Читать книгу Buffalo Bill's Ruse; Or, Won by Sheer Nerve - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 5

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When Buffalo Bill arrived with Latimer at the home of the latter on the Crested Mesa, he found a big, rambling building, with many wings, together with a number of other buildings and stables. Close by flowed a stream of water between high and rocky banks, where, Latimer said, his few cattle obtained their water. The place looked deserted.

But a great surprise came to the scout when, on riding up to the big house, he was about to dismount, and a servant came rushing out to take the horses. He stared, open-mouthed, hanging half out of his saddle, for when his eyes fell on this servant he had been swinging to the ground, and that sight had stopped all movement on his part for an instant.

The servant was a wizened little man, with a wide mouth and small, peering eyes. He was dressed in a half-border manner, and a revolver was belted to his waist.

“Nick Nomad!” was the name that came from the scout’s lips.

Old Nick Nomad seemed as much taken aback as Buffalo Bill. He halted in confusion; then laughed in his quaint cackling manner, and advanced toward the horse.

“Yours to command, Buffler!” he cried, spreading his homely mouth in a huge grin. “You didn’t reckon on seein’ me, and I didn’t reckon on seein’ you, and so we’re both properly astonished. But I ain’t a-goin’ to hold it agin’ ye.”

The scout swung to the ground, and seized the little man by the hand, shaking the hand warmly.

“Nomad, I am glad to see you!”

“Ther same hyar, Buffler! I’m as glad to see ye as if I’d run a splinter in my foot. What ye doin’ hyar?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Me? Waal, I’m in hard luck jes’ now, fer a fac’. And so I’ve become a sort of hostler hyar, ye see. I look after ther hosses, and——”

John Latimer was looking on in surprise, and the garrulous old trapper subsided, seeing it.

“I’ll have a long talk with you later,” said the scout. “I’m the guest of Mr. Latimer, and shall probably be out here several days. By the way, Nomad, what do you know of Indians and road agents?”

“They’re all dead, so fur’s I know, Buffler.”

“You haven’t seen any lately?”

“Nary a pesky red, an’ not a single pizen road agent.”

“That’s strange. Mr. Latimer has reported that he had lately been raided by road agents and by the Redskin Rovers?”

“Waal, ye see how ’tis, Cody. I only come hyar yistiddy, and so I can’t be considered as bein’ ’specially up in ther happenin’s hyar and hyarabouts. But if thar’s road agents and Injuns floatin’ round, I’ll begin to feel that I’ve arrove ahead o’ time in ther happy huntin’ grounds. I ain’t hed no good times at all, sense the days when you and me was huntin’ Injuns and road agents together.”

The scout, though anxious for a talk with old Nick Nomad, saw that John Latimer had dismounted and was waiting to accompany him into the house.

“Well, take my horse, Nomad,” he said. “By the way, Nick, where is old Nebuchadnezzar.”

A whinny came from the nearest stable; and old Nomad, hearing it, bent double with cackling laughter, so pleased was he.

“Thar he is, Buffler, ther ole sinner! He knows his name as well as some men know the name o’ whisky, and he answers jes’ as quick. He heard ye say ‘Nebbycudnezzar’ and he answers ye! How long’s it been, Buffler, sense that wise critter heerd your gentle voice, anyhow?”

“More than a year, I think.”

“Jes’ ther same, he’s rec’nized it. Buffler, I’ve seen wise hosses in my time, but Nebby goes ahead of ther best of ’em. He’s a-gittin’ so knowin’ that I’m acchilly askeered that some mornin’ I’ll wake up and find that he’s been translated to ther hoss heaven, if thar is one.”

Having started on his favorite subject, old Nick Nomad would have gone on indefinitely, if Buffalo Bill had not snapped one of his sentences in the middle by practically deserting him and entering the house with Latimer.

The thing that first arrested Buffalo Bill’s attention within the house was that the big, rambling structure was apparently without occupants. One servant had come to the door, to admit them—a Mexican of villainous aspect and slinking mien—but aside from this one Mexican not another soul was to be seen.

“You appear to be quite alone here?” the scout suggested.

“Yes,” Latimer admitted, “quite alone.”

“You have been here alone from the first?”

“Yes. I have had a number of servants, but none of them remained with me long. The place is too isolated, and too far from the towns. So, after a short time, in each instance, they departed. I have now only that Mexican, and the man you talked with. You seemed to know him, Cody? He came to me only yesterday. He’s a stranger to me, and may not be reliable; but I needed help so badly that I took him without asking him any questions.”

“There is nothing mysterious about him,” the scout replied, as he passed through the long hall with Latimer to the latter’s rooms. “He is, in fact, as open as the day.”

“Well, I’m sure I’m glad to hear it,” Latimer confessed, with an appearance of uneasiness. “I have more than once suspected that servants who have been here have been in alliance with the Redskin Rovers, or the road agents.”

“Nomad is an old-trapper, who has been in the Western mountains more years than he can remember; and yet, in spite of the great age he claims—hear him tell it sometimes and you’d be ready to believe him a hundred years old—he is as spry as a young man, and as a dead shot with rifle or revolver he has not many equals. He has helped me in a number of scouting trips, and we’ve had some very interesting experiences together. It surprised me to find him here.”

“Surprised you?”

“That he should be doing menial work. But he explained that he found himself in hard luck, and was glad to take anything that offered. I was glad to see him. He is as a friend true as steel.”

When they passed into the large rooms Latimer apologized for their apparent disorder.

“You perhaps heard him boasting of his horse,” the scout continued, still speaking of Nick Nomad.

“A bag of bones, Cody!” cried Latimer. “I wonder the brute can carry him.”

“Yet a wonderful horse. According to Nomad, it is the most wonderful horse in America, or in the world. And it really is a beast of rare intelligence. He has so trained it that its actions at times seem almost human.”

“My new hostler seems to be rather a wonderful man,” remarked Latimer, with a dry smile. “I shall have to have a talk with him myself.”

“You will find that he is a wonderful man, if you ever are able to know him as thoroughly as I do,” was the scout’s answer.