Читать книгу Buffalo Bill's Ruse; Or, Won by Sheer Nerve - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 13

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Buffalo Bill was trying to settle that question by releasing himself from the cords with which he had been bound.

This was slow and difficult work. He was bound to a small tree, close to the camp fire, with his hands tied behind his back, and cords were round his ankles.

The other prisoners were tied in much the same manner. Nearest to him was old Nick Nomad. Close at Nomad’s side was Latimer, with Pizen Kate farther away, this fact seeming to give a feeling of relief to the old trapper.

Nomad was also trying to wriggle out of his bonds, and was finding it difficult.

“Buffler,” he whispered, “when I git a good chanct I got somethin’ ter tell ye, about how I happened ter be at thet house, ye know. I can’t do it now, ye see.” He cast a sidelong glance at Latimer. “Soon’s I git a chanct I’ll tell ye. Must ’a’ seemed ruther cur’us ter you ter find me thar playin’ servant.”

“More so to find you married,” said the scout.

“Te, he! Waal, thet war cur’us, too. I’ll tell ye about thet soon’s I kin. Jes’ now, Buffler, I’m tryin’ ter break the bands of ther Philistines. I war wantin’ ter tell ye, and intendin’ ter, you remember, when I went inter thet room thar at ther house, and fell through ther floor inter ther tunnel; and then I couldn’t.”

Buffalo Bill, after a time of strenuous exertion, felt the cords on his wrists loosen.

The white man disguised as an Indian was giving a sharp reprimand to the Indian who had wished to shoot Nebuchadnezzar. Having done this, he approached the old horse himself, and attempted to lay hands on him.

Nebuchadnezzar did not have enough discernment to discover that this was a white man, who had befriended him, seeing only the paint and the feathers. Indians were not to his liking. Hence, when the man sought to put forth a hand to touch him he wheeled with amazing quickness, launched out again with both heels, and, striking the man squarely in the breast, knocked him down. At the same instant, apparently discovering for the first time that he was not tied, he gave a shrill squeal, and dashed out of the camp.

The incident produced a tremendous uproar of excitement. A number of Indians ran after the horse, while others gathered round the fallen chief. They picked up the groaning white man, and one, who was apparently a medicine man, began to work over him, for the fallen white man was half unconscious from the effects of that terrible kick.

Nomad was cackling to himself, filled with delight over the achievement of his raw-boned steed, yet having discretion enough to keep his wicked glee from the notice of the redskins.

The attention drawn to the escaping horse and to the fallen leader furnished Buffalo Bill with a much-needed opportunity. He cast the cords from his wrists, and, reaching over, drew the small knife from his boot leg and cut the cords that held Nomad.

“Now is your time to run for it!” he whispered, but Nomad hesitated, surprised when his bonds fell away.

“But you, Buffler?”

“I can’t go just yet. I must look out for these others. Perhaps I can release them, too.”

“Buffler, I can’t leave ye!”

“Perhaps I can release the others.”

But Buffalo Bill saw he could not do that. The white leader of the Indians was being brought up to the camp fire, that the light might be used in discovering his condition and giving him aid.

Buffalo Bill rolled quietly back to his position by the little tree, thrust the knife in his boot leg, and dropped the cords into position around his wrists.

“Bolt, before it is too late!” he whispered to Nomad. “I can’t leave these others. They need me. Perhaps you can find some way to help us, once you are free. Go, while you can.”

Old Nomad hesitated no longer. Rising while the attention of the Indians was given to the injured man, he gave a quick leap that took him round the tree to which he had been tied. Then, with a startling yell, that he meant should be heard by Nebuchadnezzar, he jumped away into the darkness, running with the sprightliness of a much younger man.

The astonishing escape of old Nick Nomad turned the attention of the Indians from their groaning leader. Rifles were hastily seized and shots sent hurtling after the escaping prisoner. A number of the Indians also started in hurried pursuit.

Nomad yelled again, in that high key, meaning thus to announce to Buffalo Bill that he was still unhurt, also to call Nebuchadnezzar to him.

Some of the Indians came up to the remaining prisoners. One of them was curious enough to inspect the cords, and in so doing discovered that Buffalo Bill’s hands were free. His cry of anger drew others.

The temptation was strong for the scout to dash his fist into this redskin’s painted face, and then make a break for safety; but, as before, he was restrained by a feeling that he ought not to abandon the other prisoners.

The Indians surrounded him now, and they tied him again, using neither kind words nor methods in doing it.

However, no sooner was he alone than he was again working to free his hands.

Pizen Kate was greatly excited by the escape of Nomad. “Persimmon Pete,” she wailed, “he’s deserted me ag’in. And now I can’t foller him.”

The white leader of the Redskin Rovers soon recovered from the knock-out effects of the kick given him by old Nebuchadnezzar, although he complained of severe pains in his chest, and he would himself now have shot Nebuchadnezzar, if the opportunity had presented. For a time he remained by the camp fire, groaning in sullen rage.

During that time, and while the search for Nomad was still going on, Buffalo Bill worked quietly at the cords on his wrists. Yet he had to work now with extreme care, for he was almost every moment under the eyes of some enemy.

By and by the disguised white man rose from his recumbent position and came over to where the prisoners were. He fixed his eyes on Buffalo Bill.

“What Long Hair do here?” he said, maintaining his character of an Indian.

Buffalo Bill gave him a keen look, scrutinizing him closely by the leaping light of the camp fire.

“Why keep up the pretense?” he said.

The man effected not to understand him. “What Long Hair do here?” he repeated, spreading out his hands to indicate that he meant to ask what Buffalo Bill was doing in that region of the country.

“Talk like the white man you are, and then maybe I’ll answer you!” was the sharp answer.

The man laughed, and cast aside his Indian pretensions.

“Your eyes are good, Cody!”

“I knew you were a white man as soon as I saw you. I’m too familiar with the walk and manner of Indians to be fooled that way. Besides, when you were groaning there, your every action was that of a white man.”

“When I get hold of that horse again I’ll beat his brains out!” the man fumed. “He came near killing me. He’s your brute, I think?”

“Oh, no; he belongs to the man who escaped a while ago.”

“To that old fool? You were riding him!”

“I rode him because he was the only horse that your redskins left in Latimer’s stables.”

“Tell me, Cody, what you came there for?”

“I was a guest of Latimer, and your redskins captured me.”

“You were merely the guest of the fellow over there?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so!”

“What’s your opinion, then? You seem to know more about it than I do.”

“I think you came here looking for me.”

Buffalo Bill laughed quietly. “The Bible says, you know, that the wicked flee when no man pursueth. You thought I was after you, when as a matter of fact I had never even heard of you.”

“You’d heard of the Redskin Rovers?”

“Thanks for the information that these are the Redskin Rovers, though I’d been guessing as much. Yes, I’d heard of the Rovers. But I didn’t know a white man led them, though that has been suspected. Indians are not natural highwaymen, and when they do turn highwaymen they are usually led by a white man.”

“I suppose you know why we attacked that house?”

“To get me?”

“You guess right. We learned you were there, from the Indian whose mustang you killed; and then we felt that we must have you. And now that we have you——”

“And now that you have me?”

“Well, we don’t intend that you shall get away. As for that fool who escaped, he doesn’t matter.”

Evidently this white man did not know old Nick Nomad, who, as a clever fighter and dangerous combatant, was worth any dozen ordinary men. Nomad and Nebuchadnezzar made a combination hard to beat.