Читать книгу Buffalo Bill's Pursuit; Or, The Heavy Hand of Justice - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 4

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Having arrived at a position in the trail, Buffalo Bill looked more carefully at the woman rescued from her strange prison in the hollow oak overhanging the cañon of the river.

The woman looked as intently at him, with black eyes that snapped and burned. She inspected him from top to toe, critically, as if trying to size him up and determine what character of man he was. Then a sudden fiery wrath blazed in her black eyes, her lips became pinched, and then opened in one of her strange cackles.

“I guess,” she snapped, “that you’re the man that’s playin’ the fake Buffler Bill trick about here. And if ye aire, then I dunno but I’d ruther been left in the tree than to have been helped by ye. Aire you him, er ain’t ye?”

Buffalo Bill could not repress a smile at her manner.

“I haven’t the pleasure of knowing who this fake Buffalo Bill is, but I assure you that I am the real Buffalo Bill,” he said. “My name is Cody, as, perhaps, you have heard, and——”

She cackled again, scoffing at his declaration.

“What’s the proof of it?” she demanded.

“I shall not try to present any proof, other than my word.”

“And if you’re the fake Buffler, yer word ain’t good furder’n a man could sling a steer by the tail. You ain’t the fake Buffler?”

“No, madam, I am not.”

“Why do ye call me madam, and how’d ye know I ever was married, to desarve that title? Simply because I’m oldish and have lost my good looks? You don’t know me?”

“I haven’t the honor.”

He touched his hat again, but a smile disturbed the gravity of his face.

“Well, I’m Pizen Jane, frum Cinnabar. Never heerd o’ me?”

“I never had the honor to——”

“Shucks! Don’t be so perlite. Perliteness is due, mebbe, to young girls with red cheeks and yaller hair, and eyes that keeps rollin’ at the men; but it don’t b’long in talkin’ to a woman like me, that’s seen the world, and had all her beauty knocked off her long ago.”

“I only meant——”

“Don’t mean, then, when speakin’ to me; jes’ speak yer thoughts. I know I’m homely, and my temper ain’t any purtier than my face. I’m Pizen Jane, of Cinnabar.”

He smiled.

“I’m very glad to know you, and wish to assure you again that I am William F. Cody, known to many as Buffalo Bill.”

“Jes’ the same, I’m goin’ to watch ye!”

“That’s kind of you.”

“You mean to say by that it ain’t kind o’ me, after you yankin’ me outer that hole? Well, I thank you fer that. Where you goin’?”

“I was on my way from Cinnabar.”

“Yisterday I was, too; but I got stuck in that hole, and that brought my journeyin’ to a close. I reckon, if you’re goin’ on, I’ll go with ye. You’ve got a hoss there.”

“A very good animal.”

“Glad of it; fer I’m goin’ to ride behind ye on that hoss. I don’t reckon you’ve got anything to eat?”

“Yes, I have food in my saddle pouches. I will get it for you.”

“I’m that hungry I could eat sawdust! Fer, ye see, I didn’t have any supper las’ night, an’ no breakfast this mornin’. If ’twasn’t so fur, I’d git down to that river and git me a drink.”

“I have a water bottle, which you’re welcome to.”

“Law suz, you’re a reg’lar travelin’ hotel! Well, I’m glad of it; fer I’m that hungry and dry that I can’t think straight. When I git somethin’ to eat and drink, I’ll try to see if my hat is on straight, and if my clothes sets right. Shouldn’t wonder if they don’t, sense my experience in that tree.”

She continued to talk while he procured the food and the water; and then she sat down on the ground and devoured the things he gave her. While doing it she now and then looked at him, with covert glances, and now and then she mumbled, as if talking to herself.

The scout was undeniably puzzled by this woman. In his experience on the border he had encountered many strange characters. Sometimes he had found that their eccentricity was assumed as a mask and covered some hidden design, or concealed a scoundrelly and criminal past. In a few cases he had found that an assumed eccentricity concealed an officer of the law, who was masked in that way for detective work.

After brushing the crumbs out of her lap in a thoughtful manner, she looked up.

“Was you tellin’ me the truth when you said you was the ginuine Buffalo Bill?”

“Nothing but the truth,” he answered.

Her face still showed doubt.

“Lemme ask ye another question er two.”

“As many as you like.”

“Did you ever hear of a wuthless critter named Pete Sanborn?”

“I never did.”

“He used to run a little hash house down at Cinnabar, only he was too lazy to run it, and his wife done the work. He liked to gamble better than he did to work, and he’d ruther pick a man’s pockets than to git money in any other way.”

“A fellow to keep away from.”

“Well, he was. I knowed him to my sorrow. He done things lately a good deal wuss’n any of them things. I hope vigilantes will git him, and finish him.”

Her blackened and straggling teeth came together with a vindictive click.

“And you never,” she went on, “heerd of a young feller called Pool Clayton? His reg’lar name was Bruce, but he played pool and billiards so much that the fellers got to callin’ him Pool; and I reckon it fit him, fer the name stuck. He’s a young man, not much more’n a boy, and I think he knowed you!”

The final sentence she shot at the scout as if it were an accusation.

“I never happened to meet him, so far as my knowledge goes.”

“He’s a young man, and rather good lookin’; more weak than really mean, I should say; and goin’ to the dogs fast, last accounts I had of him.”

“I never heard of him.”

She brushed her lap again, as if there were more crumbs in it, and looked down, as if taking time to gather her thoughts, or think of more questions. Finally she rose, shaking out her skirt.

“Now, if you don’t ’bject, I’d like fer ye to give me a lift on yer hoss, if he’ll kerry double. It’s askin’ a good deal, I know, but——”

“I shall be happy to let you ride on my horse, and I will walk; or you may mount behind my saddle, if that pleases you.”

She laughed then, cackling out in the manner that had first attracted him. It was not musical, nor even suggestive of good humor, though the woman apparently meant that it should suggest the last.

“I’m Pizen Jane, of Cinnabar,” she said again, “and I hope you won’t rue the day when you fust met me. You won’t, if you’re straight. But if you’re not reelly Buffler Bill, but the fake that mebbe ye aire, you’ll not think meetin’ me was good fer yer health.”

Then she seemed to feel that this was harsh, when the things he had done for her were considered.

“I reckon I’d ought to beg yer pardon,” she said apologetically. “If I say things you don’t like, fergit ’em. I’m loose-jawed, and my tongue wags sometimes like a splinter in a windstorm. But if you understood the things that’s made me what I am, you wouldn’t think it a mite strange if I was tryin’ to shoot yer head off, instead of talkin’ ca’m to you. You desarve it, if the things I’ve heerd about ye aire true.”

“I hope to merit your good opinion,” said the scout, much amused by the freedom with which she “wagged” her tongue.

“You’ll git it, if ye desarve it; and if ye don’t desarve it, then you’ll git what you do desarve; and don’t you fail to recklect that! Fer I’m Pizen Jane, of Cinnabar.”

“It seems a strange name,” he said, bringing up his horse.

“Well, I’m Pizen, to some people, ’cause I stand fer my rights and don’t let nobody tromp on me. I’m Pizen to men who don’t do right, you bet! And I’ll tell ye now, what mebbe I’d ought to keep to myself, that I’m on the warpath, and that I’m standin’ ready to shoot full of holes a certain man as soon as I meet him. Rejoice that you ain’t him.”

“You don’t seem so very warlike,” said the scout, smiling at her. “I don’t mind telling you that.”

“That’s a compliment, I s’pose? Well, I don’t desarve it.” She looked the horse over critically. “Aire you goin’ right on through the mountains?”

“Yes.”

“It’s nigh two days’ journey!”

“Yes, I know it.”

“And this trail is filled with road agents, they say; road agents that lay fer everything that comes along, and shoots men as if they wasn’t more than wolves.”

“Yes, it’s a dangerous trail.”

“What if you’re held up?”

“I shall defend myself; but I’m trusting not to be.”

“I reckon I can trust ye; and if I can’t trust ye I can watch ye. Hold the hoss’ head, and I’ll sail up to his back.”

The scout held the horse by the head, and with an agility that was surprising, disdaining his aid, she put a foot in the stirrup and mounted to the animal’s back, seating herself behind the saddle.

“I’m spryer’n I look,” she said, “otherwise I couldn’t got into that tree where ye found me. Now, if you’ll mount, we’ll jog along, and you can tell me more about yerself while we’re goin’. I’ll say to you that Pizen Jane, of Cinnabar, is searchin’ fer somebody she hopes to find; and if she finds him, interestin’ times aire billed to foller fer all concerned. That’s why I’m on this trail; what you’re on it fur ain’t appeared yit, so fur as I know.”

Buffalo Bill mounted, smiling at the woman’s naïve manner of trying to “pump” him.

Then they jogged on, as quaint a pair as the trail had seen in many a day.