyes on the alert for a
glimpse of Nomad or Lawless. His watchfulness, however, was without
result.

Puzzled and uneasy, he finished his meal and went out to where
Spangler was holding down his chairs in the shade of the hotel.

“How far up the gulch does Seth Coomby live, Spangler?” he asked.

“’Bout two mile,” replied Spangler.

“What’s become of Smith? Do you know?”

“Not me. He’s harder ter keep track of than the Irishman’s flea. But,
with all his comin’s an’ goin’s, I kin tell him he’s goin’ ter pay
fer the meals he misses, an’ the bunks he hires an’ don’t sleep in.”

“Have you seen my pard recently?”

“I hevn’t seen him, nuther. Mebby he went off with Smith? Your pards
hev a great habit of walkin’ off with Smith and not comin’ back
ag’in. Wild Bill did it last night, an’ mebby Nomad did it while you
was rubbin’ liniment on yer hoss.”

“Did you see Nomad going off with Smith?”

“Nary. I ain’t seen either one of ’em since they was here in front o’
my place an’ you was talkin’ with Smith.”

“I’m going away for a little while,” said the scout, “and if Nomad
returns while I am gone, tell him to stay here and wait for me.”

“Sure I will.”

The scout took to the horse-trail and moved off toward the slope
leading down into the cañon.

What he wanted just now was to locate Smith. Had the fellow, fearing
discovery at the scout’s hands, skipped out?

Nomad had not suspected Smith of being other than he seemed any more
than had the scout. Had Smith taken advantage of this and lured Nomad
away, just as he might have lured Wild Bill?

The scout was going to Seth Coomby’s with the rather vague hope of
finding Lawless there. It was only two miles, and the scout had made
up his mind that he would walk the distance, for a change.

As he halted at the top of the slope, his eyes instinctively scanned
the cañon, up and down.

Down the cañon, against the right-hand wall, he saw something
fluttering from the rocks. At once he thought of Wah-coo-tah, and
of her promise to flaunt her blanket so he could see it in case she
found out anything and needed him.

All thought of visiting Seth Coomby’s in search of Lawless passed at
once from Buffalo Bill’s mind.

He had looked down the cañon in the hope of seeing something of Dell
Dauntless and Little Cayuse, who were already long overdue at Sun
Dance. Dell and Cayuse were not in sight, and the glimpse of that
fluttering blanket, with its call to immediate action, gave the scout
plenty to think of aside from his missing pards.

Whirling on his track, he returned to the hotel and went to his room
after his riding-gear.

“Reckoned ye wouldn’t go ter Coomby’s, eh, Buffalo Bill?” spoke up
Spangler.

“I reckoned I’d ride instead of walk,” the scout answered. “I’m
expecting two other pards of mine to show up in Sun Dance before
long. One of them is a young lady. She is to have the room which
Nomad and I are occupying. If they, or Nomad, come before I get
back, don’t fail to tell them to stay here and wait for me.”

“Ye kin gamble on it that I will,” Spangler answered.

The scout was not long in getting the gear onto Bear Paw and striking
a swift gait for the bottom of the gulch.




                             CHAPTER VI.

                     AT THE FORTY THIEVES MINE.


The blanket was fluttering from the top of a big pile of boulders
lying at the foot of the cañon wall. As the scout left the bottom of
the slope and emerged from the chaparral on his way down the cañon,
the blanket suddenly disappeared.

“Wah-coo-tah has seen me coming,” he thought, “and has taken away the
blanket.”

In this he was correct, for when he had drawn up Bear Paw abreast
of the pile of boulders, Wah-coo-tah rode out into the trail. She
scanned the trail carefully in both directions, and then urged her
cayuse alongside of Bear Paw.

“What have you discovered, Wah-coo-tah?” asked Buffalo Bill.

“Wild Bill ride to Forty Thieves Mine last night with Lawless,” said
the girl.

“Did he go there of his own free will, or was he taken by force?”

“No _sabe_ Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Did Wild Bill leave the mine?”

“No _sabe_. Mebbyso him no leave mine. If him leave, then him come
back Sun Dance--and him no come back.”

“Where did you discover this?”

“Me ride down trail, see two Yellow Eyes, Coomby and Clancy, riding
up trail. Me hide in bushes while Yellow Eyes pass. When they pass,
they talk. Me hear um. From what they say me know Wild Bill ride to
Forty Thieves Mine last night with Fire-hand.”

This information of Wah-coo-tah’s was of immense importance. It was a
lucky bit of gossip that had come the girl’s way while she was hiding
in the bushes to let Coomby and Clancy pass.

If Wild Bill had gone to the mine with Lawless of his own free will,
he would have taken his horse. Force had been used to compel Hickok
to go to the mine, Buffalo Bill was sure of it.

“Are Seth Coomby and Clancy friends of Fire-hand?” asked the scout.

“Ai. They come many times to Fire-hand’s lodge among the Cheyennes.
Me know um. Pa-e-has-ka see um Big Thunder?” inquired the girl, an
anxious light coming into her eyes.

“No,” answered the scout. “That Ponca is the least of my worries.”

“Him ride up gulch while Wah-coo-tah wait behind rocks. Me take down
blanket while he go. Me sure he go to Sun Dance, find Pa-e-has-ka.”

“He wasn’t in Sun Dance. Will you go with me to the mine,
Wah-coo-tah?”

“Me stay here, watch for Ponca.”

“That is useless, Wah-coo-tah. I don’t like to leave you here alone,
with the Ponca and your father both loose in the gulch.”

“Me keep away from um,” said the girl, a soft light creeping into her
large eyes as she looked at the scout.

“I will see you again?”

“Ai. Me help um Pa-e-has-ka find Wild Bill.”

“Have you seen anything of Fire-hand, or my pard, Nomad, since you
left Sun Dance following my talk with you this afternoon?”

“No see um. Me see only Coomby and Clancy, and Big Thunder.”

“Well, if you’re determined to stay here, Wah-coo-tah,” said the
scout, “we’ll have to separate. My pard, Nomad, is missing now, as
well as Wild Bill. This Forty Thieves Mine looks like a good place to
go to hunt for them--for Wild Bill, at least. Take care of yourself,
girl. Pa-e-has-ka is your friend, and will stand by you, don’t forget
that.”

Again the soft light came into the girl’s eyes. The scout, with a
rattle of his spurs, darted down the cañon. Looking back as he rode,
he saw Wah-coo-tah taking up her station behind the rocks.

Buffalo Bill, who had a calculating eye for distance, measured the
miles as he rode. One, two, three, four, five he counted. As a proof
of the accuracy of his count, the word “five” had hardly dropped from
his lips before he saw, a little way ahead of him, the ore-dump of
the Forty Thieves.

Drawing down to a more cautious pace, he swept his eyes over the
surroundings. There was no sign of any living thing in that part of
the cañon.

He went bushwhacking in the scrub, and found places where horses had
been recently tethered, but there were no horses in the vicinity
of the ore-dump now aside from Bear Paw. If there were no horses
around, it seemed to follow, naturally, that there could be no one
in the mine. The scout, however, was determined to find that out by
observation. He would pay a visit to the workings and see for himself.

Securing Bear Paw in the depths of a thicket, where he could not be
easily seen by any chance passer along the trail, the scout left the
bushes warily and made his way to the ore-dump.

The ox-hide bucket was on the platform at the top of the dump, and on
the slope of the little elevation lay a pick.

The Forty Thieves may have been a played-out proposition, but some
sort of work had been prosecuted there very recently.

Making as little noise as possible, the scout climbed the ore-dump to
the platform and knelt down on the planks.

He looked into the cavernous depths of the shaft, and listened
intently. He could neither see nor hear anything.

Buffalo Bill had been perhaps half an hour looking about through the
thickets for signs of men and horses, so that, from the time he had
separated from Wah-coo-tah farther up the cañon, until he reached the
top of the ore-dump, something like an hour and a half had passed.

At least one of the scout’s enemies had been making the most of this
hour and a half.

As the scout slowly climbed the side of the ore-dump, his every
movement was watched by a pair of glittering eyes in the bushes. The
owner of the eyes had not been in the thicket when the scout had done
his bushwhacking, but had glided to the copse when the scout left his
horse and pushed into the open.

As the scout knelt on the platform, his back was toward the gleaming,
malevolent eyes.

Big Thunder--for the man in the thicket was the Ponca--thought that
the hour for his revenge had struck. Slowly his rifle arose to his
shoulder, he drew a bead on the form that topped the ore-dump, and
one long finger caressed the rifle’s trigger.

The finger, however, did not press the trigger. At the critical
moment, Big Thunder lowered the rifle, and laid it carefully down
beside him.

There might be other white men in the vicinity, and the sound of
the rifle-shot would be heard. In that case, Big Thunder would have
difficulty in escaping after he had secured his revenge.

Starting to a crouching posture, the Ponca rested his right hand
on the hilt of his skinning-knife. He would use the knife, coming
upon the kneeling form of the scout before he was aware that danger
threatened.

With the noiseless tread of a puma the savage left his concealment.
The shadow of a cloud does not cross the ground more silently than
did the moccasined feet of the vengeful Ponca. Like a specter of
ill omen he gained the foot of the ore-dump, and began climbing it
without displacing a stone, or a thimbleful of sand.

Yet, as it happened, the Ponca was not unseen, even though the scout
was oblivious of his presence. Another Indian, with a tread as
silent, emerged from the bushes.

It was Wah-coo-tah.

She looked about her quickly, saw the Ponca mounting the ore-dump,
taking up the pick as he went, and hastened breathlessly toward the
shaft.

Wah-coo-tah was unarmed. Big Thunder had seen to that when he took
the girl from the lodge of her people.

So, as Wah-coo-tah glided toward the shaft, she armed herself with a
stone.

Big Thunder, coming close to the scout, suddenly swung the pick high
in air. The scout, intent on probing whatever mystery lay at the
bottom of the Forty Thieves shaft, seemed unconscious of everything
that was going forward at the surface.

“Pa-e-has-ka!” screamed the Indian girl, as she flung the stone.

That wild cry of Wah-coo-tah’s broke the thrall of silence that had
hovered over the tragic scene. The scout looked upward, saw the
Ponca’s gleaming eyes and the raised pick, and saw the stone strike
the Ponca’s uplifted arm.

The pick fell, but was deflected by the stone, and its point bit
murderously into the stout planks of the platform.

Another instant and the scout had come to hand-grips with his red
foe. Cody had had no time to draw knife or revolver, but the Ponca
had succeeded in getting his own blade half-out of its scabbard
before the white man closed with him.

A look into Big Thunder’s eyes convinced the scout that he would
fight to the death, that he had come there either to kill or be
killed.

The struggle was, at the beginning, for the possession of the Ponca’s
half-drawn knife.

The oiled body of the savage slipped and wriggled in the scout’s
hands, now pressing him closer, now dragging away, and every instant
the redskin’s hand plucked steadily and resolutely at the knife.

Wah-coo-tah, excited and apprehensive, came to the top of the
ore-dump, dodging this way and that to keep out of the way of the
combatants, and seeking to be of service to Pa-e-has-ka.

With a magnificent effort, in which his greased arm and head slipped
through the scout’s gripping fingers, Big Thunder managed to get the
knife from its sheath.

“Get away, Wah-coo-tah!” panted the scout.

The girl drew back a pace, stooping to pick up another stone, and, if
she got a chance to hurl it without striking the scout.

Once, twice, three times the murderous weapon rose in the air, but
the scout evaded each blow by hurling himself to the right and left
at the critical moment when the blade fell.

Wonderful indeed was it to note the agility of the white man,
bending, twisting, side-stepping with all the grace and swiftness of
a panther.

The scout sought to draw a revolver, but the Ponca watched his hands
and pressed him closely whenever his fingers came close to the
hand-grip of one of the Colts.

Suddenly the combatants broke apart, seemingly by tacit agreement.
Quick as a dart, Big Thunder whirled sideways, and launched a
sweeping blow at Wah-coo-tah.

Buffalo Bill detected the movement at his beginning. The moment’s
grace afforded him would have been sufficient to allow him to draw
the revolver he had been trying to get hold of, but he would not have
had time to draw the revolver and shoot before the girl would have
stopped the swinging knife.

Without making a try at his revolver, he reached out with both hands,
caught the girl’s arm, and jerked her roughly from her feet.

Wah-coo-tah fell on the edge of the ore-dump and rolled down its
steep side, while the Ponca’s knife flashed through the sunlight over
the spot where she had stood a second before.

The scout leaped to the farther edge of the platform, his right hand
flying to his belt.

Undaunted by his failure to strike the girl, Big Thunder was alert on
the instant and ready to balk the scout’s attempt to get his revolver.

Between him and the scout yawned the hole in the platform. The Ponca
sprang across it, but his moccasined feet tripped on the ox-hide
bucket, and his leap fell short.

The toes of his moccasins caught the edge of the opening, he reeled
there for a fraction of a second, seeking to recover his balance,
then lurched backward, striking his spine and head against the
opposite side of the opening.

For the space of a breath the scout saw him, doubled up in the square
hole, every muscle gone limp, and arms and hands helpless to save
him; then the form disappeared downward, and could be heard striking
and bounding against the rocky walls of the shaft. Finally there came
a sudden crash from far below, then death-like silence.

Buffalo Bill sank down on the platform, limp and breathless.
Wah-coo-tah stole upward to him, knelt at his side, and peered
curiously down into the shaft.

“Him dead,” she breathed; “Ponca him killed. Pa-e-has-ka save
Wah-coo-tah again.”

“It’s about a stand-off, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout. “If it hadn’t
been for you the Ponca would have sunk that pick into my back. But I
hadn’t much to do with his falling into that hole. That was more of a
happenchance than anything else. He stumbled against the bucket.”

“Him bad Ponca,” said the girl, with visible satisfaction. “Heap
good thing he fall into hole. He no fall into hole, then he ketch
Wah-coo-tah, mebbyso, and some time kill Pa-e-has-ka. Me heap glad.”

“You saw him riding up the cañon?”

“Ai. Me know he come. Him pass rocks trailing Pa-e-has-ka’s horse.
Then me follow.”

“He was mighty quiet about it,” muttered the scout. “I reckon that’s
the first time a redskin ever caught me napping, but I was so wrapped
up in that shaft that I hadn’t sense for anything else. The Ponca
left his horse down the gulch, I suppose, and stole up on me?”

“All same,” said the girl. “When he leave um cayuse, me leave um
cayuse, too. When he crawl through chaparral, me crawl through
chaparral, too. Then me come out, watch um Ponca while he lift
pick. Right off, me throw um rock and give yell. Pa-e-has-ka great
warrior!” finished the girl, admiration in her eyes.

“That fight was nothing to brag about, Wah-coo-tah,” answered the
scout deprecatingly. “I think I should have got the red in the end,
but, as it turned out, an accident brought the fight to a close.
There was more reason in your hiding out and watching for the Ponca
than I had imagined.”

“Me know um Ponca,” said the girl.

The scout, having regained his breath, again knelt by the opening,
and looked and listened. All was silent as before.

He pushed one hand into the opening and felt for a ladder, or a rope,
but he could find neither. Wah-coo-tah, divining what he was looking
for, hurried down the side of the ore-dump and returned with some
twenty feet of rope which she had seen lying there. Silently she
offered it to the scout.

“That may help, Wah-coo-tah,” said Buffalo Bill, “but I hardly think
it is long enough. I’ll go for my riata.”

Having gone into the thicket and secured the riata from his saddle,
the scout spliced it to the twenty feet of rope found by the girl,
then lowered the spliced ropes down into the shaft, and made the
upper end fast to the platform.

“Ponca dead,” said the girl. “Why Pa-e-has-ka go down and look?”

“I’m not going down to look at the Ponca, Wah-coo-tah, but to look
for Wild Bill,” the scout answered. “You say you overheard talk
between Seth Coomby and Clancy which led you to believe Wild Bill had
come out to this mine with Lawless. Lawless returned to Sun Dance,
and it may be he left Wild Bill here. I’m going down to find out.”

“Wah-coo-tah go, too?” the girl asked.

“Wah-coo-tah stay here,” the scout answered, throwing off his
coat and hat. “Keep watch. If you see any one coming, fire two
revolver-shots so that I may know, and climb back to the ore-dump.
_Sabe?_”

“Me _sabe_, but me no got gun.”

“Take this one,” and the scout laid one of his forty-fives in the
girl’s hand.

“Me watch,” said the girl. “Pa-e-has-ka trust Wah-coo-tah.”

After a precautionary glance around, the scout lowered himself
through the opening and slid rapidly down the rope. At the lower end
of it, his foot touched against something soft and yielding. Stepping
over the object, he took a match from his pocket, and struck it
against the wall of the shaft.

The object on the shaft’s bottom was what he had supposed it to
be--the body of the Ponca. The Indian was dead.

Paying no further heed to the Ponca, the scout started along the
level, lighting his way with matches. He had not proceeded far before
he picked up a half-burned candle, and was able to continue his
investigations to better purpose.

As he continued on along the crooked drift, the gleam of the candle
sparkled on another object at his feet. He bent and picked it up,
finding it to be an empty brass shell.

“Queer place for a shell,” he muttered, “particularly for a
shotgun-shell. Who has been using a shotgun down here, and why?”

That old mine Buffalo Bill had conceived to hold a “pay-streak” for
him, but as he proceeded onward without finding any trace of Wild
Bill, he began to think that there was not so much of a pay-streak as
he had imagined.

Then, the next minute, as he drew close to the end of the level, one
of those surprises which occasionally drop across a person’s path
with results undreamed of presented itself.

Ahead of him, in the flickering glow of the candle, he saw a form
stretched out at the side of the level.

“Hickok!” he cried, running forward.

The form gave out an incoherent gurgle, and the scout fell to
his knees and flashed the candle in front of the man’s face. An
exclamation of astonishment escaped his lips.

The man was not Wild Bill, but Nomad!

The old trapper was securely roped and gagged. Although he could not
talk, his eyes, wide open and peering upward into his pard’s face,
spoke volumes.

Wedging the candle in between two stones of the hanging wall, the
scout proceeded to strip the ropes from his old pard.

The trapper’s first words were surprising.

“Let’s git out o’ hyar!” he gasped, floundering to his feet and
grabbing his pard’s arm.

“Wait a minute, Nick,” demurred the scout, “and don’t be in such a
rush. What are you afraid of?”

“This hyar is ther Forty Thieves Mine, an’ it’s ha’nted. I been
layin’ hyar in er cold sweat fer ther last two hours. Waugh! I kin
stand flesh-an’-blood enemies, but when ye come down ter ghosts an’
whiskizoos, I’m shy my ante. Let’s hustle, Buffler!”

“Nick,” said the scout sternly, “pull yourself together and try
and corral a little common sense. I came down here looking for
Wild Bill, and I find you. Sit down, and tell me how you got here.
What happened, anyway? You needn’t worry about those who captured
you coming along and taking us by surprise. Wah-coo-tah is on the
ore-dump, keeping watch for us. She’ll fire a couple of shots if
anything goes wrong.”

Nomad, after casting a wild look around him, into the dark, hunched
up on the floor of the level, close to Buffalo Bill.

“Et ain’t nothin’ human I’m afeared of, Buffler,” he declared,
“but spooks an’ whiskizoos sartinly gits onter my narves. Waugh! I
wouldn’t stay alone in this hyar pizen mine ef ye was ter pay me fer
et. When ye found me I was tied up an’ couldn’t git erway, an’ I’m
tellin’ ye I come mighty nigh kickin’ ther bucket jest on account o’
bein’ skeered. Br-r-r! Keep right alongside er me, Buffler.”

“What happened to you?” demanded the scout curtly.

Nomad rubbed his eyes, took another look around, and then replied.

“I come out o’ our room when ye went ter tork with Wah-coo-tah, and
thet feller Smith was sneakin’ off inter ther bresh alongside the
hotel. I hadn’t no idee what he was up ter, but his actions was
mighty suspicious, so I made up my mind I’d foller him and see what
was ther matter with him. He----”

Nomad gave another gasp and grabbed at his pard’s arm.

“D’ye hyer anythin,’ Buffler?” he demanded.

“Not a thing,” returned the scout. “Why, Nick, I never saw your
nerves in such shape before. Forget about the spooks; at least, until
you tell me what I want to know.”

The old trapper gulped, calmed himself with an effort, and went on.

“Waal, as I was er sayin’, Smith acted mighty quare. He slid through
ther bushes ter ther slope leadin’ down inter ther cañon, an’ then
he went down ther cañon, keepin’ in ther bushes all ther way. I was
right arter him all ther time, kase I’d made up my mind ter keep ter
ther trailin’ so long as he acted suspicious thet away.

“I reckon we must hev tramped two er three miles, hanging ter ther
scrub all ther way, an’ never once showin’ ourselves in ther trail.
Then”--and Nomad’s voice dropped wonderingly--“somethin’ happened
ter me. Et come from behind, an’ I ain’t yet shore in my mind as ter
what et was. Everythin’ got black in front er my eyes, an’ I didn’t
remember nothin’ more till I come to in this place, roped an’ gagged
like ye found me.

“Thar was two er three men around me, an’ one of ’em was Smith, ther
feller I was trailin’. Thet feller ain’t no Easterner, Buffler, ye
kin take my word fer thet.”

“Wah-coo-tah opened my eyes regarding J. Algernon Smith, Nick,”
returned the scout. “The fellow’s a fake. His name is not Smith, but
Lawless.”

“What!” cried Nomad. “Cap’n Lawless?”

“The same; and he is supposed to own this mine. Captain Lawless, too,
is Wah-coo-tah’s father.”

“Wuss an’ wuss!” muttered Nomad, falling back against the wall. “This
hyar is sartinly a day fer surprises. Ther gang, with Lawless at
ther head, is workin’ some game. When they left me, Lawless told the
fellers with him thet Bingham was expected on this arternoon’s stage
from Montegordo, although who Bingham is, or why they’re expectin’
him, is too many fer me. Lawless said Bingham wouldn’t come ter
ther Forty Thieves ontil ter-morrer, even ef he did git in on this
arternoon’s stage, an’ thet they could come back hyar an’ take keer
o’ me ter-night. Then they hiked out, an’, I reckon, pulled up ther
ladders arter ’em.”

The scout mused for a moment.

“You were trailing Lawless,” said he, “and some one of Lawless’ men
must have been trailing you. When the fellow behind you got the
opportunity, he let drive at the back of your head.”

“Thet’s ther way o’ et. But how did ye know I was hyar, Buffler?”

“I didn’t know. I came here looking for Wild Bill, for I was told
that he had come here, yesterday afternoon, with Lawless.”

“Who told ye thet?”

“Wah-coo-tah.”

Thereupon the scout, as hurriedly as he could, without neglecting any
of the important details, informed his old pard of events that had
recently taken place.

Just as the scout finished his recital, Nomad gave a smothered yell,
and leaped as though he had been thrown from a catapult.

“Thar et is ergin,” he gasped huskily. “Hyer et, Buffler?”

The scout listened.

What he heard was a muffled sound, as of a groan, echoing dully along
the underground passage.




                            CHAPTER VII.

                         LAYING THE “GHOST.”


“Waugh!” chattered Nomad. “I been er layin’ hyar in mortil agony fer
two long hours, hyerin’ thet sound. Ther Forty Thieves Mine is bad
medicine; thar’s been crooked bizness o’ some kind hyar, an’ et’s
ha’nted. Let’s skin out, Buffler! Br-r-r, but I got er bad attack o’
ther shakes.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the scout impatiently. “I don’t believe in
ghosts. That sound, whatever it is, has a very human note, it seems
to me.”

“Human?” whooped Nomad; “_human_? Et’s a whiskizoo, warnin’ us ter
make ourselves plumb absent, er take ther consequences.”

“Listen!” commanded the scout.

The groaning noise was repeated, and there was certainly something
unearthly about it, there in that ill-omened place. This time,
however, it was followed by a tapping as of one stone against another.

“Ain’t this orful, Buffler?” muttered the old trapper, brushing his
sleeve across his dripping forehead. “I don’t reckon we’re ever goin’
ter live ter git out o’ hyar.”

The scout gave no further attention to Nomad, but took the candle
down from the wall and started slowly along the level in the
direction of the shaft.

“Hello!” he shouted, at the top of his voice.

The voice answered with another groan--less a groan, perhaps, than
spoken words, jumbled together by distance and a muffling barrier.

The scout called again, and again; apparently, he was answered.
Groping along, the wall, calling and trying to locate the place from
which the answers came, he halted suddenly at what seemed to be a
break in the side of the level.

The break was of broken rocks and not, like the rest of the walls, of
a single mass of stone. Picking up a splintered fragment, the scout
tapped with it on the débris. The tapping was returned, clearly from
the opposite side.

Nomad’s fears had been giving way to curiosity, and he followed the
scout’s movements with deep interest.

“Is that you, Wild Bill?” yelled the scout, his lips close to the
break in the wall.

Something was returned--a single monosyllable, which sounded very
much like “Yes.”

“Snarlin’ catermounts!” exclaimed old Nomad. “Ye don’t mean ter say,
pard, thet Wild Bill has been makin’ them noises?”

“It seems likely,” replied the scout, starting for the shaft.

“Whar is he? An’ what’s he doin’ in er solid wall?”

“It isn’t a solid wall. He’s somewhere back of that broken stone, and
it’s up to us to get him out as quick as possible.”

Reaching the shaft, Buffalo Bill lifted his face. “Wah-coo-tah!” he
called.

The girl’s head appeared over the opening.

“Haul up the rope,” instructed the scout, “and then tie the pick to
it and let it down.”

The girl obeyed the order. While she was doing it, the scout told
Nomad to take the candle and go through the drift hunting for any
tools he could find.

By the time Buffalo Bill had returned to the break in the wall
with the pick, Nomad was waiting for him with two more half-burned
candles, and with a shovel.

“Ther shovel is all I could find, Buffler,” said the trapper.

“That’s enough, Nick. We have a pick and shovel, and there are only
two of us to work. Light all the candles, and wedge them into the
wall in places where they will give us the most light. We’ve got
to hurry. There’s no telling how much air Wild Bill has in there,
nor how long he can hold out. What’s more, Lawless and his gang may
return at any moment and interrupt our work.”

While he was talking, the scout began driving the pick into the mass
of débris, throwing the broken stones to right and left.

After lighting and placing the candles where they would best serve
the scout’s purpose, Nomad fell to with the shovel.

The efforts of the two pards were concentrated upon a limited space,
well toward the top of the barrier. It was only necessary to make a
hole large enough for Wild Bill to crawl through, and that is what
they strove to do. As they continued digging, however, the loosened
stones fell from above, so that it was necessary to force an opening
from about the middle of the barrier upward to the roof of the level.

The scout and the trapper worked like galley-slaves. By degrees the
voice on the other side of the wall became clearer as the barrier
diminished; then, suddenly, the voice ceased altogether.

“What does thet mean?” panted Nomad, pausing a second to peer at his
pard.

“Hickok!” shouted the scout, likewise pausing.

No answer came back.

“It means,” went on Buffalo Bill, “that we’ve got to work faster than
ever. Wild Bill has succumbed to the foul air, and he’ll die if we
don’t get him out before many minutes.”

They jumped at the barrier like madmen, and to such good purpose did
they ply pick and shovel, that, a few moments after Wild Bill had
ceased to call to them, the scout’s pick went through the wall, and a
mass of broken stones tumbled outward, leaving a good-sized opening.

Without waiting an instant, Buffalo Bill seized a candle and forced
himself through the breach.

When he let himself down on the other side, he found that he was in
a chamber, about as wide as the main level and twice as deep. On the
floor Wild Bill lay sprawled, a heap of knotted rope beside him.

“Is he thar, Buffler?” called Nomad from the level.

“Yes.”

“Alive?”

“I think so. The foul air got the best of him. Stand by to take him
as I push him through.”

“Send him erlong,” answered the old trapper. “I’m blamed ef this
ain’t ther strangest thing We, Us an’ Comp’ny ever went up ag’inst.”

Buffalo Bill put down his candle and lifted the limp form from
the rocky floor. Nomad reached through and caught the form by the
shoulders, dragging it to the other side and laying it down on the
bottom of the level.

The next moment the scout had clambered clear of the breach and
rejoined his pard.

“Hadn’t we better take him ter ther surface, Buffler?” asked Nomad.
“Mebbyso a leetle water ’u’d help ter bring him ’round.”

“Pure air is all he needs,” the scout replied, “although, I suppose,
if he has been shut up there long, both water and food would be
acceptable.”

“This hyar must be ther work o’ thet skunk, Lawless,” growled Nomad.

“No doubt of it.”

“But whyever did he treat Wild Bill like thet?”

“We’ll know in a few minutes. Ah!” the scout added, noticing Wild
Bill’s breast expand convulsively, “he’s coming to himself.”

The scout took off his hat and fanned the air in front of Wild Bill’s
face. Then, presently, Wild Bill’s eyelids flickered open, and his
dazed eyes stared upward at the scout.

“By gorry!” were Wild Bill’s first words, “you were a deuce of a long
time getting to Sun Dance, Cody.”

“We were, that,” answered the scout, considerably relieved, “but we
got here at last.”

“And right in the nick,” added Wild Bill, floundering to a sitting
posture; “another ten minutes and it would have been all day with me.
Got anything to eat or drink?”

“Nick,” said the scout, “go to the shaft and tell Wah-coo-tah that we
have found Wild Bill, and that he is hungry and thirsty. See what she
can do.”

“On ther jump,” returned Nomad, taking one of the candles and
scrambling for the shaft.

“You’ve evidently had a rough time of it, Hickok,” observed the scout.

“Rough? That’s too mild a word. What day is this?”

“Wednesday afternoon.”

“And I was walled up in that stub-end of a crosscut Monday night.
It seemed like a year instead of two nights and going on two days.
Woosh! Of all the tortures that have ever been tried on me, that was
the worst.”

“Are you hurt any?”

“Not to speak of. Limp as a rag, that’s all. The air wasn’t any too
good, and, of course, it kept getting worse and worse.”

Just then Nomad came back from the shaft. He had a piece of jerked
beef and a square cloth, soaked in water.

Wild Bill took the cloth and wrung it out against his lips, then ate
a little of the jerked beef.

“I’m not as hungry or thirsty as I thought I was,” said he. “I’m used
to going without water or food for days at a stretch.”

“Who holed you up in that way?” asked the scout.

“A man in a linen duster. He blew into Sun Dance Tuesday afternoon,
on the Montegordo stage, and said his name was J. Algernon Smith, of
Chicago. That tinhorn, pards, is sure the original two-tongue man.
His right name is Lawless, and he’s a thirty-second degree confidence
man and desperado.”

“We have already had dealings with J. Algernon,” said the scout
grimly. “We walked into his trap, I reckon, about as easily as you
did. But go on, Hickok. If you feel able, give us the whole of it.”

“I’m able, all right--getting stronger every minute. Pure air was the
main thing, and I’m making the most of it.”

Then, at considerable length, Wild Bill set forth his experiences,
beginning with his ride to Sun Dance with Crawling Bear, and his
investigation of the shooting in the mine.

“A job of salt!” muttered Buffalo Bill. “The atmosphere is beginning
to clear.”

“Lawless,” proceeded Wild Bill, “is expecting a man here to take
ore-samples from the mine. If the mine pans out, according to
schedule, a hundred thousand is to change hands. That would be quite
a plum to fall into the hands of a squawman like Lawless.”

“It will never fall into the hands of Lawless _now_.”

“I should say not,” said Hickok; “and let us emphasize the ‘now.’
Seeing the stranger get off the Montegordo stage, I thought he was
the come-on, and, always being ready to stretch out a helping hand
to the unfortunate, I stretched out a hand to Lawless--and Lawless
played me to a fare-you-well. He acted the part of the Eastern
come-on to the life.”

“The Easterner’s name is Bingham, not Smith,” said the scout.

“It was all one to me, at that stage of the game,” and Wild Bill
proceeded with his account.

The way he had been lured to the slope, ostensibly to meet Clancy,
and the way Clancy had unexpectedly met him from behind with a club,
was told; then followed a description of what took place in the mine,
the setting off of the three blasts, and the retreat of Lawless and
his men.

“I closed my eyes,” said Wild Bill, “when the charges went off.
Lawless had told me that Clancy was a master hand at setting off
giant powder, and that he had drilled the holes in such a way that I
wouldn’t be touched by flying rock, but would be neatly and securely
walled into a rocky chamber. I wasn’t taking Lawless’ word for
anything, and expected as much as could be that I would be hit by a
splinter of rock, and wiped out. I wasn’t much caring, between the
three of us. Death seemed certain, anyway, and I was rather hoping it
would be quick, rather than long-drawn out.

“But Clancy must have known his business. After my ears had recovered
from the jar, I opened my eyes, and discovered several things. But
I didn’t discover them by sight, for I was in the blackest kind of
night.

“The first of my discoveries was this, that I wasn’t hurt by the
explosion. The next discovery was that the powder-fumes had not
entered my chamber as thickly as I supposed they would do. Most of
the fumes must have passed into the level, from some cause that
I can’t exactly figure out. However that may be, the absence of
powder-smoke left the little air I had just that much clearer and
purer.

“I was bound hand and foot, and I made it my first business to get
loose. The sharp corner of a stone helped me, for I sat up and chafed
my bonds over it, and soon had my hands free. To get the rope off my
ankles, after that, was mere child’s play.

“As soon as I was able to move around, I sounded the barrier between
me and the drift. It seemed thick enough, and I reached for a new
knife I had bought in Sun Dance, with the idea of using it to dig
with. But Lawless had stripped me of knife and guns. Not having the
knife, I worked with my hands.

“It was a slow job, Cody, but I wonder if you’ve ever noticed how
a man will work when his life is at stake? Well, that was me, just
then. I sailed into that wall with my hands and finger-nails, and
I would have gone at it with my teeth if I hadn’t had the use of my
hands.

“After about fifty years--that’s what it seemed like, anyhow--I
noticed that I was getting weak, and that I wasn’t making much of a
hole in the barrier. The air was getting bad, too, and I thought I’d
better give up my plan as a bad job. If I got out, I thought, the
chances were I’d fall right back into the hands of Lawless and his
men again.

“So I quit work on the barrier and laid down and went to sleep. When
I woke up and realized where I was, the old hope of making my escape
took hold of me. I hadn’t the strength to work, so I began to yell,
and to tap on the wall.

“I hadn’t much of an idea that any one would hear me but Lawless and
his gang, but I was that desperate I felt I must do something.”

Wild Bill fell silent for a space, studying the flickering candles on
the wall of the level.

“I wonder,” he resumed finally, “if you fellows know what it means to
feel that you are in the last ditch, with a lot of buckaroos throwing
in the sand, when, all at once, something snakes you out of what
was meant to be your grave, and lands you in safety, with ground to
spare? Well, if you’ve ever experienced that, you’ll understand how I
felt when I heard an answer to one of my yells, and, a little later,
heard blows of a pick.

“I didn’t know who it was out here in the level, but a sneaking idea
took possession of me that it was Bingham, the fellow who had come to
the Forty Thieves to chip ore-samples. I had that idea when the foul
air became too much for me, and I dozed off. So it was something of
a surprise when I opened my eyes and saw Pard Cody.

“Well, when all’s said and done, here I am, alive and kicking, and
able to tote my guns and face trouble just as I’ve done in the past.
All that bothers me now is playing even with Lawless. I’d like mighty
well, though, to hear how you fellows came to be in the mine.”

“Nomad brought me here,” said the scout. “He was trapped by J.
Algernon Smith in a similar way to what you were, and he was brought
here and left in the level, bound and gagged. I came to find you, and
found him. He was in a sorry fix, Nick was, Hickok. He told me he had
heard ghosts, and he was for leaving the mine on the run.”

The old trapper wore a sheepish look.

“Waal,” he grunted, “them noises I heerd shore sounded like they mout
be ghosts. No human bein’ ever made sich sounds, accordin’ ter my
thinkin’.”

“It’s blamed lucky for me,” observed Wild Bill, “that Cody isn’t
superstitious. If he had been, Bill Hickok would have been company
front with his finish. But tell me everything. I’m like a man that
has been in solitary confinement for so long that the mere sound of
a human voice is refreshing. Talk to me, you fellows, and I’ll lean
back against the wall and listen.”

Hickok was fully informed of preceding events by the scout and the
trapper, Wah-coo-tah being brought into the recital, since she alone
had furnished the scout the tip that had led him to the mine.

“From what you say of the girl,” remarked Wild Bill, “she seems to be
of a different caliber from that of her tinhorn father.”

“She is,” averred the scout, “if I’m any judge of character.”

“It’s a good thing for her the Ponca slipped into the shaft. But for
that, he’d have caught her, sooner or later. An Injun isn’t giving up
five good ponies just to let himself be beaten out of his bargain.”

Wild Bill got to his feet and gave himself a shake.

“Feel like climbing fifty feet of rope, Hickok?” asked the scout.

“I feel like trying,” was the reply, “but whether I could get to the
top or not is a horse of another color.”

“We kin rig a tackle an’ snake ye up,” said Nomad; “all ye got ter do
is ter hang in er noose, an’----”

Nomad stopped short. From a distance came the reports of two
revolver-shots, fired in quick succession.

“Trouble!” shouted the scout, snatching a candle from the wall and
leaping away in the direction of the shaft. “That’s the signal
Wah-coo-tah was to give us if any of that gang of scoundrels came
this way.”

“I’m hopin’ ther trouble won’t reach ther gal afore we kin shin up
ther rope an’ jine her,” cried the trapper.

“We’ll not be of much account in a gun-fight, Nomad,” said Wild Bill.
“You’re not heeled, and neither am I.”

When Nomad and Wild Bill reached the bottom of the shaft, Buffalo
Bill was already on his way up the rope. A rattle of revolver-firing
came from the ore-dump, and the king of scouts climbed toward it with
frantic haste.




                            CHAPTER VIII.

                     THE FIGHT AT THE ORE-DUMP.


When Buffalo Bill raised his head and shoulders above the edge of the
platform, bullets flew about his ears like a swarm of angry bees. He
could not see the Indian girl, and he could not see any enemies, but
a shout from the girl called his attention as soon as he had pulled
himself out on the planks.

“Here, Pa-e-has-ka!” the girl called.

Her voice came from the side of the cañon, and the scout saw her head
lifted over a heap of boulders.

Bullets continued to sweep the ore-platform, but, before the scout
hurried to join Wah-coo-tah, he knelt, picked up his hat and coat,
and called to his pards.

“Stay where you are!” he ordered. “You haven’t any guns, and you’d
only be in the way.”

Having delivered these instructions, he whirled and leaped down the
side of the ore-dump. Bullets from behind boulders across the cañon
followed him as he ran, yet he managed to gain the barrier, behind
which Wah-coo-tah had taken refuge, without injury.

“Who are the men?” were the scout’s first words.

“My fadder and the other Yellow Eyes,” replied the girl.

“How many, Wah-coo-tah?”

“Seven.”

“That means the whole gang is here,” observed the scout, thinking
dejectedly of his brace of Colts, which were all the firearms he and
his pards had. “Where are the gang’s horses, Wah-coo-tah?”

“No _sabe_,” answered the girl. “Mebbyso cayuses left up the gulch.
When they come they walk, creep ’long behind rocks. Me no see um till
they come close. Then me shoot, and they begin to shoot, too. No like
um. Heap bad Yellow Eyes.”

“Have they got rifles?”

“No got um rifles; got revolvers.”

“If there are seven of them, and they have each a brace of
six-shooters, then they have fourteen revolvers to our two. Unless
something unexpected happens, they’re going to give us a run for our
money.”

Very cautiously Buffalo Bill looked over the top of the boulders and
sized up the enemy’s position. Lawless and his men appeared to be
scattered up and down the opposite side of the cañon, every one of
them back of a boulder.

The firing was not so brisk as it had been, and it was quite probable
that Lawless was himself taking stock of the situation before
allowing matters to go any further. As a point to this conclusion
of the scout’s, the head of Lawless, capped with its black sombrero
showed above the top of a boulder almost directly opposite where the
scout was standing.

Quick as lightning, Buffalo Bill let fly a bullet at the black hat.
Lawless ducked down just in time to save himself; and, the next
moment, Buffalo Bill himself was obliged to drop, for bullets began
to fly thick and fast.

“Stop your shooting!”

It was the voice of Lawless, and went ringing down the cañon.
Instantly the fusillade ceased.

“Buffalo Bill!” called Lawless.

“What do you want?” asked the scout, keeping under cover.

“You have my girl over there, and if you’ll give her up, we’ll let
you and your pards go, providing you agree to return to Fort Sill and
not go back to Sun Dance.”

Wah-coo-tah, crouching behind the stones, put out her hands and
caught the scout’s arm imploringly.

“No, no!” she breathed.

“You want to sell the girl to some other buck for five ponies, eh?”
called Buffalo Bill, in a tone of contempt.

“It’s none of your business what I want to do. She’s a fiery jade,
and there’s no living in the same lodge with her. Will you give her
up?”

“Certainly not. She doesn’t want to go back to you.”

“I can make you give her up,” stormed Lawless. “The officers at Fort
Sill, if I laid the case before them, would force you to turn the
girl over to her people.”

“You’ll not lay the case before the officers at Sill,” taunted
the scout; “they’d like mighty well to have you come there and
try it. You’re a pretty sort of man to have charge of a girl like
Wah-coo-tah!”

“For the last time”--and Lawless’ voice shook with rage--“are you
going to let me have my daughter?”

“And for the last time. No!” roared the scout.

“Then you’ll never leave this cañon alive. Go on with your shooting,
boys!”

The last words were a command to the members of the gang, and the
crack of weapons again resounded. All the shooting, however, was
a waste of good ammunition. The bullets hissed through the air or
patted harmlessly against the rocks. So long as the fighters kept
themselves hidden there was no danger of casualties.

Changing his position, Buffalo Bill threw himself down at full
length, and looked out around the end of the boulder breastwork that
shielded him and Wah-coo-tah.

What he saw filled him with consternation. While he had been
parleying with Lawless, two of Lawless’ men had left their boulders
and stolen up on the ore-dump. Under the protection of the rock pile,
the two rascals were making for the platform.

Was it their intention to cut the rope that was hanging in the
shaft? the scout asked himself. If it was, and if Nomad or Wild Bill
happened at the moment to be climbing upward, cutting the rope would
drop them downward, and perhaps cause them to meet the doom that had
overtaken the Ponca.

In the hope of keeping the two men from the platform, the scout
concentrated his fire upon the ore-dump. The men on the other side
of it were carrying out their plans warily, and the scout was given
little chance at them.

When they reached the top of the ore-dump, the scoundrels pushed two
boulders onto the platform to shield their bodies from the scout’s
bullets; then, pushing the stones in front of them, they crawled,
snakelike, toward the shaft opening.

The scout’s bullets slapped and hissed against the moving stones, but
without doing any damage to the men behind them. All the scoundrels
laughed. They seemed to understand the scout’s fears and the laugh
was a taunt because they considered that they had baffled him.

Buffalo Bill was just planning a rush back to the ore-dump--a
daredevil charge across the open with every outlaw’s weapon firing at
him--when something happened which he had not looked for.

The stones on the platform were close to the opening, when, with
startling suddenness, old Nomad popped through the hole like a
Jack-in-the-box. He took in the situation at a glance, and dropped
down on the two desperadoes.

One of the men started to jump up and run, but Nomad’s fist shot out
like a battering-ram, and the villain pitched head first down the
rocky side of the dump.

The men across the cañon did not dare shoot at the trapper for fear
of wounding their friends. Nomad understood this, and took full
benefit of the grace allowed him.

The scoundrel who still remained on the dump chanced to be Seth
Coomby. Nomad dropped a heavy knee on Coomby’s chest, and ripped the
revolvers out of his hands. Shoving one revolver into the breast of
his shirt, he picked Coomby up by the scruff of the neck, held him in
front as a breastwork, and started down the slope, firing as he went,
and forcing Coomby ahead of him.

But Nomad was not making for the boulders where the scout had taken
refuge, but for the other side of the cañon, where Lawless and the
rest of his men were doing their fighting.

It was a reckless piece of work on Nomad’s part. The old trapper,
however, was filled with rage at the way Lawless and his men had
treated him. He wanted to play “even,” and was willing to take
chances to do so.

Hardly had Nomad reached the bottom of the ore-dump, when Wild Bill
showed himself on the platform. Whether the outlaws were too much
occupied watching Nomad’s work with Coomby, or whether they were
paralyzed at Wild Bill’s appearance, yet the fact remains that they
did not fire at him.

Coomby’s companion on the ore-dump--none other than the man who has
figured as “Andy”--had dropped one of his revolvers at the time he
was overturned by the old trapper’s fist.

Wild Bill’s quick eye caught sight of the weapon, and he picked it
up, flourished it in the air with a yell, and leaped after Nomad
toward the opposite side of the cañon.

The scout, witnessing the trend of affairs, decided that he ought to
take part in the charge of his pards. Unless the attack was hotly
pressed, neither Nomad nor Wild Bill would come out of the skirmish
alive.

At the very moment when Buffalo Bill threw himself across the
boulders, a thump of horses’ feet came from down the cañon.

“We’re coming, pard!” whooped a shrill, feminine voice.

The scout looked down the gulch and saw Dauntless Dell and Little
Cayuse plying quirt and spur, and hurrying to take part in the combat.

“Hyar comes our other two pards!” jubilated Nomad. “Now, ye varmints,
will ye hunt yer holes?”




                             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’s pony, 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 run _me_ in.”

“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 think
Crawling 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 riders drew 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 ye _sabe_ my
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 waddled off, 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 explosion at 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 had been 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.




                             CHAPTER X.

                     THE STRANGER AND THE STEER.


“Whoop-ya! Looket thar, will ye? By the great horn spoon! Cut fer the
kitchen, Wing Hi, an’ fetch me the rope that’s hangin’ thar. D’ye
hear, yeh goggle-eyed yaller mug? Wake up an’ move--quick, afore
I kick yer half-way thar. Wow! Never seen sich er thing as thet
afore--an’ comin’ right down on ther camp, lickity larrup.”

The mining settlement of Sun Dance, baking in the mid-day heat
half-way up the wall of Sun Dance Cañon, stirred languidly with the
whooping words that clattered among its adobes.

There was not much life in Sun Dance during the day--night was its
period of excitement and activity--but what little life there was
began to show itself.

Gentleman Jim, the gambler, was dozing in a hammock stretched between
two posts in the shade of the “Alcazar.” He heard the wild yell,
located it as coming from the vicinity of the Lucky Strike Hotel, got
out of the hammock, and went to investigate.

In the street he met Hoppy Smith, barkeeper at the Dew Drop; One-eye
Perkins, postmaster and proprietor of the general store; Stump
Hathaway, boss of the Spread Eagle honkatonk, and Lonesome Pete,
who had ridden in from up the gulch to get a supply of tobacco and
cigarette-paper.

“What’s the trouble?” asked Gentleman Jim.

“I’m by,” replied Hoppy Smith, halting in his wild rush down
the street and resting his game leg. “Somebody dropped a remark,
seemedlike, over around the Lucky Strike.”

“Dropped a remark?” echoed One-eye Perkins. “The feller’s mouth went
off like a string of bombs!”

“All o’ that,” averred Stump Hathaway. “The noise jumped me out of a
sound sleep.”

“I thort, fer a brace o’ shakes,” struck in Pete, “thet Injuns was
up, an’ raidin’ ther camp. My skin began walkin’ all over me with
cold feet.”

The party had paused for only a few moments. During most of the
talking a rapid movement was being made in the direction of the Lucky
Strike.

Spangler sat in the shade, in front, taking a comfortable catnap on
his two chairs.

“Wake up, Spang!” cried Gentleman Jim, giving Spangler a shake that
made him quiver like a bowl of jelly.

Spangler opened his eyes, wheezed, and made a convulsive gesture with
his ragged palm-leaf fan.

“What’s ter pay, Jim?” he demanded.

“Didn’t ye hear that yell, a minit ago?” inquired Hoppy Smith.

“Didn’t hear nothin’.”

“It come from this a-way,” said Lonesome Pete. “Reckon nothin’ short
of er cannon kin wake you, Spang, arter ye once drop off.”

“It ain’t often that anythin’ happens in camp durin’ the day,”
returned Spangler. “If you fellers got business anywheres else, don’t
let me detain ye a minit.”

Spangler settled the broad of his back against the wall behind him
once more, apparently bent on continuing his nap. Just then, however,
Hank Tenny, a “digger” from up the gulch, plunged around the corner
of the hotel, wild-eyed and full of excitement.

He carried a riata, and was making it ready for action when he hove
in sight.

Behind Tenny came Wing Hi, the dining-room boy, and right at Wing
Hi’s heels came Wong Looey, the hotel cook.

“Was that you, Tenny, that let off that yell?” shouted Gentleman Jim.

“Well, I reckon,” answered Tenny.

“What’s the rip?”

“Cast yer eyes up at the rim o’ the cañon.”

What the men saw was startling in the extreme.

A red steer was flickering along the rim of the cañon, head down, and
flecks of foam covering its dusty hide. To the steer’s back a man
was tied. Both steer and man could be plainly seen, and the unusual
spectacle brought exclamations of astonishment from every onlooker.

The man was stretched out along the steer’s back, and securely roped
in that position. Whether he was alive or not it was impossible for
those on the “flat” to tell. The unfortunate man did not move--but
the ropes alone would have prevented that.

“Great glee-ory!” gasped Hoppy Smith.

“Wust thing o’ the kind I ever seen!” averred Lonesome Pete.

“Must be Injuns are playin’ didoes some’rs around here!” chimed in
Stump Hathaway.

“You’re shy, Stump,” said Gentleman Jim. “Whoever knew Injuns to
treat a white like that? So far as I can see, the man on the steer
still has his scalp. What’re you going to do, Hank?” he added to the
man with the rope.

“It’s dollars ter doughnuts,” said Tenny, “thet the steer’ll foller
the stage-trail right down inter camp. If thet’s the case, I’m goin’
to drop a rope over them horns.”

For quite a long distance the stage-trail followed the rim of the
cañon. Hank Tenny had sighted the steer and the man when they rushed
into sight. Wing Hi had got the rope for him, and immediately
afterward Tenny had rushed for the front of the hotel.

“I had jest put my cabyo in the stable,” said Tenny, while he and all
the rest continued to watch the rim of the gulch, “an’ was walkin’
fer the front o’ the hotel, when I fust seen the critter. Nacherly I
let off er yell, an’ follered it up by tellin’ ther Chink ter git a
rope fer me. Jest as soon’s I got my hands on the rope, I started for
the front o’ the----”

“By George!” exclaimed Gentleman Jim. “The steer has taken the turn,
and is sashaying right down on us!”

Tenny’s forecast had proved correct. The maverick, whirling from the
rim to the down-grade, could be seen charging down the steep slope.

Without a word, Hank Tenny made a rush along the street toward the
point where the trail entered it. There he went into hiding around
the corner of the Alcazar.

“Keep away, you fellers!” he yelled. “Don’t show yerselves, kase if
ye do ye’ll skeer the critter off. Jest hang around the background,
an’ watch how I rope ’im.”

Clustered about the front of the Lucky Strike, Gentleman Jim,
Spangler, Hoppy Smith, and the rest watched succeeding events with
intense interest.

They saw the steer charge into the street, saw Tenny’s right arm
shoot out, and the noose settle over the steer’s horns, and then they
saw Tenny make a frantic effort and take a half-hitch with the end
of the rope around a hitching-post.

A long breath escaped the onlookers. For an instant they experienced
a feeling of relief; then, the next instant, the relief gave way to
wildest anxiety.

The hitching-post, loosened by long use, had been torn from the
ground the tremendous strain placed upon it by the steer. Tenny,
hanging to the extreme end of the rope, had turned a somersault in
the air and landed on his head. The steer, with its helpless burden,
dashed on across the road and vanished behind the walls of the Spread
Eagle honkatonk.

“The animile is chasin’ straight fer the precipice!” bawled Lonesome
Pete, beginning to run. “It’ll go over the precipice an’ the man’ll
be done fer!”

This dread dénouement seemed very likely to happen. At the edge of
the “flat” there was a steep bank, dropping sheer downward to the bed
of the cañon. In one place, the trail from below followed a steep
slope--but the steer was not headed toward the slope, but toward the
precipice.

Maddened by the unsuccessful attempt made to stop its flight, and
still further frenzied by the yells of the men, there was small doubt
but that the steer would hurl itself over the edge of the high bank,
break its own neck, and crush out the life of the man on its back--in
case the man happened to be still alive.

“Who’s got a gun?” shouted Gentleman Jim, as all hands plunged along
after the steer. “Get a rifle, somebody!”

“We’d be as li’ble ter hit the man as ter hit the steer,” puffed
Hoppy Smith.

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” averred Gentleman Jim
breathlessly.

“But there ain’t a rifle among the lot o’ us,” said Stump Hathaway,
“an’ no time ter git one.”

At the rear of the Spread Eagle the men came to a halt. A level
stretch lay between them and the top of the bank. The steer was
almost across the stretch, and pounding onward without lessening its
speed in the least.

“The fellow is as good as done for,” said Gentleman Jim, leaning
against the wall of the Spread Eagle and drawing his sleeve across
his dripping forehead.

“He’ll go over in spite o’ fate,” muttered Hank Tenny, joining the
group at the rear of the honkatonk. “Who’d hev thought thet rotten
post would hev let go like it did? If it hadn’t been for that, I’d
hev stopped the maverick.”

“When a man’s time comes,” said Gentleman Jim, “he’ll get his due,
whether by bullet, or water, or six feet of rope--or a red maverick
steer. Too bad, too bad! Ah, the steer sees the break in the ground
ahead, and is getting ready to go over. If we only had a rifle----”

Gentleman Jim was interrupted by an abrupt _crang_, and a puff of
white smoke arising from a thicket of scrub off toward the edge of
the “flat.” Astonishment filled all beholders. While the echoes of
the rifle-shot were dancing musically up and down the gulch, the
steer was seen to leap into the air and to come down in a heap at the
very brink of the high bank.

A second later a lithe form sprang out from among the bushes and
started hastily for the fallen animal. It was the form of a girl in a
natty brown sombrero, buckskin blouse, and short skirt, and tan shoes
and leggings. In her right hand, as she hurried, she swung a rifle.

“Dell Dauntless!” shouted Gentleman Jim; “Buffalo Bill’s girl pard
has turned the trick. Bravo! A neater shot was never fired in Sun
Dance Cañon!”

And “bravo! bravo!” jubilated the others as they followed Gentleman
Jim toward the steer and the stranger--a stranger who might be in
luck, and who might not, according as to whether he had come through
that Mazeppalike ride alive or dead.

When Gentleman Jim and the others came close to the steer, Dell
Dauntless had already cut away the ropes, freed the stranger, and
dragged him to one side. The girl’s shot had sped true, and the steer
lay dead, with a bullet through its heart.

“Miss Dauntless,” said Gentleman Jim, removing his sombrero, “I take
off my hat to you. Your rifle got in its work in the very nick of
time. Half a minute more, and the steer would have been over the
bank. You’re a wonderful hand with a rifle.”

“Well,” smiled the girl, with a deprecating shake of the head, “that
steer was a good-sized target, and what excuse could I have made if I
had missed?”

“The steer was on the run, Miss Dauntless,” said Gentleman Jim, “and
you had to put a bit of lead into a vital place.”

“I happened to be in a favorable position,” said Dell. “Any one of
you, who happened to be placed as I was, and with a rifle in your
hands, could have done the same thing. While waiting for Buffalo
Bill and the rest of my pards to come back from down the gulch, I
was taking a stroll to the edge of the ‘flat’ to see if they were
in sight. I heard the yells from the camp, saw the steer coming,
and went down on one knee and bided my time. That was all,” she
finished, turning away. “Instead of talking, we’d better be giving
our attention to the stranger.”

“Correct,” returned Gentleman Jim, stepping to the stranger’s side
and sinking to his knees.

The stranger was young--evidently well under thirty--and had every
appearance of being a placer-miner. He wore a flannel shirt, blue
overalls, and rubber boots, all earth and water-stained. His hat was
gone, as might be expected, and there was no revolver-belt at his
waist, and no sign of weapons elsewhere about him.

“Any of you boys ever seen the man before?” asked Gentleman Jim.

None of the men could remember the stranger’s face.

Gentleman Jim laid one hand on his breast.

“His ticker’s going,” said he. “Hand me a flask, one of you.”

Lonesome Pete dug into his hip pocket and brought up a pint-flask.
Unscrewing the top, he handed the flask to the gambler. The latter
lifted the stranger’s head and allowed some of the liquor to trickle
into the throat of the unconscious man.

The effect was well-nigh magical. A minute afterward, and while
Pete was in the act of transferring the flask to his pocket, the
stranger’s eyes opened.

For a space, the eyes were blank and void of realization. The
man’s glance passed vacantly about from one face to another; then,
suddenly, he sat up and began rubbing his hands and arms where the
rope had chafed them.

“How do you feel, pilgrim?” asked Gentleman Jim.

“Feel like I’d been tangled up with a cyclone,” answered the man.
“Where am I?”

“You’re in Sun Dance Cañon.”

“This is where I was bound fer, but I wasn’t expectin’ ter git here
on a maverick longhorn. You fellows roped the critter?”

“I tried ter,” spoke up Hank Tenny, “but the animile yanked a
snub-post up by the roots an’ got away from me. He was headin’ fer
the edge o’ thet precipice, thar, with the idee o’ jumpin’ over an’
takin’ you with him, when this young lady, who happened ter be handy
by with a gun, let drive with a bullet. It’s the bullet thet saved
ye, pilgrim.”

The stranger swerved his eyes to Dell.

“I’m obliged to ye, miss,” said he. “What might yer name be?”

“Dell Dauntless,” said the girl.

“Buffalo Bill’s girl pard!” exclaimed the stranger, his dull eyes
lighting a little. “I won’t forget this, Dell Dauntless.”

“It’s nothing--nothing at all,” deprecated Dell. “Any one else would
have done the same thing, had they been situated as I was.”

“Some one else,” said the stranger grimly, “might have put a bullet
inter me instead o’ the steer. Howsumever, we’ll let that pass, fer
now. My name’s Blake, Henry Blake,” he went on, addressing generally
the men who were grouped about him. “I left Pass Dure Cañon yesterday
mornin’ with a bag o’ dust, calculatin’ ter come ter Sun Dance an’
take ther stage fer Montegordo. Just under the lee of Medicine
Bluff I was stopped by Cap’n Lawless and some o’ his murderous
scoundrels----”

“Captain Lawless!” exclaimed Gentleman Jim, astonished, and the words
were taken up and echoed by all the other bystanders--Dell Dauntless
being particularly interested.

“That’s right,” pursued Blake, a savage frown gathering about his
brows, “it was Cap’n Lawless, of the Forty Thieves, an’ no one else.
I know the whelp by sight, but, if I hadn’t known him, he’d have
settled my doubts, fer he told me himself who he was.”

“I thought Lawless and his gang had been chased out of the country
for good,” said Gentleman Jim. “Buffalo Bill and his pards gave him
the worst of it, and we had all made up our minds, here in Sun Dance,
that Lawless would profit by the lesson.”

“Well, he didn’t,” continued Blake. “He’s on deck like always, an’
up ter his old tricks. He lifted my bag o’ dust, my guns, what stuff
I had in my clothes, and my horse. I was held a pris’ner all last
night, in the outlaws’ camp by Medicine Bluff. This morning that
maverick steer was roped and thrown, and I was tied to the brute’s
back. Lawless told me I was going to Sun Dance, and that I was to
carry a message to some enemies of his. It was a written message, and
consequently it wouldn’t make much difference whether I reached Sun
Dance alive or dead.”

A fierce scowl returned to Blake’s face.

“I’m hopin’,” he went on, “that I’ll live to play even with that
whelp an’ cutthroat. He’s as cold-blooded as a channel catfish, an’
as murderous as a Sioux Injun. If I ever git a chance at him----”
Blake finished with a vengeful glare and a tense gripping of his big,
sinewy hands.

“You say the message is written?” queried Gentleman Jim.

“Yes,” answered Blake. “If I got here alive I was ter ask fer a
gambler called Gentleman Jim.”

“Which is me,” said the gambler. “So far as I know, Lawless hasn’t
ever crossed my trail. Why he makes himself my enemy is more than I
can tell.”

“The message ain’t fer you, Gentleman Jim,” said Blake.

“But you just said----”

“Wait till I tell ye the whole of it. Lawless said I was to ask for
you, and that I was ter tell ye Lawless believed ye was that rare
thing, a square gambler. This message fer Buffalo Bill----”

“Ah!” murmured Dell, her interest growing. “Then the message is for
the king of scouts?”

“That’s the way I sense it,” answered Blake. “It’s fer the king of
scouts, but it’s ter be given ter Gentleman Jim.”

“Talk about yer puzzles!” cut in Lonesome Pete. “This takes the
banner an’ leads the percession, I reckon. Lawless sends a message
ter one man an’ tells ye ter give it ter another.”

“How do you explain that, Blake?” asked Gentleman Jim.

“I don’t explain it,” continued Blake, “an’ I’ve told ye all I know.”

He dipped into the breast of his shirt and removed a long envelope,
soiled by much handling.

“There it is,” said he, handing the envelope to Gentleman Jim. “If
I’d petered out before the steer got here, ye might have found that
on me, an’ ye might not. It was Lawless’ roundabout way o’ doin’ the
thing.”

“He and his gang,” remarked Gentleman Jim, “must have chased the
steer toward Sun Dance, and have drawn off only when sure the brute
would come peltering down into the camp.”

“That must be the way of it, although I lost my senses some time
ago. I’m purty husky, but what I went through on that steer’s back is
somethin’ I never want ter go through ag’in.”

Dell looked over Gentleman Jim’s shoulder while he read the writing
on the envelope.

“A message for Buffalo Bill,” read the writing; “to be delivered to
Gentleman Jim, in Sun Dance, and by him opened in the presence of the
scout.”

“That’s plain enough; eh, Miss Dauntless?” said the gambler.

“It’s plain enough,” agreed the girl, “but a brain-twisting puzzle,
nevertheless. If the scout----”

At that instant a fall of hoofs struck on the ears of each member of
the group. All eyes turned in the direction of the trail leading up
and out of the cañon.

Four riders were approaching that particular part of the “flat.”
Buffalo Bill, on his big black horse, Bear Paw, was in the lead.
Behind the scout came Wild Bill, Nick Nomad, and Little Cayuse.

“Well, well!” exclaimed Gentleman Jim, “this couldn’t have happened
better.”

Putting their horses to the gallop, Buffalo Bill and his pards were
soon drawing rein close to the group near the dead steer.

“What’s been going on here, friends?” queried the king of scouts,
sweeping a curious eye over the scene before him.




                             CHAPTER XI.

                     A GIFT WITH A STRING TO IT.


Dell Dauntless pushed forward and explained the situation to the
scout and his pards.

“Waugh!” tuned up old Nomad in customary fashion, “what sort of er
pizen deal is Lawless tryin’ ter pull off? Me no like um; hey, Wild
Bill?”

“It’s sure a queer layout,” pondered Hickok. “The fact that Lawless
is behind it makes it a cinch that it doesn’t mean any good to We, Us
& Co. Whatever you do, Cody, remember that.”

“Where can we see you in half an hour, Gentleman Jim?” the scout
inquired, turning to the gambler.

“In my private room at the Alcazar,” answered the gambler.

“We’ll be there,” said the scout. “That’s your steer, Dell,” he
added. “You’d better turn the carcass over to Tenny for the use of
Spangler, at the Lucky Strike. We haven’t had any fresh meat there
for a couple of days, and I think we’d all appreciate it.”

“Pete an’ me’ll take keer o’ the brute, Buffalo Bill,” said Tenny.
“Tell Spangler to send his Chinks over here and get the beef.”

Dell accompanied her pards to the hotel, and waited while they put
up their horses. Meantime, Spangler, delighted with the prospect
of securing a supply of fresh beef, had despatched his Chinamen
to the place where Tenny and Pete were making the carcass ready.
Henry Blake, worn out by his rough experience, went to the general
bunk-room and turned in.

Half an hour after the scout and his pards had got back to the camp
they were all in Gentleman Jim’s private room at the Alcazar. Dell
formed one of the party.

The gambler closed the door securely, so that no one not interested
could hear anything that went on in the room. To say that all were
curious would state their feelings mildly.

“Open up ther paper-talk, Gentleman Jim,” urged the old trapper, the
moment the door was closed, “an’ let’s git next ter what’s doin’. I’m
bracin’ myself fer somethin’ onexpected ter happen.”

“I hope,” said Wild Bill, “that what we’re going to hear will give us
a chance to lay Lawless by the heels.”

“What makes it seem mighty queer that this letter should be entrusted
to me,” remarked Gentleman Jim, tearing an end off the envelope, “is
that I never met Lawless in my life, so far as I know.”

Leaning back in his chair, the gambler drew from the envelope a
folded, legal-looking document, and two separate sheets of paper,
likewise folded.

“What sort of a document is that, Gentleman Jim?” asked the scout,
nodding toward the legal-looking paper.

The gambler examined the document and gave a low whistle.

“It’s a quit-claim deed to the Forty Thieves,” said he.

A chorus of surprised exclamations greeted the words.

“In whose name is the deed made out?” the scout queried.

“Buffalo Bill.”

This was even more astounding. Nomad tried to say something, but was
held speechless by his amazement. All the others were in like case.
A strange silence fell over the room, broken only by the rustling of
paper as Gentleman Jim examined the deed.

“Amazing as this may appear,” said the gambler presently, “yet the
deed has seemingly been executed in proper form. It is signed by
Lawless, witnessed by Seth Coomby and Andy Streibel, and bears the
seal and acknowledgment of a notary in Montegordo. It is dated three
days ago.”

“I’m clear over my head,” muttered the scout. “Lawless and I are
enemies. Why should he make me a gift like that?”

“Come to simmer the thing down, Buffalo Bill,” said the gambler, “it
isn’t much of a gift, after all. The mine is worthless. Lawless knows
that, or he wouldn’t have tried to ‘salt’ it and sell it to that
Chicago man.”

“Lawless undoubtedly _thinks_ the mine is worthless,” mused the scout.

“Well, isn’t it?”

“Not by a hull row of ’dobies!” put in old Nomad. “Buffler, ye’re in
luck! Lawless laid out ter hand ye a mine thet was no good; he’ll
feel like kickin’ himself when he diskivers ther Forty Thieves is er
bonanza--er reg’lar whale of er good thing. Why, et’s got er reef on
et that makes ther Comstock Lode look like er limestone stringer.”

“Is that right?” demanded Gentleman Jim.

“It is,” went on Buffalo Bill. “Wild Bill made the discovery first.
We have just come in from an exhaustive examination of the property,
and we found that the Forty Thieves has an exceedingly rich vein.
Lawless, in presenting me with the mine, has over-reached himself.
He didn’t know of this rich vein--no one but myself and my pards
knew of it. Back of all this, however, the puzzle still remains: Why
should Lawless wish to present me with even a worthless mine? I’m
still over my head.”

Gentleman Jim picked up the folded papers which he had drawn from the
envelope with the deed.

“One of these is addressed to you, Buffalo Bill,” said he, “and the
other is addressed to me. Perhaps they will shed a little light on
the situation.”

Buffalo Bill took the paper the gambler handed to him, opened it,
read it through, and then laughed.

“What’s et erbout, pard?” asked Nomad.

“Listen,” said the scout, and read aloud: “‘You may think you’ve
downed me, Buffalo Bill, but you have another guess coming. I am
giving you a deed to the Forty Thieves Mine. The mine is no good. We
both know that. So the deed is not given to you from any desire on
my part to tender you a token of my esteem. _The gift is a dare._
Gentleman Jim is to hold the deed, and give it to you only after you
have passed three consecutive days and nights in the Forty Thieves
Mine. Gentleman Jim, I know by report, is a square gambler. He will
see to it that my conditions are faithfully executed. After you have
passed three consecutive days and nights in the mine, you are to
go to Gentleman Jim and get the deed, making the transfer legal by
filing the deed for record in Montegordo--that is, if you consider a
worthless mine worth bothering with to that extent. Take your pards,
or as many more men as you wish, with you into the mine--_but you
must stay there for three consecutive days and nights_. That will be
all. If you live to claim the deed you are welcome to it. Where’s
your nerve?’”

Buffalo Bill, with a queer smile playing about the corners of his
mouth, refolded the paper and stowed it carefully away in his pocket.

“Of course,” he remarked, “Lawless thinks he has a trap laid for me
in the Forty Thieves.”

“He’s got something up his sleeve, all right,” agreed Wild Bill, “but
if he thinks you haven’t got the nerve to hang out in that mine for
three days and nights, why, he’s wide of his trail, that’s all.”

“Ther mine’s wuth ther risk,” said Nomad.

“I’m not thinking so much about the mine, Nick,” went on the scout,
“as I am about the chance this fool proposition of Lawless’ gives
me to lay alongside of him. That villain ought to have his claws
clipped, and I reckon I and my pards are the ones to do it.”

A vociferous affirmative came from Nomad, Wild Bill, Little Cayuse,
and Dell.

“He’s a deep one,” remarked Gentleman Jim. “The mine is evidently
a trap, and he’s luring you into it. It is also perfectly evident
that he knows you will not fulfil his terms for the mine itself, but
simply because he gives you a dare.”

“Buffler Bill an’ pards never takes a dare,” said Nomad.

“We’ll meet Lawless half-way in this one,” said the scout resolutely.
“By doing so, we can, not only get the mine, but likewise capture
Lawless.”

“Sure!” cried Wild Bill. “Are your pards in with you on the deal,
Cody?”

“On one consideration only,” was the answer.

“What’s that?”

“Why, that if we stay out the three consecutive days and nights
successfully, we are all to be joint owners of the mine.”

Silence followed the words.

“If all of you share the risk,” smiled the scout, “you ought also to
share the profits.”

That brought an agreement.

“Of course,” the scout went on, “I am not dropping into Lawless’
plans because I want to dare him to do his worst, or because the
mine lures me to it, but simply and solely because this promises an
opportunity for capturing one of the worst trouble-makers in the
country. If the mine comes to us, it will be incidental to our main
purpose. What is there in your letter, Gentleman Jim?”

“Nothing, except that I am to keep the deed and hand it over to
you after you have passed the three days and nights in the mine,
providing you are alive and able to claim it.” An apprehensive look
crossed the gambler’s face. “It’s a gift with a string to it--and I’d
give a hundred, this minute, if I knew exactly what the string was.”

“Well, Gentleman Jim,” said the scout, rising. “I give notice that
to-night, at six o’clock, I and some of my pards will go down into
the Forty Thieves. This is Monday, and I shall not come to the
surface until Thursday afternoon, unless the capture of Captain
Lawless makes it necessary.”

Silence followed the scout’s words. It was broken by a long-drawn-out
and mournful cry, coming from no one knew where:

“_Wa-hoo-ha-a-a! Pa-e-has-ka go to Forty Thieves, Pa-e-has-ka die!
Nuzhee Mona! Nuzhee Mona!_”

It was a soft voice, as it might have been the voice of a sighing
spirit, and the echoes breathed sobbingly through the room.

While Buffalo Bill, Dell Dauntless and the others stared at each
other in bewilderment, Little Cayuse flung himself into the center of
the room. Crouching there, and peering about him with eyes in which
there was an unearthly light, the boy breathed huskily:

“_Geegoho! Geegoho!_” Then he listened, rapt, entranced erect, and
rigid as a statue.

“_Nuzhee Mona! Nuzhee Mona!_” breathed the voice, the last word dying
away in a whisper.

Little Cayuse flung his hands to his face, groaned aloud, then rushed
to the door, tore it open--and vanished.

It would be hard to describe the effect which this bit of by-play
had on those in the room. As a matter of fact, the effect of it on
each one was different. All were surprised, and more or less puzzled,
but each, according to his nature, gave the event a different
construction.

Nomad, superstitious and imaginative, read in the sighing voice an
instrumentality that was not human. It was a warning from a class of
spirits to whom the old trapper referred as the “whiskizoos.”

Dell was astounded and apprehensive, Wild Bill frankly puzzled,
Gentleman Jim grimly incredulous, and the scout began looking about
him in a matter-of-fact way to locate the place from which the voice
emanated.

“Waugh!” growled Nomad; “me no like um. All same whiskizoo. Better
think et over, Buffler. Et won’t do ter go agin’ a warnin’ from ther
spirit-land.”

“_Where_ did it come from?” murmured Dell. “What was it?”

“There was flesh and blood back of it,” averred the scout. “Spirits
have never mixed up in my affairs, and they’re not going to begin it
now.”

He strode to a door in one corner of the room, and threw it open. The
door led into a closet, but the closet was empty.

“I wouldn’t put it past Lawless any to set some one on to do a thing
like that,” remarked Wild Bill, with a low laugh. “He’s trying your
nerve, Cody.”

“What’s under the floor, Gentleman Jim?” inquired the scout, striking
the floor with his heel.

“A basement,” answered the gambler, “where the proprietor of the
Alcazar stores his ‘wet’ goods.”

“And what’s above?” went on the scout, lifting his eyes.

“Cedar rafters and a mud roof.”

“Let’s go down to the basement.”

The scout and the gambler left the room, descended into the cellar by
a narrow flight of stairs leading from the main part of the Alcazar,
and found nothing but kegs and casks.

“Whoever spoke,” said Buffalo Bill, “spoke from here. Mere clap-trap
for the sake of scaring me out.”

“Lawless never had it done,” said Gentleman Jim. “Your pard, Wild
Bill, is wide of his trail if he thinks that.”

“No,” mused the scout, “Lawless wasn’t back of it. He seems too
anxious to get me into the Forty Thieves to try to make me turn back.”

“It was a woman’s voice.”

“I’m thinking of that.”

When the scout and the gambler returned to the latter’s room, it was
unnecessary for them to repeat to Wild Bill, Nomad, and Dell the
result of their investigations. Every word spoken by Buffalo Bill
and Gentleman Jim while in the basement had been distinctly heard by
those overhead.

“That proves,” declared the scout, “that the speaker was in the
basement.”

“What did the speaker mean by those words, _Nuzhee Mona_?” asked Dell.

“Give it up, Dell,” replied Buffalo Bill. “Mere gibberish, perhaps,
although they suggest the Omaha tongue, to me.”

“To me, too,” put in Wild Bill.

“And what was that Little Cayuse said? And why did he groan and run
away?”

“The boy’s an Indian,” said the scout, “and his blood crops out in
queer ways, now and then. I don’t know what he said, nor why he ran
away. But he won’t stay away for long, we may be sure of that.”

“He knows,” said Nomad, “thet Injun spooks was speakin’. Et skeered
him, an’ he lit out.”

“Then it’s the first time,” said the scout derisively, “we ever saw
the boy scared. But we can’t lose time here, pards. We must cut for
the Lucky Strike and get our share of that red maverick that came
so near proving the death of Blake. After dinner there will be some
preparations to make, and by six o’clock, sharp, we must be down in
the shaft and level of the Forty Thieves.”

“Buffalo Bill’s mine!” laughed Wild Bill. “Come on, Cody. That three
days’ stunt looks easy to me, in spite of our ‘spirit-warning’ and
the evil intentions of Captain Lawless.”

“I try to be square,” said Gentleman Jim, as he followed the scout
and his pards to the front of the Alcazar, “and if you stay in the
Forty Thieves for three consecutive days and nights you get the deed.
If you don’t, Buffalo Bill, I shall have to burn it up.”

“Don’t be too quick with your burning, that’s all,” returned the
scout grimly.

“I’ll give you plenty of time to come and claim the property.”

“Dollars to doughnuts,” remarked Hickok lightly, “the scout will
exchange Lawless for the deed. I’ve a feeling that that whelp is due
for a kibosh, and that Cody is going to give it to him.”

“I hope so, with all my heart,” said Gentleman Jim fervently.

As the scout, the trapper, Wild Bill, and Dell passed along the
camp-street toward the Lucky Strike Hotel, Little Cayuse hastened
around the rear of the Dew Drop resort and joined them.

The boy’s face was heavy with foreboding.

“Where have you been, Cayuse?” asked the scout sharply.

“Try find um spirit,” answered Cayuse gravely. “Find out, mebbyso,
how we save um Pa-e-has-ka.”

Wild Bill gave a scoffing laugh, and Cayuse stared at him rebukingly.

“We no find out how to save um Pa-e-has-ka,” said the boy, with great
gravity, “then Pa-e-has-ka die.”

He whirled on the scout.

“You still think you go to mine, stay there for three sleeps?” he
demanded.

“Certainly I’m going.”

A look of woeful resignation crossed the boy’s face.

“Pa-e-has-ka die,” said he, “then Little Cayuse die, too--but not
till Little Cayuse take Lawless’ scalp.”

All this talk of the Piute’s rendered Nick Nomad mighty uneasy.

“What was et thet ther spirit said, Cayuse?” asked the trapper.

Cayuse shook his head and did not answer.

“What was et ye said ter ther spirit?”

Still Cayuse kept a still tongue.

“I don’t like ther outlook, Buffler,” said Nomad, with a gruesome
shake of his shaggy head. “Ther kid ’u’d tork, only he hates ter
gloom us up.”

“There are times, old pard,” said the scout, “when you seem to be shy
even an average amount of horse-sense. If you continue to talk and
act as though you were locoed, I won’t take you to the mine at all,
but will leave you in Sun Dance.”

Nomad, at that, pulled himself together and tried to look as though
he wasn’t in the least apprehensive.

“And the same with Little Cayuse,” continued the scout, turning to
the Piute. “You’ve got to stop this foolishness. Buffalo Bill’s pards
ought to be level-headed, and not go off the jump every time they
hear or see something they can’t understand. We’re out after Lawless,
just remember that, and certainly we’re sharp enough to match our
wits against his. If we’re not, then Lawless and his gang may win out
against us, and welcome.”

Cayuse shut his teeth hard and walked on ahead. Nomad, in a feeble
attempt to dispel his fears, began to whistle softly.

As they came within sight of the Lucky Strike Hotel, they saw three
men grouped about the door. One of the men was the fat proprietor,
Spangler, and the other two were Hank Tenny and Lonesome Pete.

“What’s that outfit looking at?” queried Wild Bill.

“Something on the door,” returned Dauntless Dell. “They appear to be
excited.”

“Must be somethin’ mighty important,” put in Nomad, “ter drag thet
fat boy out o’ his two chairs. Spang never moves from them chairs
except ter foller ther shade, er eat his meals, er go ter bed. But
somethin’s got him goin’ now, thet’s shore.”

“What’s the matter?” called the scout, when he and his pards came
close to the front of the hotel.

“We’re tryin’ ter figger it out, Buffalo Bill,” wheezed Spangler.
“Jest take a look at this an’ tell me what it means--if ye kin.”

Spangler, Pete, and Tenny moved away from the door. Pinned to the
wood by a crude dagger was a ragged square of birch bark. On the
bark, where the words had evidently been traced with the dagger’s
point, was this, in printed characters:

_Nuzhee Mona._

Just that, and nothing more. Nomad and Little Cayuse stared, then
turned away. Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill laughed, and the former
tore away the piece of bark and cast it from him with a gesture of
contempt; then, jerking the dagger from the wood, he carried it on
into the hotel. Hickok followed, a jesting remark on his lips. Dell
trailed after Hickok, but it was plain she could not dismiss the
matter in the same offhand way that he had done.




                            CHAPTER XII.

                      THE “FORTY THIEVES MINE.”


“Got any idee why that thing was skewered inter my door, Buffalo
Bill?” asked Spangler, waddling into the room of the hotel, which
served as an “office.”

“Don’t fret about that, Spangler,” said the scout; “it was meant for
me.”

“Queer kind of a visitin’-card,” said Tenny, sticking his head in at
the door. “‘Nuzhee Mona,’ hey? Queer name fer a man, too.”

“How did it come there?” queried the scout.

“That’s what we don’t know,” puffed Spangler. “Half an hour ago it
wasn’t there--I kin take my affidavy on _that_. I had my eyes on the
door jest after the Chinks had come with the meat, an’ it was as bare
as the pa’m o’ my hand. Right arter that I settled down in front an’
went ter sleep. Tenny an’ Pete woke me up an’ pointed out the thing
ter me.”

“Then it must have been put up there while you were asleep?”

“I reckon that was the way of it.”

“Well, forget it. It’s my business, anyway, and nothing for you to
bother with.”

At that moment Wing Hi came out of the dining-room and went to the
front of the hotel with his brass gong. While he was pounding his
summons for dinner--a meal which had been delayed on account of the
extra work that had fallen to the two Chinamen--the scout and his
pards went into the dining-room and took their accustomed places at
one of the tables.

“Nick,” said the scout to his trapper pard, “here’s something for you
and Cayuse to think about: Did either of you ever hear of a spook
that was able to take a piece of birch bark and scratch words on it?”

The idea rather startled Nomad, but Cayuse kept on quietly with his
eating.

“Or,” proceeded the scout, with a wink at Wild Bill, “did you ever
hear of a spook that could take an old file and make a dagger out of
it?”

He laid the blade, with which the birch bark had been fastened to the
door, on the table.

All eyes turned on it curiously. There was no doubt about its having
been ground down from a file to a double edge and a point.

“Or,” went on the scout, “who ever knew of a spook stealing to the
front of a hotel and fastening a piece of birch bark to the door,
and using wit enough to do it so quietly that the proprietor of the
hotel, who was asleep in front and not ten feet away, failed to hear
a sound?”

“I reckon ye tally, pard,” said Nomad. “What ye say must er been ther
work of er human bein’, like ourselves.”

“Sure,” grinned Wild Bill. “The dagger and the piece of bark prove
that; and the words on the bark prove that the same person who
fastened it to the door was the one who talked at us from the
basement of the Alcazar. Flesh and blood, no doubt of it; and I’ve
got a hunch Lawless is back of the whole layout.”

The scout was not of Wild Bill’s opinion regarding the question of
Lawless having anything to do with the matter, but recent events were
so obscure that the scout did not attempt to deny something which
_might_ prove to be true.

As people began to come into the dining-room, the matter was dropped,
and the scout and his pards fell to talking on other topics.

Directly after dinner preparations were made for a stay of three days
and nights in the Forty Thieves. A lot of canteens were secured, and
Spangler’s culinary-department was drawn upon for a supply of rations.

By four o’clock Buffalo Bill, Nomad, Wild Bill, Dell, and Cayuse
mounted and rode off down the cañon. Blake, the miner who had been
robbed of his dust and almost killed, was still resting his bruised
limbs on a cot in the general bunk-room. The scout would have
liked to talk further with Blake, but did not esteem the matter of
sufficient importance to wake him for the purpose.

The romance of mining is full of Fortune’s strange freaks. How the
Forty Thieves had come into the hands of Captain Lawless, Buffalo
Bill did not know. Yet, undoubtedly Lawless had prospected the
property and had settled it, in his own mind, that it was worthless.
Had he not thought it of no value, he would hardly have turned it
over to the scout as a gift, even with “a string to it.”

Lawless had fooled himself. The rich vein had been lost--it had not
petered out--and, by an accident, Wild Bill had discovered it again.

A small stream ran through the cañon. The stream was little more than
a rill, flowing for most of the cañon’s length under the sand and
rocks, and appearing on the surface only occasionally, where bed-rock
forced the water upward into pools.

At one of these pools, close to the ore-dump of the mine, the scout
and his pards halted and dismounted. The canteens were filled, and
two riatas were spliced together and dropped into the shaft with one
end secured to the platform on the top of the dump.

When everything was ready for the descent, the scout placed to one
side a bag of the rations brought from Sun Dance.

“Now, pards,” said he, addressing his friends, “we are not to forget
for an instant that, by going down into the Forty Thieves, we are
playing directly into the hands of Lawless and his gang. Lawless
has something up his sleeve, and we’re going to try and beat him at
his own game. To do this successfully, we can’t _all_ go down the
shaft. The surface must be watched as well as the mine workings; and
our horses have got to be taken care of. This party will have to be
divided, and I have chosen Dell and Cayuse to look after the mounts
and keep keen eyes on the vicinity of the ore-dump.”

Dell’s face fell at this, and the Piute looked his disappointment.
But whenever Buffalo Bill gave an order, there was no setting it
aside.

“Hickok, Nomad, and I,” pursued the scout, “will go into the mine.
As soon as we are down there, Dell and Cayuse will proceed to lower
our canteens and rations--all but the bag which I have set aside for
their use. Then, when the water and grub are lowered, Dell and Cayuse
will pull up the rope and take the horses along the cañon. A quarter
of a mile below the mine a gully breaks into the cañon wall. The
gully is full of scrub, and it will be a good place to hide the live
stock. While one of them watches the stock, the other will watch the
ore-dump.”

“But why pull up the rope, Buffalo Bill?” asked Dell. “If anything
goes wrong, you wouldn’t have any way of getting out of the shaft.”

“If anything goes wrong, Dell,” returned the scout, “it will be up
here. If you and Cayuse keep careful watch, you will be able to
notify Nomad, Wild Bill, and me, and drop the rope for us. If, on
the other hand, any of Lawless’ gang should escape your eyes and try
to come down the shaft, they won’t have our rope to use. Understand?
The three of us are going down there to stay for three days. Your
instructions are simple enough, and I reckon you understand them.
Eternal vigilance is the price of success in this undertaking.”

With that, Buffalo Bill sat down on the edge of the planks and slowly
lowered himself into the black maw of the shaft.

“All right, pards!” came his muffled voice from the darkness, a few
moments later.

Wild Bill descended next, and Nomad next. When they reached the
bottom of the shaft, the scout had secured one of the candles left in
the mine during their recent visit, and had lighted it.

“Everything looks like it did when we was hyar last,” said Nomad,
peering about him in the flickering gleam of the candle.

“Nothing is changed,” returned Buffalo Bill, “and there’s no one here
besides ourselves. I have been to the end of the level, and I am
positive of it. Haul up the rope, Dell,” he shouted, “and lower the
grub and the water.”

Dell and Cayuse, their forms silhouetted against the background of
sky overhead, could be seen bending over the mouth of the shaft and
pulling up the rope.

In a little while the provision-bags and the canteens were lowered,
untied from the end of the rope and carried by Nomad and Wild Bill
into the level.

“Now,” cried the scout, “haul up the rope, Dell, and go off to the
gully with the horses.”

“You’re sure there’s no one down there besides yourselves?” called
the girl anxiously.

The scout’s reassuring laugh bounded upward between the rocky walls.

“We’re absolutely sure, Dell. We’re safe enough down here. If there’s
any trouble, the chances are that you and Cayuse will see the most of
it. Don’t do any worrying about us.”

“I don’t know,” answered Dell, “but I’ve got a feeling that there are
some--some disagreeable surprises in store for all of us.”

“Let ’em come!” whooped Wild Bill. “We’re not looking for trouble,
but you can bet your spurs we’re not going to dodge any.”

Slowly the rope was drawn upward, untied from the plank platform, and
Dell and Cayuse vanished from the mouth of the shaft.

Wild Bill, having carried his load of water and food into the level,
had returned to the scout in the shaft; but Nomad had pushed along
toward the end of the level.

The surprises began at once, and almost at the very moment Dell and
Cayuse left the ore-dump. This, the first of the strange events, was
ushered in by a wild yell from the old trapper.

“By gorry!” exclaimed Wild Bill, dashing into the level, “Nomad’s
struck a snag, first crack out of the box.”

The trapper had secured a candle when he and Wild Bill began carrying
the canteens and provision-bags into the level. The scout likewise
had a candle, and made haste to follow Hickok into the pitch-dark
passage.

Cody could not imagine what it was that had brought that yell from
his old pard. It wasn’t a shout of fear, but rather of surprise and
consternation. Apart from his superstitious vagaries, the old trapper
did not know the meaning of the word “fear.”

Wild Bill, stumbling along somewhat in the lead of the scout, kept
watching for the glimmer of Nomad’s candle. The tunnel was full of
angles, and Wild Bill went clear to the breast of it, and whirled
around with his back to the rocks. He had not found a trace of the
trapper in the entire length of the level!

“Well!” exclaimed Wild Bill, looking blankly into the scout’s face.
“What sort of a hocus-pocus do you call this, Cody? Disagreeable
surprises! By gorry, Dell was right. We no more than get into the
mine before they’re sprung on us.”

Without speaking, Buffalo Bill turned and picked his way back to the
shaft, sweeping the candlelight about him and examining every nook
and cranny as he went.

He saw nothing of Nomad.

Midway between the breast of the level and the shaft was the opening
into the short “drift.”

Still keeping his thoughts to himself, the scout whirled away from
the shaft and went into the “drift.” The cross-section dimensions
of the “drift” were the same as those of the main level, but it was
scarcely more than fifteen feet long.

A débris of broken stone littered the floor of the “drift,” but the
scout was not long in discovering that his old pard was not there.

Setting the candle down on a rock, he made a trumpet of his hands.

“Nomad!” he roared, at the top of his voice.

The echoes boomed through the underground galleries, but echoes alone
answered the scout’s call.

“I’ll give it up,” said Buffalo Bill, dropping down on the stone
beside the candle. “Nick isn’t in the mine, that’s sure.”

“And he didn’t get out of the mine through the shaft,” observed
Wild Bill. “There may be an air-shaft somewhere that we don’t know
anything about. If Nomad found such a shaft, it would be easy for him
to give us the slip.”

“There isn’t such a shaft!” declared the scout. “Even if there was,
Hickok, why should Nick give us the slip?”

“He wouldn’t want to, of course; but he was in the mine one minute,
and out of it the next. He met with foul play, and it was of the
mighty sudden kind. Lawless is back of it--that goes without saying.”

“I presume you are right,” said the scout, “and if you _are_ right,
Hickok, there’s more to this mine than we have yet begun to discover.”

“There must be old workings, Cody, which have been closed up.”

“Nick’s disappearance can’t be explained in any other way. I suppose
Nick saw Lawless or one of his men, and was struck down before he
could do anything more than give that one yell; then he was dragged
through some hole that we haven’t been able to find.”

Buffalo Bill got up and took the candle.

“I didn’t come here to lose any of my pards, Hickok,” he went on,
“and I don’t intend to. We’ve got to find the route Nick traveled
when he left, and follow it.”

“We’ll get him back,” averred Wild Bill, with a resolute snap of the
jaws, “no matter how much of a ‘plant’ Lawless has down here.”

Thereupon the two stepped back into the main level. Holding his
candle in one hand and a stone in the other, each proceeded toward
the breast of the passage, tapping on the walls as they went.

This maneuver proved fruitless. The stone walls gave back no hollow
sound, and, for all their ears could detect, they might as well have
been tapping against a mountain of granite.

Never before had the king of scouts been so deeply perplexed. An
outlet from the mine seemed such a simple thing to find, and yet it
had baffled him. The whole mystery, in a less matter-of-fact mind
than the scout’s, or Wild Bill’s, would have taken on a supernatural
aspect.

“I’m up the biggest kind of a stump, Cody,” admitted Wild Bill, “and
the more we try to solve the riddle, the higher up I get. The stone
in the wall seems to be as solid as Gibraltar, and if there was a
hole--even a masked opening--leading to another passage, there would
certainly be some kind of a ‘break’ in the side of the level. But
there isn’t any break--the walls are continuous.”

“About where, in this level,” said the scout, “would you say Nomad
was when he gave that yell?”

“He could not have been far from the place where we left the canteens
and the provisions--perhaps about half-way between there and the end
of the level.”

Buffalo Bill went back to the spot indicated by Wild Bill. Flashing
the candle about side walls and roof, something met his eyes. He
examined it for a moment, and then called Hickok.

What the latter saw, when he gained the scout’s side, were words,
written with candle-smoke, on the light-colored stone of the roof:

“_Nuzhee Mona!_”

“What in Sam Hill do those words mean?” cried Wild Bill.

“I wish I knew,” said the scout. “If we knew the meaning of the words
we might get a clue to this tangle. Possibly a friend traced the
words.”

“And perhaps an enemy--Lawless, for instance. If he put those words
there, Cody, they mean a threat of some kind.”

“The voice we heard in the Alcazar was the voice of a friend; the
voice used those two words; it was the hand of that same speaker that
pinned that piece of bark to the door of the hotel; and, it naturally
follows, the same hand must have put the words on the roof of this
tunnel.”

“You make out a good case, Cody, but why all this secrecy? Why
doesn’t the person, if really a friend, come out face to face with
you and tell you what to expect, instead of dodging around cellars,
visiting hotel doors mysteriously, and then sneaking into the Forty
Thieves, and leaving those two words?”

“We don’t know what the woman has to work against, or how she is
hampered in her attempts to warn us.”

“Woman?” echoed Wild Bill.

“Certainly. That voice we heard in the Alcazar was a woman’s voice.”

“An Indian, too, by gorry! Have you any idea who it could be?”

The scout was thoughtful for a moment.

“Who could this mysterious friend be, if not Wah-coo-tah?” he said
finally.

“By gorry, you’ve hit it!” exclaimed Wild Bill. “I hadn’t thought of
Wah-coo-tah. She is very friendly toward you, but she doesn’t like
Dell a little bit. Say, I’ll bet a hundred against a last year’s
bird’s nest that Wah-coo-tah’s the girl who was trying to steer us
away from this trap.”

“The more I think about it,” said the scout, “the more reasonable it
seems. The girl, when she left the hotel, went back to her father.
While with him she found out about his plans concerning us. No doubt
she is watched, and finds it impossible to show herself openly to us
and tell what she knows. But all this isn’t helping us to find Nick.”

“Lawless has got him, Cody, and probably he will try the same means
for getting us. We’ll have to be on our guard every minute, or----”

At that instant Buffalo Bill flung down his own candle and knocked
the candle out of Hickok’s hand; then, hurling himself against his
companion, he bore him to the floor of the level, and dropped beside
him.

Before the astounded Wild Bill could ask a question as to the reason
for such an unexpected action, a spurt of flame lit up the passage,
and a rattle of revolver-shots echoed deafeningly between the narrow
walls.

“Lie still!” whispered the scout in Wild Bill’s ear. Then, with a
groan, he cried huskily: “I’m hit! They’ve got us, Hickok.”

A fall of swift feet resounded in the passage, coming rapidly nearer
the two pards; but all was dark, and the scout, scarcely breathing,
lay silently where he was, and waited.

Wild Bill understood the ruse he was playing, and immediately assumed
his own part.

The feet came close, and, from the sound of them, the scout tried to
estimate the number of men in the party. Three, four, five--there
were five, at least, and where had they come from? They were running
from the direction of the breast of the level, so they must have
entered the passage by the same way Nomad had been taken out of it.

“Now, Hickok!” the scout suddenly cried, when he thought the men had
come close enough.

As one man the two pards leaped erect, and flung themselves through
the pitchy darkness at their unseen foes.

The scout caught one burly form in his hands, felt the point of a
knife dig into his sleeve, and struck out with his fist. The man went
down. Another took his place, and, in the narrow confines of the
level, a fierce hand-to-hand fight was soon in progress.

Not a word was spoken by the combatants. Only the sound of their
labored breathing, the shuffling of their feet on the rocky floor,
and the thump of fists, broke the tomblike stillness of the mine.

Neither the scout nor Wild Bill dared use a revolver. Unable, as they
were, to see a hand before their eyes, they might have hurt each
other by promiscuous shooting.

Both the pards were putting up a gallant fight against odds; and,
just when it seemed as though they were to win out, Buffalo Bill was
caught by a random blow, whirled half-around; and sent stumbling
over a stone on the floor of the passage.

He tried desperately to regain his balance, failed, and plunged
headlong into the rocky wall. The next instant his senses left him,
and he knew no more.




                            CHAPTER XIII.

                        DELL AND WAH-COO-TAH.


When the scout opened his eyes, the exciting events which he had
recently passed through seemed more like a dream than anything else.
As his brain slowly cleared, and he was able to pick up the broken
thread of occurrences more firmly, he began to wonder at what he saw.

He was lying in the level, and a lighted candle stood on a rock near
his head. Beside him knelt Dell Dauntless, bending over and allowing
a trickle of water to fall upon his face from one of the canteens.

“How are you now, Buffalo Bill?” the girl asked.

“Nothing worth mentioning has happened to me, Dell,” he answered,
pushing aside the canteen and sitting up. “I took a tumble over that
rock where you’ve put the candle, and struck my head against the wall
of the passage. It was a small thing to knock a man out.”

“It must have been a harder blow than you supposed.”

“No discount on that, pard; still, it isn’t anything to make a fuss
over.”

He picked up his hat and put it on, then gave the girl an inquiring
look.

“How is it I find you here?”

“Cayuse was in the gully with the horses,” Dell explained, “and I
was reconnoitering around the ore-dump. Everything had been pretty
quiet, up above, and Cayuse and I hadn’t seen a soul. I was close
to the mouth of the shaft when I heard something like a volley of
revolver-shots. I wasn’t sure there had been firing down here,
though, until I had crept to the mouth of the shaft and sniffed
burned powder. Cayuse and I had left the spliced riatas hidden in the
bushes near the ore-dump, and I ran for the ropes, dropped one end
down and made the other fast to the platform. Then I lowered myself
into the mine.”

“You took a lot of chances, Dell,” muttered the scout, brushing a
hand across his eyes. “You found me lying here, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t see any one else?”

“No. What’s become of Nomad and Wild Bill?”

The scout couldn’t understand why Lawless and his gang hadn’t
finished him, nor why he hadn’t been dragged away to the same
mysterious place to which Nomad had been taken; but he didn’t stop
to debate these matters just then. Getting quickly to his feet, he
snatched up the candle and went along the level, looking for Wild
Bill, just as he and Wild Bill had gone hunting for Nomad a little
while before.

The smell of burned powder was strong, and a slight fog of it was
drifting toward the shaft.

Buffalo Bill, followed by Dell, went to the end of the tunnel and
back again without finding any trace of Wild Bill. The scout sat down
on a rock and took his aching head between his hands.

“This is a brain-twister, if there ever was one,” he muttered.

“What do you mean by that, pard?” Dell inquired.

“Well,” he answered, looking up, “we hadn’t been down here fifteen
minutes until Nomad had disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yes. Wild Bill and I heard him give a yell, but when we went to look
for him he had vanished.”

“There must be a secret passage leading into another part of the
mine, and----”

“Hickok and I made up our minds to that, but if there is a secret
passage we failed to locate it. While we were talking the matter
over, I heard a sound of stealthy movements between us and the breast
of the level, and I had just time to throw down my candle and knock
the light out of Wild Bill’s hand, and then to drag Wild Bill flat
down on the floor of the level, when a volley was fired. We had a
hand-to-hand fight, and right in the middle of it I stumbled over
that stone and rammed my head into the wall. And now Hickok has
followed Nomad--where? And why is it I wasn’t taken away with Hickok?
I can’t make head or tail to this thing, Dell, and it’s getting onto
my nerves. Nothing happens as you would expect it to happen. The mine
seems bewitched.”

“We’d better get out of here,” Dell suggested.

“I came here to stay three days and nights,” said the scout doggedly,
“and----”

“But with Nomad and Wild Bill gone, what could you and I do against
men who have a secret retreat in the mine? They have every advantage,
pard. They can make an attack when they want to, and can get away in
a hurry and without leaving a clue as to where they go. Of course,
these men are Lawless and his gang, and they not only have the
advantage in the point of numbers, but they have also a knowledge of
these underground workings.”

“Lawless prepared the mine as a trap for us,” said the scout,
“and, while I was expecting underhand work and surprises when we
came down here, I was not counting upon hidden passages and secret
levels. I won’t abandon Nomad and Hickok to their fate, but I’ll go
up to the surface and take a look around. There may be a concealed
shaft somewhere in the vicinity of the ore-dump. After I make an
examination of the surface, I’ll come back down here.”

“Will it be wise,” asked Dell, “for us to come back down here alone?
Hadn’t we better send Cayuse to Sun Dance for more men? Pete, and
Tenny, and Blake would probably be glad to come down here and help.”

“Dell,” said the scout earnestly, “I’ve got just pride enough about
me to want to wind this up without any outside aid. I’ll be an hour
on the surface, not longer; then I’ll come down here again and leave
you at the top of the shaft.”

“You’ll be taking your life in your hands,” said Dell.

“I don’t think so. Lawless and his men could have killed me, or have
snaked me out of the tunnel with Hickok. They didn’t do it; and that
proves that they have some reason for sparing me and leaving me in
the level. I can’t leave here without doing something for Wild Bill
and Nomad.”

The scout started toward the shaft with the candle. As Dell followed,
she kicked against something on the floor. Picking the object up, she
found it to be a pine knot, soaked in kerosene.

“That gang that attacked Wild Bill and me,” said the scout, “probably
brought that along with them. They didn’t have time to light it, and
it was lost in the scuffle. We’ll make use of it ourselves,” and he
held the candle to the oil-soaked knot.

The torch blazed up on the instant, and the scout blew out his candle
and put it in his pocket.

They went on to the shaft, and, when they got there, another one of
Dell’s “disagreeable surprises” awaited them. The rope which Dell had
left swinging from the plank platform was gone!

The girl recoiled with a cry of dismay.

“I’m getting used to this sort of thing, Dell,” said the scout
grimly. “The unexpected is sure to happen in this mine--you meet it
at every turn.”

“Could Cayuse have pulled up the rope?”

“Hardly. It’s a safe guess he wouldn’t leave the horses.”

“Then it must have been Lawless and his men?”

“That’s the way I figure it.”

“If that’s the case, it naturally follows that the outlaws have some
way of getting to the surface, aside from using this shaft?”

“That’s right, pard. Lawless and his men appear to have everything
their own way. They can come and go as they please, and they can
dodge in on us and dodge away again without leaving any clue. If you
were on the surface, the loss of the rope wouldn’t bother me very
much. I have just found out what I was going up to discover. There
_is_ a concealed shaft, and the outlaws had to make use of it in
order to get to the top of the ore-dump and pull up that rope.”

“You think they knew I was down here?”

“It’s an easy guess. Now that we’re likely to have to stay down here
for a while, we had better make ourselves as secure as possible. The
safest place in the mine, it strikes me, is that ‘drift’ where Wild
Bill found the gold. We’ll carry our grub-sacks and water-cans in
there, then put out the light, lay low, and wait for developments.
We’ll have plenty of them, if I’m any prophet. I never saw such a
place for things to happen.”

While Dell held the torch, Buffalo Bill picked up some of the
canteens and provision-bags and carried them into the “drift.” A few
canteens were left in the level, and Dell went back for them.

The scout, in the dark end of the short passage, was stowing away the
bags and canteens, when he heard an unusual sound just beyond the
opening leading into the “drift.” He glanced up and stared toward the
place where Dell was standing with the torch.

The unexpected had happened, just as the scout had surmised it would,
but nevertheless he was mightily taken aback by what he saw.

An Indian girl was standing in front of Dell. The newcomer had a
catamount skin over her back and a knife in the uplifted hand. Dell,
it was plain, had been startled by the Indian girl’s appearance--as
well she might be; and no less by her appearance than by the fierce
hostility that gleamed in her black eyes.

In three leaps the scout gained the level and had grasped the Indian
girl’s uplifted arm.

“Wah-coo-tah!” thundered Buffalo Bill; “what does this mean?”

The Indian girl stared into the scout’s face, and her upraised arm
slowly dropped. As the scout’s grip relaxed, she drew away a step,
and a soft look came into her eyes.

“Pa-e-has-ka,” she murmured, “why you come here? You no want um
mine--know um no good. You want um Lawless, but you no ketch um.
Lawless kill Pa-e-has-ka, all same.”

“Wah-coo-tah,” asked the scout, “where are my pards, Nomad and Wild
Bill?”

“Lawless got um.”

“That’s what I supposed; but where has Lawless taken them?”

“All same secret level.”

“Are they in any immediate danger?”

“Lawless no kill um _yet_. Him wait till he kill um Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Why didn’t he kill me a while ago, when he had the chance?”

“Him wait to kill you another way. _Nuzhee Mona!_”

Here were the same words that had already aroused the curiosity of
the scout and his pards. Wah-coo-tah, it was now proved, had spoken
them in the basement of the Alcazar, pinned them to the hotel door
with the dagger, and written them in smoke on the roof of the level.

“How did you get here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout.

“Come by secret door in rocks,” answered the girl.

“Have you been trying to warn me, and keep me away?”

“Ai, but Pa-e-has-ka no stay away. Him here now, and him die.”

“Why did you leave the hotel like you did?”

Wah-coo-tah glared over the scout’s shoulder at Dell Dauntless.

“No like um yellow hair squaw,” she said savagely.

“What harm have I ever done you, Wah-coo-tah?” asked Dell.

“Huh!” said the Indian girl scornfully, hunching up her shoulders and
folding her arms. “Me like um Pa-e-has-ka; you like um.”

At that a light dawned on the scout. He could scarcely believe the
evidence of his senses. As soon as he became certain there was no
mistake, an amused laugh broke from his lips. He would have laughed
had his situation been ten times as perilous as it was.

A faint smile curved around Dell’s red lips. Wah-coo-tah, watching
and listening with catlike vigilance, lashed herself into another
burst of temper.

“Me come here to kill Yellow Hair!” she cried. “Me watch up top o’
ground; me see her come down shaft; then me pull up rope, come by
secret door into tunnel.”

Like a panther, Wah-coo-tah flung herself toward Dell.

With a quick move, the scout placed himself in Wah-coo-tah’s way.
Her lifted knife dropped until the point touched his breast, and she
stood in front of him with flashing eyes and heaving bosom, a living
picture of murderous hate.

“There, there, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout, reaching up his hands
and unclasping her fingers from the knife. “You’re making a big
mistake.” He took the weapon from her resisting grasp and slid it
into his pocket. “You don’t understand the situation at all. Yellow
Hair Pa-e-has-ka’s pard, all same Nomad, Wild Bill, and Little
Cayuse. Wah-coo-tah Pa-e-has-ka’s pard, too. _Sabe?_”

The girl was only half-convinced, only half-placated.

“Ugh!” she muttered, “me no like um Yellow Hair.”

“If you want to be friends with Pa-e-has-ka, Wah-coo-tah,” proceeded
the scout earnestly, “you must also be friends with Yellow Hair.”

“No!” Wah-coo-tah screamed in sudden frenzy; “mebbyso, bymby, me kill
um Yellow Hair.”

“That’s the Indian of it,” muttered the scout. “When you’re dealing
with a redskin you never can tell which way the cat is going to jump.”

Looking Wah-coo-tah in the eyes, he addressed her directly.

“If you wanted to warn me,” said he, “why didn’t you come out, face
to face?”

“Lawless watch Sun Dance Camp,” answered Wah-coo-tah. “Mebbyso he see
Wah-coo-tah make talk with Pa-e-has-ka, he kill Wah-coo-tah.”

“Ah! so that’s the way of it? You came to the Alcazar when we were
talking with the gambler?”

“All same under floor; try make Pa-e-has-ka stay ’way from mine.
Pa-e-has-ka no stay. Me get into Alcazar by window in cellar; get out
same way.”

“Can you write, Wah-coo-tah?”

“My father he teach me how to make letters.”

“And you made letters on a piece of bark and pinned them to the hotel
door with a dagger?”

“All same. When me come from Alcazar me watch. See um Pa-e-has-ka,
Yellow Hair, and rest Pa-e-has-ka’s pards come from Alcazar, meet
Piute, hold powwow; then me put birch bark on hotel door. Hope
mebbyso Pa-e-has-ka see um--no go to mine.”

“You came back to the Forty Thieves from Sun Dance?”

“Ai.”

“And you came into this level, took a candle, and wrote those words
on the wall with the candle-smoke?”

“Ai. Me no like to think Pa-e-has-ka die. Pa-e-has-ka big brave.
Wah-coo-tah like um.”

“Don’t be foolish, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout. “Such talk is for
_zinga zingas_ (children).”

“Mebbyso Yellow Hair talk like that,” said Wah-coo-tah angrily, “you
no say she talk like _zinga zinga_.”

“Yellow Hair has too much sense to talk in that way.”

“Huh!” exclaimed the Indian girl contemptuously.

“How is Lawless planning to get even with me, Wah-coo-tah?” went on
the scout. “Why didn’t he take me out of this level at the time he
dragged Wild Bill away?”

“Him got better way to kill Pa-e-has-ka. No want to use um knife or
bullet. Pa-e-has-ka die in Forty Thieves Mine.”

“How?”

“_Nuzhee Mona!_”

“What does that mean?”

The girl shook her head, and shivered as though struck by a draft of
icy air.

“Tell me what the words mean!” insisted the scout.

“_Nuzhee Mona_ all same god of Injun; god slay Pa-e-has-ka.”

“I reckon I’m able to defend myself against any of these heathen
gods,” said the scout.

“Pa-e-has-ka no save himself from _Nuzhee Mona_.”

“We’ll see. How many men has Lawless with him?”

“So many,” and Wah-coo-tah held up seven fingers. “Clancy, Seth
Coomby, Tex, Andy, all same three Injun--Cheyennes.”

“Lawless fixed up this mine for a trap, eh?”

“Mine been fixed for many moons. Lawless got bad heart, do bad things
white man no like. Him fix mine so he get away when white pony
soldiers come to ketch um.”

“This ‘plant’ of his was originally devised for his own safety,
then? Well, I reckon he thinks he is putting it to good use now. If
you had come to me in Sun Dance, Wah-coo-tah, and had told me about
the layout here, I would have taken extra measures looking to the
safety of my pards and myself.”

“Pa-e-has-ka great brave, but him no can fight Lawless. Lawless
Wah-coo-tah’s father, but Wah-coo-tah no like um. Wah-coo-tah know,
when Lawless driven by Pa-e-has-ka from gulch, that Lawless make try
kill Pa-e-has-ka. So Wah-coo-tah go to Lawless, learn what he try
to do, then warn Pa-e-has-ka. Pa-e-has-ka no pay any ’tention,” and
rebuke and sadness lurked in the last words.

“Had I known more, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout, “I should have paid
more attention. Are Wild Bill and Nomad bound?”

“Ai. Lawless no let um get ’way.”

“Are all of the outlaws watching them?”

“Plenty men watch um.”

“Won’t it be possible for Dell and me to go through the secret door
you speak about, and rescue my pards? I can’t leave them in the hands
of Lawless.”

“Pa-e-has-ka want to die, _quick_? Him go through secret door, him be
shot down, _pronto_. Door watched all time.”

“How did you get through it to come here?”

“Cheyenne watch um door. Cheyenne like um Wah-coo-tah, let
Wah-coo-tah come.”

“See here, Wah-coo-tah,” went on the scout, “can’t you contrive to
set Nomad and Wild Bill free, then get them past the Cheyenne at the
secret door?”

“What good, huh? Then you all die here by _Nuzhee Mona_.”

“We’ll take our chances with _Nuzhee Mona_ if you’ll help my pards.”

Wah-coo-tah bowed her head in thought for a moment; then, drawing
herself erect, she took a swift step toward the scout.

“Mebbyso Pa-e-has-ka send Yellow Hair away, huh? Then Wah-coo-tah
save um pards Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Why is she so bitter against me?” breathed Dell. “As she puts
it now, I am standing between Nomad and Wild Bill and safety.”
She whirled on Wah-coo-tah. “How can Pa-e-has-ka send me away,
Wah-coo-tah? We are in the mine--there is no way out, for you have
taken away the rope.”

“Mebbyso me go back, let down rope, then Pa-e-has-ka and his pards
get ’way, huh? Injun girl more able to do things than white squaw.
Wah-coo-tah save Pa-e-has-ka, Nomad, and Wild Bill, you promise go
’way never see Pa-e-has-ka again?”

Wah-coo-tah bent her hard, stony eyes on the white face of Dell.

The Indian girl must have understood the struggle that was taking
place in Dell’s breast, for a gloating exultation overspread her
face. Dell was her enemy, and she exulted in the torture she had
caused.

“Yes,” said Dell slowly: “if you will save Nomad and Wild Bill, and
then let down the rope so that we may all get out of this mine, I--I
will leave Buffalo Bill and never see him again.”

At that instant, Wah-coo-tah’s keen ear detected something that led
her to snatch the torch from Dell’s hand and crush out the flame
under her moccasins.

“Good!” she muttered, in reply to Dell’s promise. “Me save um. Just
now Lawless come; get in here, _quick_.”

With her hands, Wah-coo-tah pushed the scout and Dell through the
mouth of the “drift.”

While they crouched there, the scout fingering his revolvers, they
heard stealthy movements along the tunnel in their direction.

“Pa-e-has-ka make parley with Lawless,” whispered Wah-coo-tah to the
scout. “Pa-e-has-ka tell um Lawless Pa-e-has-ka kill um Wah-coo-tah
if Lawless no get back through secret door. _Sabe?_”

The scout understood. The stealthy sounds were coming nearer and
nearer along the tunnel, and the scout would rather have met his
enemies with bullets than with words, but just then Wah-coo-tah’s
plan seemed best.

“Lawless!” the scout cried.

The movements stopped, and a low, mocking laugh came out of the heavy
gloom.

“Who speaks?” demanded a voice.

“Buffalo Bill.”

“What do you want, Buffalo Bill?”

“I want you to stand where you are, and not come another step this
way.”

“What you want, and what you’ll get,” was the taunting reply, “are
two different things. I have the upper hand here. You came to the
Forty Thieves thinking you would trap the trappers; and you thought I
did not know Wild Bill had discovered that rich vein in the ‘drift.’
I knew about that when I made out that deed, and I knew very well the
rich vein would tempt you to come here. However, I let you suppose I
thought the Forty Thieves worthless, and that I was summoning you
here to pit my strength against yours.”

Captain Lawless gave another laugh--a laugh that held a ringing note
of triumph.

“I am not the fool you think me,” he went on. “The Forty Thieves is
a bonanza, but it will never belong to you. You and your pards are
on my trail, and when you are out of the way, I can take possession
of the mine and work it myself. There is a method in my plans.
Your greed to get possession of the mine, which you knew to be
valuable, and which you believed I thought worthless, has placed you
in the jaws of death. Two of your pards are already in my hands.
By to-morrow noon their scalps will swing from the girdles of my
Cheyennes; but you--well, yours is to be a different fate. That is
why I left you here when I could have had you dragged away with
Hickok; that is why I did not let a Cheyenne knife do its work with
you; and so sure was I that I would ‘get’ you, that I did not even
trouble to remove your weapons.”

Silence followed Lawless’ words.

“How did you learn about the rich vein?” asked the scout.

“When you thought you chased me and my men out of the cañon, some
days ago,” replied Lawless, still in his high, mocking voice, “we
took refuge in the secret workings of the mine. We were here when
you rode off; and it was then we examined the drift and saw the vein
of gold. More than that, I was lurking close at hand when you and
your pards came here on your last visit and looked over the vein for
yourselves. I am obliged to you, Buffalo Bill, for spoiling that deal
of mine with Bingham. Thinking the mine worthless, I was on the
point of handing him a bonanza. Now, as soon as you and your pards
are out of the way, I shall have the bonanza for myself--and not
a man in Sun Dance Cañon will lift a hand to interfere with me in
working the mine.”

“What fate have you selected for me, Lawless?”

“In two hours it will be sunrise. Listen, then, and you will hear
your doom rushing upon you. _Nuzhee Mona!_” and a diabolical laugh
came with the last words.

“I have heard scoundrels of your stamp make their threats before,”
flung back the scout defiantly. “Talk is cheap.”

“You will find that I am not making empty threats. You will be caught
like a rat in a trap.”

“If my fate is not to overtake me before sunrise, why have you come
into this part of the mine now?”

“I am looking for that girl of mine.”

“Then you need look no farther. She came spying upon me, and I have
her here, a prisoner.”

An exclamation of anger escaped Lawless.

“Turn her loose, at once!” he commanded.

“I shall keep her as a hostage for my own safety,” said the scout.
“Whatever fate comes to me, will come to her; and if you do not
instantly leave this level, she shall suffer.”

Lawless called out something in the Cheyenne tongue. Wah-coo-tah
answered, and her words were like the screech of an enraged panther.

“Wah-coo-tah,” went on Lawless, “is ready to die to help her father,
if need be. Your fate will come to you at sunrise, Buffalo Bill, and
I will have my revenge, even if it is necessary to sacrifice the
girl. That ought to show you I mean business.”

“It shows me that you are a more contemptible scoundrel than I had
supposed,” answered the scout calmly. “Are you going to get out of
this level?”

“At once. Farewell, Buffalo Bill, king of scouts! The government
will look far before another man is found to take your place. When
you crossed the path of Captain Lawless, of the Forty Thieves, you
tackled a bigger job than you had imagined.”

Sounds of retreating steps came along the level, fading abruptly into
silence.

“He doesn’t think much of Wah-coo-tah,” said Dell, “from the way he
talks.”

“He doesn’t think much of any one but himself,” replied the scout.
“What did he say to you, Wah-coo-tah?”

“Him want to know if Pa-e-has-ka speak true when he say he ketch um
Wah-coo-tah,” answered the girl. “Me tell um me here, but that me no
tell Pa-e-has-ka way into secret passage, and that mebbyso me get
’way before _Nuzhee Mona_ come.” She gave a low, sibilant laugh. “Me
fool Lawless,” she added. “Bymby me get back, fool um some more.
Me hate um! Him my father, but me hate um. He try sell me to Ponca
warrior for five ponies.”

“Wah-coo-tah,” spoke up Dell, “will have to get away from here and
liberate Nomad and Wild Bill and ourselves before sunrise. If she
waits beyond that time it will be too late.”

“Mebbyso Lawless no let _Nuzhee Mona_ go till Wah-coo-tah get through
secret door. We got plenty time. Lawless give Wah-coo-tah chance to
save herself.”

Silence fell for a space, and then the scout took the candle from his
pocket, lighted it, and opened one of the provision-bags.

They all felt the need of food and water, and began a leisurely meal,
relying on Wah-coo-tah’s confidence that _Nuzhee Mona_--whatever that
mystical name represented--would not be released until she had had a
chance to effect her escape.

In the midst of their meal, they were all three startled by a
perceptible quivering of the rocks about them, followed by a muffled
explosion that rolled like distant thunder.

A cry fell from Wah-coo-tah’s lips, and she leaped to her feet
excitedly.

Loosened stones could be heard crashing from the roof of the level to
the floor.

“What is it?” exclaimed Dell, in consternation.

“Wah-coo-tah!” cried Buffalo Bill, springing up and catching the
Indian girl by the arm. “Is this Lawless’ work? What is he doing?”

The girl started for the level, but halted and turned back.

“Yellow Hair make um promise to leave Buffalo Bill, huh, if I save
um?” she said quickly.

“Yes, yes,” returned Dell. “Only be quick!”

Wah-coo-tah raced into the level and along it toward the breast. The
stones had stopped falling by that time, and the scout and Dell, with
the candle, hastened to follow the Indian girl.

Suddenly, as they ran around a sharp angle of the corridor, they saw
Wah-coo-tah. She stood in a blaze of light that poured over her from
a square opening in the wall. She cried out something, and tried
to push into the opening, but she was met by a clattering volley of
shots, and reeled backward with a groan. Then, silently, the door
closed over the glare, and only the gleam of the scout’s candle
lighted the level.

“They’ve shot her!” murmured Dell; “Lawless has shot his own
daughter!”

“Perhaps not Lawless, but some of his men!” returned the scout. “Oh,
the fiends! the dastards! They thought she was helping us, and that
is the way they took to stop it.”

Running to the girl’s side, the scout knelt down. A trickle of red
was running over the girl’s breast. The catamount skin, which she had
worn over her back, had fallen off.

“Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout gently, “are you hurt?”

“Me live to fool um yet!” answered Wah-coo-tah spasmodically. “You
help me, Pa-e-has-ka! Quick! Take me to shaft.”

“You can’t move----”

“Ai, all same you help.”

She struggled fiercely, and Buffalo Bill, seeing her determination,
helped her up. Dell took the candle and tried to be of some
assistance, but Wah-coo-tah, with all her waning strength, repulsed
her. Even in that tragic moment, she would have none of Dell.

Supporting the girl, the scout led her, reeling, back along the level
and toward the shaft.

Before they had covered much more than half the distance, a low
roaring broke on their ears. Wah-coo-tah, flinging her hands to her
breast, gave a convulsive spring.

“_Nuzhee Mona!_” she wailed, and sank limply in the scout’s arms.

“Water, Dell!” cried the scout. “Hurry.”

As Dell darted into the “drift,” the scout listened, while the
roaring grew louder and louder.




                            CHAPTER XIV.

                       LITTLE CAYUSE ON GUARD.


The gully, which the scout had selected as a fitting place to hide
the horses, was admirably adapted to the purpose.

The mouth broke into the wall of the cañon some fifteen feet above
the cañon’s bed, and a slope, formed of ancient washings from the
gully, led upward to the entrance of it.

It was narrow, filled with a growth of scrub, and its bed sloped
upward from the point where it entered the cañon.

Besides, it was a _blind_ gully, running into the hills for a few
hundred feet and terminating in a sheer wall. All the other walls
were equally steep and unscalable. There was no getting into the
gully in any way except from the cañon.

Little Cayuse took due account of all these advantages, and gave a
grunt of satisfaction. The horses he tethered among the bushes, and
then returned to the gully’s mouth, and sat down to watch and wait.

Hours passed, and the boy, through all that time, sat like a bronze
statue, wonderfully alert, but neither hearing nor seeing anything
that claimed his attention. Perhaps he would not have been so calm
and passive could he have known what was taking place in the depths
of the Forty Thieves!

The sun went down, daylight faded out of the west, and one by one
the stars stole over the sky. Cayuse watched them as they brightened
overhead.

At last he began wondering about Dell. She had been a long time on
watch at the shaft, and it had been agreed between them that she
should come to the gully, in three hours, and look out for the horses
while Cayuse watched the shaft. More than three hours had passed, and
Dell had not come.

The boy stepped out into the cañon and cast his eyes in the direction
of the mine. The defile was plunged in gloom, and Cayuse could see
nothing.

He threw back his head and gave the bark of a timber-wolf. No answer
came. He tried again, but still without securing a response.

It was a signal well known among the scout’s pards, and if Dell had
heard it she would surely have signified that she had by a similar
answer.

Why had she not heard?

A thrill of alarm ran through the boy. He feared something had
happened to the girl, and he stole cautiously forward to investigate.

As he neared the ore-dump, he saw a figure on the platform, over the
shaft. It was the form of a woman--he could tell that much--and he
supposed it was Dell.

“Yellow Hair!” he called.

The figure started up, holding something, and darted down the side of
the dump and out of sight among the dusky bushes.

Cayuse glided after the form, and before it had disappeared he
discovered that it was the form of an Indian girl, and made up his
mind that it was Wah-coo-tah.

Knowing Wah-coo-tah was a friend of Buffalo Bill’s, the boy called
her name, and darted into the bushes after her. When he got into the
chaparral, however, Wah-coo-tah had disappeared.

Puzzled by Wah-coo-tah’s actions, Little Cayuse climbed to the top of
the ore-dump and peered into the black shaft.

At that time, the scout and Dell were talking in the main level, and
the boy could not see or hear anything of them. He felt under the rim
of the platform. Not finding a rope, he naturally concluded that Dell
was not in the mine. Ignorant of the fact that Wah-coo-tah herself
had removed the rope, the boy naturally supposed that Dell had fallen
into the hands of Lawless and his men.

Skulking about in the chaparral, he hunted for some traces of the
white scoundrels. He was unsuccessful. Knowing that much might depend
upon the horses, he could not leave the animals unwatched, and so,
with a heavy heart, he made his way back to the gully.

For hour after hour the boy continued his lonely vigil, imagining all
sorts of things, but unable to do anything to settle his misgivings.
In the east he saw a gray streak of dawn hovering above the rim of
the cañon, and realized with a start that the night had passed, and
that day was at hand.

Perhaps, he reasoned, as daylight gathered and brightened the
surroundings, he might be able to discover what had become of Dell.
Meantime, the horses must not be neglected.

There was a pool in front of the gully’s mouth, and Cayuse led the
animals down, one at a time, and let them drink.

By the time he had finished this duty, the morning was well advanced
toward sunrise. As he picked his way out of the scrub in the
direction of the cañon, casting about in his mind as to the best
course for him to follow in looking for Dell, he came to a sudden and
astounded halt.

Looking out through the narrow opening into the cañon, he had
abruptly caught sight of three mounted men, and of another on foot.

The man on foot he recognized as Captain Lawless, Buffalo Bill’s
enemy; those on the horses Cayuse also knew, and they were Clancy,
Seth Coomby, and the scoundrel called “Tex,” all three members of
Lawless’ gang.

Dropping instantly to his knees, Cayuse crept closer to the mouth of
the gully. There, crouching behind a boulder, he watched and listened
with sharp eyes and ears.

The men were talking, and from his present position the boy could
hear them distinctly.

“I want you, Clancy,” Lawless was saying, “to set off those blasts as
soon as you can fire the fuses. The time to wipe out Buffalo Bill and
his pards has come. Quick work will do the trick.”

“An’ what’s ter become o’ us, arterwards?” asked Tex moodily.
“Pickin’ off a lot of fellers like Buffler Bill and his pards is
li’ble ter mean somethin’ ter _us_.”

“If you’re getting cold feet, Tex,” snapped Lawless, “now’s your time
to quit. Ride out of this cañon, if you want to, and go where you
please. If you do that, however, you’ll not come in for anything we
get out of the Forty Thieves. There’ll be just so much more for the
rest of us, and I’m figuring the mine will make us rich.”

“Don’t be a fool, Tex,” growled Seth Coomby. “Who’s goin’ ter
know thet we done fer the scout an’ his pards? It’ll look like er
accident.”

“Accident, nothin’,” scoffed Tex. “Didn’t the cap’n send the deed
ter Gentleman Jim, an’ along with ther deed didn’t he send a line
_darin’_ the scout ter stay three days an’ nights in the mine? Shore
he did! An’ thet means, when Buffler Bill an’ his pards aire done up,
thet the hull bloomin’ job is tacked onter us.”

“Are you going with Clancy and Coomby, Tex,” demanded Lawless
angrily, “or are you going to cut yourself out of this herd? Make up
your mind, for we haven’t any time to spare.”

“I’m game ter go on,” returned Tex. “I’m in so fur, now, thet it
don’t make much diff’rence, anyways.”

“That’s the way ter talk!” approved Clancy.

“Sure you’ve placed those loads right, Clancy?” asked Lawless,
turning to the other man, now that the business with Tex was settled.

“You bet! Them blasts’ll do the trick. Meanwhile, cap’n, you see to
it that no one gits on top o’ the dump an’ lets down a rope.”

“If any one tries to do that,” scowled Lawless, “he’ll be shot off
the dump. One of the Cheyennes is watching, and has his orders. But
who is there to help Buffalo Bill out of the hole? We’ve captured
the only two men he had with him, and he’s now bottled up in the
level and shaft, powerless to do anything to help himself. But ride
on, ride on. You boys understand what’s wanted, and there’s no use
wasting time in further parley.”

At that, the party separated, Clancy, Seth Coomby, and Tex riding
down the cañon, and Lawless retreating toward the cañon wall.

The alarm of Little Cayuse had increased almost to a panic. What he
had heard had struck him like a blow between the eyes.

Nomad and Wild Bill captured! Buffalo Bill helpless in the depths of
the mine, and a horrible doom of some kind about to be released and
sent down upon him!

What should he do?

That was the question that ran through Little Cayuse’s brain like a
searing-iron.

If he went back to the ore-dump, and tried to let down a rope to
the scout, the Cheyenne would kill him; if he followed Lawless--but
Lawless had already vanished; at least, Little Cayuse concluded, he
could follow the three basemen down the cañon, and perhaps might find
a way to interfere with their nefarious designs.

Rushing back up the gully, Cayuse untied Navi, twisted the buckskin
thong into a hackamore, and bounded upon the pinto’s bare back; then,
riding cautiously out into the cañon, he made after Clancy, Coomby,
and Tex.

Never had the faithful Piute boy felt that more was required of him,
and never had he felt so doubtful of his own powers.

Following three men in broad daylight, and at the same time keeping
out of their sight, was a difficult piece of work. What helped Cayuse
most, however, was the fact that the three white men were utterly
unsuspicious. They seemed to feel that they had no enemies at large
in the cañon, and they did no watching along the back track.

For the rest of it, the Piute took advantage of every patch of brush
and every convenient boulder that lay along his course.

Two miles down the defile, as Cayuse judged, the three horsemen
turned their mounts and set them directly at the high wall. In this
place the wall was a steep slope, yet the horses scaled it and
vanished over the rim with their riders.

For Cayuse to take Navi up the slope might mean discovery, and yet
the boy knew that he himself must climb to the top of the wall if he
was to learn what work the three men were to do.

Hitching Navi in a convenient thicket, at the foot of the wall,
Cayuse took his small repeating rifle and started on foot up the
ascent.

He climbed the steep slope swiftly and so carefully that he did not
displace a single stone. Where he gained the cañon’s rim there was a
fringe of hazels, and he was able to crawl over into the bushes and
peer through them, thus keeping out of sight.

In front of him was a lake, its surface almost level with the top of
the cañon wall, and a comparatively thin barrier of stone keeping its
waters out of the cañon.

The three white men had taken their horses well around the edge of
the lake, and were dismounting. There was little talk among them.
Clancy and Coomby had thrown off their coats and Tex was holding the
three horses.

Presently Clancy and Coomby returned around the edge of the lake and
halted for a space at the cañon’s rim. Cayuse, scarcely breathing,
crouched lower among the hazels and watched with staring eyes.

“Thar’ll be a reg’lar tidal wave goin’ along ther cañon in a couple
o’ shakes,” said Clancy, with an evil laugh.

“It’ll rush down on ther mine,” said Coomby, “purvidin’ the cap’n is
right in his calkerlations.”

“He’s gin’rally right.”

“Seems ter me, though, the water’ll flow directly a_way_ from the
mine.”

“From hyer ter the mine, Coomby, the bed o’ the cañon pitches
down-hill, in spite o’ the fact thet, taken by an’ large, this Sun
Dance deefile pitches to’ther way. The lake is down-cañon from the
mine, but the bed o’ the cañon is down-grade all the way from hyer
ter the Forty Thieves.”

“Waal, we’ll see. Let’s git down ter the fuses.”

Thereupon the two men lowered themselves over the top of the wall.

Cayuse, craning his neck, was able to see them applying a match to
the ends of the fuses. The men climbed quickly to the top of the
wall, and stood there, peering downward at the sputtering flames.

By that time the horror of the situation, so far as Buffalo Bill was
concerned, had flashed over the boy.

It was Lawless’ plan to blow away the stone barrier separating the
waters of the lake from the cañon! The waters, thus released, would
rush over the cañon wall, down the cañon, and flood the shaft and
level of the Forty Thieves! If Buffalo Bill was in the mine, he would
be drowned--there was no possible way for him to escape.

With every nerve tense, Cayuse pulled himself to one knee and lifted
his rifle to his shoulder. If he could shoot down the two men and
extinguish the blazing fuses----

This was the boy’s thought, and he would have executed the plan, or
tried to, had not fate played against him. The slight noise he made
in shifting to his knee and lifting the rifle had been heard.

“What’s thet, thar in the bresh?” yelled Coomby.

“I heerd er noise, too,” began Clancy, “an’----”

Just then the Piute’s repeater spit forth a bullet. The piece of lead
was aimed at Clancy, but the instant the trigger was pulled Clancy
jumped forward to investigate the bushes.

The bullet, therefore, missed Clancy by an inch.

That shot was enough for the two scoundrels. Jerking out their
revolvers, they sent a volley into the hazels. That Cayuse was not
killed out of hand was due to the quickness with which he rolled over
the edge of the wall.

He shot down the slope head over heels, and was half-way to the place
where he had left Navi before he could regain his footing. He was
bruised, but that was no time to take account of bruises. His life
had been saved, although Clancy and Coomby were dancing around like
madmen on the top of the wall and still taking potshots at him.

Muttering anathemas on his hard luck, the boy raced in a zigzag line
toward the thicket where his horse was waiting, tore the animal loose,
leaped to his back, and sped off up the cañon.

He looked back over his shoulder as he raced and saw that Clancy
and Coomby had beat a retreat from the vicinity of the blasts; and,
while he looked, the boy saw a veritable geyser of broken stones leap
upward and outward from the cañon wall.

A great gap had been torn through the barrier, and the boy saw a
Niagaralike flood leap through the opening and roll, foaming and
roaring, down the cañon.

Could he beat that flood to the gully? Cayuse’s life depended on it,
and Navi was fleet and well in the lead.

Two miles lay between Cayuse and safety, but the miles were
down-grade--Clancy had said so, and he had got his information from
Lawless. Lawless probably knew, for the vengeful and murderous leader
had so far laid his plans cunningly and well.

Navi seemed to understand what depended upon him. The roar from
behind filled his ears and frightened him. In a perfect frenzy, he
stretched himself out in a race that was to save his rider from death.

And what of Buffalo Bill, in the level of the Forty Thieves?

Something like a sob rushed through the lips of Little Cayuse. He
shook one clenched hand behind him, toward a wall of water that
filled the cañon from side to side, tossing and churning itself to
foam and throwing arms of spray high into the air.

The roar was deafening. Water continued to pour through the break
in the cañon wall and to push forward the flood that raced down the
defile.

How Navi ever covered those two miles Little Cayuse never knew. He
realized, after what seemed like a thousand years of torment but
which in reality was less than a thousand seconds, that he was caught
by the rushing waters half-way up the slope leading from the cañon’s
bed to the mouth of the gully.

With Navi almost swept from his feet, and a greater flood following
the first on-rush of water, Cayuse was only saved from being drowned
by a riata that dropped over his shoulders just as he was being torn
from Navi’s back.

Hanging to the rope with one hand while the noose tightened about his
body, and with the other hand clinging to the end of the hackamore,
Cayuse and the pinto were brought, wet and floundering, into the
mouth of the gully.

Utterly exhausted, the boy straightened out on the rocks, while Navi,
with drooping head and lathered hide, puffed and panted beside him.

“Blamed if it ain’t Buffler Bill’s Injun pard!” cried a voice, above
the rush and swirl of water.

“How the blazes does he happen ter be hyer? He got out o’ that
cloud-burst by the skin o’ his teeth, an’ no more.”

This was from a second speaker, and yet a third chimed in with:

“Where’s Buffalo Bill an’ the rest o’ his pards? That’s what gits me.
D’ye think they was caught by the flood?”

Little Cayuse turned over on his back and looked up.

Hank Tenny, Lonesome Pete, and Henry Blake were beside him, each with
an arm hooked through the loop of his bridle.

Cayuse rose to his knees and struck one hand fiercely against his
forehead. His eyes were on the tumbling waters which, by then, had
filled the valley from wall to wall and were creeping slowly up
toward the gully.

“Whar’d ye come from, kid?” asked Hank Tenny.

“Whar’s Buffler Bill?” inquired Lonesome Pete.

“What’s the matter with ye?” demanded Blake. “Have ye gone plumb
daft?”

Staggering to his feet, the boy made his way to the side of the
gully’s mouth and began to climb.

“What ails the kid?” muttered Tenny. “’Pears like he didn’t hev no
sense at all.”

“Whar ye goin’?” Pete roared after Cayuse.

Cayuse called back something which was drowned by the rush of the
water, and beckoned with his hand.

“Kain’t hear what he says,” said Blake, “but he wants us ter foller.
We’d better go, I reckon. The hosses will be safe enough here.”

Dropping their bridle-reins, the three men proceeded to follow the
boy.

It was a stiff climb to the top of the gully wall, but when the men
pulled themselves over and got alongside Cayuse, they had a good view
of the ore-dump of the Forty Thieves--or, rather, of the place where
the ore-dump ought to be.

The dump, some seven or eight feet high, together with the entire
flat on which it had been piled, _was covered with water_!

The boy, his eyes fixed on the swirling, seething flood, dropped to
his knees and began a weird, monotonous chant. The rush of air along
the troubled waves caught up the boy’s voice and tossed it back and
forth in uncanny cadences. Now high, now low, swelled the chant, as
the Piute words burst from the Indian’s lips.

“Thunder!” Blake shouted in Tenny’s ears, “it’s a death-song.”

“Whose death is he croonin’ erbout?” returned Tenny; “Buffler Bill’s?”

“It’s hard ter tell who he’s----”

Blake broke off with a wild yell. At that instant the morning sun
struck fire from a blade which Cayuse had plucked from his belt and
lifted above his bare breast, point down.

The boy’s hand dropped, but Pete was quick to catch the descending
arm, hang to it, and wrench the knife from the hand.

“Darn!” whooped Pete, “the leetle red was goin’ ter knife hisself! It
was his own death-song he was singin’. He thinks his pard, Buffler
Bill, has hit the long trail, an’ he’s pinin’ ter foller. Whoever
heerd o’ sich doin’s? Stop yer squirmin’, Cayuse,” Pete added to the
boy, who was fighting to free himself. “We ain’t goin’ ter let ye
kick the bucket, now thet we went ter all thet trouble ter snake ye
in out o’ the wet.”

With a tremendous effort, Cayuse jerked free of Pete’s hands, whirled
about, and suddenly grew calm. Pete, Tenny, and Blake started toward
him.

Cayuse turned on them, his eyes glittering like a catamount’s in the
dark, laid a finger on his lips, and pointed.

The eyes of the white men, following the boy’s finger, rested on a
point of the cañon wall, fifty feet below, and to the right of them.

At this place there was a sort of shelf on the wall, a small level,
covered with an undergrowth of bushes. Horsemen were riding out of
the bushes, and striking into a path that mounted upward toward the
top of the wall.

Lawless, a look of gloating triumph on his face, was in the lead. At
his heels rode three Cheyenne bucks, and two of the bucks carried
each a white prisoner, bound hand and foot, across his pony behind
him.

One of the prisoners, as those above could see, was old Nomad.

And the other was Wild Bill!




                             CHAPTER XV.

                 THE RESCUE OF NOMAD AND WILD BILL.


Following the two Cheyennes, behind whom were the prisoners, rode
another white man. This white man Cayuse recognized as Andy. Andy
brought up the rear of the little procession.

“Hyer’s a how-de-do!” exclaimed Hank Tenny. “Is thet Lawless an’ his
gang, kid?”

“All same,” said Cayuse. “White men git um guns, _muy pronto_; then
we make run to top of cañon, ketch um Lawless, save Nomad and Wild
Bill.”

“All the guns we got,” answered Lonesome Pete, “are strapped on us.
Them fellers has rifles.”

“At close quarters,” put in Blake, “our six-shooters are better than
rifles. I’m plumb anxious ter try out these new barkers o’ mine.
Then, too,” he added darkly, “I owe Lawless somethin’, an’ here’s
my chance ter even up. Couldn’t let it slip, nohow. Follow me, you
fellows!”

Blake took to the rocks, with which the country contiguous to the top
of the cañon was covered, and worked his way swiftly toward the point
where the path Lawless and his men were following came over the edge
of the wall.

Pete, Tenny, and Little Cayuse leaped briskly after Blake. The
lust for combat was running hot in the veins of all, and this, in
particular, was true of the Piute boy.

The latter’s grief over the fate of Buffalo Bill had given place to
a feeling of hope. Nomad and Wild Bill were alive, and there was a
possibility that the scout was equally well off.

The hope was slight enough, for Cayuse remembered the talk he had
overheard between Lawless, Clancy, Coomby, and Tex, and from that he
had gathered that the flood was to do the work for the scout. But, in
spite of appearances, it might be that the flood had failed.

The thought was enough to take Cayuse out of his gloom and dejection
and to send him eagerly into a pitched battle with the outlaws.
Whatever else befell, at least Nomad and Wild Bill could be rescued.

Before Blake and the others reached the top of the path, Lawless
had ridden over the edge of the wall and laid his course among the
boulders. Blake’s account was with Lawless himself, and the miner
drew one of his brand-new revolvers and ran after the leader of the
outlaws.

Pete, Tenny, and Cayuse, on the other hand, were thinking only of
rescuing Nomad and Wild Bill; so, crouching among the rocks, they
waited for the first Cheyenne to climb off the slope, and then gave
their attention to the two Indians behind him.

Pete selected one of the two Indians, and Tenny the other. As they
rose from behind the rocks to use their weapons, they were seen by
the Cheyennes.

A furious yell from the savages spread the alarm. The Cheyenne ahead
turned back, but Lawless already had his hands full with Blake and
could give no help to the rest of his gang.

The crack of six-shooters began instantly, while the yell of alarm
was still on the lips of the Cheyennes. Of the two with the
prisoners, one fell at the first fire; the pony gave a frightened
jump, and Nomad, who was laid across the pony’s back, tumbled to the
ground.

Cayuse had lost his rifle at the time he had had his encounter with
Clancy and Coomby. Pete had given him back his knife, but a knife was
of little account in such a combat.

The instant the Cheyenne dropped from his pony, Cayuse leaped to the
side of the savage and drew a couple of six-shooters from the belt at
his waist.

Meanwhile, the other Cheyenne with Wild Bill behind him, had dug his
heels into the sides of his cayuse and was making a terrific effort
to get away. He used a revolver, by way of holding his white foes
in check, but his shooting, owing to the plunging of his horse, was
anything but accurate.

The Indian who was not hampered with a prisoner had whirled his pony
about, thrown his rifle to his shoulder, and was drawing a bead on
Tenny.

As Cayuse straightened up, after securing the revolvers from the
slain Cheyenne, he saw the leveled rifle and realized Tenny’s peril.
The only thing that would save Tenny was a quick shot.

Without taking aim, Cayuse let fly a bullet. As fortune would
have it, the bullet struck the Cheyenne in the arm. The rifle was
discharged, but, its aim being deflected at the moment the trigger
was pulled, Tenny was saved by the fraction of an inch.

The Cheyenne, with one arm useless, decided he had had enough of the
fight, and headed his horse the other way.

Wild Bill, on the back of the other Cheyenne’s horse, had taken
account of what was going on, and managed to twist himself around
and drop. As he fell, Andy, who was galloping past, sent a bullet at
him; but Andy was riding too fast, and had fired in too much of a
hurry. Wild Bill escaped the bullet, and the long strides of Andy’s
horse had carried the outlaw too far for another shot.

Meanwhile, Blake had been doing his utmost to shoot Lawless. He
succeeded in putting a bullet into the scoundrel’s shoulder, and, in
exchange, got one through the wrist himself. It was Blake’s right
wrist, and his six-shooter dropped.

As Blake bent down to recover the weapon, Andy and the Cheyennes
galloped past. Lawless was reeling in his saddle, and he would have
fallen had not Andy spurred alongside and steadied him with one arm.

Thus the two white men and the two Indians, having lost their
prisoners, plunged away among the rocks, leaving the field to Cayuse,
Pete, Tenny, and Blake.

When Blake, with a handkerchief bound about his injured wrist, got
back to the top of the path, he found his jubilant companions just
freeing Nomad and Wild Bill.

“What luck, Blake?” cried Pete.

“He stopped one o’ my bullets,” Blake answered, “an’ one o’ his men
had ter help him get away.”

“Was ye hurt?” asked Tenny.

“Winged,” was Blake’s sententious response, “but I don’t reckon it
amounts to much. Anyway, I’d have been glad to get a bullet through
both wrists fer the chance o’ hittin’ Lawless. Mebby I haven’t paid
him all up fer the ride he give me on that steer, but I’ve gone a
long ways to’rds settlin’ the account.”

Nomad and Wild Bill, having been freed of their ropes, sat up and
began rubbing their benumbed limbs.

“Whar’s Buffler?” asked Nomad.

“Thet’s more’n we knows, _amigos_,” replied Pete. “We ain’t seen him
sense yesterday, when you all tripped anchor an’ sailed out o’ Sun
Dance.”

“Waal, Pete,” went on Nomad, “ef ye kain’t tell me whar Buffler is,
mebbyso ye kin ease my mind some as ter how you an’ Tenny an’ Blake
happened ter be eround hyar ter lend Leetle Cayuse a helpin’ hand?”

“We was ridin’ down ther gulch, this mornin’,” went on Pete, “jest
ter see what was goin’ on at ther Forty Thieves. Blake allowed he
was some cur’ous, an’ I knowed Tenny an’ I was. Jest as we got clost
ter ther ore-dump, we seen a slather o’ water, high as the wall of
a ’dobie, makin’ a dead-set at us. We climbed out o’ the way, and
stood thar ter watch ther flood slam past. While we was lookin’, we
seen Cayuse tryin’ ter git out o’ the cañon. Tenny is some punkins
at riata-throwin’, so he uncoils his rope an’ draps it over Cayuse’s
head; then we hauls Cayuse in, bronk an’ all. We crawled up on the
gully wall, a little arter that, an’ seen Lawless an’ his outfit
climbin’ up the side o’ the cañon, so we all made a _pasear_ around
among the rocks with the intention o’ headin’ the gang off, an’
gittin’ you fellers out o’ their hands. I reckon we done it, hey?”

“I reckon you did, old sport,” said Wild Bill, “and you’ve got our
gratitude. They were after our scalps, those fellows, and they’d have
taken them before they had carried us far from the cañon. That’s the
sort of a duck Lawless is. I’ve been mixed up with him enough so that
I know his caliber. Whoosh!” and Wild Bill got up and stretched his
arms. “I’m feeling like a back number this trip, Nomad. The way the
pair of us was snaked out of that level, leaving pard Cody to take
care of himself, is something I’m going to remember with regret as
long as I live. I say, Cayuse!”

The boy, who had been standing at the edge of the cañon, turned
around.

“Where did all that water come from, do you know?” went on Wild Bill.

“From down-gulch,” said Cayuse.

“And flowed up-hill, eh?”

“Thet’s what bothered me,” said Pete, “whar it all come from an’ why
it was flowin’ contrary ter natur’.”

“It wasn’t flowin’ contrary ter natur’,” said Tenny. “Jest below hyer
the gulch bottom pitches this way, an’ thar’s quite a sink a mile
farther to’rds Sun Dance. I’ve noticed thet lots o’ times while I was
goin’ an’ comin’. But whar the water come from is a mystery. Thar
ain’t been no cloud-burst, as fur as I’ve seen.”

Cayuse, in a very few words, explained where the water had come from.

As Lawless’ diabolical plot to wipe out the scout was borne in upon
the mind of old Nomad, his rage became tremendous.

“Confound ther pizen, no-’count whelp!” he shouted, shaking his fists
in the direction the outlaws had taken. “Instid o’ snakin’ Buffler
out o’ thet level, he left him thar ter drown! Did ther water come up
over ther top o’ thet ore-dump?” he asked suddenly, turning to Pete
and the others.

“The water buried thet ore-dump clean out o’ sight!” declared Pete.

Nomad stood for an instant as though stricken, then rushed for the
rim of the cañon and looked down.

The waters were receding as quickly as they had risen. The ore-dump
of the Forty Thieves was already shouldering aside the waves.

Nomad stared, realized what must have happened, then flung himself
down and covered his face with his hands.

Wild Bill scowled, his eyes glittered, and he whirled away from the
cañon.

“If Captain Lawless has wiped out Cody, the best and truest pard a
man ever had,” said he, between his clenched teeth, “Nomad and I will
run out his trail--and, at the end of it, we’ll take all the pay the
murderous whelp can give us.”

“Ye speak true, Hickok,” growled Nomad, looking up; “Lawless owes us
er heap, an’ he’ll hev ter settle.”




                            CHAPTER XVI.

                          THE CURTAIN-ROCK.


The scout, his girl pard, and Wah-coo-tah, it will be recalled, were
left in the level of the Forty Thieves, hurrying, as fast as the
Indian girl’s wound would permit, toward the shaft.

Dell, returning from the drift with a flask of water, was about to
hand the flask to Buffalo Bill when Wah-coo-tah started forward with
a sudden access of strength.

“_Pronto, pronto_,” breathed the girl; “mebbyso I live to fool
Lawless and save um Pa-e-has-ka--mebbyso.”

“What is it?” asked Dell wildly, following the scout and Wah-coo-tah
and listening to the seething roar.

“_Nuzhee Mona, Nuzhee Mona!_” wailed Wah-coo-tah; “him Rain Walker,
Big Water, Flood!”

“Ah!” muttered the scout: “there has been a cloud-burst in the cañon,
and the water is coming down on us!”

“No cloud-burst, Pa-e-has-ka,” said Wah-coo-tah huskily; “_Nuzhee
Mona_ all same lake, close to cañon, high up. Lawless him use
giant-powder, blow away rock, let _Nuzhee Mona_ down into the
cañon----”

The girl broke off abruptly. They had reached the shaft, and
Wah-coo-tah, throwing herself down, tried to pull a boulder away from
the foot of the wall. The task was too much for her strength.

“Quick, Pa-e-has-ka!” she panted.

The scout laid hold of the stone, Dell holding the candle for him to
see, and threw the stone to one side.

“See um iron?” gasped Wah-coo-tah. “My eyes all same go blind, no can
see.”

Dell, her hands shaking under the menace of weird, unknown perils,
held the candle lower.

“Here’s an iron bar, Wah-coo-tah!” cried the scout.

The roar from the cañon was now so great that it was necessary for
him to raise his voice in order to be heard.

“Pull um bar, Pa-e-has-ka,” screamed Wah-coo-tah, “_pronto, pronto_!”

Seizing the bar with both hands, Buffalo Bill gave a long, steady
pull. A screech of rusted machinery followed, and the bar gave
slowly; and slowly, high up toward the top of the shaft, a curtain of
rock obtruded itself across the well, and by degrees closed out the
daylight.

Then, when the bar would yield no more, and not a ray of light
came from above, Buffalo Bill took his hands from the lever and
straightened up.

A swishing roar passed over their heads, and drops of water trickled
down on them.

“Saved!” murmured Dell, leaning nervelessly against the side of the
shaft.

“Aye,” said the scout, as the baffled waters thrashed and tossed
about the ore-dump, “saved in the nick of time, and by a method I had
not dreamed of. That bar, Dell, works a rock curtain near the mouth
of the shaft. By pulling the bar, the curtain is shoved across the
opening, below the platform. When I first saw this mine, I wondered
if it was not in danger of being flooded by a cloud-burst. In order
to avoid the danger, it must be that Lawless contrived the rock
curtain. Was that the way of it, Wah-coo-tah?”

There was no answer from the Indian girl, and the scout looked down,
to discover that she had fallen in a limp heap on the shaft bottom.

“We have neglected her wound too long, Dell,” said the scout. “She
has fainted, I suppose, as she came so near doing while we were on
our way to the shaft. We will get her back to the ‘drift’ and do what
we can for her.”

Picking Wah-coo-tah up in his arms, Buffalo Bill carried her back
along the level and into the “drift.” There she was laid down on the
rocky floor, the scout’s rolled-up coat serving as a pillow for her
head.

While Dell bathed the Indian girl’s face with water, and chafed her
temples, the scout was examining her wound.

“What do you think, Buffalo Bill?” Dell asked, as the scout
straightened up on his knees.

“It’s a bad wound,” he answered, shaking his head. “What the girl
needs is a doctor, and there is not much time to lose. And to think,”
he added, in a fierce undertone, “that it was her own father’s men
who did this! I always knew a squawman was pretty low down, but I
never thought him as mean as that.”

With handkerchiefs and torn cloths they made shift to get a bandage
about Wah-coo-tah’s wound; then they sat beside her and waited for
her to recover consciousness.

“She saved us,” said Dell tremulously, “and it may be that she has
given her life to do it.”

“The girl has a good heart,” returned the scout, “and you might
wonder at that, considering what sort of a father she had.”

“This _Nuzhee Mona_ is a lake, then?” asked Dell.

“I believe, now, that I have heard of such a lake, but this is the
first time I have connected that name with it.”

“I thought Wah-coo-tah said it was the name of an Indian deity.”

“All same,” came softly from the lips of Wah-coo-tah, and the scout
and Dell looked, to see that her eyes had opened. “_Nuzhee Mona_ all
same god, Rain Walker, Flood. You _sabe_?”

“The god of the waters, Wah-coo-tah?” returned the scout.

“Ai,” she answered; “him god of waters and name of lake, ’way up,
alongside cañon. Lawless blow out um rock, and let water come. Him
think Pa-e-has-ka no understand about rock door at top of shaft, and
that _Nuzhee Mona_ come into mine, fill it, strangle scout. Ai, ai!
but we fool um. Lawless shoot Wah-coo-tah so she no tell Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Was it Lawless himself who fired that shot?” demanded Buffalo Bill.

“Ai. Me speak to um first.”

“What did you say to him, Wah-coo-tah?”

“Me say, let Pa-e-has-ka out through secret door with Wah-coo-tah. If
you no let us out, me say, Wah-coo-tah show Pa-e-has-ka how to slide
door across shaft. That make Lawless heap mad, and he shoot. But we
fool um,” she crooned; “Pa-e-has-ka live, and we fool um Lawless. Ah,
ah!”

“How do you feel, Wah-coo-tah?” the scout asked, in a kindly tone.

“Like pretty soon me go to better place, to the hunting-grounds of
all good Cheyennes.”

“No, no, Wah-coo-tah,” whispered Dell, bending down and taking one
of the girl’s hands; “you are going to get well. We shall take you to
a doctor, at Sun Dance, and he will cure you.”

“You like Wah-coo-tah to get well?” the Indian girl asked.

“Yes, yes,” breathed Dell tearfully; “I want you to live so I can
prove to you that I am your friend, always your friend.”

“Mebbyso Yellow Hair talk with two tongues?”

“No, Wah-coo-tah,” said Dell earnestly, “I never talk with two
tongues.”

“Mebbyso; but Wah-coo-tah Injun. If she get well, go back to
Cheyennes, mebbyso her sold again to some Injun she no like. Better
Wah-coo-tah die, better Yellow Hair stay with Pa-e-has-ka, be
Pa-e-has-ka’s pard.”

“Wah-coo-tah,” interposed the scout, “will Lawless and his men stay
in the other part of the mine?”

“No; him leave when him think flood come. Him think _Nuzhee Mona_
come into other part of mine, too, you _sabe_?”

“Then we can get out through that secret door?”

“Ai.”

“The quicker we get out the quicker we can take you to Sun Dance; and
the quicker you get into the doctor’s hands, the more chance there is
of saving your life.”

Wah-coo-tah smiled a little at that.

“You like to save Wah-coo-tah, but Wah-coo-tah no care. Ou, di! Take
me to secret door, Pa-e-has-ka. Me show you how to get through.”

Cody looked at Dell, and nodded. Thereupon Dell picked up the candle,
and the scout gathered the Indian girl in his arms. With the coat
under her arm, Dell led the way along the level to the place where
she and Buffalo Bill had seen the glare breaking through the wall.

Here the scout laid Wah-coo-tah down, took the candle, and hunted
over the wall for the crevice that would mark the edge of the stone
door. So cleverly was the door fitted into the rock that it defied
detection.

“See um big black stone, Pa-e-has-ka?” Wah-coo-tah asked, turning her
head toward the wall.

The scout saw the stone, and laid his hand on it.

“Push,” said the girl.

Cody made ready to use considerable strength, but found that it
was not necessary, for the big stone was so nicely balanced that
it yielded at a touch. The entire stone swung outward, leaving a
ragged gap two feel wide by three feet in height. Beyond the gap was
darkness.

“Lawless gone,” said Wah-coo-tah weakly; “all safe, Pa-e-has-ka. We
go on now. Go on till you see um daylight.”

“That’s our cue, Dell,” said the scout. “The outlaws must all be
gone. If water had come into the mine, the flood would surely have
forced the stone door and let it into the secret level. Lawless and
his men would not dare to remain here. Take the candle, pard, and
lead the way.”

After the scout had again taken Wah-coo-tah in his arms, Dell picked
up the coat and the candle and forced her way through the secret door.

The passage in which the scout and Dell found themselves ran at right
angles with the main level. It was no larger than the passage they
had left, but presently it opened out and formed a sort of chamber.

In this chamber there were evidences that both men and horses had
recently made the place a rendezvous.

“Horses in a mine!” exclaimed the scout. “I wonder how Lawless got
the animals down here?”

“Plenty soon you find um out, Pa-e-has-ka,” murmured Wah-coo-tah.

After leaving the wide part of the passage, the bore narrowed to its
original dimensions, and the floor took the form of a slope.

“We’re climbing!” exclaimed Dell.

“This secret shaft is an incline,” returned the scout. “It’s clear,
now, how the horses got down here. I’m beginning to understand, too,
how it was that Lawless and his men disappeared so mysteriously that
time we thought we had chased them out of the cañon. All they did,
then, was to ride to the top of this incline and hide themselves away
in the underground workings of the Forty Thieves.”

It was a long climb they had to the top of the subterranean slope;
but after a while they saw a glow of daylight ahead of them. The glow
brightened and brightened, until they came out of the inclined shaft
and stood upon a brush-grown shelf jutting out from the cañon wall.
Here the scout put down his burden, and all of them rested and filled
their lungs with the pure outdoor air.

“I never expected to get out of that hole alive,” said the scout. “If
I had known more about the mine than I did, I should not have been so
brash about going into it; but who’d ever have expected to find such
a layout of secret passages and inclined shafts? Lawless did a good
deal of dead work hunting for that lost vein.”

“If we only knew where Nomad and Wild Bill were,” said Dell, “I
should feel easier in my mind.”

The scout’s brow clouded.

“Of course Lawless and his men took them along when they left the
mine.” The scout turned to Wah-coo-tah. “Where would Lawless be apt
to go from here, Wah-coo-tah?” he asked.

“Mebbyso to Medicine Bluff,” the girl answered.

“Then, as soon as I get you to Sun Dance, I’m going to pick up a
few men and ride post-haste for Medicine Bluff. I can’t believe
that Lawless would put Nomad and Wild Bill out of the way; still,
a scoundrel who would shoot his own daughter would be capable of
anything.”

“He would!” averred Dell fervently. “I’m worried about Nomad and Wild
Bill, and we must ride for Medicine Bluff as soon as we can.”

“I wonder just where we are?” said the scout, getting to his feet and
pushing through the bushes to the edge of the shelf.

Dell did not follow but remained beside Wah-coo-tah.

“You tell Wah-coo-tah,” said the Indian girl, as soon as they were
alone, “that you leave Pa-e-has-ka as soon as Wah-coo-tah get you out
of mine; and you say,” the girl added sharply, “that you no talk with
the double tongue.”

“If you insist that I leave the scout and his pards,” said Dell, “I
will. I have a ranch in Arizona, and my mother is there. I intended
to leave my pards very soon, anyway, but I should like to stay with
them until Lawless is captured and forced to pay the penalty of his
crimes.”

“You go then?”

“Yes.”

“Then Wah-coo-tah glad you stay. Mebbyso Yellow Hair got good heart,
and Wah-coo-tah got bad heart? _Quien sabe?_”

“No, no, Wah-coo-tah,” whispered Dell, “you’ve got a good heart, and
you’re a brave girl; only there are some things you don’t understand.”

She took the girl’s hand, bent over, and touched her lips to her
forehead. Wah-coo-tah’s eyes softened under the caress.

“Me no hate you any more,” the Indian girl whispered. “Wah-coo-tah
all same Yellow Hair’s friend.”

Just then the scout came back from the edge of the shelf and noticed,
with much satisfaction, the friendliness of the two girls toward each
other.

“We’re on a little ledge, half-way up the cañon wall,” he announced.
“From the edge of the shelf I could look down on the ore-dump and
shaft of the Forty Thieves. The flood has been ’way over the top of
the dump, for the platform, and the stones are dripping wet, but the
water is receding rapidly.”

“How are we to get away from here?” asked Dell.

“There’s a bridle-path to the top of the cañon and another one to the
bottom, but I think we had better get out by the top of the cañon
and take that route to Sun Dance. There’s no telling how much water
we would find between here and the camp if we tried to follow the
bottom of the gulch. Our first move must be to get the horses from
the gully. I suppose it will be best to leave you here, Dell, to stay
with Wah-coo-tah, while I go for the horses.”

“I will take care of Wah-coo-tah, pard,” returned Dell, pressing the
Indian girl’s hand affectionately as she spoke. “You ought to find
Cayuse in the gully.”

“Wherever the horses are, I think I am pretty certain to find the
boy. Whenever he is told to do a thing, he generally does it, so I
feel confident he has stayed with the live stock. I won’t be gone
long,” the scout added, as he took to the bridle-path and began the
ascent.

In mounting to the top of the cañon the scout was able to observe
below him the extent of the flood which had been turned into the
defile by the blasting operations of Captain Lawless.

A line on the opposite wall of the gulch showed him the height the
water had reached, and indicated how quickly the Forty Thieves would
have been flooded had not the curtain of rock been thrown across the
top of the shaft.

He shivered as his imagination pictured the plight of Dell and
Wah-coo-tah and himself, down in the level, with the water pouring in
upon them, and Lawless and his men keeping them back from the secret
door with their rifles.

“It’s a long road that has no turning,” thought the scout grimly,
“and Lawless has run up a score which I shall call upon him to
settle. When I am done with him, I shall come back to the Forty
Thieves and stay out the three consecutive days and nights; then,
when I have earned the deed, I shall turn the property over to
Wah-coo-tah--if she lives; and if she does not live, then it shall go
to Wah-coo-tah’s mother, the Cheyenne woman.”

This procedure was strictly in line with the scout’s generous nature.
As for staying in Sun Dance Cañon and developing the Forty Thieves,
the very thought of it brought a smile to his lips.

He could not imagine himself turning from the free life of the plains
and mountains to the narrow confines of a mine and the life of a
miner.

First, however, he must trail down Captain Lawless and rescue old
Nomad and Wild Bill. He would not allow himself to suppose that
Lawless would deal cold-bloodedly with his pards, and thought only of
pursuing the outlaw to Medicine Bluff and effecting a rescue.

While he was climbing upward, and turning these matters over in his
mind, he little dreamed that within a few minutes Chance was to
strike one more unexpected note in the odd tune she had recently been
playing for his benefit.

Yet so it fell out when, presently, Buffalo Bill stepped from the
path he had been following onto level ground at the brink of the
cañon.

What he saw first was a dead Cheyenne; beyond the Cheyenne was a
group consisting of five men and a boy. The men were in close and
animated conversation, and did not see the scout.

To his amazement, the scout discovered that two of the men were Nomad
and Wild Bill; the other three were Lonesome Pete, Hank Tenny, and
Henry Blake. The boy, of course, was Cayuse.

“Buffler has been my pard fer many a year,” old Nomad was saying, in
a husky voice, “an’ I was hopin’, when he cashed in, thet fate might
let the pair o’ us be standin’ shoulder ter shoulder, so thet we both
mout begin ther long trail tergether. I’ve never felt wuss in my life
than what I does this minit, Buffler!” and the old trapper lifted
his face skyward, “whyever didn’t ye wait fer yer old pard Nick?”

“How long do you want me to wait, Nick?” called the scout.

For an instant the entire group seemed paralyzed; then Nomad turned
slowly around, stared for a moment, let off a cry that was half-joy
and half-consternation, and galloped toward the scout with both hands
outstretched.




                            CHAPTER XVII.

                    THE TURN OF FORTUNE’S WHEEL.


“Kin I believe my eyes?” roared Nomad, as, gripping both the scout’s
hands, he stood staring into his face. “Is et shorely my pard,
Buffler, as I had given up as drowned like er rat in er trap down
thar in ther Forty Thieves? Howlin’ hyeners! Why, his clothes ain’t
even wet! Say, what new brand o’ Cody-luck was flashed on ye at this
hyer turn o’ fortune’s wheel? Tell me, pard!”

“Tell us all,” chimed in Wild Bill, as he and the rest crowded around
the scout; “we want to know, Cody.”

“Fortune’s wheel has turned queerly for all of us,” answered the
scout, “but I think we’d better put off our explanations until some
more favorable time--over some more of that maverick steer at the
Lucky Strike, for instance. Eh, Blake?”

“I’m eating that steer with a good deal o’ relish,” grinned Blake.
“If you say so, Buffalo Bill, we’ll wait till then.”

“Where Yellow Hair, Pa-e-has-ka?” asked Little Cayuse.

“She’s safe, boy,” answered the scout. “What have you done with the
horses?”

“They’re safe, too, Buffler,” spoke up Lonesome Pete.

“Everybody seems to be safe,” smiled the scout, “with the exception
of Blake. What ails your wrist?” he added to the miner.

“Exchanged tokens of esteem with Lawless,” explained Blake; “I put
a bullet inter his shoulder, an’ he recippercated by puttin’ another
across my wrist. Not much more’n a scratch, howsumever, but I’m
almost willing to bet I’ve put Lawless down an’ out.”

“Too good ter be true,” muttered Nomad.

“Talking about bein’ safe,” said Hank Tenny, “ye come within one o’
losin’ yer Piute pard, Buffler Bill.”

“How’s that? Did Lawless have a try at him?”

“Nary. Cayuse, thinkin’ you was wiped out, sung a leetle death-song
all fer himself. Ef Pete, thar, hadn’t been quick, Cayuse would have
put a knife into his own breast.”

The scout turned and looked at the boy. Their eyes met, and what
passed between them will never be known, but the scout reached out a
kindly hand, drew the boy toward him and patted him on the shoulder.

“Cayuse would do a lot for Pa-e-has-ka,” said he, “and he knows
Pa-e-has-ka would do a lot for him; but when Pa-e-has-ka takes the
long trail, as some time he must, he does not want to think that
Cayuse will sing his death-song and follow. This life was made to
live as long as we can; then, when our time comes to quit it, to pass
out like brave men who have fought well and are willing to go.

“But,” and here the scout turned briskly away, “enough of this.
Wah-coo-tah is on the shelf, below the brink of the cañon, and Dell
is with her----”

“Wah-coo-tah?” exclaimed Nomad.

“Yes--she was the ‘spirit,’ Nick, who spoke to us from the cellar of
the Alcazar, and she may become a spirit in reality if something is
not done for her very soon. She was shot, by Lawless himself, in the
level of the Forty Thieves.”

“By Lawless!” echoed Wild Bill angrily. “There’s a hound for you. His
own daughter, _amigos_.”

“Lawless is capable of anything,” went on the scout; “but just now
that is neither here nor there. Dell and I were in the level and it
was Wah-coo-tah who saved our lives. She must be taken as soon as
possible to Sun Dance. Is there a doctor there, or shall we have to
take her to Montegordo?”

“Gentleman Jim,” said Hank Tenny, “is a better man with the surgeon’s
knife and with medicine than he is with the keerds. He ampertated
Gusty Williams’ leg, thet time a blast went off an’ smashed it, an’
he----”

“Gentleman Jim will do, anyhow, until we can get another doctor from
Montegordo. But we need the horses. Is it possible to get them up
here from the gully?”

“Wuh!” said Little Cayuse.

“He means,” said Pete, “thet we kin git the critters up the same way
us fellers come. But it’ll be a scramble.”

“We’ll do it, though,” declared Hank Tenny. “Leave the scout with his
pards, boys, an’ we’ll go arter the hosses.”

Blake, Tenny, Pete, and Cayuse started off among the boulders toward
the point where the gully entered the cañon. Blake assured Cayuse it
wouldn’t be necessary for him to go along, but Cayuse would let no
one besides himself do anything with Navi.

“While the horses are coming, pards,” said the scout to Nomad and
Wild Bill, “we might go down to the shelf and bring up Wah-coo-tah.
Two of us can carry her up easier than she could ride.”

“Thet’s the tork,” seconded Nomad.

They descended to the shelf and broke through the brush before the
astounded eyes of Dell Dauntless.

“Why--why----” the girl faltered, “is that really you, Nomad? And
Wild Bill, too! Oh, what luck! Where did you find them, pard?” and
she shifted her gaze to the scout.

“I found them on top of the cañon wall,” answered the scout, “and
Nick, there, was in a complaining mood.”

“Shucks, Buffler,” muttered Nomad.

“He was complaining because I had crossed the divide without taking
him along,” smiled the scout. “How is Wah-coo-tah?”

“Me all right,” spoke up Wah-coo-tah for herself.

“She’s far from all right, Buffalo Bill,” said Dell. “I’m anxious to
get her where she can receive medical aid.”

“It won’t be long now until we have her in Sun Dance,” returned the
scout. “Cayuse, Lonesome Pete, Hank Tenny, and Henry Blake have gone
to bring the horses from the gully.”

“Cayuse is all right, too?” cried Dell.

“Chipper as a cricket,” said Wild Bill. “All he needed to make him
a happy Indian was a glimpse of the scout, alive and hearty. Cayuse
has had it, and he’s feeling fine, thank you. And we hope,” he added,
turning a sympathetic glance upon Wah-coo-tah, “that you will soon be
feeling fine, too. You’ve done a heap for the scout and Dell--Cody
has told us about it--and the whole possé of us feel like we couldn’t
do enough for you. We’re going to carry you up the hill, Nomad and
me, so you’ll be able to travel just as soon as the horses come
along.”

“You plenty good to Injun girl,” said Wah-coo-tah.

Never before in her whole life, perhaps, had she been treated with
such consideration. The lot of an Indian woman is a hard one, from
the very time she begins it, on a papoose-board, until she leaves it,
and is wrapped in her best blanket and hoisted into some tree, or
buried deep under a pile of rocks.

Lifting Wah-coo-tah gently, old Nomad and Wild Bill carried her up
the steep path, taking care to make the journey as comfortable for
her as possible.

When they reached the top of the wall, Cayuse, Pete, Tenny, and
Blake were coming with the horses. Bear Paw threw up his head and
whinnied at the sight of the scout, and Navi, Cayuse’s pinto, and
Silver Heels, Dell’s white cayuse, likewise seemed to recognize their
owners; but Hide-rack, Nomad’s mount, didn’t seem to care a particle
whether his owner was around or not.

“Pizen old critter, anyway,” said Nomad. “Honest, he’s so plumb full
o’ pizen ye kin scrape strychnin off’n his neck with er shingle. But
he’s so blame indiff’rent ter me thet I like him fer et. Et shows
character; an’ I ain’t got no tender feelin’s when I gives him er
wallopin’. Whoa, ye onnery, knock-kneed, gangle-legged ole speciment,
you! Ye’ll never know how nigh ye come ter losin’ me, an’ I reckon ye
don’t keer. But hyar I am, big as life, so don’t ye git sassy.”

As soon as Buffalo Bill was astride Bear Paw, he took Wah-coo-tah up
in front of him.

The return to Sun Dance was then begun.

For a time the riders picked their way along the rim of the cañon
among the boulders; then, striking the Montegordo trail, they had a
better course, and rode faster.

From time to time the trail gave them glimpses of the bottom of the
cañon. The flood had almost entirely subsided, save in one place
where the down-grade struck the rise that continued to the foot of
the “flat” on which the mining-camp was perched. In the low place a
lake had formed, extending for a mile up and down the gulch.

“Lucky thar wasn’t any placer-miners at work in this part o’ ther
gulch,” remarked Blake. “Ef thar had been, they’d hev had little
chance o’ escapin’ with their lives.”

“The flood never got very clost ter Sun Dance,” observed Tenny. “The
old gulch is too much up an’ down; thar ain’t no decent river as
would run through it.”

“I reckon _Nuzhee Mona_ Lake is down some,” said Pete. “It couldn’t
lose all thet water without feelin’ it. I’ve thought, fer a long
time, thar’d be doin’s if anythin’ ever happened ter thet wedge o’
stone thet kept it out o’ the cañon. I don’t reckon all the wedge was
blowed out, kase if the hull lake had spilled over it would make more
of a showin’.”

“It made a big enough showin’ ter suit me,” said Tenny. “When I seen
thet wall o’ water rushin’ at me, I went over my ‘Now I lay mes’
for’ard, back’ard, an’ sideways.”

“An’ scramble!” cried Pete; “gee, man, how us huskies scrambled fer
thet gully. Oh, I reckon, arter all, thar was water enough.”

Half an hour later the horsemen filed down the cañon top toward the
camp of Sun Dance.

“Last time I traveled this hyer road,” said Blake, “I didn’t know a
thing about it.”

“An’ ye wouldn’t never hev knowed a thing about it if it hadn’t ’a’
been fer Dell Dauntless,” spoke up Tenny.

“As I said afore, an’ now say ag’in,” said Blake, turning in his
saddle and removing his sombrero--a new one, recently purchased at
the place where he had secured his six-shooters--“I take off my hat
to Dell Dauntless.”

“We all do that,” added Wild Bill, “and likewise to Wah-coo-tah.”




                           CHAPTER XVIII.

                     THE ROUND-UP AT SPANGLER’S.


Wah-coo-tah was taken to the Lucky Strike Hotel and placed in Dell’s
room; the room from which, one night not long before, she had taken
French leave. Nomad stopped at the Alcazar and summoned Gentleman Jim.

Cayuse, Pete, Blake, and Tenny took care of the horses, and Buffalo
Bill, Wild Bill, and Dell sat in Dell’s room and waited anxiously for
Gentleman Jim to come.

When he arrived, which he did in a very few moments, he carried a
professional-looking grip.

“Your three days are not up yet, Buffalo Bill,” said Gentleman Jim,
with a smile.

“I’m going back to the Forty Thieves to-morrow,” returned the scout,
“to finish them up. I didn’t know you were a doctor, Gentleman Jim.”

Something of a sad expression crossed the gambler’s face.

“I used to be a doctor back East,” he answered, and turned to the cot
where Wah-coo-tah was lying.

The scout knew, as did every one else in Sun Dance Cañon, that
Gentleman Jim’s past held a story--and not a particularly pleasant
story, either. But just what that story was no living man had ever
heard from the gambler’s lips.

Gentleman Jim’s soft, white hands moved about Wah-coo-tah with almost
womanly tenderness. After he had made a brief examination, he opened
the satchel and took out an instrument-case.

“I shall hurt you a little, Wah-coo-tah,” said he, “but it can’t be
helped. You can bear it without taking anything to smother the pain?”

“Ai,” said the girl; “me used to pain; me stand um, all right.”

For two or three minutes the probe was deep in the wound, and all the
time Dell held Wah-coo-tah’s hands and soothed her with gentle words.
At last Gentleman Jim straightened up and dropped a small piece of
lead on the table.

“That is what did the harm,” said he. “Now we will dress and bandage
the wound, and I think Wah-coo-tah will get along well enough.”

“There is no danger?” asked Dell.

“There is always danger of blood-poisoning in a case like this, but I
think in Wah-coo-tah’s case the danger is quite remote.”

Wing Hi was pounding his supper-gong when Gentleman Jim finally
finished his work, and left the Lucky Strike.

“She’ll get well, Buffalo Bill,” he said to the scout, as he passed
through the office.

“I’m glad of that,” answered the scout. “I’m going to get a deed to
that mine, Jim, and turn it over to Wah-coo-tah.”

“That would be like you, Cody,” the gambler said.

This favorable news concerning Wah-coo-tah put the scout and his
pards into an agreeable mood, and when they “sat in” at their table,
in the dining-room, that evening, they were in the best of spirits.
Dell was not with them, as she preferred to take her supper in her
room, where she could be with Wah-coo-tah; but Lonesome Pete, Hank
Tenny, and Henry Blake were of the supper-party, and the fresh meat
was heartily enjoyed.

As on another occasion when the scout and his pards had returned from
a conflict with Captain Lawless and his followers, the meal was made
the occasion for an exchange of experiences, to the end that the
tangled skein of events might be set right in everybody’s mind, and
thoroughly understood.

Buffalo Bill led off with the contents of the envelope Blake had
brought into camp in such an unusual manner, following it up with the
talk in the Alcazar, and the voice of warning that had come from the
cellar; then he followed the recital down to where he and his pards
had reached the mine, and he and Wild Bill and Nomad had gone into
the shaft, leaving Cayuse and Dell to take care of the horses.

“You were the first one to disappear, Nick,” the scout said, at this
point, “so you had better tell us what happened to you.”

“Waal, et happened so pesky quick thet what I recomember is sort o’
hazy,” said the old trapper. “You had jest been through ther level,
Buffler, an’ ye said thar wasn’t any one down thar but us. When I
drapped ther truck I had kerried from ther shaft, I moseyed off
toward ther breast o’ ther level with my candle. I hadn’t gone fur,
afore a hole opened up in ther wall alongside o’ me, an’ a light
shot out thet made my candle look like er glow-worm alongside of er
locomotive head-light. Nacherly I let off er yell; then I was grabbed
afore I could use my fists er guns, an’ snaked inter another part o’
ther mine.

“Mebby I wasn’t surprised when Lawless looked down at me an’ told er
couple o’ Cheyennes how ter tie me so’st I couldn’t move. Arter I was
in thet condition I was snaked off ter a place whar the level was
wider, and whar thar was some hosses, an’ left thar ter commune with
myself.

“Next thing I knowed Wild Bill was dragged alongside er me ter keep
me comp’ny. He told o’ the fight you an’ him had had, an’ how he
didn’t know but mebby you mout be killed, Buffler. While he was
sayin’ thet, Lawless yelps out from somewhere thet ye wasn’t killed,
but thet ye was goin’ ter be some time along erbout sunrise.

“Arter thet not er bloomin’ thing happened ter Wild Bill an’ me till
we was loaded onter cayuses behind them Cheyenne bucks, an’ kerried
up ter ther top o’ ther gulch wall. I knowed them onnery outlaws had
er mortgage on my skelp, an’ I was expectin’ ’em ter foreclose any
ole minit, so ye kin imagine how surprised I was when Pete, Tenny,
Blake, an’ Cayuse leaped out from behind the rocks an’ purceeded ter
make things interestin’. I reckon thet’s all o’ et, so fur’s I’m
mixed in ther scrimmage.”

“And you’ve told my part of it, Nick,” said Wild Bill. “Knocked down
in that fight Buffalo Bill and I was having, my wits took a vacation.
When they got back again I was alongside of you, in the other part of
the mine.”

“Now it’s up to you, Cayuse,” said the scout. “We’ll get all these
fag-ends bunched together, and then I’ll finish off with what
happened to Dell and me.”

Cayuse was more gifted with the hand-talk than he was with English.
He was extremely brief, but his information--concerning, as it did,
the letting loose of the waters of the lake--was most valuable.

“He don’t star hisself none,” commented Hank Tenny, “but I bet ye he
was a hull lot of a hero, all the same.”

“He always is,” said the scout.

“Me lose um gun,” mourned Little Cayuse.

“I’ll get you another, boy, silver-mounted,” said the scout, and
Cayuse’s eyes sparkled.

The scout now plunged into the run of events, and wound up the
recital.

“Ain’t et astonishin’ what things kin happen ter a feller?” remarked
Nomad, who had been neglecting his meal to listen, open-mouthed,
to his pard’s yarn; “an’ ain’t Buffler ther boy ter git things ter
comin’ his way, right in ther nick? Jest s’posin’, now, anythin’ had
gone wrong with thet thar stone curtain at ther top o’ ther shaft.
Why, ef thar had, us fellers could hev gone fishin’ in ther Forty
Thieves.”

“Fishing for _me_,” added the scout grimly.

“By gorry, yes!” exclaimed Wild Bill. “But the rock curtain worked
like a charm, the flood covered the ore-dump, and rippled over the
top of the curtain, and Buffalo Bill, Dell, and Wah-coo-tah were as
dry as if they had been here in the Lucky Strike. A little thing now
and then makes a heap of difference in the run of events.”

“It was a lucky thing for Cayuse,” spoke up the scout, “that Tenny,
Blake, and Pete took it into their heads to ride down the gulch.
If they hadn’t---- Well, I don’t like to think of what might have
happened if Tenny’s rope hadn’t helped Cayuse into the mouth of the
gully. I don’t know how Buffalo Bill & Company could get along and
do a successful business without their Piute pard.”

“Ugh,” grunted Cayuse; “Pa-e-has-ka make Piute boy feel like squaw
with string of glass beads.”

“Ye’re a desarvin’ little feller,” said Hank Tenny, “an’ I’d be
tickled ter death ef I had ye fer a pard o’ mine. But you must like
the scout er heap er ye wouldn’t hev tried ter tag arter him on the
long trail.”

Cayuse bent his head and made no reply to this. Nor did the scout
make any comment. What each felt was locked in his own breast.

       *       *       *       *       *

True to his word, on the following day the scout, Wild Bill, and
Nomad returned to the mine and hived themselves up in it for three
days and nights. They beguiled the time with “seven-up.”

Nothing went wrong with them at all, and Dell rode out every day to
report how Wah-coo-tah was getting along. The Indian girl continued
steadily to improve.

While at the mine the mechanism that worked the “rock curtain” was
examined by the pards and found to be very cleverly contrived. They
all decided that it had been placed in the shaft for the purpose the
scout had already supposed, viz: to keep out of the mine any floods
that might come down from above.

When the scout and his pards returned to Sun Dance, the scout took
his deed, made out another in the name of Wah-coo-tah Lawless, and
sent both to Montegordo to be recorded. He did this with the entire
approval of all his pards.

“And now,” said Wild Bill, when the deed had been duly executed,
recorded, and delivered, “we still have Lawless to find and lay by
the heels.”

“We can’t make any plans about that,” answered the scout, “until we
learn whether Lawless got over the effects of Blake’s bullet or not.”

“That’s so,” agreed Wild Bill, “but I’m hoping for the best.”

Just what he meant by “the best” he did not explain.




                            CHAPTER XIX.

                     THE STAGE FROM MONTEGORDO.


“What’s yer name, anyhow?” asked Lonesome Pete.

The man in the “boiled” shirt, the red vest, and the tight trousers
coughed and looked embarrassed.

“I almost hate to tell you,” said he.

“Whoa-up, thar, yeh gangle-legged Piute!” yelled Chick Billings,
the stage-driver, reaching for the off-leader with his whip-lash.
“Calls hisself a hoss, that critter does,” he added to Pete and the
stranger; “but he acts more like a blame’ coyote.”

“Thar’s a hull lot o’ folks out hyer as kinder fergits what their
names useter be,” went on Pete, addressing the stranger. “A feller’s
got a right ter change his name when he crosses the Missoury, comin’
West, if so be he thinks proper.”

“Not me--not on your life!” exclaimed the stranger hastily. “My
record is clear----”

“Every ole hardshell in these parts, some on ’em with half a dozen
notches, ’ll say that,” cut in Pete, with considerable sarcasm.

The stranger laughed. He had a pink-and-white complexion, and his
laugh was mixed up with a vivid blush.

“Sakes alive!” muttered Pete dismally. “If ye had on a sunbunnit,
ye’d look like er schoolgal.”

“You see,” and the stranger’s laugh became a trifle more masculine,
“my name is Reginald----”

“Wow!” grunted Pete.

“De Bray, Reginald de Bray,” finished the speaker. “I don’t think
there’s much in a name, you know, but everybody out in this country
sort of pokes fun at mine.”

Lonesome Pete threw back his head, filled his lungs with air, and
released his voice with a roaring “He-haw, he-haw!” after the fashion
of a restive mule.

Chick Billings laughed.

Reginald de Bray pulled a little note-book from his pocket and made a
mark in it with a lead-pencil.

“What’s that fur?” asked Chick Billings.

“I’m just keeping track,” answered the young man softly, as he put
away the pencil and the book.

“Keepin’ track o’ what?” asked Lonesome Pete distrustfully.

“Why, of the number of times that ‘he-haw’ racket has been worked
on me when I’ve told my name. Your performance was the thirty-sixth
time.”

Reginald de Bray heaved a long breath of patient resignation.

The Montegordo stage--which was nothing more than a mountain-wagon
drawn by four horses--was well on the road to Sun Dance.

Pete and De Bray were riding with the driver. On the seat behind was
a woman--a slender figure of a woman she was, with her face closely
veiled. The woman’s seatmate was a rough-and-ready miner named
Hotchkiss.

The seat behind the woman and Hotchkiss was occupied by Little Cayuse.

These six--the driver, Pete, De Bray, the woman, Hotchkiss, and
the Indian boy--comprised the load. Around the Indian was heaped a
carpetbag, two grips, and a mail-pouch.

The woman had not spoken a word since leaving Montegordo. Hotchkiss
was almost as silent, being thoughtful and busying himself with his
pipe. The Indian was like a graven image, so far as talking was
concerned; but, unlike an image, nothing in his vicinity escaped his
keen eyes and ears.

Conversation was confined entirely to the three on the driver’s seat.

“Ho-hum!” yawned Lonesome Pete, stretching his long arms. “This hyer
ride is plumb tiresome. _Mister_ De Bray,” he added, with elaborate
politeness, “the sight o’ such a gent as yerself, in these parts, is
almost as uncommon as the sight of a lady,” and his eyes shifted over
his shoulder significantly. “Mind tellin’ what yer bizness is in this
section?”

“Just looking around the West, that’s all,” replied Reginald de Bray
buoyantly.

“Ain’t seen much of it yit, hev ye?”

“Just started.”

“So I reckoned,” muttered Lonesome Pete. “Them clothes o’ your’n is
a danger-signal. A real collar an’ a b’iled shirt, say nothin’ of a
red vest, is purty nigh a death-warrant fer a man in these parts. The
cimiroons what inhabit this hyer waste don’t like sich displays. As
soon as we git ter Sun Dance, I’d advise ye ter duck inter a store
an’ git inter a rig less noticeable.”

“Why--why,” fluttered De Bray, “I hadn’t any idea that--that----”

“Course ye didn’t,” interrupted Lonesome Pete soothingly. “Ye’re
plumb tender in the feet, an’ yer clothes give ye away. Arter takin’
yer sizin’, the hull camp would want ter hev fun with ye, an’ ye kin
bank on it that it ’u’d be rough fun.”

“I heard that Mr. Buffalo Bill was in Sun Dance,” said De Bray, “and
I have long wanted to meet him. That’s principally why I came this
way from Montegordo.”

“He’s thar, all right,” said Pete. “That’s one o’ his pards on the
back seat--Leetle Cayuse, they calls him.”

“By Jove!” muttered De Bray, turning squarely around and staring in
awe at the Piute boy. “I’ve heard of that Indian,” he went on, facing
about. “He don’t look very dangerous, though, does he?”

“He’s retirin’, an’ about the size of a minner, when thar’s nothin’
doin’, but when he digs up the hatchet an’ hits the war-path, he
looks like er whale.”

“Is Dauntless Dell in Sun Dance, too?”

“Big as life! An’ Nick Nomad is thar, an’ likewise Wild Bill.”

“Oh, oh!” murmured Reginald de Bray, in a spasm of excitement. “I
wonder if the king of scouts would take my little hand in his and
lead me off to where the reds and the white outlaws are thickest? Do
you think he would?”

There was something in the words that brought Pete’s eyes with a
start to the tenderfoot’s face.

“Give it up,” said Pete gruffly. “’Pears ter me, _Mister_ De Bray,
that the best place fer you is behind a bomb-proof shelter some’r’s.
S’posin’, now, we was ter meet up with a lot o’ highwaymen? S’posin’
they was ter come out from behind the rocks, reg’lar fire-eatin’
handy-boys that ye dassen’t say ‘No’ to. How’d ye like _that_?”

“Br-r-r!” shivered Reginald de Bray. “You--you don’t think there’s
any chance of that happening, do you?”

“As long as that pirate, Cap’n Lawless, is loose in the country,
anything’s li’ble ter happen.”

The woman on the seat behind leaned forward, and asked, with some
apprehension:

“Robbers? Is it possible, sir, that we shall meet with any?”

“I don’t want to alarm ye none, madam,” answered Lonesome Pete, who
was merely talking for the effect his words would have on De Bray,
“so don’t take what I say too much ter heart.”

“I have a hundred dollars with me,” faltered the woman, “and--and
if I do not find the--the person I am looking for in Sun Dance, I
shall have to use the money to take me to some other place. It would
be hard for a woman to find herself without funds in this dreary
country!”

“That’s so!” averred Lonesome Pete sympathetically.

“Pete, thar, is only gassin’,” struck in Hotchkiss, knocking the
ashes from his pipe and slowly filling it again, “He’s tryin’ ter
string the Easterner, mum, so don’t be in a takin’.”

“But my money!” murmured the woman. “I believe I will hide it, just
to be on the safe side.”

“I’ve got a hundred dollars, too,” said Reginald de Bray. “When I get
through looking around in Sun Dance, and travel back to Montegordo,
there’ll be a draft there for me; but it would be mighty awkward to
lose that hundred.”

The woman, taking a handkerchief from the bosom of her dress, had
untied one corner and removed a roll of crumpled bills. For a few
moments she sat thoughtfully, the bills in her hand. At last she
lifted her hands, removed her hat--at the same time being very
careful not to displace the veil that covered her face--and took
the hat on her lap. The hat was covered with millinery folderols,
none too new and all very dusty. In among the feathers and artificial
flowers she stowed her hundred dollars, and Hotchkiss chuckled as he
watched.

“Good place, mum,” averred Hotchkiss. “Purvidin’ thar was really
goin’ ter be a hold-up, ye couldn’t find a better.”

“How would you like to put my money with yours, madam?” asked
Reginald de Bray.

“I shall be glad to oblige you, sir,” answered the woman.

Hotchkiss glared at De Bray, and Lonesome Pete shifted disquietly.
The woman had a soft, low voice, and it looked rather brutal for the
tenderfoot to unload the responsibility of caring for his own money
upon such a person.

However, De Bray’s hundred was passed over, and the woman tucked it
into the foliage and replaced the hat on her head.

“Now,” she said, with a relieved sigh, “if the worst should happen, I
have done what little I could to save my money.”

“I don’t think ye need ter worry none,” said Hotchkiss, glaring at
Pete for having started the talk about road-agents.

After this there was silence in the mountain-wagon for a good
half-hour. De Bray lighted a cigarette. He also tried to talk, but
his attempts were met with chilling silence. Pete, Chick Billings,
and Hotchkiss had marked him down in their minds as about the poorest
specimen of a tenderfoot they had ever met, and they wanted nothing
more to do with him.

At the end of a half-hour a surprise was sprung. The stage-trail,
winding along toward the rim of Sun Dance Cañon, entered a stretch
where great heaps of boulders massed themselves along each side.

Suddenly a shout, grimly menacing, rang from behind one of the
boulders.

“Halt!”

Everybody in the stage gave a startled jump. The unexpected had
happened.

Over the tops of the boulders, on each side of the trail, appeared
masked faces and leveled rifles.

Chick Billings, recovering from the first shock of surprise, seized
his lines in a firmer grip and raised his whip.

“Don’t be a fool, driver!” went on the voice of the unseen speaker.
“The leaders are covered, and you and every one in the stage are
under our muzzles. You can’t fight, and you can’t run away. Throw up
your hands, all of you!”

Lonesome Pete swore under his breath; Hotchkiss muttered angrily;
Chick Billings, with a resigned oath, dropped the lines and shoved
his hands into the air; De Bray was queerly quiet--considering the
fact that he was a recent importation, and the woman, collapsing back
in her seat, made not a sound.

As for Little Cayuse, he had vanished from the rear seat, but in the
general excitement this fact had not been noticed.

Immediately following his last command, the leader of the road-agents
presented himself, riding around a barricade of boulders.

He was well mounted, and, taken altogether, was a striking figure of
a man.

His face was concealed by a silk handkerchief, tied just under his
eyes. He wore a black sombrero, short, black velvet jacket, with
silver-dollar buttons, dark corduroy trousers, and knee-boots of
patent leather, with silver spurs at the heels. A gaudy sash about
his waist supported a pair of revolvers.

With the guns on each side of the trail drawing a bead on the leaders
of the team, and on those in the wagon, the chief of the highwaymen
did not find it necessary to draw his own weapons.

Pulling his horse to a halt at one side of the wagon, opposite the
front seat, the leader’s black eyes calmly surveyed those whom the
rest of his gang held at his mercy.

“Cap’n Lawless!” muttered Lonesome Pete.

With a low laugh, the leader of the robbers pulled the silk
handkerchief from his face and thrust it into his pocket.

“I see that I am recognized,” said he coolly. “Very well. It will
neither help nor harm matters, as I should probably be suspected of
this hold-up, anyway. Throw your property out here in front of me,
beside the trail.”

“You ought to know bloomin’ well,” said Chick Billings, “that the
driver of this ’ere stage hasn’t any _dinero_ about his clothes. I
got a bar o’ chewin’, but----”

“I wasn’t referring to you,” cut in Lawless, “but to the others. The
man on your left, who seems to have met me before--I’d like to hear
from him first.”

“Shucks!” returned Pete; “I’m just comin’ back from Montegordo, whar
I’ve been ter see the sights. How kin ye expect me ter hev any money?”

Lawless pulled out a watch and studied its face.

“I’ve got just three minutes to make a clean-up,” he scowled; “and if
I’m not done by that time, my men will open up on the lot of you. You
ought to have some consideration for the lady, seems to me.”

“See how much consideration _you’ve_ got fer her!” snapped Hotchkiss,
throwing a well-worn wallet on the ground, in front of Lawless.

“Any jewelry?” asked the robber.

“Do I look like a feller that kerried it?” sneered the miner.

Pete pulled a handful of silver money out of his pocket, and threw it
after Hotchkiss’ pocketbook.

“Now, you,” went on Lawless, nodding to De Bray.

“Honest,” quavered De Bray, “I haven’t got more’n a couple of dollars
about me!”

“What the blazes is a man dressed like you doing in this country with
no more than that? That won’t do. If you don’t want to be sent back
East in a box, you’ll strip yourself, and be quick about it. It looks
to me as though you thought I didn’t mean business.” Lawless’ passive
face twisted itself into a demoniacal expression, and he jerked one
of his six-shooters from his sash and leveled it. “I’ll give you just
a minute, my friend,” he added, “before I shoot you off that seat!”

“Don’t be too quick with your shooting,” begged De Bray, and
immediately began pulling his pockets inside-out.

One of the pockets contained two silver dollars. De Bray flung them
down at the trailside.

“I told you!” he exclaimed.

“You’ve got more than that!” snapped Lawless. “Fork over, or I’ll
shake a load out of this gun!”

De Bray’s eyes grew glassy, and he shivered.

“I--I did have a little more,” he answered; “but--but----”

“But what?” roared Lawless. “Do you think I’m going to stay here all
day, palavering with you?”

He made a threatening gesture with his six-shooter.

“I gave it to the lady behind me,” said De Bray desperately. “She hid
it among the flowers in her hat, along with----”

Hotchkiss swore a great oath.

“Kill him, Lawless! He ain’t fit ter live!”

Lonesome Pete reached over with a clenched fist, and Chick Billings
turned half-around in the seat, with the evident intention of hurling
De Bray into the trail.

“Steady, there, all of you!” ordered Lawless. “Keep your places, and
hold up your hands. Who’s bossing this game, anyhow? I don’t care a
rap what you do with the tenderfoot after I get away from here, but
just now it’s my innings. The Easterner has saved his life--you can’t
blame him for that.” He spurred his horse a step forward. “Madam,” he
added, to the trembling woman, “I’ll trouble you to take your money
from the hat and throw it into the road. Did this tenderfoot speak
the truth?”

“Y-y-yes!” gasped the woman.

“Then give me the money.”

“Oh, sir,” pleaded the woman, stretching out her hands
supplicatingly, “let me keep what’s mine, and----”

“I’m a man of business, and not of sentiment,” said Lawless harshly,
“and I may add that I’m not in this dangerous business for my health.
The money, quick!”

With a sob, the woman lifted her shaking hands to her hat, tore away
the roll of bills, and dropped it beside the rest of the plunder on
the ground.

“The meanest coyote thet ever skulked around these hyer hills,” cried
the indignant Hotchkiss, “stacks up purty high alongside o’ _you_,
Cap’n Lawless!”

“Another yaup like that,” said Lawless savagely, “and I’ll give you
your ticket!”

Life is dear to every man, and Hotchkiss, knowing that another word
from him would spell his doom and not result in any benefit to the
woman, or any one else, smothered his righteous wrath and glared at
the man on the horse.

Hot words had also been on Pete’s lips, but he held them back.

“Lawless,” he said, “the rest o’ us aire men, an’ what we got we kin
lose, but this hyer happens ter be a woman, an’----”

“Cork!” interrupted Lawless sententiously. Then, again facing the
woman, he went on: “Any rings?”

“One,” she whispered; “just one!”

“Throw it after the money!”

“Have you no heart?” wailed the woman. “Spare me the ring!”

“Throw it on the ground!”

Lawless, when he so willed, could be fair-spoken and act the
gentleman; but at heart he was a demon, and Hotchkiss’ taunt had
driven him to do his worst.

The ring, a plain gold band and plainly a wedding-ring, was dropped
on the ground.

“There’s a locket at your neck,” pursued Lawless relentlessly,
flashing his fiercely mocking eyes at the scowling Hotchkiss, “and I
must have that.”

The woman tore away her veil, revealing a middle-aged face that must
once have been very beautiful, and was even now comely withal the
lines of sorrow and suffering that crossed it.

A pair of hazel eyes pleaded for the locket, pleaded even more than
lips could have done, but fruitlessly.

Slowly the woman unclasped the golden chain, half-stretched the
round locket toward Lawless, then drew back the hand and pressed the
trinket to her bosom.

“No, no!” she gasped; “I would rather you took my life!”

Leaning suddenly forward in his saddle, Lawless caught the locket
away with brutal force.

“This is no time to go against my orders,” he snapped, as the woman,
utterly unnerved, sank back in her seat and covered her face with her
hands. “Drive on, you!” he added to the driver of the stage. “Don’t
stop until you have gone two miles, and don’t one of you dare to look
back while you are within gunshot of this place. You’ll be covered as
long as you’re within range--mark that!”

Chick Billings stooped down and picked up his lines.

“G’lang, ye pack o’ buzzards!” he spat out at the horses. “Git us out
o’ hyer in a hurry, or I’ll be cuttin’ loose an’ makin’ a fool o’
myself.”

Snap, snap went the whip about the leaders’ ears, and the four-horse
team bounded away.

Agreeably to orders, no one looked backward; but the final words of
the scoundrelly Lawless followed them:

“Buffalo Bill is in Sun Dance. Tell him how Captain Lawless made his
clean-up; and tell him that if he wants to follow me and my men, and
make a clean-up of his own, we’re only too anxious for him to try!”

What those in the wagon thought was not made known. Hotchkiss,
Lonesome Pete, and Chick Billings were furious; Reginald de Bray was
quiet and filled with a strange calm; the woman was crying softly in
her hands.

The trail made a curve at that point, to avoid a shallow offset of
Sun Dance Cañon. When the stage had got well around this curve, two
miles from the scene of the hold-up, and almost opposite it, Billings
jerked back on the bits, and brought his team to a stop.

“Why,” cried De Bray, starting up from his seat and looking backward,
“what’s become of the little Indian, Buffalo Bill’s pard?”

But Chick Billings was not thinking of Little Cayuse just then; nor
was Lonesome Pete, nor Hotchkiss.

“You ornery whelp!” breathed Billings, gripping De Bray about the
shoulders, “hyer’s whar ye gits yours, an’ git it plenty! Thar’s a
rope under the seat, Pete. Lay holt o’ it, an’ reave a noose in the
end. We ain’t fur from a tree hyer, an’ I reckons we know what ter
do!”

Without a word, the irate Pete reached under the seat.




                             CHAPTER XX.

                           DOUBLE-CROSSED.


“What’s the matter with you fellows, anyhow?” asked De Bray.

“Ye ain’t fit ter live,” said Lonesome Pete.

“That’s right,” cut in Hotchkiss. “Ye didn’t hev the nerve ter call
Lawless’ bluff, but had ter rough things up fer the little woman back
hyer.”

“You don’t understand the layout, my friends,” said De Bray, his eyes
twinkling and the shadow of a smile hovering about the corners of his
mouth.

His manner was one of cool unconcern. Billings, Pete, and Hotchkiss
could not understand him, but this did not in the least tend to
placate them. There had been a mysterious note in the tenderfoot’s
manner ever since the stage had left Montegordo. Billings, Pete, and
Hotchkiss, however, were in no mood to figure out a conundrum. Taking
De Bray as they found him, he was a pretty low-down proposition.

Pete, having brought out the rope, was engaged in making a slip-noose
in the end of it. Hotchkiss was pushing back his sleeves in a
businesslike way. Billings had firm hold of De Bray’s arm.

At this point, the woman leaned forward and dropped a trembling hand
on Billings’ shoulder.

“You are not going to hurt him?” she pleaded, in her soft, gentle
voice.

“It’ll be about as painless, mum, as sich things usually aire,” said
Hotchkiss.

“I am the cause of this,” she went on, “and I could not bear to think
that a human life has been sacrificed on my account.”

“He sure looks human,” said Lonesome Pete, trying the slip-knot with
his hands, “although he didn’t act it, not noways.”

“Anyhow,” spoke up De Bray, “you might put this off until we get to
Sun Dance--out of consideration for the lady’s feelings, if not for
mine.”

“The lady won’t see a thing,” said Billings. “The tree I referred to
is out o’ sight around them rocks.”

“I can tell you something,” pursued De Bray, “that will open your
eyes, but I don’t think it’s safe to let the secret out before we
reach Sun Dance.”

“Thet’s a play ter gain time,” averred Hotchkiss, “an’ it won’t go
down with _us_.”

“Your temper is hot just now,” said De Bray, “and all of you will
feel different when you give it a chance to cool.”

“I hopes,” growled Pete, “that when I see a real lady imposed on I’ll
allers have the sand ter take her part, whether I’m in temper or out
o’ it.”

Hotchkiss jumped from the wagon.

“Throw him out ter me, Chick,” said he.

“Please, please do not let this go any further,” said the woman,
stretching out her hands earnestly. “He did only what any one would
have done to save his life. What are a ring, and a locket, and two
hundred dollars compared with a human life? What you intend doing
would be a terrible thing--so terrible that I can hardly believe
you’re in earnest. For _my_ sake, spare him!”

Hotchkiss drew his sleeve over his forehead.

“Pussonly,” said he, “if the whelp ain’t hung, he ort ter be tarred
an’ feathered.”

“I ain’t never goin’ ter let it be said,” ground out Chick Billings,
who noted that Hotchkiss was wavering, “that anythin’ like what jest
happened took place on a stage o’ mine an’ me never doin’ nothin’ ter
play even.”

“I’d hate ter hev it said in Sun Dance,” said Pete, “that us fellers
allowed sich a whelp as this Easterner ter pollute the camp with his
presence--knowin’ the things about him that we do.”

“The hangin’,” finished Billings, “will purceed. Hotchkiss, ye kin
help er not, jest as ye please.”

“I’ll help, o’ course,” said Hotchkiss; “but it’s my natur’ allers
ter oblige er lady, when it’s possible. Sorry, mum,” he finished,
turning to the woman, “but ye see how it is.”

Reginald de Bray threw back his head and laughed. The mirth seemed
untimely.

“Quit it!” snorted Chick Billings. “Ye ort ter be sayin’ yer prayers,
’stead o’ laffin’.”

“You fellows force my hand,” answered De Bray. “Take your hands off
me for a minute, Billings, so I can show you something.”

“An’ when I let go my hands,” jeered Billings, “ye’ll make er break.”

“Hold a gun on me, one of you,” suggested De Bray.

Hotchkiss drew a revolver. As he leveled it, Billings released De
Bray. The latter, bending down, pulled up his trousers and drew
something from the top of his shoe. The object proved to be a roll of
bills. De Bray opened out the roll on his knee, and the eyes of those
about him began to widen.

The bill on top of the pile was of the $1,000 variety. As De Bray
thumbed over the rest of the bills, it was seen that they were all of
the same denomination.

“Waal, I’ll be jiggered!” muttered Billings.

“Wouldn’t thet rattle yer spurs?” gasped Pete.

“Thar’s money enough ter start a Fust National Bank,” commented the
astounded Hotchkiss.

“I was told in Montegordo,” explained De Bray, “that it was a little
bit reckless for a man to carry twenty thousand dollars in cash over
the trail between there and Sun Dance. But I’ve got to get to the
camp and see Buffalo Bill, and, inasmuch as I’ve usually been able to
take care of myself, I thought I’d risk it.

“I don’t think any of us expected to meet highwaymen. When Lonesome
Pete mentioned the subject, though, I thought it a good chance to
take time by the forelock, as the saying is, and make myself secure
against a possible surprise. So I asked the lady”--here he turned
with one of his rosy smiles toward the woman in the back seat--“to
hide my hundred in her bonnet, along with her own.

“I don’t think there’s the least doubt,” he went on, “but that the
little trick saved my twenty thousand for me. As soon as we get to
Sun Dance I shall reimburse the lady for the money and jewelry she
lost. All I can say at the present time is that----”

De Bray stopped suddenly. The attention of every one in the
mountain-wagon was focused upon De Bray and his pile of bills.
Abruptly a movement of swift feet was heard, followed by a frightened
jump on the part of the leaders of the team.

On the instant all eyes were lifted. A masked man, with a rifle slung
from his shoulders by a strap, was holding the leaders by the bits.
Beside the masked man stood Captain Lawless, he having reappeared on
that part of the trail as if by magic. Six masked men, with rifles at
their shoulders, had sprung up around the stage as though out of the
very ground.

“Sorry to bother you again,” said Lawless, “but I changed my plans
somewhat when I saw that gold locket, and I and my men have scrambled
across the arm of the cañon. If you hadn’t stopped here so long,
we shouldn’t have been able to overtake you. Lucky thing we did,
as twenty thousand is something of a haul. Right here is where you
fellows are going to get the double-cross.”

This second surprise was even more telling than the first had been.
Billings and the rest had not dreamed of encountering Lawless and his
gang a second time. It is popularly supposed that lightning never
strikes twice in the same place, yet here was proof to the contrary.

What was there about the woman’s locket to bring the road-agent and
his rascally followers across the arm of the cañon? Whatever it was,
the change in Lawless’ plan had worked out badly for De Bray. De Bray
had his $20,000 on his knee, and no subterfuge could now avail to
save the funds.

Billings, Pete, and Hotchkiss realized that they themselves were to
blame. If they had not halted so long on the road for the purpose
of palavering with De Bray, and if they had not forced him to an
explanation, his money might have been saved.

Hotchkiss had his revolver in his hand. The hand had dropped at his
side, and he was pondering the advisability of resistance. There were
eight of the road-agents--eight against three, and if resistance was
offered, the fight which followed would surely imperil the woman.
Hotchkiss, brave though he was, hesitated to do anything that would
endanger one of the gentler sex.

Lawless came closer to De Bray.

“For a tenderfoot,” said Lawless, “you’re a fine specimen of a fox;
but here’s where I call you. Fork over!”

He held out his hand.

“Bound to take what I’ve got, are you?” queried De Bray.

His tone was noticeably cool and his manner steady.

“The pickings were slim before,” flung back Lawless. “This will be a
raise worth while, and----”

At that instant something happened. Dropping the money into the
bottom of the stage, like lightning De Bray flung himself across the
forward wheel, gripped Lawless by the throat, and bore him to the
ground.

For an Easterner, inexperienced in Western ways, Reginald de Bray
showed an abnormal amount of pluck and rough-and-ready incentive.

Pete, Billings, and Hotchkiss were not slow in following up his
attack.

Hotchkiss, already on the ground, sprang to the side of the wagon and
pushed the woman into the bottom of the box.

“Down!” he cried, and no sooner had he placed the woman in
comparative safety than the rifles of the road-agents began to talk.

Bullets slapped into the side of the wagon, sang through the air, and
in other ways made their presence disagreeably apparent.

Lonesome Pete fired his six-shooter, and one of the masked men
dropped his rifle and fell face-downward; before he could fire again,
a piece of lead caught him in the shoulder and flung him down
against the dashboard, dazed, helpless, and out of the fight.

Billings, plying his whip frantically, tried to drive the leaders
over the man at their heads. The robber, although lifted from his
feet with every jump of the frightened horses, managed to keep his
hold.

One of the robbers rushed to the spot where De Bray was struggling
with the leader of the gang, and fetched the Easterner a blow with
the stock of his gun. De Bray pitched forward to the ground, and lay
silent.

Lawless jumped to his feet. A bullet from Hotchkiss’ revolver whipped
past his ear and struck the man at the horses’ heads. The man let go
his hold with a wild yell, and the four-horse team would have sped
onward but for Lawless.

The leader of the gang in no uncertain way demonstrated his prowess.
A bullet from one of his weapons tore its way through Hotchkiss’ arm,
and sent the miner reeling backward against the mountain-wagon.

The wagon was already leaping over the ground, and Hotchkiss slid
from the revolving rear wheel and sprawled full length across the
trail.

Quick as thought, Lawless made a flying jump for the driver’s seat,
and, as luck would have it, gained a position at Billings’ side.

A blow from the butt of his revolver sent Billings down on the
crouching form of Lonesome Pete, and Lawless caught the lines as they
were flickering over the dashboard.

Throwing himself back on the bits with all his strength, the leader
of the robbers brought the frantic horses to a halt.

The short, sharp battle was practically over. Numbers had won. De
Bray was still lying unconscious on the ground; Hotchkiss was lifting
himself on his uninjured arm, and staring at his revolver, which lay
at a distance from him; Pete and Billings were huddled against the
dashboard, and four masked men had their rifles leveled to prevent
any further act of resistance.

“Take the horses’ heads, one of you!” yelled Lawless. “No more
shooting; we’ve got this little game right where we want it.
The woman has fainted. Two of you take her and carry her to the
horses--one of you is enough to keep track of this bunch.”

While two of the scoundrels, swinging their rifles over their
shoulders, advanced and lifted the woman from the place where
Hotchkiss had put her, another went to the heads of the plunging
leaders.

The minute the man had the leaders well in hand, Lawless bent down,
collected the scattered bills, and stuffed them into his pocket.

The woman, limp and unconscious, was carried out of sight.

Lawless, grabbing Billings by the collar and jerking him upright,
stared venomously into his eyes.

“See what’s happened!” growled Lawless, “and you have only yourselves
to blame. Here’s something else for you to tell Buffalo Bill--and
it’s something more to make him take my trail and try for a clean-up.
That’s what I want. I’m ready for the king of scouts, and we’ll see
how he comes out. Meanwhile, here’s something for you to deliver to
Gentleman Jim, in Sun Dance--a locket, a ring, and a note. He’ll
understand. Tell him that Lawless never forgets his debts.”

By then, the two men who had carried away the woman reappeared. They
picked up the fallen desperado and likewise bore him out of sight
among the boulders.

Leaping down from the wagon, Lawless walked quickly to the man who
had been wounded by Hotchkiss. The fellow was sitting up at the
trailside. Lawless helped him to his feet and supported him toward
the rocks.

“That will do,” he called to the man with the gun and to the man who
was holding the horses. “Now for a quick getaway.”

By then, Chick Billings was able to take the lines. When the horses
were released, he held them where they were, and watched the robbers
vanish.

Following this, Chick Billings swore, easing his pent-up feelings
after the manner of stage-drivers generally.

“Pete!” he called.

“Hyer,” answered Pete.

“Bad hurt?”

“Nicked in the shoulder.”

“Waal, brace up, pard. We got ter git out o’ this. The quicker we git
ter Sun Dance an’ set a possé on the track o’ these hyer scoundrels,
the more show o’ success the possé’ll hev. I say, Hotchkiss!”

“Coming,” replied the miner, getting to his feet and picking up his
revolver. “Thet was brisk, while it lasted,” he said grimly, walking
toward De Bray.

“If thar’d been one or two more o’ us,” mourned Pete, “we might hev
had a diff’rent story ter tell in Sun Dance. How’s De Bray?”

“I’ll do,” De Bray himself answered, climbing slowly to his feet and
picking up his hat. “I--I never thought the butt of a musket was so
hard,” and he put both hands to the back of his head.

“Yer money is gone, De Bray,” announced Billings.

“So I supposed,” was the calm rejoinder.

“Look hyer,” cried Lonesome Pete, wincing with the pain of his wound,
but unable to repress his curiosity, “ye’re no tenderfoot. That dodge
ye worked, an’ the way ye went fer Lawless, proves thet.”

“Maybe I’m not a tenderfoot,” answered De Bray; “but that’s all you
lads need to know. How did Lawless and his gang manage to overhaul us
here?”

“They come across the arm o’ the gulch,” explained Billings. “The
stage-trail winds around the arm, an’ they made a short cut.”

“But why? My brain isn’t just as clear as it might be, and I can’t
figure it out.”

“None o’ the rest o’ us kin figger it out, either,” said Hotchkiss.
“Somethin’ about thet locket sent Lawless arter us ag’in--an’ arter
the woman.”

“The woman?” queried De Bray, startled.

“Yep; the villains took her away.”

“It’s a big mystery,” put in Billings. “Lawless left a note, the
ring, an’ the locket fer me ter take ter Gentleman Jim.”

“Who’s Gentleman Jim?” asked De Bray.

“He’s erbout the only squar’ gambler I knows anythin’ erbout. He
hangs out in Sun Dance, an’ is a friend o’ Buffler Bill’s.”

“They came back to get the woman,” mused De Bray, “and they got here
just in time to see me showing you fellows all that money.”

“We’re some ter blame, I reckon,” said Hotchkiss. “If we hadn’t
stopped hyer as long as we did, roughin’ things up with you, this
wouldn’t hev happened. It give Lawless an’ his outfit a chance ter
come up with us ag’in.”

“I can’t blame you,” answered De Bray; “it certainly seemed pretty
low-down, the way I acted. The thing looked wrong, but needed an
explanation to set it right. The quicker we get to Sun Dance, the
better.”

“Right ye aire,” seconded Pete. “Climb in, you two, an’ we’ll vamose.”

De Bray and Hotchkiss got into the wagon and took the second seat.

“I don’t reckon it ’u’d do us any good ter try ter see whar thet gang
went with ther woman, hey?” said Pete.

“Thar ain’t any o’ us in shape ter foller the whelps,” answered
Hotchkiss. “We’ll git ter Sun Dance an’ lay the hull play before
Buffler Bill. He’ll know what ter do if any one will.”

“You _bet_!” emphasized Pete.

“Besides,” struck in Billings, as he set the horses to a gallop, “one
o’ Buffler Bill’s pards is somehow mixed up in this.”

“Meanin’ Little Cayuse?” asked Pete.

“Who else?” returned Billings.

“Blame’ queer whar thet kid went ter, all of a sudden. He must hev
got out o’ the wagon before Lawless an’ his gang come down on us,
thet fust time. Anyways, it seems sure Lawless didn’t see him.”

“Maybe he was scared,” hazarded De Bray.

“Him? Scared?” Pete threw back his head and laughed huskily. “Why,
De Bray, thet leetle Piute is skeer-proof. More’n likely he got an
idee in his heathen mind, an’ laid out ter kerry it through. He’ll be
heerd of, if I’m any prophet.”

“Well,” muttered De Bray, “I’m out twenty thousand, but I’d say
good-by to the money with pleasure if we could only have that little
lady back in this wagon with us.”

“I’d have stopped a bullet with my other arm for that,” put in
Hotchkiss.

“Too bloomin’ bad!” growled Pete, trying to tie up his shoulder with
a handkerchief. “Whyever did he want ter take the woman away with
him, this hyer whelp of a Lawless? He wasn’t figgerin’ on thet the
fust time.”

“Thet locket had everythin’ ter do with it,” said Billings.

“That letter you’re to take to Gentleman Jim may give us a clue to
the scoundrel’s actions,” suggested De Bray.

“Thet’s what I’m hopin’,” remarked Hotchkiss.

“You say this Gentleman Jim is a square gambler, and a friend of the
scout’s?”

“Yes. He got mixed up with ther scout in the matter o’ the Forty
Thieves Mine, an’ it was Lawless as done the mixin’. At fust, it
seems, Lawless trusted Gentleman Jim; an’ then, bekase Gentleman Jim
did ther squar’ thing, Lawless got a grudge at him. Runnin’ off ther
woman has somethin’ ter do with thet grudge, an’ I’ll bet money on
it.”

“We’ll know more,” spoke up De Bray, through his clenched teeth,
“before we’re many hours older.”

And in this De Bray was right.




                            CHAPTER XXI.

                   BUFFALO BILL AND GENTLEMAN JIM.


Unaware of the exciting events transpiring on the Montegordo trail,
the little adobe camp of Sun Dance lay sweltering in peaceful quiet
on its “flat” half-way up the wall of Sun Dance Cañon.

In front of the Lucky Strike Hotel Spangler was dozing in the shade,
wondering, whenever he opened his drowsy eyes and had a lucid
thought, why in Sam Hill the stage did not show up.

Old Nomad and Wild Bill were playing a game of seven-up in the room
of the Lucky Strike, which was called, by virtue of its function, the
“office.”

Dell Dauntless was in a room off the office, reading a book to
Wah-coo-tah, who was sitting up in a chair, blanketed and pillowed.

In Gentleman Jim’s private room in the Alcazar the scout and the
gambler were talking.

As a rule, the king of scouts had no more use for a gambler than he
had for any other robber, but there was something about the quiet,
polished Gentleman Jim, and his reputation for “squareness,” that
attracted the scout. Then, too, Gentleman Jim was a good deal of a
mystery, and there is always something attractive about a mystery.

Gentleman Jim had a “past,” but, up to that moment, he had never
spoken to any one about it. The scout, it may be observed, was with
the other at the gambler’s own request. Evidently, Jim had something
on his mind of which he wished to relieve himself.

The two men had lighted cigars, and were smoking as they talked.

“It’s history now, Buffalo Bill,” the gambler was saying, “how
Lawless sent to me a deed for the Forty Thieves Mine, executed in
your name, with the understanding that the mine was to be yours if
you went out to it and remained for three consecutive days and nights
in its shaft and underground workings; it’s history, too, how you
went there, fell into a trap Lawless had set for you, and were only
saved from death by Wah-coo-tah; and it’s history how Lawless and his
men escaped, and are now at large, still laying their traps to get
the best of you--and me.”

“Laying their traps to get the best of _you_?” repeated the scout,
puzzled. “I don’t understand it that way. What has Lawless got
against you? Didn’t he send that deed to you, trusting you with it,
and telling you to turn it over to me as soon as I had remained in
the mine for the three days and nights?”

“That is why he has taken a grudge against me--for giving you the
deed.”

“You only carried out his instructions.”

“I know that; but there is something you do not know, Buffalo Bill,
and I have brought you here to tell you about it. You thought Lawless
had been seriously, perhaps mortally, wounded, at the time you and
your pards escaped from the mine?”

The scout nodded.

“Well, I don’t think he was even severely wounded. At any rate,
while you were in the mine, staying out the three days and nights, I
received a letter from Lawless.”

“A letter?” echoed the scout. “Why didn’t you tell me about that
before, Gentleman Jim?”

“It was a threatening letter, and I didn’t want to bother you with
it. Lawless, it appears, had gigged back on his proposition. He said
you had gone to the mine, and you had not stayed there for the length
of time he had specified. That it had not been his intention to give
you two trials, and that, consequently, when you went back to the
mine the second time, and stayed out the required three days, you
were not fulfilling your part of the contract. Of course, it was only
a quibble. Lawless had seen that he had failed to play even with you,
and that he was going to lose the mine. In his letter to me, he said
that if I did not leave the deed on a black boulder at the foot of
Medicine Bluff on the night the letter reached my hands, he would put
me on his blacklist along with you, and deal with me accordingly.” A
slight smile curled the gambler’s lips. “I was not intimidated. When
you had stayed in the mine the length of time agreed on, I gave you
the deed; you made out another deed to Wah-coo-tah Lawless, and the
Forty Thieves now stands, in the recorder’s office at Montegordo, in
the name of Wah-coo-tah. It is out of Lawless’ hands.”

“The mine should belong to Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout, “and you did
exactly right, Gentleman Jim. Lawless is a contemptible scoundrel,
with no more heart in him than a timber-wolf. In losing the mine, he
got his come-up-with for that part of his trickery.”

“I am not afraid of Lawless. But what is Wah-coo-tah going to do with
the mine, Buffalo Bill? She knows no more about mining than a babe in
arms.”

“I have foreseen that part of the difficulty,” the scout returned.
“A friend of mine in Denver, by the name of Reginald de Bray----”

“Reginald de Bray!” laughed Gentleman Jim. “That sounds as though
there wasn’t much of a man back of it.”

“Exactly; and the name has fooled more people than I know how to tell
about. De Bray looks the part, too. He is a mining-man, however,
and one in a thousand. I have interested him in the Forty Thieves,
and have advised Wah-coo-tah to sell him a half-interest for twenty
thousand dollars, and then to let De Bray go ahead and develop the
property. He’ll do it, and give Wah-coo-tah every cent that is coming
to her. My last advices from De Bray assured me that he would be here
on the afternoon stage. I sent Little Cayuse to Montegordo to see if
he reached there, and, if he did not, to forward a telegram to him,
telling him to hurry. Little Cayuse will also come in on the stage.

“Whenever De Bray travels, he takes it upon himself to act as
guileless as he looks, and as his name suggests him to be. This is a
whim of his, but he turns it to good account, now and again. He’ll
be here, I’m sure, and then the matter of the Forty Thieves Mine can
be wound up, and I and my pards can take to the trail and finish our
affair with Lawless.”

“You’re going to run Lawless to earth?”

“I am; and I shall not leave this part of the country until I have
done so.”

Gentleman Jim got up and took a thoughtful turn about the room. The
scout watched him curiously. Suddenly the gambler came to a halt in
front of the scout.

“Buffalo Bill,” said he, “I presume you are aware that all gamblers
are more or less superstitious and given to premonitions. I have a
premonition that there is something on the cards for me, important
if not vital. What it is I do not know, but events are forming which
will make or mar me. If the worst happens, I have ten thousand
dollars in the First National at Montegordo--honest money, not even
won by the cards in honest games--and this I want you to hold in
trust. I have drawn a check for the amount in your name; if need
arise, you will find the check here.”

Gentleman Jim stepped to his desk, and pulled out a concealed drawer.
The scout nodded, and the gambler closed the drawer.

“I am to hold the money in trust--for whom?” Buffalo Bill asked.

A sad look crossed the gambler’s face.

“For the only woman I ever loved,” he answered, sinking into a chair;
“for my wife, Alice Brisco, if she is living.”

“How am I to find her?”

“We must leave that to fate,” Gentleman Jim answered, with a
foreboding shake of the head. “All I know about Alice you will find
in that drawer, with the check. If the money is never claimed, it is
to be yours.”

“You’re gloomy to-day, old man,” said Buffalo Bill. “This talk of
premonitions is all foolishness.”

“Not in this case,” asserted the gambler, with vehemence. “Something,
for good or ill, is going to happen to me and make a decided change
in my affairs. If the worst comes, you are the one man I know whom I
can trust.”

Seeing that Gentleman Jim was deeply impressed by his forebodings,
the scout remained silent. For a long time they sat, smoking and
gazing thoughtfully into the wreathes of vapor that floated about
them.

“What a fool a man can sometimes make of himself!” the gambler
exclaimed abruptly. “Five years ago I was a physician, in an Eastern
city, with a large practise, a loving wife, a happy home--everything
a man could need to have comfort and make life a success. The
gambling fever took hold of me--perhaps it was in my blood, and had
to come out. Be that as it may, I neglected my practise for the
cards, losing--losing all the time--money, friends, reputation. My
wife’s people heard how I was going, and took Alice away from me. I
promised to do better, and she came back. Once more I went to the
dogs, and she left me for good. Getting together the remnants of my
fortune, I sent the pitiable sum to Alice, then I came West and made
gambling my profession. I have tried to be square, and have been
fairly successful. But what is it all worth, Buffalo Bill, compared
to the love and companionship of a woman? There is no happiness for
me, and never has been since I cut away from every tie that made life
worth living.”

The gambler, stirred by some slumbering impulse, got up and once more
began pacing the room.

“This,” he went on, “is what the cards have done for me. They have
robbed me of everything that made existence worth while, and here
I am in Sun Dance, an outcast, a pariah, a human bird of prey that
wrings the wherewithal to live from the honest toil of others.
I--I----”

He stopped, one clenched hand lifted in air. The hand dropped
nervelessly, and he broke off with a bitter laugh.

“What’s the use of crying over spilled milk?” he added. “I have made
my game, and I must play it through. What I have said, Buffalo Bill,
is between ourselves. No other man has ever heard it from my lips
before--and I speak now because I trust you.”

“Your trust, Gentleman Jim,” returned the scout, with feeling, “shall
not be betrayed.”

The gambler started to say something more, then suddenly wheeled
about and peered through a window.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed, startled. “The stage is coming into camp,
and it looks as though they had had trouble of some kind.”

“Is there a stranger aboard?” inquired the scout, starting up.

“Yes.”

“Ah! That will be De Bray. And Little Cayuse?”

“I can’t see him.”

The scout’s brow clouded.

“His orders were to come in with to-day’s stage,” said he, “and
Little Cayuse never disobeys orders. You’re right, Jim, something
surely has gone wrong.”

With that, the scout hurried from the room, through the deserted
Alcazar and out into the street, Gentleman Jim following curiously.




                            CHAPTER XXII.

                      LETTER, RING, AND LOCKET.


The sides of the mountain-wagon were splintered in several places,
and the only one of the wagon’s four passengers who did not show any
visible signs of wear and tear was the mild-faced stranger who sat in
front with Chick Billings.

Billings had bound a handkerchief around his head, over the bruise
made by the butt of Lawless’ revolver, and Hotchkiss wore a bandage
around his arm, while Pete was similarly decorated at the shoulder.

Buffalo Bill and Gentleman Jim appeared to be the only two who had
glimpsed the stage. Spangler dozed in front of the hotel, and Wild
Bill and Nomad shuffled, and dealt and played, oblivious of the fact
that the stage was coming, and that it had met with any trouble.

“Buffler Bill, by hokey!” cried Chick Billings.

“Ye’re the feller we’re lookin’ fer!” chimed in Lonesome Pete.

“You bet y’u!” added Hotchkiss.

The moment Billings drew to a halt, De Bray tumbled over the wheel
and grabbed the scout’s welcoming hand.

“Hello, Cody!” cried the Denver man. “You’re looking husky as ever.”

“Feeling that way,” answered the scout, with a smile. “You appear to
stack up pretty well, De Bray.”

“Then I stack up a whole lot better than I feel. I’ve got a lump on
the back of my head as big as your fist, and a hole in my pocket as
big as a tunnel.”

“A hole in your pocket?”

“It was big enough for twenty thousand to slip through.”

“Why--why, I thought ye didn’t know Buffler Bill?” gasped Lonesome
Pete.

“He was sayin’,” added Hotchkiss, “that he wanted Buffler Bill ter
take his little hand an’ show him the sights. Woof! Darned if he
ain’t deceived us all around.”

“What happened to you fellows, anyhow?” asked the scout. “It’s a
clear case that something went wrong. Did the stage slip over the rim
of the cañon?”

“Worse’n thet,” said Chick Billings. “We met Lawless an’ his gang
twicet.”

“Fust time wasn’t so bad,” added Pete, one hand wandering to his
injured shoulder; “but the second time--wow! Say, thar was fireworks,
ground-an’-lofty tumblin’, an’ a hull lot o’ other trimmin’s.”

“Do you mean to say you’ve been through a hold-up?” demanded Buffalo
Bill, his brow clouding, “and that Lawless was back of it?”

“He wasn’t back o’ it, Buffler Bill,” said Pete, “not as any one
could notice. He was right up front, mighty conspickerous.”

“Did he appear to be injured in any way?”

“Injured? Him? Waal, not so’s ter interfere with his moving about. He
was mighty soople; an’ the way he got around was a caution. I know
what ye’re thinkin’, Buffler Bill. Ye’re thinkin’ how Hank Blake,
from Pass Dure Cañon, allowed he’d notched Lawless, mebby fer keeps.
But the whelp didn’t show any signs. He seemed as well as ever, an’
about twicet as active.”

“This is a pretty layout,” muttered Buffalo Bill. “How many men were
with Lawless?”

“Seven; but thar ain’t so many, by one,” came from Hotchkiss. “Pete
dropped one of ’em, an’ I put another on the retired list.”

“An’ he sent word ter you, Buffler,” spoke up Pete; “Lawless did. He
said ye was ter be told he’d made er clean-up, an’ thet he was achin’
ter hev you trail arter him an’ his gang an’ try ter make a clean-up
o’ yer own.”

“Then he’ll get what he wants,” said the scout grimly.

“Ain’t got so many passengers as we left Montegordo with by two,”
mourned Billings.

“How’s that?” the scout asked quickly. “I was expecting Cayuse back
on this stage, and----”

“Waal, he left ’Gordo with the stage, all right, an’ he was roostin’
on ther back seat with the mail an’ ther luggage up to jest afore
we hit Lawless fer the fust time. About then ther leetle Piute
disappeared.”

“Did Lawless or his men see him, do you know?”

“I reckon not; Cayuse was gone when ther gang come down on us.”

The scout’s face cleared.

“The boy’s all right,” said he; “he scented trouble, and ten to one
he’s trailing the gang. We’ll hear from him. But you spoke of two
passengers. Who was the other?”

“T’other was a woman----”

“A woman!” exclaimed both the scout and Gentleman Jim, becoming
mightily interested.

“Exactly,” said Billings.

“Did the woman disappear with Little Cayuse?” asked the scout.

“Nary, she didn’t. I wisht it had been thet away, but it wasn’t.
Lawless had her kerried off, second time he come down on us.”

“The scoundrel!” muttered the scout between his teeth, his eyes
flashing. “What was the woman’s name?”

“She didn’t say what her name was.”

“Why was she coming to Sun Dance?”

“Lookin’ fer a man, I think, jedgin’ from somethin’ she said; an’ I
reckon, also, jedgin’ from somethin’ else she said, thet she wasn’t
more’n half-expectin’ ter find the man.”

“Well,” said the scout briskly, “tell us the whole of this, and tell
it quick. You, Hotchkiss. Time is scarce, and we want the important
points.”

Hotchkiss jumped into the recital, and carried it through quickly.
What made the greatest impression on the scout and the gambler was
that part of the story which had to do with the ring and the locket.

“I’ll take them, and the letter,” said Gentleman Jim, stretching out
his hand.

Billings handed him the locket. At the mere sight of it Gentleman
Jim’s face went pallid. Opening it quickly, he stared with glassy
eyes at two pictures the locket revealed, a low groan dropped from
his lips, and he staggered back.

“What is it, Jim?” asked the scout, stepping toward the gambler.

Gentleman Jim did not reply. Apparently beside himself, he did not
wait for the note and the ring, but turned about unsteadily and
reeled into the Alcazar.

Those in the buckboard, and around it, stared after him.

“I never seen Gentleman Jim in sich a takin’ as thet afore,” mumbled
Chick Billings.

“What ails him, anyways?” asked Pete.

“Mebby the woman was some kin o’ his,” suggested Hotchkiss.

“Possibly,” answered the scout shortly. “Give me the ring and the
note; and I’ll take them to him in a few moments.”

Billings tendered the remaining two articles to the scout, and he
dropped them into his pocket.

“Drive on to the post-office and the hotel, Billings,” went on the
scout. “Wild Bill and Nomad are at the hotel--tell them just what you
have told me, and say that I want them to get our horses ready for
the trail. It’s the war-path for us, and _muy pronto_. First, though,
I must have a talk with Gentleman Jim. This note may contain clues of
some value. De Bray,” he added, to the Denver man, “you’re playing in
hard luck----”

“That wasn’t all of my pile, though,” cut in De Bray; “remember, I’m
still in on the deal as soon as I can get more dinero from home.”

“We’ll talk of that later. Go on to the hotel and introduce yourself
to my pards there. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

The stage trundled on. De Bray walking beside it, and the scout
hurried into the Alcazar, through the big, deserted gambling-hall to
the door of Gentleman Jim’s private room.

The door was open. Through it he could see the gambler, seated at
his desk. His head was bowed in his arms, and the locket lay open in
front of him.

It was hardly a time to intrude on a man, unnerved by grief as the
gambler was at that moment, but other matters connected with Lawless
were pressing.

The scout entered the room and passed to the gambler’s side.

“Jim!”

The gambler locked up with a start.

“I’m glad you came, Cody,” said he, in a hoarse voice. “See, here.”
He picked up the locket. It contained two pictures, one of a
fair-faced woman and the other plainly that of Gentleman Jim himself.
“This--this,” faltered the gambler, “belonged to Alice! It was she
whom those scoundrels stole away--and to play even with me on account
of that mine!”

“We’ll talk of that later, Jim,” said the scout, laying the ring
on the table and dropping the note beside it. “There are the other
two things Billings brought. Let’s read the note. It may contain
something of importance.”

Although the note was the main thing in Buffalo Bill’s mind, and
the contents of it what he wanted to get at as quickly as possible,
yet he could not show impatience when Gentleman Jim picked up the
wedding-ring first.

“This was Alice’s,” said he, in a low voice. “I gave it to her--it
seems as though that was in another life and in another world.
Look!”--and he held up the gold band and indicated some tiny
lettering on the inside--“there’s my name and hers--‘James to Alice,’
and the date. Sad memories, Buffalo Bill,” said he, with a long sigh,
dropping the ring beside the locket.

“She must have been coming here to you,” said the scout.

“Yes--coming to me!” Gentleman Jim’s eyes flashed murderously. “And
now to have Lawless strike such a blow at my happiness, to---- But
I’ll find her! By Heaven, I’ll follow that scoundrel to the ends of
earth, if necessary, and get Alice away from him. Then I’ll make him
pay--pay to the uttermost.”

“That’s the way to talk, Gentleman Jim,” approved the scout. “I
intend to take the trail just as soon as we can get our plans into
working shape. The note may guide us. Read it.”

Gentleman Jim picked up the note and read it aloud.

  “‘GENTLEMAN JIM, Sun Dance.

  “‘You have probably heard, by now, how I held up the stage. I took
  from your wife what money she had, and all her jewelry--which
  didn’t amount to much. Of course, until I saw your picture in
  the locket, I hadn’t any idea the woman was your wife. Having
  discovered this, my scheme is laid to take her away from the stage
  and hold her until a deed, properly executed to me by Wah-coo-tah
  Lawless, for the Forty Thieves Mine, is left on the black boulder
  at Medicine Bluff. The girl, under care of Buffalo Bill’s girl
  pard, I understand is getting well, there in Sun Dance. You can
  have the deed executed at once, and leave it for me at midnight,
  to-night, at the place stated. On the day following, your wife will
  be given a horse and sent into camp. If you do not leave the deed,
  as stated, you will never see your wife again. This is the last
  call.

                                                 “‘CAPTAIN LAWLESS.’”

“The inhuman brute!” broke from the scout’s lips.

“You understand the situation, Buffalo Bill?” asked the gambler. “I
am so overcome by what has happened that I am hardly able to think or
plan. But your head is clear. Put yourself in my place, then do for
me as you would do for yourself.”

“In the first place,” said the scout, after a few moments’ thought,
“Lawless is not a man to be trusted, anyway we plan.”

“I know that,” breathed Gentleman Jim.

“Even if you allowed him to intimidate you, and even if Wah-coo-tah
would give a deed, if the document was taken to Medicine Bluff
to-night, you have no assurance that you could trust Lawless to send
your wife here to-morrow.”

“I understand.”

“It seems to me, then,” pursued the scout, “that the one thing to do
is to take Lawless’ trail at the earliest possible moment.”

“Where shall we pick it up?”

“At the place where the trail curves around the arm of the gulch.”

“But how shall we follow the trail when we once find it? Lawless is
cunning. He will blind his course.”

“Little Cayuse will help us.”

“Ah! I had forgotten Little Cayuse. You think the boy is on the track
of the gang?”

“I am as sure of that as I am that I stand here this minute. It is
just like Cayuse. He scented trouble before the first hold-up, and he
got out of the stage before the thieves saw him. It’s a safe bet that
he’s on the track of Lawless right now.”

“I believe you are right,” mused the gambler. “Cayuse is our one
hope. If he cannot help us find Lawless, no one and nothing else can.
The scoundrel has laid other plans to get even with you, Buffalo
Bill, and he will be wary in carrying them out. He will profit
by past experience, and will make sure he has you safe before he
strikes.”

“He is not counting on Little Cayuse,” said the scout grimly, “and we
are. The boy has never yet failed me.”

“Lawless is eager for you to follow him,” pursued the gambler; “that
was the word he sent by Billings.”

“That was only bluster,” said the scout lightly. “Lawless’ weak point
is bluster. He lays clever plans, but he usually overreaches himself.
Offering to give me the Forty Thieves Mine if I would stay in it for
three days and nights is only a sample of his harebrained schemes.”

“What a cur the scoundrel must be,” growled Gentleman Jim, “to take
such trinkets from a woman!”

“He was no more of a cur then than he was when he shot his own
daughter,” said the scout.

“I suppose not, but what has happened to-day hits me nearer home. If
I can get Alice back----”

“You can,” said the scout, with quiet confidence.

“Well, when I do, I shall change my whole course of life. I shall
never touch another card as long as I live. Alice and I will go back
East, and I will return to my old profession and make another name
for myself. I am only forty-five----”

“Just in your prime, Gentleman Jim!” interposed the scout heartily.

“Not too old to carve out another place for myself, do you think?”

“Certainly not!” and the scout reached over and caught his friend’s
hand in a hearty grip. “You have too good stuff in you to waste your
talents on cards and the green table.”

“Well, let us think for a little.” The gambler settled back in his
chair. “The first hold-up gave Lawless the ring and the locket. He
saw my picture in the locket, and my first name in the ring. From
that it was easy for him to figure out that Alice was my wife, and
that she was going to me at Sun Dance. By cutting across the arm
of the gulch, he and his men could overtake the stage. On the way,
Lawless wrote that note. When he came up with the stage, he found
those aboard wrangling over what they were going to do to your
friend, De Bray.”

“They had got over wrangling, I reckon,” said the scout. “De Bray had
shown them twenty one-thousand-dollar bills, and had explained his
actions. De Bray’s intentions were all right, and he would have won
out, and nothing would have happened, if Billings hadn’t insisted on
stopping the stage. As it is, Mrs. Brisco is missing, and so is De
Bray’s twenty thousand, along with a little more money belonging to
Pete and Hotchkiss. This ‘clean-up’ of mine, as Lawless has referred
to it, is going to be comprehensive.” The scout’s eyes flashed
resolutely. “We are not only going to rescue Mrs. Brisco, but we are
also going to get back De Bray’s money, and wind up the career of
Lawless into the bargain.”

Gentleman Jim, suddenly alert and feverishly eager, bounded to his
feet.

“When do we start?” he asked.

“As soon as we can get ready. I believe my old pard must be getting
the horses under saddle now.”

“I’ll be ready by the time you are,” said the gambler.

Opening the secret drawer, he started to put the locket and the ring
into it; then, changing his mind, he put only the ring into the
drawer, and placed the locket in an inside pocket of his coat.

“Great events,” said Buffalo Bill, “sometimes hang upon trifling
incidents.”

He had reference to Lawless’ getting the locket, looking at the
pictures inside, and suddenly making up his mind to overhaul the
stage and spirit away the gambler’s wife.

At the same time, the placing of the locket in his breast pocket by
Gentleman Jim, though a trifling incident, was destined to have a
vital bearing on the trend of the gambler’s affairs.

Leaving Gentleman Jim to make his preparations, the scout hurried out
of the Alcazar and off down the street toward the Lucky Strike Hotel.

Spangler was wabbling excitedly about in front of his hostelry,
spluttering his ideas and opinions regarding the double hold-up to
Dell Dauntless. At sight of the scout, the girl ran toward him, her
eyes sparkling.

“At last, pard,” she cried, “your chance has come to bring things to
a finish in this matter of Captain Lawless.”

“Right you are, Dell,” he answered: “and the chance has come somewhat
before I had expected it.”

“Of course I’m going with you,” said Dell.

“Who will stay with Wah-coo-tah?”

“She says she can take care of herself now, and wants me to go.”

“You understand don’t you, Dell, that Lawless expects us to follow
him, and that he has probably prepared another of his ingenious traps
for us?”

“I understand; but this trap, whatever it is, will fail, just as that
other one did at the mine.”

“Of course! But I think I would rather you stayed here. We have men
enough, you know.”

“This is the last time I shall ever ride with you, pard,” said
Dell. “I am going back to Arizona, you know, as soon as Lawless is
captured. You’re going to let me go, aren’t you? For the last time?”

Dell’s intention of returning to Arizona had been talked over among
the pards for several days. Dell’s ranch, the “Double D,” was needing
her, and she and the rest of the pards were near the time when their
trails forked. Under those conditions, the scout could not deny the
girl her wish.

“All right, Dell,” said Buffalo Bill, “but I hope this ride will not
be the last we have together.”

“I thought it would be all right,” said Dell, “so I asked Nomad and
Wild Bill to bring up Silver Heels with the rest of the horses.”

Dell ran into the hotel to make ready, and just as the scout was
turning away he saw a fog of dust down the street. Two riders soon
broke out of the fog, and had evidently ridden into camp from the
upper rim of the cañon.

One of the riders was Hank Tenny, and the other was a Cheyenne Indian.

Both horsemen drew to a halt in front of Buffalo Bill.

“What’s to pay, Hank?” queried Buffalo Bill, staring at Tenny’s face
keenly. “Got something up your sleeve?”

“Not me, Buffler,” replied Tenny, “but the red has.” He turned to the
Cheyenne. “Out with it, Hawk,” said he. “Here’s the scout, the feller
ye was wantin’ ter find.”

The Indian leaned forward from the back of his horse, jerked a strip
of birch-bark from his girdle, and thrust it into the scout’s hand.

“Little Cayuse send um,” said he. “Me heap good Cheyenne, all same
friend Little Cayuse, Buff’ Bill. Me bring um.”




                           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, dropping into 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 it might 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, in _that_ rig?” 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.”




                            CHAPTER XXIV.

                    ON THE WAY TO MEDICINE BLUFF.


“What do you fellows mean by trying to cut me out like this?” cried
Reginald de Bray, as he spurred alongside the scout and his pards.
There was more of jest than rebuke in his voice, however, as became
apparent when he added: “You know, I’m in on this deal to the tune of
twenty thousand.”

“Well, De Bray,” laughed the scout, “I had supposed that maybe that
lump on the back of your head was giving you trouble, and that you
were willing to trust me to look after your twenty thousand and stay
in Sun Dance along with Hotchkiss and Pete.”

“It was a stiff blow I got on the back of my head, but it wasn’t hard
enough to knock me out of a picnic like this.”

“This won’t be much of a picnic,” said Wild Bill, with a sarcastic
look at the Denver man’s clothes. “You look like you were got up for
a hoe down.”

“Bother the clothes!” exclaimed De Bray; “the time was short, and I
couldn’t change them. I bought this gun and forty rounds”--he slapped
his new rifle and the ammunition-belt at his waist--“and then went
with a man to buy this horse. All that was necessary, of course, and
while I was about it you fellows came within one of giving me the
slip. Here I am, though, with one eye out for trouble and the other
scanning the hazy distance for my lost dinero. Lawless overlooked my
watch during that double mix-up we had with him, and I had to pledge
it for the gun, the ammunition, the horse, and the riding-gear.”

“You needn’t have done that, De Bray,” said the scout. “You could
have had the outfit charged to me.”

“Didn’t have time to think of that,” caroled the Denver man blithely.

“You act,” said Wild Bill, somewhat mystified by the way the Denver
man carried himself, “as though losing twenty thousand was an
every-day affair with you.”

“If I do, then I’m acting a whole lot different from what I feel.
Twenty thousand is quite a bunch of money, but if I never saw it
again it wouldn’t break me.”

When they had climbed to the rim of the cañon, Buffalo Bill resigned
the lead to Gentleman Jim and Tenny, who were both perfectly familiar
with the country and competent to lay a straight course for Medicine
Bluff.

These two rode in the lead: behind them came Dell and the scout, then
Nomad, and lastly Wild Bill and De Bray, the two latter hobnobbing
as they rode and getting better acquainted. Wild Bill found, as did
every one else with whom the Denver man came in contact, that his
stirrup companion improved upon acquaintance.

“I wish I could understand the whole of that picture Little Cayuse
drew for us,” remarked Dell, as they galloped across the level
country that stretched northwesterly from Sun Dance Cañon.

“What bothers you, pard?” queried the scout.

“That ‘marginal note,’ as you called it,” replied Dell. “What do
those mule’s ears mean?”

“If it comes to that,” laughed the scout, “they may not be mule’s
ears.”

“If they’re anything else, then the mystery is only deepened.”

“Let’s forget the mystery, for now. The main part of the diagram is
clear enough, and Medicine Bluff lies ahead of us.”

“I suppose, Buffler,” sang out the old trapper from behind, “thet
ther nub o’ this pizen bizness is gittin’ ther woman back.”

“That’s the main point, Nick,” answered the scout. “After that, we
can think of the money lost by those on the stage. The woman must be
safely rescued.”

“I wish ter thunder, pard,” went on Nomad, “thet ye’d sent me ter
Montegordo along with Cayuse. Ef ye had, ’stead o’ settin’ in ther
Lucky Strike Hotel, watchin’ Hickok put et all over me at this game
they calls seven-up, I’d er been mixed in with things wuth while.
Seems like excitement has been side-steppin’ from in front er me ever
sence thet fracas at ther Forty Thieves.”

“Which was as many as seven days ago,” returned the scout. “Can’t you
stand a week’s lull, Nick?”

“I dunno, pard. I’m so used ter things happenin’ thet ef a day comes
in an’ slides out without somethin’ doin’, I begins ter think trouble
hes took er vacation. So fur Leetle Cayuse appears ter be hevin’ all
ther fun.”

“You may have all the ‘fun’ you want, and more, too, before we have
run out this trail.”

“Here’s hopin’,” said the old warrior.

The sun had set about the time the party left the top of Sun Dance
Cañon; the darkness deepened, the stars lighted up in the vault, and
a crescent moon began to brighten. Night was no bar to the ready
knowledge of Gentleman Jim and Hank Tenny, however, and they led the
scout and his pards along a bee-line as near as the nature of the
country would permit.

Three hours of saddle-work brought the riders into rough country;
low hills, bare and sterile, but steep-sided, surrounded them--hills
where time was saved by going around rather than by seeking to climb
over.

At last, four hours out of Sun Dance, Tenny and Gentleman Jim drew
rein in a shallow valley, and waited for those behind to catch up.

“We’re close to Medicine Bluff,” announced Gentleman Jim. “It is no
more than a mile from here, and this valley divides into two branches
just ahead of us. The right-hand fork will bring us out at the
western foot of the Bluff, and the left-hand fork will land us on the
eastern side. There’s a slope on the eastern side by which the top of
the Bluff can be reached, but it seems to me that the western side
would be the one where the outlaws are most likely to be found. Which
course shall we take, Buffalo Bill? It’s up to you.”

“We’ll take both forks of the valley,” answered the scout promptly.

“You mean-----”

“I mean that we’ll divide into two parties. If the scoundrels we
seek are hiding around the Bluff, and if they have laid any sort
of a trap, we can bother them by riding into their game in two
detachments. Tenny and you, Gentleman Jim, are familiar with the
country, so you’ll have to be separated. Tenny, Dell, and I will
travel the left-hand fork; that will leave you, Nomad, Wild Bill, and
De Bray to go to the right. Your force will be a little stronger than
ours, but it may be that you are going into more dangerous ground. We
can come together again at the Bluff.”

“Correct!” exclaimed Gentleman Jim. “This clean-up, Buffalo Bill,
must be finished to-night. The--the prisoner must not be left in
the hands of that gang a minute longer than necessary. I have ten
thousand dollars for the man who brings her to me before sunrise----”

“Jim,” interrupted the scout, “not one of us would take your money.
We’ll work just as hard for you as though there was a million dollars
at stake.”

“That’s like you, Buffalo Bill,” said Gentleman Jim; “and right here
I want you all to know that the prisoner is my wife.”

Startled exclamations came from those not in the secret, and in the
midst of the surprise Gentleman Jim used his spurs and started along
the valley.

“Come on,” he flung back over his shoulder, “all those who are to
travel with me.”

Nomad, Wild Bill, and De Bray detached themselves from the party
and galloped after the gambler. Tenny, Buffalo Bill, and the girl
watched them vanish into the darkness that lay like a pall over the
right-hand fork, then themselves spurred into the left-hand branch of
the valley.

“His wife!” whispered Dell, in amazement. “Didn’t you say the woman’s
name was Mrs. Brisco, Buffalo Bill?”

“Yes. Gentleman Jim’s name is Brisco; James Brisco, although Sun
Dance Cañon has never known him by any other name than that of
Gentleman Jim.”

“Right ye aire, Buffler Bill!” exclaimed Tenny. “Gentleman Jim has
allers been a queer fish--generous, squar’, an’ a man o’ nerve
whenever nerve was needed. But everybody knows thar was somethin’ in
his past life which he was keepin’ close. However, thet’s ther case
with purty nigh every one in the gulch, an’ no one has ever showed a
pryin’ dispersition so fur as Gentleman Jim is consarned.”

“But--well, he’s a gambler,” said Dell. “Even a ‘square’ gambler
might be in better business.”

“Gentleman Jim _will_ be in better business before many days,” said
the scout. “His wife was coming to Sun Dance to find him, and Jim is
eager to meet her, and then to turn his back on the gambling-table,
return East and pick up his medical profession where he broke it off.
When he leaves Sun Dance, mark my words, he’ll be a credit to any
community that has the luck to get him.”

“I hope we shall find Mrs. Brisco,” said Dell softly.

“That’s what we’re here for,” said the scout briskly.

The walls of the left-hand fork began to narrow, and the ground under
the horses’ hoofs to become rugged and difficult.

“We’ll do more travelin’ ter cover ther mile thet separates us from
the Bluff,” averred Tenny, “than Jim an’ his party will. T’other fork
o’ ther valley is tollable easy, compared ter this ’un. They’ll be at
the Bluff afore we aire, too, an’ if they meet up with any trouble,
it’ll be some leetle time afore we come close enough ter help. If I
was ter choose trails, I’d shore hev picked out----”

Tenny was interrupted by a spurt of fire from overhead, followed by
the _sping_ of a rifle. His horse jumped, and his hat was whipped off
as effectively as though some hand had reached out of the gloom and
torn it from his head.

“Outlaws!” cried the scout, his quick wit instantly busying itself
with the situation; “press close to the right wall--quick!”

The horses were swerved in the direction indicated, and a jab of
the spurs carried them into the heavy shadow of the wall at a dozen
jumps.

There, in the screen of thick darkness, the scout and his two
companions awaited further developments.

If Lawless and his men were back of that rifle-shot, they were slow
in following up the attack. The one shot was all that was fired, and
ominous silence followed it. Not a sound was heard by the scout and
his friends aside from the heavy breathing of their horses.

“Thet was blame’ sudden,” muttered Hank Tenny, “an’ blame’ near bein’
a bull’s-eye, too. I felt ther wind o’ thet bullet, an’ ther way it
snatched off my head-gear made it look as though it wanted ter take
my head with it.”

“A miss is as good as a mile, Hank,” said the scout, in a low tone.

While he spoke, his eyes were searching the darkness in the direction
from which the shot had come.

“I ain’t grumblin’ none,” continued Tenny.

“The bullet came from the top of the wall,” put in Dell.

“Yes; the men, whoever they may be, are up there.”

“’Course they’re the gang we’re arter,” remarked Tenny, “but they’re
showin’ their hands consider’ble this side o’ the Bluff. I reckon,”
he finished grimly, “thet ye picked the likeliest fork, Buffler Bill,
when ye come ter ther left. We’ve cut out this bunch o’ trouble for
our own.”

“Why don’t they follow up the surprise?” queried Dell restively.
“A surprise like that doesn’t amount to much unless it is followed
up--and followed up quick.”

“I can’t understand why the scoundrels are holding their fire,” mused
Buffalo Bill, “unless it is because they can’t locate us, and don’t
want to waste their ammunition. Hold my horse, Dell.”

The scout flung the girl his reins and slipped quietly down from his
saddle.

“What are you going to do, pard?” whispered the girl anxiously.

“A little scouting,” he replied, “in order to determine what we’re up
against. That shot came from the wall, across the valley. Can I climb
the wall over there, Tenny?”

“It’ll be a hard scramble,” was the reply, “but I reckon Buffler Bill
kin do whatever he sets out ter try. Leastways, thet’s how it seems
from the fashion ye’ve been doin’ things sence ye hit Sun Dance.”

“Wait for me here,” said the scout, moving slowly away through the
gloom. “If you hear me whistle, Tenny, leave your horse with Dell and
come over, for it’s barely possible I shall need you.”

Emerging cautiously from the heavy shadow of the bank, the scout
dropped to his knees and crawled across the valley. The bottom of the
valley was fairly light, and had the scout not taken advantage of
the boulders and depressions, he could easily have been seen by the
marksman on the wall, and almost as easily have been snuffed out by a
bullet.

But he was a master of the sort of work that now engaged his
attention, and he gained the opposite wall without being seen.

The wall was steep and covered with sharp rocks. The rocks, while
making the scout’s climb more difficult, at the same time served to
shield him from the view of any one above.

To make such a hard ascent without loosening a stone, or sending a
spurt of sand down the wall, was the task the scout had set for
himself; and that he accomplished it, in the semidarkness, was an
added proof of the powers that had made him what he was--king of
scouts and prince of Indian-fighters.

And, strange as it may seem, this feat was performed almost under the
very nose of a watchful outlaw. The scout, of course, knew nothing
about the outlaw’s location while he was making the climb. The
discovery came as a surprise when he had crawled over the brink of
the wall.

The first object he beheld was a horse, standing about a hundred feet
from the rim of the valley. The horse had an empty saddle, and there
were no other horses in its vicinity.

The scout immediately drew the conclusion that a lone outlaw
had fired the shot at Tenny--perhaps an outpost, placed at that
particular point to watch the approach to the Bluff.

Then, just as he had settled this question to his satisfaction, he
crawled, snakelike, around a boulder, and saw the man himself.

The man was lying flat down on the other side of the boulder, a rifle
in his hands and his eyes scanning the valley. It was plain enough
that he was waiting for some sight or sound that would locate the
party which had already been a target for him.

Still crawling, although with redoubled vigilance, the scout
attempted to come close enough to take the man at unawares and effect
a capture. In this he was not successful. The scraping sounds of his
forward movement, indistinct almost as the tread of a puma, suddenly
struck on the ears of the man with the gun.

He started up, and, just as he rose, the scout sprang erect, and came
to hand-grips with him.

“Buffler Bill!” gasped the outlaw.

“Tex!” exclaimed the scout, with a short laugh. “You’re not much of a
sniper, Tex. What are you doing with your ears?”

The outlaw swore heartily, and began to fight.

Buffalo Bill had seen this man, whom Lawless and his gang called
‘Tex,’ and it was easy to recognize the fellow’s huge bulk, in spite
of the screening darkness.

A powerful man was Tex, and he marshaled all his strength for what he
must have believed to be a fight for life.

At close quarters Tex could not use his rifle--in fact, that weapon
had dropped the instant the scout had grabbed him--so he sought to
break away and draw one of his revolvers.

Buffalo Bill understood perfectly well what Tex’s intentions were,
and hung to him with a grip of iron.

Finding himself unable to get clear of the scout’s hands, Tex
attempted to draw a bowie that swung in front of him from his belt.

In a mix-up like that a knife was far and away more dangerous than a
revolver.

Back and forth, and around and around the two men strained, and the
scout was not long in discovering that he had never met a man more
worthy of his strength and prowess than was Tex.

Time and again Tex got a hand on the knife-hilt, and time and again
the scout caught the hand and wrenched it away, always with the
blade still in its scabbard, although once or twice the blade was
half-drawn.

For either combatant to gain an advantage seemed out of the question.
The contest, the scout early made up his mind, was to be one of
endurance.

After the first exchange of words neither of the men spoke. Breath
was valuable, and could not be wasted.

But steadily the giant frame of Tex was worn down, and his hard
breathing and husky gasps told of the effort he was making to keep
the battle at even odds.

The scout, on the contrary, was a man of iron endurance. After ten
minutes of nerve-wracking struggle, he was apparently as fresh as
when he had begun the fight.

“Yield!” panted the scout.

“Give up an’ stretch a rope, hey?” wheezed Tex; “not me!”

For certain reasons, later to be explained, the scout wanted to
capture Tex uninjured, or practically so. But some rough work was
necessary, and the chance for it came as Tex finished his defiance.

Several times the pair had weaved about on the brink of the wall. As
the final word left the ruffian’s lips, he and the scout were again
in that position.

Calling upon all his strength, the scout lifted the outlaw bodily
and flung him backward. Tex’s hands were torn away from the scout’s
buckskin shirt, and he keeled over backward, down the slope.

The big fellow fell heavily, and began rolling and bounding down the
steep descent. The gloom swallowed up his rolling figure, and then
the rattle of rocks and loosened débris suddenly ceased.

The scout stood for a second, breathing hard and looking downward
into the darkness; then, giving vent to a sharp whistle, he started
down the bank.

The whistle was returned from close at hand--from part way up the
slope, in fact--and was followed by the voice of Tenny.

“What d’ye want, Buffler Bill?”

“There’s a man down there somewhere: see if you can find him.”

“Did ye hev a fracas with the feller?”

“Yes, and he went over the bank. It’s Tex, one of Lawless’ men. I
want to capture him alive, if I can.”

“I heerd a scramble over hyer,” went on Tenny, floundering about
on the slope, “an’ reckoned ye might be needin’ me, so I started
acrost without waitin’ fer ye ter whistle. I didn’t know but thet----
Woof!” Tenny broke off his remarks abruptly. “Hyer he is, Buffler--I
stumbled right over him. He’s wrapped around a big stone, an’ as limp
as a rag. Reckon he busted his neck--an’ good enough fer him, if he
did.”

Lowering himself carefully downward, the scout presently reached the
place where Tex had been halted in his rough descent of the slope.

“He’s all right,” said the scout, after a moment’s examination.
“Stunned, that’s all. We’ll get a rope on him before he comes to his
senses.”

“I’ll hev ter go acrost the valley ter my hoss ter git a rope,” said
Tenny.

“Tex’s horse is just over the brink of the wall. Bring the animal.
The chances are you’ll find a riata coiled at the saddle-horn, and
there’ll be a heap of satisfaction in tying Tex with his own rope.”

“Thar’d be more satisfaction in hangin’ him with it,” growled Tenny,
as he scrambled to the top of the wall and disappeared.

While Tenny was gone, the scout stripped the outlaw of his knife and
six-shooters.

The capture of Tex was an unexpected stroke of luck, but just how
much luck there was in it the scout could not tell until later.




                            CHAPTER XXV.

                           A COWED OUTLAW.


Tex was bound and half-dragged and half-carried down the slope
to the bottom of the valley. Bringing his horse down was a hard
proposition, but Tenny managed to accomplish it by throwing a couple
of somersaults and barking his shins on the rocks.

It was very evident that Tex was the only one of Lawless’ men in that
immediate vicinity, and the scout and his pards considered themselves
fairly secure. Dell rode out from under the sheltering bank leading
Bear Paw and Tenny’s mount. She had heard enough of the conversation
between the scout and Tenny to understand what had happened.

“He’s a good fighter, Dell,” said the scout, when she and Tenny had
both reached his side and they were grouped about Tex and waiting for
him to recover his wits. “If he had been as good with his rifle as he
is with his hands, Tenny would have been out of the reckoning by now.”

“Did you catch him napping, pard?”

“I blundered right onto him. If his ears had been sharp, he would
have heard me climbing up the bank, for I reached the top only a few
yards from where he was lying, waiting for a chance to take a shot
across the valley.”

“Whyever did ye want ter ketch him alive?” asked Tenny.

“He’s a weak sister, Tenny, in the sense that his allegiance to
Lawless’ gang is none too hard and fast. I know that from things I
have heard. I think we can use Tex; at any rate, I intend to see what
I can do with him.”

Just then Tex gave a gurgle and sat up, straining at the rope around
his hands.

“Don’t break loose,” taunted Tenny. “It’s yer own rope we’ve put on
ye, an’ you ort ter know how strong it is.”

“No one but Buffler Bill could hev ketched me like that,” growled
Tex. “I’ve allers said he was a powerful sort of er man--too powerful
for us fellers ter buck ag’inst with any show o’ winnin’ out. He’s
beat Lawless twicet at his own game, an’ I reckon he’ll beat him
agin.”

“I reckon I will, Tex,” said the scout. “Do you want us to take you
to Fort Sill and turn you over to the soldiers?”

“Might as well go ter Fort Sill as ter any other place,” said Tex,
with resignation. “I’m up a stump, anyways. It don’t make any
diff’rence whether I’m shot er strung up; they both mean the same
thing in the end. Thunder! I allers reckoned if I hung onter Lawless
long enough this is what ’u’d happen. I didn’t want ter be took
alive! Why didn’t ye use a gun on me, Buffler Bill?”

“Because I had other plans,” said the scout briefly. “Where’s
Lawless?”

Tex was silent.

“Where has he taken Mrs. Brisco?”

Still Tex would not find his tongue.

“Why don’t you answer me?” asked the scout.

“Ye want ter know a heap,” answered Tex, after a brief period of
reflection. “What good is it goin’ ter do me ter tell ye all that?”

“That depends on whether you tell the truth or not.”

“Git down ter brass tacks,” said Tex. “Jest what d’ye mean by sayin’
that?”

“I mean that if you will answer my questions truthfully, just as soon
as Lawless is down and out, I’ll set you at liberty--providing you’ll
agree to leave the country.”

“I don’t reckon thar’s anythin’ ter be gained by buckin’ you further
than what I hev,” mused Tex. “I’ve had plenty of it lately, an’ it
ain’t never amounted ter nothin’, ’cept ter git us fellers deeper
an’ deeper in the hole. I begun as an honest miner, over thar in Sun
Dance Cañon, but Coomby talked me over ter helpin’ Lawless, sayin’ as
how we’d all git a slice o’ the Forty Thieves if we hung on. Now the
mine has been deeded ter Wah-coo-tah Lawless, an’ us fellers won’t
git none o’ it onless Wah-coo-tah Lawless makes out a deed ter Cap’n
Lawless, an’ ther deed is left at ther black rock at Medicine Bluff
ter-night. Is that deed goin’ ter be left?”

“Not that anybody knows of,” said the scout.

“Thet’s what I told Lawless; but when he gits the bit in his teeth,
thar ain’t no doin’ anythin’ with him.”

“I have just begun my clean-up,” said the scout, “and Lawless and his
men will be down and out before I’m through. You’re down and out now,
Tex, and this is the beginning. You can save yourself, however, if
you want to answer my questions. We shall wipe out the gang with or
without your information, but you may be able to tell us something
that will make the job a trifle easier. What’s the word?”

“How do I know ye’ll turn me loose if I tell ye what I know?”

“You have my word,” said the scout shortly. “If that isn’t good
enough for you, we’ll stop negotiations right here, and I’ll send you
over to Sill.”

“Waal, I’d a heap rather take chances with you than ter take ’em at
Sill,” answered the cowed desperado. “What d’ye want ter know?”

“First off, how did you happen to be on the top of the bank?”

“I was watchin’ fer you, er some o’ the others from Sun Dance.
Lawless knowed he’d be follered arter the news o’ the hold-up got ter
the camp. I was watchin’ this road ter Medicine Bluff, an’ Coomby was
watchin’ the other.”

“Why did you fire at us?”

“Bekase I’d feel a heap safer in my mind if I knowed Buffler Bill had
been picked off.”

“You tried to pick off Tenny here, and not me.”

“I was waitin’ for a chance at you when ye jumped me up behind thet
boulder,” was the rueful answer.

“How did you know I wasn’t coming to Medicine Bluff to leave the
deed?”

“How does a feller know thet water won’t run up-hill? Thet wasn’t
ther kind of er play ter ketch you, an’ thet’s what I told Lawless. I
ain’t felt easy a minit sence you was in Sun Dance Cañon.”

“Well, we’ll let that pass. Where is Mrs. Brisco?”

“Some’r’s around Medicine Bluff, at last accounts. I don’t know jest
whar. I come away ter watch this fork afore Lawless decided jest whar
he’d take her.”

“Is she being well treated?”

“She gits the best ther camp affords.”

“Is Lawless with her?”

“By now, I reckon, he’s on his way ter Pima Camp, in Chavorta Gorge.”

“Why is he going to Pima Camp?”

“He’s made up his mind he ain’t got men enough. Andy was put out o’
bizness at ther time o’ ther hold-up, an’ sence then he’s passed out
o’ ther game fer keeps. Lonesome Pete kin cut a notch, too, fer Eph
Singer--we left him under a pile o’ rocks on ther way ter Medicine
Bluff. Thet leaves on’y six in ther gang, countin’ Lawless hisself.
Now I’m out, thar’s on’y five.”

“Coomby’s watching the other fork of the valley?”

“Yes.”

“And Lawless has gone to Pima?”

“I jest told ye thet.”

“Did he go alone?”

“He did. He wants ter pick up some men at Pima, if he kin.”

“Then there are only three outlaws at Medicine Bluff with the woman?”

“Yes, purvidin’ she’s at the Bluff. I ain’t a-sayin’ whar she is,
kase I don’t know.”

“Where are the renegade Cheyennes who used to help Lawless in his
villainy?”

“Stampeded. They was all afeared o’ Buffler Bill. I ain’t blamin’ ’em
none, either. I reckon Lawless’ll hev the time o’ his life gittin’
handy boys at Pima, when they hear it’s Buffler Bill they’re ter
fight.”

The scout turned to Tenny.

“How far is it to Pima from here, Hank?” he asked.

“Ten mile,” replied Tenny.

“How must a man travel to get there?”

“Waal, if I was goin’ thar from hyer, I’d git up on the top o’ thet
bank an’ head due south, keepin Medicine Bluff allers ter the right.
When I’d gone five mile, I could see the ridge thet holds Chavorta
Gorge. Kain’t miss the gorge. Once inter it, ye foller up ter Pima.
But what ye thinkin’ o’ doin’, Buffler Bill?”

“Dell and I are going to Pima,” said the scout, “and overhaul Lawless
before he can enlist any more miscreants to carry out his nefarious
plans. The iron is hot, and Pima is the place to strike. Not only can
we capture Lawless,” added the scout, “but we can prevent him from
adding to his force of trouble-makers.”

“You an’ Miss Dauntless aire goin’ ter Pima, ye say?”

“Yes.”

“An’ what am I ter do?”

“You’re to tie Tex to his horse and travel on to Medicine Bluff,
effecting a juncture with Nomad’s party. Tell them what has happened;
then the lot of you can ride on to Pima. Remember my promise to Tex,
Tenny. If his information pans out, he’s going to be a free man. Tell
Nomad and Wild Bill what I have promised.”

“I don’t want ter go ter Medicine Bluff,” demurred Tex unexpectedly.

“Why not?” answered the scout. “You’ll not suffer any harm from my
pards.”

“Waal, I jest don’t want ter go thar, thet’s all. It ain’t yore pards
I’m fearin’, but Coomby an’ the rest.”

“Nomad and Wild Bill have men enough with them to protect you, and
that is where you’re going.”

“Jest remember what ye said, Buffler Bill,” went on Tex; “ye said
thet ther minit Lawless was down an’ out, I was ter be turned loose.”

“Yes.”

“All right then. I jest want it understood.”

“You’re keeping something back, Tex,” said the scout, studying the
ruffian’s face as keenly as he could in the faint light.

“I’m bankin’ my life on the result, ain’t I?” returned Tex. “What I’m
keepin’ ter myself ain’t goin’ ter interfere none with yore affairs,
an’ it’s li’ble ter mean a hull lot ter me.”

“Well, have it your way. As you say, it is very likely your life
swings in the balance.”

The scout and Tenny, between them, swung Tex to the back of his horse
and tied him there. Immediately afterward, the rest mounted, and
Tenny took the bridle of Tex’s horse, to lead the animal on toward
Medicine Bluff.

“Pima is a tough camp, Buffler,” observed Tenny, “an’ thet’s why
Lawless went thar ter git fresh men. Every whelp in Pima is of ther
same caliber as Tex thar, an’ I’m afeared you an’ Miss Dauntless aire
goin’ ter hev yer hands full.”

“Not so full but that we can handle the work, all right,” answered
the scout confidently. “A bold stroke, just now, will settle Lawless
for good and all. The risk is worth taking. Come on, Dell,” he added
to his girl pard; “we’re for Chavorta Gorge and Pima.”

Tenny rode slowly on along the valley in the direction of Medicine
Bluff, while the scout and Dell pushed their horses at the wall up
which the scout had climbed a little while before.

The scout understood that his suddenly conceived plan for capturing
Lawless was a desperate one; but, had he realized just how desperate
it was, he would have waited, before carrying it out, to get some
more of his pards to go with him.




                            CHAPTER XXVI.

                      CHAVORTA GORGE AND PIMA.


Buffalo Bill and Dell found it a long ten miles to Chavorta Gorge and
Pima, mainly because the night mixed up their landmarks, and they
went astray in the barren hills.

Early daylight found them on the crest of an eminence scanning the
country to the west and south. Away to the west they discerned a
distant uplift, which they took to be Medicine Bluff. To the south
stretched a ridge, but there was no sign of a gap in the ridge
leading to Chavorta Gorge.

“We’re too far to the east, Dell,” hazarded the scout, “and have been
following down the ridge. If we turn west, and keep our eyes on the
ridge as we ride, I believe we shall find the gorge.”

“By the time we find it, and get to Pima,” returned Dell, “we may
discover that Lawless has secured his new men and gone back to
Medicine Bluff. If it turns out that way, Nomad, Wild Bill and the
rest may have more on their hands than they can take care of.”

“Tenny will warn them. It is true we have lost a lot of time, but I
don’t want to turn back from Pima now, when there’s still a chance of
accomplishing our work there.”

They pointed their horses westward, and rode as swiftly as the nature
of the ground would permit.

“If Lawless has a permanent headquarters near Medicine Bluff,”
suggested Dell, “it may be that Nomad, Wild Bill, Gentleman Jim, and
De Bray have already found Mrs. Brisco.”

“I’m hoping for the best,” returned the scout. “If that has happened,
Dell, it is up to you and me to give as good an account of ourselves
at Pima, as the rest of our pards have done, or will do, at the
bluff.”

Half an hour’s riding in a westerly direction proved the truth of
the scout’s theory regarding the location of Chavorta Gorge. From a
hilltop a look toward the ridge showed them a rent in its buttressed
side.

“There’s the gorge!” exclaimed Dell.

“Good!” cried the scout. “Now to get into it, and make the best time
possible to Pima.”

The sun was mounting as they entered the gorge, but the gash was so
deep and narrow that even at midday a spectral twilight reigned in
its depths.

It was a bleak and dismal defile, walled in by gray masses of
granite, and with hardly any silt in its bed. The river that had once
flowed through the gorge had long since found other channels, and
what gold the place yielded had to be dug from the rock crevices with
iron hooks and rods.

The scout had heard all about Chavorta Gorge, although this was the
first time he had ever inspected it, and as he and Dell clattered
along through the gloom, he explained the method of mining in vogue
in the place.

“The outcasts of respectable mining-camps flock to the gorge,” the
scout added, “and prod and gouge at these granite walls for the
nuggets once brought down the defile by the vanished stream. The
place has a hard name, and rightly so, for an outcast miner is about
as hard a citizen as one can find anywhere in the West.”

“Are there many people at Pima?” asked the girl.

“I suppose the camp is about the size of Sun Dance, although my
information is rather limited on that point.”

“What can we do against even a small camp?”

“The miners, I reckon, have heard of Buffalo Bill,” said the scout,
with a flash of the eyes; “they know he is in Uncle Sam’s service,
and they’ll think twice before they invite a company of regulars over
here to drive them out and wind up their layout.”

“The very name of Buffalo Bill,” said Dell, her face lighting with
admiration, “has a power everywhere. See how it stampeded the
Cheyennes and caused them to break away from Lawless! And see, too,
how fearful Tex was, and how ready to save his own neck when he found
you had captured him.”

“It isn’t so much the name, pard,” laughed the scout, “as the fact
that the United States army is behind it.”

A few miles of twilight brought the scout and the girl to a point
where the walls of the gorge began to open out. More daylight entered
the depths and dispelled the gloom. The walls were as high and as
rugged as ever, but they continued to swerve away from each other.

An abrupt turn in the gorge brought the riders suddenly within sight
of the camp.

Knowing that there was no flood to be feared, the founders of Pima
had built the camp in the very bottom of the defile. Timber was
plentiful on the ridge, and logs had been lowered from the top of the
walls and used in the construction of cabins.

Perhaps there were a dozen buildings, all told, in the camp. They
were disreputable structures, entirely in keeping with the character
of those who occupied them.

The scout halted Bear Paw while he scanned the camp critically. A few
horses were feeding out behind one of the buildings, but there was
not a human being in sight. Among the feeding horses was one that was
equipped with riding-gear.

“Where are the miners?” queried Dell. “Are they up the gorge
somewhere, prying their nuggets out of the rocks? This camp is even
quieter than Sun Dance during the day.”

“Listen!” said the scout. “There seems to be plenty of life in one of
the buildings.”

A roar of voices broke fitfully from a large log structure in the
midst of the huddled cabins. The roar died away in silence, and then
rose again, proving that there was excitement of some sort going on
in the place.

“If Lawless is in this camp,” observed Buffalo Bill, “that’s where I
shall find him. I want you to stay with the horses, Dell,” he added,
as he dismounted, “and, if I need you, ride at once to that cabin. We
may have to get out of the gorge in a hurry.”

“Look well to yourself, pard,” adjured Dell, reaching forward and
taking hold of Bear Paw’s bridle-reins.

“I always do that,” said he. “The crack of a revolver will be your
cue to gallop into the camp.”

Sitting anxiously in her saddle, Dell watched Buffalo Bill stride
rapidly in among the log cabins.

No one appeared to ask the scout questions or to dispute his
progress, and it was quite evident that every miner who was not at
work in the gorge was at that moment in the structure toward which
the scout was laying his course.

This fact, of itself, held a portentous significance. Had Lawless
gathered the men of the camp in that building in order to harangue
them and take his pick of those willing to join his gang?

As the scout came nearer the structure, he noted the massive logs
used in its walls; the wide, high door, the gaping loopholes, cut at
intervals at shoulder height, and the strong oaken shutters swinging
at the windows.

“It has the appearance of a fort,” he said to himself. “I wonder if
the people of Pima take refuge there when the Indians are up, or if
they fear the military more than they do the reds?”

A rude sign, on the front wall of the building, near the door, bore
the words: “The Taim Tiger.”

The scout chuckled over the sign, for the “Taim” appealed to him
humorously.

“That’s about the way to spell it,” he muttered. “I don’t think the
sort of tiger they keep here is overly tame. Perhaps, though, I shall
be able to clip its claws--we’ll see.”

At the side of the door he halted and looked back to where he had
left Dell. The girl was sitting like a statue on her white cayuse.

Buffalo Bill waved his hat to her reassuringly, and then stepped
through the wide door of The Tame Tiger.

There were not so many men inside the resort as Buffalo Bill had
expected to find. The swift glance he cast around him showed him
seven or eight, including a heavy-set person behind a rough board
bar, and a supple individual clad in black, with shiny knee-boots and
a gaudy sash about his waist.

The man in black, naturally, the scout was overjoyed to find. The
scout was not unacquainted with the appearance of Lawless, and this
man, even at a rear view, answered the outlaw’s description.

The man behind the bar turned half-around as the scout entered,
and stared at him suspiciously. The others in the room, including
the man in black, were too much occupied with their own particular
business to pay the scout any attention.

Buffalo Bill moved slowly over to the bar and leaned against it.

“There are good pickings everywhere in these parts,” the man in black
was saying, “and, with a little nerve, they’re easily got at. How
did I pull off that deal on the Sun Dance trail yesterday? How did I
take down over twenty thousand dollars at one clip for myself and the
boys who were in on the game with me? It was because I know how! I
want more men, and if any of you are game enough to ride to Medicine
Bluff with me this morning, you’ve got a chance. It’s not often that
Captain Lawless has to go drumming for men, and the chance won’t come
your way again.”

It was plain that Lawless had been spending money freely for liquor.
The men who listened to him were in an amiable and receptive mood.
While he indulged in his particularly bold talk, roars of approval,
such as the scout and Dell had heard at the edge of camp, went up
again and again.

A roar, louder than any of the rest, greeted the finish of Lawless’
remarks. It was this noise, more like Bedlam turned loose than
anything else, that drowned the warning shout of the man behind the
bar. The barkeeper realized that Lawless was going too far in the
presence of a stranger. It was not the barkeeper’s shout that drew
the outlaw’s attention to Buffalo Bill, but the sudden quiet that
fell over the rowdies to whom he had been talking.

These men, all of them with vicious faces, had suddenly become aware
of the scout’s presence. Lawless, observing the direction of their
glances, whirled about.

At sight of the scout, leaning unconcernedly back against the bar,
the outlaw’s face went blank. He recoiled a step, staring as though
he could scarcely believe his eyes.

The next moment, apparently assuring himself that he was not
dreaming, he cried out an oath and jerked a revolver from his sash.

Silence had fallen over the room. The ruffians spread out, some of
them, it seemed likely, for the purpose of helping Captain Lawless,
and others with the intention of bolting, or dodging under the
tables, in case bullets began to fly.

“Don’t shoot,” said the scout, transfixing Lawless with a steady
glance.

He made no move to draw his own revolvers. When he got ready to draw,
he would do it so quickly that the movement would be imperceptible.

Lawless, bent on making a show of himself for the benefit of possible
recruits, did not make an attempt to use the revolver he had drawn.

“Well, now,” said he, “if here isn’t Buffalo Bill, the great and
only W. F. Cody, flash-light warrior and so-called king of scouts!
Why”--and Lawless turned a mocking glance into the faces of the men
behind him--“he blows right into Pima as though he belonged here. I
wonder if he knows he’s off his beat?”

“I wonder!” said the scout, with a jeering undernote. “You’re off
your beat, too, just a little. Drumming up recruits, eh?” The scout
turned his eyes on the men who had spread themselves out behind
Lawless. “This scoundrel”--and the scout indicated the man in black
with a contemptuous nod--“is a murderous outlaw. He lost two men
at the time of the hold-up he has just been bragging about, and he
finds it necessary to get more men in order to fight the force I have
brought against him. That’s what he wants you for--to help fight me
and my pards and save the twenty thousand dollars he took from the
man on the Sun Dance stage. His chestnuts are still in the fire, and
he wants you to help him rake them out.”

“That’ll do you!” shouted Lawless, waving his revolver. “You came
into this honkatonk on your feet, Buffalo Bill, but you’ll be
_carried_ out. I’ve had enough of your meddling, and here and now is
the place for me to settle the score I have run up against you.”

“You’ll settle no scores, Captain Lawless,” said the scout; “on the
contrary, the law you have so long defied has reached out after you,
and inside of two days you will be turned over to the authorities at
Fort Sill.”

“I will, eh?” sneered the bandit. “By whom?”

“By me.”

“You talk as though you were a whole company of doughboys! But that’s
your style--all talk and nothing doing. Now you’re up against me and
these men, all of whom are going to join my band of free-lances.
We’re eight against you.”

Buffalo Bill did not reply to Lawless at once. There was a bit of
work for him to do, and before he answered the outlaw he had to do
it, or find himself completely at the mercy of those in The Tame
Tiger.

His back was to the bar, and he was facing Lawless and the ruffians
in the room; but, although his face was turned from the barkeeper, he
did not allow the actions of that worthy to escape his notice.

Out of the tails of his eyes the scout saw the barkeeper duck down
and pick up a heavy wooden mallet. As soon as he had the mallet in
his hands, the barkeeper began a stealthy movement in the scout’s
direction, along the inside of the bar.

A heavy bottle stood on the bar conveniently to the scout’s
hand. Just as the barkeeper had raised the mallet to deal the
scout a treacherous blow from behind, the intended victim made a
lightninglike move.

It was difficult for those who were looking on to see exactly what
had happened. The scout did something, there was a crash of broken
glass, and the barkeeper wilted down behind the rough boards. The
bottle had vanished from the scout’s elbow.

“You say you are eight against me,” said Buffalo Bill as calmly as
though nothing had happened, “but what are eight criminals against
the authority of the United States government? Lawless, you are my
prisoner!”

This calm statement was astounding, not only to Lawless himself,
but to the others in the room as well. The quietly effective way in
which Buffalo Bill had back-capped the barkeeper had made a profound
impression upon the rascals whom Lawless was trying to interest in
his criminal operations. Now to have the scout call Lawless his
prisoner hinted of more power than he visibly possessed. How could
one man stand up against eight and appear so confident?

Anxious eyes wandered to the door, but no force was in evidence in
that direction.

“He’s bluffing!” cried Lawless. “He knows that all we’ve got to do in
order to nail him is to make a surround, and his only hope is to make
us think he’s got friends outside.”

Lawless realized that he could not dally with the situation any
longer. If he would save himself, and get the better of Buffalo Bill,
he must act now, or never.

“Say, you fellows!” Lawless cried to the ruffians, “are you going to
stand there like a lot of dummies, and let one man come into this
camp and run it? Are you going to let Buffalo Bill knock down the
barkeeper of this joint, and never lift a hand to interfere? Buffalo
Bill! Pah! He’s no more of a man than any of the rest of you. He’s
the government’s hired man, that’s all----”

Lawless’ remarks glided into the crack of a revolver and the snarl of
a bullet. Under cover of his talk, the outlaw had fired from his hip;
but his haste, and the unusual position of the weapon, had militated
against the accuracy of his aim.

The scout’s hat-brim was seen to twitch, but the scout still stood
leaning back against the bar, as calm and unruffled as before.

“Your hand isn’t as steady as it ought to be, Lawless,” remarked the
scout. “I repeat, you are my prisoner. I want to take you out of
Chavorta Gorge alive, but, if you make another attempt on me with
that revolver, you’ll leave the gorge feet first.”

Then, keeping his steely gaze fixed on Lawless, the scout stepped
toward him.

“Keep away from me!” shouted the outlaw, backing toward the door.
“One or the other of us will never leave this place alive, and that
shot goes as it lays.” He turned partly toward the rest of the men,
addressing them, but keeping his eyes on the scout. “What are you
hanging back for?” he demanded fiercely. “What sort of fighters are
you, anyhow? If you want to join my gang, show me what you can do.
I’m holding my hand, just to give you the chance.”

This was a sure-enough bluff, and it brought a laugh from the scout;
then, suddenly, Dell Dauntless, on her white cayuse, appeared in the
wide, high doorway. The girl’s face was white and determined, and she
held her riata ready for a throw.

What had brought such a plan into the girl’s head the scout could not
guess, but it was plain that she had a set purpose in mind, and was
there with the determination to carry it through at all hazards.

If Lawless had heard the hoof-falls of Silver Heels, he gave them
no heed. He dared not. To turn his face from the scout even for an
instant would have spelled inevitable disaster for him. And yet
the outlaw was not entirely ignorant of the danger behind him. The
startled exclamations of the others in the resort apprised him of the
fact that something unusual was taking place at the door.

In order to cut short the tension of the moment, Lawless started to
lift his revolver for another and a better shot at Buffalo Bill.
Before his arm was half-raised, a noose dropped over his head and
tightened about his body at the elbows.

It was an easy throw for Dell, and she at once set Silver Heels to
backing, drawing the rope taut and preventing the astounded bandit
from struggling clear of the noose.

“Bravo, Dell!” shouted Buffalo Bill, as the girl backed slowly
through the doorway, dragging the squirming Captain Lawless at the
end of the rope.

The instant the outlaw had vanished from the room, the scout faced
the gaping and amazed men he had left behind.

“I don’t know whether any of you really intended to join Lawless’
gang or not,” said he sternly; “but, if you did, I have kept you from
making a bad mistake. The reputation of this camp of yours is none
too good, and if you want to stay in the gorge and dig your gold out
of the rocks, I’d advise you to be a little less ready to take up
with such scoundrels as Lawless. That will be all!”

And the scout, with the final word, went out of The Tame Tiger and
closed the door after him.

Dell was still backing Silver Heels over the ground outside, not
daring to let the riata grow slack between her and Lawless, for fear
the latter would be able to widen the noose and free himself.

Running up to the helpless bandit, the scout threw him to the ground
and held him there.

“Cast off the rope, Dell,” he shouted, “and bring Bear Paw! Hurry up,
pard. We’ve got this camp paralyzed, for the moment, but there’s no
telling what will happen if we don’t make a quick getaway.”

Dell flung the end of her rope from the saddle-horn, and, while the
scout made the struggling Lawless secure, wrist and ankle, she rode
around the side of The Tame Tiger, and brought Bear Paw from the
place where she had left him.

By the time Bear Paw had been led to the place where the scout was
waiting, the door of The Tame Tiger had been thrown open, and those
inside were piling out. The men were shouting angrily and waving
their revolvers.

“Back!” cried Dell, drawing her six-shooters and leveling them. “The
first of you that pulls a trigger will never live to try it a second
time!”

Lifting Lawless in his arms, the scout flung him across Bear Paw and
then leaped into the saddle.

“All ready, Dell!” he called.

Silver Heels spun around on his hind feet, and the scout and the girl
shot out of the camp, the former holding Lawless at the saddle-cantle
as he galloped.

Bullets were fired after the pards, but it was a harmless and
half-hearted volley.

Buffalo Bill and Dell Dauntless were safe--and they had captured
Captain Lawless!




                           CHAPTER XXVII.

                       A BUSY TIME FOR CAYUSE.


Little Cayuse did not like the white man’s villages. There was
nothing about them that attracted him in the least. While in
Montegordo, whither he had been sent by the scout, he attached
himself to a seat in the railroad-station, spent the night there, and
watched, the next morning, while a man wearing a red vest got off the
west-bound train.

That red vest captured the boy’s fancy, and he decided that some
time, when the chance offered, he would buy one for himself.

With his doting eyes on the vest, he had gone up to the man wearing
it, and asked:

“You De Bray, mebbyso?”

“Why, yes,” answered the stranger, “that’s my name. Who are you, and
what of it?”

“You take um stage for Sun Dance, huh?”

“The first one I can get. But, say! Look here a minute----”

Cayuse did not stop for anything further. Whirling about, he made
off, tearing up the telegram the scout had given to him to send in
case De Bray did not arrive.

Cayuse, a couple of hours later, was in the Sun Dance stage when De
Bray climbed onto the front seat with Pete and Chick Billings.

During the entire journey, up to the point where the first hold-up
had been planned to occur, Cayuse had kept strictly to himself on the
back seat. But he was all eyes and ears, even if he did not use his
tongue, and among the rocks that hemmed in the stage-trail ahead he
had caught a strange glimmer, as of the sun on steel.

That was his signal to drop out at the rear of the mountain-wagon,
and flicker from sight among the rocks like a scared coyote. But
Cayuse wasn’t scared--he was only curious.

He had seen rifles sparkle in the sun before, and he was pretty sure
he had caught a gleam of gun-barrels.

From a safe place among the rocks he witnessed the first hold-up.
When the stage pulled out, and the outlaws grouped together to take
stock of their spoil, Cayuse saw Lawless--whom he knew by sight--open
the locket and stare at the pictures inside.

Then he overheard Lawless plan to cross the arm of the gulch and
overhaul the stage again. Cayuse, much to his disappointment, was
powerless to warn those in the stage. He was afoot, and the driver of
the stage was going fast toward Sun Dance. The boy might have raced
across the arm of the gulch, but he could not have beaten the mounted
thieves. He followed the thieves, however, picking his cautious way
among the rocks and carefully keeping himself out of sight.

By the time he had reached the scene of the second hold-up, the
fighting was over and the stage was once more bounding along toward
Sun Dance.

Hidden safely only a few yards from where the outlaws had left their
horses, Cayuse saw the white woman, and heard her plead for release
as soon as she had recovered from her swoon. He heard, also, a number
of other things which he considered of more importance.

“We’ll go to Medicine Bluff,” said Lawless to one of his men, “and
make sure whether Lawless is going to get well of his wound, or cash
in.”

This remark puzzled the boy. Captain Lawless was speaking, and yet he
was speaking of another Captain Lawless! What did it mean? He cocked
up his ears to hear something more that would throw some light on the
mystery.

“Ye’ll find him deader’n a smelt,” remarked one of the robbers.
“What’s the use o’ botherin’ with him any longer? Rigged out in his
clothes, ye look enough like him ter be twins. Nobody’ll ever know
the difference between the two o’ ye, an’ if the deed is left at the
black rock, ye kin take over the mine without any one ever bein’ the
wiser.”

“Keno,” said the bogus Captain Lawless; “I’ll try it on.”

Thus a light dawned on Cayuse’s brain. The real Lawless was dead,
or dying, and a counterfeit Lawless had taken his clothes and was
playing the rôle in order to get the Forty Thieves Mine!

Some of Buffalo Bill’s pards might have made post-haste for Sun Dance
with this news, but that wasn’t the little Piute’s way. The outfit of
robbers might go to Medicine Bluff, and they might not. Cayuse would
follow them and make sure just where they did go.

Naturally, they outdistanced him, but when they had vanished, he
continued to follow their trail. Close to Pass Dure Cañon luck
struck across the boy’s path, for he met Hawk, the Cheyenne. Hawk
was trailing a cayuse behind him, and the cayuse was burdened with a
couple of white-tail deer.

After making sure that Hawk was a friend, and willing to do a service
for pay, the Piute made a deal with him. For a ten-dollar gold
piece, which Cayuse extracted from his medicine-bag, the Cheyenne
agreed to carry a message to Buffalo Bill, at Sun Dance, and to lend
Cayuse the led horse.

The two deer were unshipped and hung to the limb of a tree where they
would be safe from coyotes, wolves, and other “varmints.” While the
Cheyenne was taking care of the deer, Cayuse was skinning his piece
of bark from a tree and drawing his diagram.

He proceeded fairly well until he got to the point where he wished to
tell the scout that there were two men posing as Captain Lawless. The
communication of this fact seemed beyond the art of picture-writing;
but the boy attempted it by drawing two figures to represent Lawless,
and placing a pair of mule’s ears over one, to signify that there was
something wrong with that particular figure.

When the Cheyenne and the Piute parted, the Cheyenne had the gold
piece and Cayuse had the led horse. They went in different directions.

It was dusk when Cayuse reached Medicine Bluff, hitched his borrowed
horse in the brush, and went scouting to see what he could find.

His principal discovery was a gully running away from the foot of the
Bluff on its western side. The robbers were coming and going at the
mouth of the gully, and the boy made up his mind that there was a
rendezvous somewhere in the defile.

In order to settle his suspicions, he watched his chance and got into
the gully. The place was thickly grown with bushes, and for an Indian
to dodge enemies in such a chaparral was an easy matter.

About a hundred yards from the mouth of the gully Cayuse found an
overhanging ledge of rock where the outlaws had made their camp.

Three of the outlaws sat in front of the dark opening under the
ledge, talking together in low voices. Captain Lawless--that is,
the counterfeit Captain Lawless--was not one of the three. What had
become of him? Cayuse asked himself; and what had become of the
captive white woman who had been taken from the stage?

At first the boy was tempted to think that the supposed Lawless had
taken the white captive away somewhere; and then, a little later, he
began to think those three robbers might be guarding her, and that
she was under the ledge.

He resolved to find out whether the woman was there, and, in order to
do this, began a risky advance upon the three white men.

The bushes ran almost to the edge of the overhanging rock, and Cayuse
was able to creep through them until he was within a few feet of
the nearest of the three men. In order to pass the men, it would be
necessary to cross a narrow open space. Could he do it? Capture was
probable, and capture, in Cayuse’s case, would mean death. However,
that was not the first time the boy had faced death in what he
believed to be the line of duty.

Flinging himself at full length on the ground, he undulated his way
clear of the bushes, like a crawling snake. The backs of the three
men were toward him.

When he was half-way between the edge of the dusky covert and the
pitchy blackness of the opening under the ledge, one of the men
started and turned around.

Cayuse flattened out and, scarcely breathing, lay like a stone.
The shadows of the gully deceived the man, and he turned away again
without seeing Cayuse.

A minute later the boy was under the ledge and safe in the deep
gloom. On hands and knees he crawled about, groping to find a bound
form. If the white woman was there, he reasoned, she would, no doubt,
be bound and gagged, so that she could not move or speak.

In his blind search, his fingers encountered a form, but the
flesh was cold and lifeless, and the boy recoiled. Dead! Had the
scoundrels, then, slain the white squaw? Cayuse believed so, for
palefaces, like the supposed Lawless and his gang have evil hearts
and are equal to anything.

Grievously disappointed, the boy crawled from under the ledge, and
attempted to pass the white men once more. The luck that had been
with him the first time, however, failed him now. In the midst of
his reckless work, one of the men got up and started to go under the
ledge. As fate would have it, the man stumbled over Cayuse, who was
lying squarely in his path.

“A spy!” yelped the man.

The other two bounded to their feet. Revolvers exploded, and one of
the weapons was Cayuse’s. One of the three men dropped to his knees,
and the Piute, with a flying leap, sprang clear over his head and
dropped into the bushes.

Cayuse did not lift himself erect, but flattened along the ground.
Bullets spattered above him, among the bushes, and, while he listened
to them, the echoes were suddenly taken up by a crashing of the
undergrowth toward the mouth of the gully.

“Whoop-ya! This way, fellers, ter ther scene o’ trouble! Ef them
pizen outlaws hev anythin’ ter do with et, we’ll rout ’em out in
reg’lar Buffler Bill style. Straight up ther gully, Hickok! Ef ye see
er bullet comin’ to’ard ye in ther night, jest dodge, an’ keep on
goin’.”

A quiver of excitement ran pulsing through Cayuse’s body. It was the
voice of Nomad!

The next moment there was a change in the situation. The outlaws were
now resisting attack, and the fight was at close quarters.

Cayuse started up to take a part in the fight, rushed out toward the
scene of the scrimmage, and was grabbed by a quick hand and flung to
the ground. A knee dropped on his chest, and a hand with a knife was
lifted above him.

“Wild Bill!” the boy gasped breathlessly.

“Well, what do you think of that!” exclaimed Wild Bill. “Blamed if it
ain’t Cayuse, and I came within a hair of giving him his send-off!
How do you happen to be right in the thick of this gang o’ thieves,
boy?”




                           CHAPTER XXVIII.

                          A HAPPY REUNION.


The fight between the three outlaws and those who had just come into
the gully was brief but decisive. The newcomers were piloted by
Gentleman Jim, and consisted of the gambler, De Bray, Nomad, and Wild
Bill.

This party had kept their uninterrupted way along the right-hand fork
of the valley. Coomby had seen them, and had hastened toward the
gully to give the alarm. Before he had rounded the base of the bluff
he encountered Hank Tenny. Tenny had come, on orders from Buffalo
Bill, looking for the rest of the scout’s pards. Having a prisoner
along, Tenny was anxious to avoid trouble; but when he saw one lone
outlaw coming in his direction through the moon and starlight, he
dismounted, bided his time, and was having it nip and tuck with the
outlaw when Gentleman Jim and the others reached the scene.

The outlaw was captured, and Tenny had time to explain where and why
the scout and Dell had left for Chavorta Gorge and Pima before the
attack on Cayuse carried the pards into the gully.

So, while the fight in the gully was going on, Tenny remained at the
foot of the bluff, with two prisoners to watch, instead of one.

“Me follow stage-robbers,” Little Cayuse explained, in answer to Wild
Bill’s demand for information.

“Cayuse, hey?” cried Nomad, coming to the spot where the boy and
Wild Bill were standing. “Ye’re a reg’lar brick, son!” he went on,
dropping an approving hand on the Piute’s shoulder. “Ye kin tell us
how ye come ter be hyar later, but jest now we’re anxious ter find
the white woman thet was taken from ther stage. Hev ye seen her,
Cayuse?”

“White squaw all same dead,” said Cayuse.

A husky groan came from the dark, and Gentleman Jim staggered through
the bushes and caught the boy’s arm in a convulsive grip.

“Where, where?” he asked.

“Under stone,” said Cayuse. “You go there you find um.”

“De Bray! Wild Bill!” groaned Gentleman Jim, sinking down on the
ground and covering his face with his hands. “You go--I--I can’t! To
think,” muttered the stricken gambler, “that I should be too late,
after all! Too late, too late! Where’s Lawless?” he cried, looking
up as the word, pulsing with murderous hate, came through his lips.
“Where is the scoundrel who----”

“Thar, thar, Jim,” interposed Nomad soothingly, “don’t be in sich er
takin’ till we make sure. Et’s darker’n a stack o’ black cats in this
gully, an’ mebbyso Cayuse has made er mistake.”

“He hasn’t made a mistake,” returned the gambler. “I have felt in my
bones, for the past week, that something was on the cards to make or
mar me. This is it! Allie, my wife, was to come to me, and--and we
were not destined to meet.”

Forgetting about Lawless, in his great sorrow, Gentleman Jim once
more flung his hands over his face and crouched on the ground.

“You watch him, De Bray,” whispered Wild Bill to the Denver man.
“Nomad and I will take a look into this cave under the rock.”

All three outlaws were badly wounded and beyond stirring up any more
trouble. Little Cayuse made it his business to watch them, while De
Bray kept a solicitous eye on Gentleman Jim.

Under the ledge, Wild Bill struck a match and peered about him. His
eyes, almost immediately, fell on the form of Mrs. Brisco. She was
bound hand and foot, and a handkerchief was tied over her lips; but
her eyes were wide open and staring appealingly up into Wild Bill’s
face.

“Nomad--here!” called Hickok.

The trapper hurried to the side of his pard.

“Waugh!” muttered Nomad, mystified. “Thet’s erbout ther wust mistake
I ever knowed Cayuse ter make. Mrs. Brisco is alive! However did
Cayuse git ther notion she wasn’t?”

Kneeling down, the old trapper, with quick but gentle hands, removed
the cords from Mrs. Brisco’s wrists and ankles.

“My husband!” whispered the woman, tearing the handkerchief from her
face. “I heard his voice a moment ago. Where is he?”

“He thinks ye’re dead, mum,” said Nomad softly. “Go out ter him.
Et’ll be the happiest surprise o’ his life ter see ye well and
hearty. Et ain’t often things turns out like this in rale life,
Hickok,” the trapper added, watching Mrs. Brisco hurry out into the
gully and approach her husband.

“Only in books, old pard,” returned Wild Bill, “do you run across
such a happenchance in the workings of fate. But I’m mighty glad this
thing has happened to Gentleman Jim.”

“Same here,” said Nomad.

The two watched while the woman fluttered to the side of her grieving
husband.

“Jim!” they heard her call brokenly.

The gambler leaped erect, stared for a second like one in a trance,
and then opened his arms.

“Allie! Allie! Thank heaven for this!”

Wild Bill and Nomad turned away.

“Blame’ funny,” growled the old trapper, “how the smoke from them
pesky sulfur matches blurrs a feller’s eyes.”

“That’s right,” said Wild Bill, drawing the back of his hand across
his face, “although I never noticed it before.”

“Whatever do ye reckon give Cayuse ther idee thet Mrs. Brisco was
dead?”

“I pass. The idea, however the boy got it, gave a powerful wrench to
Gentleman Jim’s nerves, and----”

Mechanically, Wild Bill had struck another match and moved off toward
the back of the cavernlike room under the ledge. He halted suddenly,
staring at a form on the ground in front of him.

“Thunder!” he exclaimed. “Why, here’s Lawless, now.”

“Shore et is!” added Nomad, dropping down. “Lawless ain’t wearin’
ther same clothes he useter, but et’s him, an’, somehow, he’s saved
ther hangman a job. He’s cashed in, Hickok.”

“What killed him?”

“A bullet. Thar’s er wound in his side.”

“Nick,” said Wild Bill, with a sudden thought, “do you remember the
shot Henry Blake fired at Lawless?”

“Shore I remember et.”

“Well, that is what did the work for him.”

“I ain’t thinkin’ thet way, Wild Bill. Thet shot o’ Blake’s was fired
a week ago, an’ et wasn’t no later’n this arternoon thet Lawless took
his men agin’ ther stage a couple o’ times.”

“That’s a fact!” murmured Wild Bill, puzzled. “And we’re overlooking
what Hank Tenny said about Buffalo Bill and Dell going to Chavorta
Gorge after Lawless. How can----”

“No use of me watching Gentleman Jim any more,” said De Bray, coming
in under the ledge just then. “Seen anything of my twenty thousand,
any of you fellows?”

“There’s the man that maybe took it, De Bray,” said Wild Bill,
striking another match and indicating the body of Lawless, “and,” he
added enigmatically, “maybe didn’t.”

“He looks like the fellow, all right,” said De Bray, bending down and
pushing his hands into the dead man’s pockets, “but he isn’t wearing
the same clothes.”

“Him Lawless, all same,” spoke up the voice of Cayuse; “paleface that
rob stage him not Lawless, only look like um and wear um clothes.”

“Hey?” cried the startled Nomad, whirling on the boy. “Come ag’in
with thet, Cayuse.”

Cayuse repeated his words, adding: “Me crawl in here, try find white
woman. No find white woman, find um Lawless, instead. You _sabe_?
Think um Lawless white woman, all same dead. Ugh! Him plenty dark,
Little Cayuse in heap big hurry, make um mistake.”

“It’s all right, the way it has turned out, Cayuse,” said Wild Bill.
“Under the circumstances, the mistake was only a natural one to make,
but it gave Gentleman Jim quite a jolt. How about the outlaws?”

“Two of um gone to happy place,” said the boy; “other one him live,
mebbyso.”

“‘Happy place,’” grunted Nomad. “Thet ain’t what I’d call et’, hey,
Wild Bill?”

“Not exactly,” said Wild Bill. “Suppose we use up our matches trying
to help De Bray locate his money?”

They searched for an hour, but fruitlessly.

“They’ve buried it, or something,” said De Bray, when the search was
given up. “In the morning it might be a good thing to ride to this
Chavorta Gorge place, and see what’s going on over there.”

“Good idea,” approved Wild Bill.

At that moment Gentleman Jim called Nomad and the rest, and they went
out, to find the gambler and his wife standing side by side, the
gambler’s arm about his wife’s waist.

“Boys,” said Gentleman Jim, in a voice resonant with feeling, “they
say it’s always darkest just before dawn. It has seemed to have been
that way with me. This little woman, dearer to me than any one else
in the world, has been hunting the West over for a year, trying to
locate me. It was in Montegordo that she got the clue that brought
her toward Sun Dance. What do you think that clue was?”

None of the others could guess.

“Why,” exclaimed Gentleman Jim happily, “it was a published account
of Buffalo Bill’s exploits, that time he went to Forty Thieves Mine,
to stay for three days and nights. My name--or, rather, my sobriquet
of ‘Gentleman Jim’--was mixed up in the account, and Allie took a
chance on that sobriquet belonging to me. You have all seen how it
turned out. She and I are going back to Sun Dance now. I’ll leave you
to wind up the rest of this affair, for I’m too happy myself to be of
much use to anybody. If you ride to Chavorta Gorge in the morning,
don’t fail to tell Buffalo Bill what has happened.”

Three horses belonging to the outlaws were found, farther along the
gully. One of these horses was tendered to Mrs. Brisco for her use,
and she and her husband started for Sun Dance without further delay.

A little later Hank Tenny, with three prisoners, all on led horses,
was started in the same direction. Two horses carried the prisoners.
One was the man who had been wounded in the gully, and he was given a
horse to himself: the other two men--Coomby and Tex--were secured to
the remaining Cayuse.

It was sunrise before Little Cayuse, on his borrowed Cheyenne pony,
Wild Bill, Nomad, and De Bray mounted and started for Chavorta Gorge.

They had Gentleman Jim’s instructions as to the course they should
take, but these instructions were unnecessary, now that Cayuse
was one of the party. The boy, in his soldiering days, had become
familiar with the country, and proved an excellent guide.

But Nomad and his pards never reached Chavorta Gorge. Half a dozen
miles from the gap, and about midway between the ridge and Medicine
Bluff, the party met the scout and Dell.

Behind the scout, and securely roped to Bear Paw, was the leader of
the men who had held up the stage--the bogus Captain Lawless.

As the two parties approached each other, Buffalo Bill thrust a hand
into his pocket and held up a roll of bills.

“How does this look to you, De Bray?” the scout cried, as he galloped
forward.

“What is it, Buffalo Bill?” asked De Bray. “Money?”

“I should say so! Twenty one-thousand-dollar bills.”

“Then all I can say is that it looks good to me; but I think I feel
better over the fact that Mrs. Brisco has been found, alive and well,
than I do over the recovery of my money.”

“Then she has been found?” asked Dell, her eyes dancing.

“Thet’s what,” said Nomad; “she was over by Medicine Bluff. Lawless
was there, too----”

The scout had halted, his horse to shake hands with his pards and
congratulate them; but, at these words from Nomad, he turned a
startled look in his old pard’s direction.

“What are you talking about, Nick?” Buffalo Bill demanded. “How
could you find Lawless at Medicine Bluff, when he was at Pima?”

“Let Cayuse tell yer erbout thet,” grinned Nomad.

“Me send um picture-writing,” spoke up Cayuse. “Make um two pictures,
all same, burro’s ears over one. You no _sabe_? One Captain Lawless,
other no Captain Lawless. Both look all same.”

Dell laughed.

“But I can’t understand, Cayuse,” said she, “how you’d expect Buffalo
Bill to guess that from a pair of burro’s ears.”

“Him hard thing to tell on birch-bark,” said Little Cayuse.




                            CHAPTER XXIX.

                             CONCLUSION.


In the evening of the day he and Dell had visited Chavorta Gorge,
Buffalo Bill and his pards reached Sun Dance. There was a pleasant
reunion of friends at the supper-table in the Lucky Strike Hotel.
Wah-coo-tah formed one of the party, and Mr. and Mrs. Brisco were
also there. Hank Tenny, Lonesome Pete, and Hotchkiss had started for
Fort Sill in a buckboard, taking the bogus Captain Lawless and the
other three prisoners with them. This departure of the prisoners was
the opening topic discussed at the table that evening.

The departure of the prisoners led up to the other matters connected
with the double stage-robbery, and a general discussion was indulged
in, whereby every point that was at all obscured was cleared up to
the satisfaction of all.

Mrs. Brisco, it developed, had been taken direct from the scene of
the second hold-up to the gully near Medicine Bluff. While she was
there, guarded by the three outlaws, Lawless had breathed his last.
The terrible experiences Mrs. Brisco had gone through had seemed to
her, just as a later event had seemed to her husband, the darkest
hour of the night that was to herald the dawn.

“You said, Buffalo Bill,” remarked Gentleman Jim, during the course
of the conversation, “that great events sometimes hang on trifling
circumstances. Please look at this.”

He drew the memorable locket from his pocket. The trinket had been
knocked out of shape, and there was a deep dent in the center.

“When I left here to go to Medicine Bluff with you, Buffalo Bill,”
pursued Gentleman Jim, “I put that locket in the breast pocket of
my coat. During our fight with the outlaws in the gully, one of the
scoundrels fired his revolver at me, pointblank. I felt a shock at
my breast, but thought little of it until, when I went to return the
locket to Allie, I discovered it in that condition. There was also,”
he added, touching the breast of his coat, “this bullet-hole over
my heart. Undoubtedly, that locket, which got Allie into so much
trouble, squared the account by saving my life.”

“Things turn out thet way sometimes, Gentleman Jim,” said Nomad,
“purvidin’ ye hev what we call Cody-luck.”

“Cody-luck has been with us all through our work at Medicine Bluff,”
averred James Brisco.

“And in Chavorta Gorge,” supplemented Dell, with a soft look at the
scout.

“Especially in Chavorta Gorge,” spoke up De Bray, thinking of his
twenty thousand.

“And here’s hoping that Cody-luck will be with the king of scouts and
his pards, and with some of the rest of us, as long as we live!” said
Brisco.

“Amen to that!” were the words that ran round the board.

       *       *       *       *       *

But little more remains to be told concerning the work of the king of
scouts in and near Sun Dance Cañon.

De Bray looked over the Forty Thieves Mine, pronounced it a bonanza,
bought his half-interest and forthwith began making the property a
heavy producer of the yellow metal. Not only did he enrich himself
out of the mine, but he likewise made Wah-coo-tah wealthy. The Indian
girl and her Cheyenne mother went to live in a “white man’s town”;
Wah-coo-tah was educated, and ultimately married a man of good family.

The man who posed as Captain Lawless and carried out the
stage-robberies, it afterward developed, was swayed originally by a
desire to get his hands on the Forty Thieves Mine. He and Lawless, it
was stated by Tex, had often exchanged parts, finding it easy to do
so because of their close resemblance to each other. Who the bogus
Lawless was was never discovered. Under his assumed name he was sent
to a military prison, along with the other prisoners. Tex, of course,
was given his freedom, according to the scout’s promise.

Hawk, the Cheyenne, remained in Sun Dance until Cayuse returned the
borrowed pony, then left the camp to pick up his deer-meat and go on
to the village of his people.

Dell Dauntless, owing to force of unforeseen circumstances, did not
at once return to her Arizona ranch, as she had intended. Fate linked
her destiny with that of the scout and his pards for a time longer.

Mr. and Mrs. James Brisco left Sun Dance, and Jim gave up the cards,
just as he had told Buffalo Bill he intended doing. They went East,
and, as the scout had prophesied, Brisco gave attention to his
medical practise, and ultimately became a credit to the community in
which he cast his lot.

Forty-five is not an advanced age, and no man is really ever too old
to begin retrieving an evil past.

Lonesome Pete and Hank Tenny continued to live and mine in Sun Dance
Cañon. Always firm friends, their chief delight, for years after
the exciting events herein described, was to meet and live over the
doings of Buffalo Bill and his pards, when they had sojourned in
the gulch and had run out the trail of Captain Lawless of the Forty
Thieves.


                              THE END.


  No. 67 of the BORDER STORIES, entitled “Buffalo Bill’s Wild Ride,”
  is a thriller that takes us right over the plains, and makes us
  feel the wind rushing through our hair, as we ride with the great
  scout up hill and down dale.




                         BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN

                          MERRIWELL SERIES

                 Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell

                        PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS

                 _Fascinating Stories of Athletics_


  A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell brothers
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  These stories are rich in fun and thrills in all branches of sports
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                    _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

   1--Frank Merriwell’s School Days         By Burt L. Standish
   2--Frank Merriwell’s Chums               By Burt L. Standish
   3--Frank Merriwell’s Foes                By Burt L. Standish
   4--Frank Merriwell’s Trip West           By Burt L. Standish
   5--Frank Merriwell Down South            By Burt L. Standish
   6--Frank Merriwell’s Bravery             By Burt L. Standish
   7--Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour        By Burt L. Standish
   8--Frank Merriwell in Europe.            By Burt L. Standish
   9--Frank Merriwell at Yale               By Burt L. Standish
  10--Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield       By Burt L. Standish
  11--Frank Merriwell’s Races               By Burt L. Standish
  12--Frank Merriwell’s Party.              By Burt L. Standish
  13--Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour        By Burt L. Standish
  14--Frank Merriwell’s Courage             By Burt L. Standish
  15--Frank Merriwell’s Daring              By Burt L. Standish
  16--Frank Merriwell’s Alarm               By Burt L. Standish
  17--Frank Merriwell’s Athletes            By Burt L. Standish
  18--Frank Merriwell’s Skill               By Burt L. Standish
  19--Frank Merriwell’s Champions           By Burt L. Standish
  20--Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale      By Burt L. Standish
  21--Frank Merriwell’s Secret              By Burt L. Standish
  22--Frank Merriwell’s Danger              By Burt L. Standish
  23--Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty             By Burt L. Standish
  24--Frank Merriwell in Camp               By Burt L. Standish
  25--Frank Merriwell’s Vacation            By Burt L. Standish
  26--Frank Merriwell’s Cruise              By Burt L. Standish
  27--Frank Merriwell’s Chase               By Burt L. Standish
  28--Frank Merriwell in Maine              By Burt L. Standish
  29--Frank Merriwell’s Struggle            By Burt L. Standish
  30--Frank Merriwell’s First Job           By Burt L. Standish
  31--Frank Merriwell’s Opportunity         By Burt L. Standish
  32--Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck           By Burt L. Standish
  33--Frank Merriwell’s Protégé             By Burt L. Standish
  34--Frank Merriwell on the Road           By Burt L. Standish
  35--Frank Merriwell’s Own Company         By Burt L. Standish
  36--Frank Merriwell’s Fame                By Burt L. Standish
  37--Frank Merriwell’s College Chums       By Burt L. Standish
  38--Frank Merriwell’s Problem             By Burt L. Standish
  39--Frank Merriwell’s Fortune             By Burt L. Standish
  40--Frank Merriwell’s New Comedian        By Burt L. Standish
  41--Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity          By Burt L. Standish
  42--Frank Merriwell’s Stage Hit           By Burt L. Standish
  43--Frank Merriwell’s Great Scheme        By Burt L. Standish
  44--Frank Merriwell in England            By Burt L. Standish
  45--Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards     By Burt L. Standish
  46--Frank Merriwell’s Duel                By Burt L. Standish
  47--Frank Merriwell’s Double Shot         By Burt L. Standish
  48--Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories  By Burt L. Standish
  49--Frank Merriwell’s Confidence          By Burt L. Standish
  50--Frank Merriwell’s Auto                By Burt L. Standish
  51--Frank Merriwell’s Fun                 By Burt L. Standish
  52--Frank Merriwell’s Generosity          By Burt L. Standish
  53--Frank Merriwell’s Tricks              By Burt L. Standish
  54--Frank Merriwell’s Temptation          By Burt L. Standish
  55--Frank Merriwell on Top.               By Burt L. Standish
  56--Frank Merriwell’s Luck                By Burt L. Standish
  57--Frank Merriwell’s Mascot              By Burt L. Standish
  58--Frank Merriwell’s Reward              By Burt L. Standish
  59--Frank Merriwell’s Phantom             By Burt L. Standish
  60--Frank Merriwell’s Faith               By Burt L. Standish
  61--Frank Merriwell’s Victories           By Burt L. Standish
  62--Frank Merriwell’s Iron Nerve          By Burt L. Standish
  63--Frank Merriwell in Kentucky           By Burt L. Standish
  64--Frank Merriwell’s Power               By Burt L. Standish
  65--Frank Merriwell’s Shrewdness          By Burt L. Standish

  In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
  books listed below will be issued during the respective months in
  New York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a
  distance promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                   To Be Published in July, 1923.

  66--Frank Merriwell’s Set Back            By Burt L. Standish
  67--Frank Merriwell’s Search              By Burt L. Standish


                  To Be Published in August, 1923.

  68--Frank Merriwell’s Club                By Burt L. Standish
  69--Frank Merriwell’s Trust               By Burt L. Standish


                 To Be Published in September, 1923.

  70--Frank Merriwell’s False Friend        By Burt L. Standish
  71--Frank Merriwell’s Strong Arm          By Burt L. Standish


                  To Be Published in October, 1923.

  72--Frank Merriwell As Coach              By Burt L. Standish
  73--Frank Merriwell’s Brother             By Burt L. Standish
  74--Frank Merriwell’s Marvel              By Burt L. Standish


                 To Be Published in November, 1923.

  75--Frank Merriwell’s Support             By Burt L. Standish
  76--Dick Merriwell At Fardale             By Burt L. Standish


                 To Be Published in December, 1923.

  77--Dick Merriwell’s Glory                By Burt L. Standish
  78--Dick Merriwell’s Promise              By Burt L. Standish


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                        WESTERN STORIES ABOUT

                            BUFFALO BILL

                        Price, Fifteen Cents

                Red-blooded Adventure Stories for Men


  There is no more romantic character in American history than
  William F. Cody, or as he was internationally known, Buffalo Bill.
  He, with Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, Wild Bill Hickok, General
  Custer, and a few other adventurous spirits, laid the foundation of
  our great West.

  There is no more brilliant page in American history than the
  winning of the West. Never did pioneers live more thrilling
  lives, so rife with adventure and brave deeds as the old scouts
  and plainsmen. Foremost among these stands the imposing figure of
  Buffalo Bill.

  All of the books in this list are intensely interesting. They were
  written by the close friend and companion of Buffalo Bill--Colonel
  Prentiss Ingraham. They depict actual adventures which this pair
  of hard-hitting comrades experienced, while the story of these
  adventures is interwoven with fiction; historically the books are
  correct.


                    _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

    1--Buffalo Bill, the Border King          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
    2--Buffalo Bill’s Raid                    By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
    3--Buffalo Bill’s Bravery                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
    4--Buffalo Bill’s Trump Card              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
    5--Buffalo Bill’s Pledge                  By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
    6--Buffalo Bill’s Vengeance               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
    7--Buffalo Bill’s Iron Grip               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
    8--Buffalo Bill’s Capture                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
    9--Buffalo Bill’s Danger Line             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   10--Buffalo Bill’s Comrades                By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   11--Buffalo Bill’s Reckoning               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   12--Buffalo Bill’s Warning                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   13--Buffalo Bill at Bay                    By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   14--Buffalo Bill’s Buckskin Pards          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   15--Buffalo Bill’s Brand                   By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   16--Buffalo Bill’s Honor                   By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   17--Buffalo Bill’s Phantom Hunt            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   18--Buffalo Bill’s Fight With Fire         By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   19--Buffalo Bill’s Danite Trail            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   20--Buffalo Bill’s Ranch Riders            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   21--Buffalo Bill’s Death Trail             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   22--Buffalo Bill’s Trackers                By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   23--Buffalo Bill’s Mid-air Flight          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   24--Buffalo Bill, Ambassador               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   25--Buffalo Bill’s Air Voyage              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   26--Buffalo Bill’s Secret Mission          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   27--Buffalo Bill’s Long Trail              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   28--Buffalo Bill Against Odds              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   29--Buffalo Bill’s Hot Chase               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   30--Buffalo Bill’s Redskin Ally            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   31--Buffalo Bill’s Treasure Trove          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   32--Buffalo Bill’s Hidden Foes             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   33--Buffalo Bill’s Crack Shot              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   34--Buffalo Bill’s Close Call              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   35--Buffalo Bill’s Double Surprise         By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   36--Buffalo Bill’s Ambush                  By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   37--Buffalo Bill’s Outlaw Hunt             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   38--Buffalo Bill’s Border Duel             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   39--Buffalo Bill’s Bid for Fame            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   40--Buffalo Bill’s Triumph                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   41--Buffalo Bill’s Spy Trailer             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   42--Buffalo Bill’s Death Call              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   43--Buffalo Bill’s Body Guard              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   44--Buffalo Bill’s Still Hunt              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   45--Buffalo Bill and the Doomed Dozen      By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   46--Buffalo Bill’s Prairie Scout           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   47--Buffalo Bill’s Traitor Guide           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   48--Buffalo Bill’s Bonanza                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   49--Buffalo Bill’s Swoop                   By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   50--Buffalo Bill and the Gold King         By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   51--Buffalo Bill, Deadshot                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   52--Buffalo Bill’s Buckskin Bravos         By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   53--Buffalo Bill’s Big Four                By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   54--Buffalo Bill’s One-armed Pard          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   55--Buffalo Bill’s Race for Life           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   56--Buffalo Bill’s Return                  By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   57--Buffalo Bill’s Conquest                By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   58--Buffalo Bill to the Rescue             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   59--Buffalo Bill’s Beautiful Foe           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   60--Buffalo Bill’s Perilous Task           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   61--Buffalo Bill’s Queer Find              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   62--Buffalo Bill’s Blind Lead              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   63--Buffalo Bill’s Resolution              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   64--Buffalo Bill, the Avenger              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   65--Buffalo Bill’s Pledged Pard            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   66--Buffalo Bill’s Weird Warning           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   67--Buffalo Bill’s Wild Ride               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   68--Buffalo Bill’s Redskin Stampede        By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   69--Buffalo Bill’s Mine Mystery            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   70--Buffalo Bill’s Gold Hunt               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   71--Buffalo Bill’s Daring Dash             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   72--Buffalo Bill on Hand                   By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   73--Buffalo Bill’s Alliance                By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   74--Buffalo Bill’s Relentless Foe          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   75--Buffalo Bill’s Midnight Ride           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   76--Buffalo Bill’s Chivalry                By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   77--Buffalo Bill’s Girl Pard               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   78--Buffalo Bill’s Private War             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   79--Buffalo Bill’s Diamond Mine            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   80--Buffalo Bill’s Big Contract            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   81--Buffalo Bill’s Woman Foe               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   82--Buffalo Bill’s Ruse                    By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   83--Buffalo Bill’s Pursuit                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   84--Buffalo Bill’s Hidden Gold             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   85--Buffalo Bill in Mid-air                By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   86--Buffalo Bill’s Queer Mission           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   87--Buffalo Bill’s Verdict                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   88--Buffalo Bill’s Ordeal                  By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   89--Buffalo Bill’s Camp Fires              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   90--Buffalo Bill’s Iron Nerve              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   91--Buffalo Bill’s Rival                   By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   92--Buffalo Bill’s Lone Hand               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   93--Buffalo Bill’s Sacrifice               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   94--Buffalo Bill’s Thunderbolt             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   95--Buffalo Bill’s Black Fortune           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   96--Buffalo Bill’s Wild Work               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   97--Buffalo Bill’s Yellow Trail            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   98--Buffalo Bill’s Treasure Train          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   99--Buffalo Bill’s Bowie Duel              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  100--Buffalo Bill’s Mystery Man             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  101--Buffalo Bill’s Bold Play               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  102--Buffalo Bill: Peacemaker               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  103--Buffalo Bill’s Big Surprise            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  104--Buffalo Bill’s Barricade               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  105--Buffalo Bill’s Test                    By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  106--Buffalo Bill’s Powwow                  By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  107--Buffalo Bill’s Stern Justice           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  108--Buffalo Bill’s Mysterious Friend       By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  109--Buffalo Bill and the Boomers           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  110--Buffalo Bill’s Panther Fight           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  111--Buffalo Bill and the Overland Mail     By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  112--Buffalo Bill on the Deadwood Trail     By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  113--Buffalo Bill in Apache Land            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  114--Buffalo Bill’s Blindfold Duel          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  115--Buffalo Bill and the Lone Camper       By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  116--Buffalo Bill’s Merry War               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  117--Buffalo Bill’s Star Play               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  118--Buffalo Bill’s War Cry                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  119--Buffalo Bill on Black Panther’s Trail  By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  120--Buffalo Bill’s Slim Chance             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  121--Buffalo Bill Besieged                  By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  122--Buffalo Bill’s Bandit Round-up         By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  123--Buffalo Bill’s Surprise Party          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  124--Buffalo Bill’s Lightning Raid          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  125--Buffalo Bill in Mexico                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  126--Buffalo Bill’s Traitor Foe             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  127--Buffalo Bill’s Tireless Chase          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  128--Buffalo Bill’s Boy Bugler              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  129--Buffalo Bill’s Sure Guess              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  130--Buffalo Bill’s Record Jump             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  131--Buffalo Bill in the Land of Dread      By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  132--Buffalo Bill’s Tangled Clue            By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  133--Buffalo Bill’s Wolf Skin               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham




                         _Adventure Stories_

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                         _Western Stories_

                         _Love Stories_

                         _Sea Stories_


  All classes of fiction are to be found among the Street &
  Smith novels. Our line contains reading matter for every one,
  irrespective of age or preference.

  The person who has only a moderate sum to spend on reading matter
  will find this line a veritable gold mine.


                     STREET & SMITH CORPORATION,
                         79 Seventh Avenue,
                           New York, N. Y.




                         Transcriber’s Notes

  The Table of Contents at the beginning of the book was created by
  the transcriber.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation such as “get-away”/“getaway”
  have been maintained.

  Minor punctuation and spelling errors have been silently corrected
  and, except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the
  text, especially in dialogue, and inconsistent or archaic usage,
  have been retained.

  Page 2: “A Congress of the Rough-riders” changed to “A Congress of
  the Rough Riders”.

  Page 11: “Wild Bill set his foot on the supttering” changed to
  “Wild Bill set his foot on the sputtering”.