Читать книгу Buffalo Bill, Peacemaker; Or, On a Troublesome Trail - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 4

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On the plains of northwest Texas, in an early day, the dugout was a popular institution. No wind could shake such a house, and no earthquake could topple it over. In most structures, a man begins at the bottom and builds to the top, but in a dwelling like that under consideration a man begins at the top and works downward.

The usual underground house measured about fifteen by twenty feet, and was from seven to ten feet in height. Some three feet from the floor the walls were abruptly widened out, thus giving a shelf in the earthen wall. This shelf extended around the whole room, and was three feet in width—or more or less according to the fancy of the owner.

The shelf took the place of chairs, of dining table and of bunks. A few three-legged stools might be added, if the one who occupied the underground house had the wood and the time necessary to make them.

A fireplace was usually cut in the solid dirt wall and, with an ordinary posthole augur, a chimney was bored down to it. A joint of stovepipe, extending upward from the top of the hole, gave the fireplace a chance to breathe.

The construction of the roof was as simple as that of the rest of the house.

A log was laid lengthwise across the top of the dugout, in the direction of its greatest length. This was the ridgepole. Smaller logs were then placed with one end on this and the other on the ground. Poles covered the rafters, hay covered the poles, and a layer of earth covered the hay. A door was contrived in the slant of roof from the ridgepole. Stairs communicating with the door were sometimes cut in the solid earth, and sometimes—as in the case of Red Steve’s dugout—the only stairway was a stepladder.

In a cattle country, where cowboys go galloping recklessly over the range, or where longhorns occasionally stampede, it stands the dugout dweller in hand to make his roof exceptionally strong. Either Red Steve had failed to make his roof of the proper strength, or else age had weakened it.

This was not the scout’s first visit to such a house, but it was the first time he had ever dropped bodily into a dugout and into the curious tangle he had found in this one.

A tin lamp stood on the earthen shelf. Red Steve, covered by the scout’s revolver, moved sullenly to the shelf at the end of the dugout. There, somewhat in the shadow, lay the form of a cowboy. The scout could not see much of him, but he knew very well that he would see more of him later.

“Two!” called Buffalo Bill. “That’s your cue to begin the untying, Red Steve.”

“This ain’t goin’ ter be the end of this,” snarled the red-haired Texan. “Ye ain’t got no bizness buttin’ in on me an’ makin’ me let this feller go. Some big men over on the Brazos’ll call ye ter time fer it.”

“I’ll foot any bill the big men over on the Brazos present,” returned the scout. “Meanwhile, you heard what I said a minute ago, Red Steve. Carry out your orders and there’ll be no trouble.”

“But ye don’t understand! This here galoot is a villain from the spurs up, so——”

“I can’t see much of him, but if he’s more of a villain than you’ve shown yourself to be, I’ll be more surprised than I was when I dropped through your roof. I said ‘two’ all of a minute ago,” the scout finished significantly.

Swearing under his breath, Red Steve went roughly to work at the ropes on the prisoner’s hands.

“He’s trying to tear my arms off, I reckon,” growled Nate Dunbar.

Bang!

Steve’s weapon spoke hoarsely from the scout’s hand. A bullet “plunked” into the earth wall over the shelf, fanning close to Steve’s face.

“I haven’t counted ‘three,’ yet,” said the scout, “so that’s only a warning. Be a little more careful, Steve.”

The red-haired man, by that time, was firmly convinced that his unwelcome visitor had not been talking for effect. In a few moments he had removed the ropes. Dunbar got off the shelf and stamped his feet and thrashed his arms to get his blood back into normal circulation.

As he came out farther into the lamplight, Buffalo Bill saw that he was an athletic young fellow, of about twenty-one or two. He wore the high-heeled boots of a cowboy, “chaps” were buckled about his waist, and a blue flannel shirt covered his broad shoulders. His face was frank and pleasing, not to say handsome.

“You don’t know much about me, pardner,” he remarked to Buffalo Bill, “but I can show a clean record.”

“I’ll gamble on that, amigo,” said the scout. “Just from the looks of you, Dunbar, I’m positive I haven’t made any mistake. How did you happen to fall into Red Steve’s clutches?”

“It was a put-up job,” was the answer. “Steve’s working for the cattlemen over on the Brazos, and they were paying him to keep me here until they figured out what to do with me.”

“Are you a rancher?”

“I’m a cattleman, and I’ve an interest in Dick Perry’s bunch of steers.”

“Who’s Dick Perry?”

“He’s the man the other cattlemen are trying to freeze out.”

A scowl came over Dunbar’s face and his eye flashed ominously.

“Why are the cattle barons trying to freeze him out?” asked the scout, conscious of a deep interest in the young cowboy and his fortunes.

“It’s all on account of Hattie.”

“Hattie?”

“Yes, Hattie Perry, Dick’s girl.”

“Ah! We’re running into romance, I reckon.”

The scowl faded from Dunbar’s face and a flush ran through his bronzed cheeks.

“You’ve been a friend of mine, stranger,” said he, “and I don’t mind throwing the proposition wide open for you. Lige Benner has wanted to marry Hattie for some time, and he asked her and got turned down. But that didn’t phase him, and he went to Dick with his proposition and got turned down again. Benner has acted like more kind of a wolf in this business than I know how to tell. When Perry turned on him, and told him where he was to get off, he swore that he’d make Perry so much trouble that Perry would give up Hattie just to be able to live in peace.

“Right then and there, Benner started in to make trouble. Perry’s steers were run off in bunches, some of the ranch buildings were burned, and cowboys from up and down the Brazos came pestering around, doing all sorts of sneaking and underhand things. Every now and then, Benner has some skulking puncher nail a note to the ranch-house door telling Perry that he knows what to do when he’s got enough.”

The scout muttered an angry exclamation.

“That’s a fine state of affairs,” said he. “I shouldn’t think the other cattlemen would stand for such rascally work.”

“Nor I, either; but they do. The rest of the barons are friends of Benner’s, and they’re backing him to a man. Perry’s a late comer on the range, and the cattlemen would like to run him out. I reckon that’s the reason they’re standing by Benner like they are.”

“But what has Benner got against you, Dunbar, that he should have you roped and given into the custody of Red Steve?”

“Well, stranger,” answered Nate Dunbar, with some embarrassment, “Hattie has promised to marry me, and that’s reason enough for Benner taking the sort of stand against me that he does.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the scout, “so that’s how the wind blows, is it? This free country of ours has dropped into a fine state of lawlessness if a young lady can’t choose her own husband without turning loose the dogs of war. What does Dick Perry think about you, Nate?”

“He’s on my side. Didn’t I tell you I had an interest in his ranch? We’re friends, Dick and I are. Benner’s rich, but that doesn’t make any difference with Hattie. She’s true blue, and all for me no matter what happens. But I sure hate to have all this trouble come upon her and her father.”

The scout, still keeping the business end of the revolver unswervingly upon Red Steve, debated the situation in his mind.

“How did Benner manage to get hold of you, Nate?” he inquired.

“I was out looking for strayed or stolen cattle,” said Dunbar, “when half a dozen of Benner’s men jumped me. It was in a dry wash, and the whelps rolled down on me so quick I couldn’t do a thing. It was yesterday this happened, and I was lugged to this dugout and left in the hands of Red Steve.”

“As scoundrelly a game as was ever played,” declared the scout, “and it doesn’t speak very well for the cattlemen in these parts.”

“These are flush days on this part of the range,” went on Dunbar; “anything with horns, hoofs and hide comes pretty near being worth its weight in gold. All the barons on the Brazos are rich, and Perry would be worth quite a pile if the rest of the ranchers would only let him and his stock alone. It ought to be stopped. By thunder, it’s a disgrace the way Perry is being treated.”

“You’re right,” said the scout, “this hectoring ought to be stopped. I’ve a notion to bear a hand and help you and Perry put an end to the lawless situation.”

A scornful laugh broke from Red Steve’s lips.

“You fellers ’u’d play hob puttin’ a kink in this game o’ the cattle barons,” he taunted. “The’s half a dozen of ’em an’ two or three hunnerd cowboys. Oh, yes, ye’ll play hob stoppin’ ’em!”

A look of fierce helplessness crossed Nate Dunbar’s face.

“If we can’t stop the lawless work,” he cried desperately, “there are still bushes at the trailside where a man can lurk and pick off some of the demons who’re causing this trouble.”

“That’s not the talk for a brave young chap like you to put up, Dunbar,” said the scout sternly. “We’ll see what we can do to end this rough situation by more honorable methods.”

“Who are you?” demanded Dunbar, facing the scout squarely.

“Buffalo Bill is what I’m usually called,” was the reply.

The words caused a sensation. Dunbar jumped, and stared; Red Steve also jumped, but in the direction of the ladder.

“Catch that man!” called the scout. “I’ve got a horse outside, and I don’t want him to get away with it.”

Dunbar caught Red Steve and jerked him roughly from the ladder. The spirit seemed to have been all taken out of Steve. His greatest desire now, it seemed, was to keep as great a distance between him and the scout as he could. Pushing against the earthen shelf on the farther side of the room, he watched the scout with weasel-like eyes.

“Where were you going in such a hurry, Red Steve?” demanded the scout.

“I don’t want no truck with you, that’s all,” answered the red-haired Texan. “I don’t want nothin’ ter do with ye, an’ that’s flat.”

“Then you were merely trying to cut loose from my society?”

“I wanted ter git out, an’ I want ter git out now. Why the blazes didn’t ye say ye was Buffler Bill afore? If ye had, I’d ’a’ got out a heap quicker. D’you hold any spite fer me drorin’ the gun on ye?”

“Not a particle, Red Steve,” laughed the scout. “You were trying to run away from here and strike a bee line for the Brazos. You were planning to tell the cattle barons that Buffalo Bill had shown up in this section and was going to help Nate Dunbar and Dick Perry regain their rancher’s rights.”

“How—how’d you know that?”

“I’m a good hand at guessing. I’ve no objection to your carrying that message, Red Steve, but I’ve a horse somewhere outside, and I didn’t want you to run off with him. As soon as Dunbar and I leave the dugout, you’ll be free to hike for the Brazos. Tell Benner and the rest of the cattle barons that Buffalo Bill, as usual, is taking the part of the under dog, that he’s going to extend a helping hand to Nate Dunbar and the Perrys, and that he and his pards will stay in this section long enough to make peace on the Brazos and to shake a foot at the wedding of Nate Dunbar and Miss Perry. All this you’re to tell Benner, Steve, and make it plain to him that it comes from me straight. I didn’t come loping in here to stir up trouble, but now that I’ve found it stirred up, I’m going to put a shoulder to the wheel and settle it.”

The scout turned to Dunbar.

“Have you any property in this hangout, Nate?” he asked.

“That gun you took away from Red Steve belongs to me, Buffalo Bill,” was the reply. “That’s about all I brought with me except my clothes.”

“What became of your horse?”

“That was left with Red Steve’s in a swale to the south of the hangout.”

“Then, amigo, here’s your gun, and we’ll be going.”

The scout motioned Dunbar toward the ladder. The cowboy started up.

“Don’t forget what I told you to tell Benner, Steve,” cautioned the scout as he followed Dunbar. “If this outfit of cattle barons gets in my way, we’re liable to juggle the hatchet somewhat before we bury it.”

As the scout stepped through the slanting door in the roof, a husky laugh floated upward from Red Steve.

“What do you suppose that means?” asked Buffalo Bill of Dunbar.

“Why,” was the answer, “you had Steve going, down there, an’ I reckon he feels good to see the last of you.”

“You’re wide of the mark, Nate. That scoundrel knows something that he thinks will give our work the double cross. But,” the scout added grimly, “that’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get to it.”

Pointing to a jagged break in the roof of the dugout, he went on:

“That’s where Bear Paw broke through with his hind hoofs, rolled me out of the saddle and dropped me below. I hope the horse wasn’t hurt.”

He whistled sharply. The shrill signal was answered by a loud neigh and a thump of approaching hoofs. Another moment and the gallant black was rubbing his nose against the scout’s shoulder.

“I suppose, old sport,” laughed the scout, slapping Bear Paw’s neck, “that you hadn’t a notion what had become of me. That’s the queerest adventure we’ve had in some sort of a while, eh? How did you come through it, boy?”

As well as he could the scout examined the horse. An exclamation of relief escaped his lips.

“His shins are skinned a little,” he announced to Dunbar, “but he came through that affair a heap better than I had dared to hope. Get your horse, Nate,” he added, vaulting into the saddle, “and we’ll be touching the high places.”

Dunbar started south and vanished into a shallow swale. The scout rode after him.

“The horses are here, all right,” called Nate, “but I can’t locate the riding gear.”

“Wasn’t it taken to the dugout?” returned the scout.

“I didn’t see it in there, but—Ah,” he broke off abruptly, “here it is. I just stumbled over it.”

He saddled and bridled in record time, swung a leg over his bronk and rode to the scout’s side.

“Where now, Buffalo Bill?” he asked.

“Take me to Perry’s ranch, Nate,” said Buffalo Bill.

Impulsively Nate Dunbar reached out his hand and gave the scout’s a grateful grip.

“Let me rise to remark,” observed Nate, with a touch of sincere feeling, “that you’re a whole man. I’m playing in big luck to-night. There was about one chance in a thousand that you’d break a hole in that roof—but it’s the one chance that came my way. Dick Perry and Hattie are about discouraged with all their troubles, but they’ll take a fresh lease of hope when they learn that you’re on our side.”

With that, Dunbar pointed the way and set the pace.

“I don’t mind saying, Dunbar,” said the scout, “that I’ve taken a fancy to you. It’s been quite a while since I got tangled up in a romance, and I’d find a good deal of fault with myself if I didn’t see this one through to a happy finish.”

“You’re white,” muttered the cowboy, “plumb white. I thought you had a lot of pards in your outfit?”

“They’re at Hackamore, waiting for me.”

“How many?”

“Four of them—but they’re four of the sort that can’t be picked up any day in the week. There’s Wild Bill Hickok, of Laramie, a man who doesn’t know what fear means, and who can lick his weight in wild cats. Then there’s my old trapper pard, Nick Nomad, who’s a diamond in the rough, and has gone through more tight corners with me than I can count. Next there’s the baron, who talks and fights with a Teutonic accent, but steps as high, wide and handsome as any of the rest.

“Last, but not least, I’ll mention Little Cayuse, the Piute boy, who’s a host in himself. These, Dunbar, comprise the force I can bring against the cattle barons. The barons will outnumber us, but our work will be to win by tact rather than by force; to compass our ends by diplomacy, and by the strong support of the law, which is at our back.”

“What do you consider the first move in this—er—campaign of tact and diplomacy?” queried Dunbar.

He was none too sanguine, and showed it.

“Inasmuch as Hattie Perry is the indirect cause of Perry’s troubles, we must eliminate her from the proposition.”

Dunbar turned in his saddle.

“Eliminate her?” he gasped.

The scout laughed.

“Exactly,” he declared. “Within a few days—or hours, if we can arrange it so—there will be no Hattie Perry.”

“I’m over my head,” muttered Dunbar. “How are you going about it?”

“A sky pilot will be the key to the situation. Just as soon as possible, my lad, he will make you and Miss Perry one. The girl will cease to be Miss Perry, and will become Mrs. Dunbar. Lige Benner will be foiled. Simple, don’t you think?”

“Well, blazes!” murmured Dunbar, but with a flutter of happiness in his voice. “That’s sure the correct way to go at it, and yet I’m blamed if I ever thought of such a move.”

“I should think it would have occurred to you the first thing. Where’s the nearest sky pilot?”

“His headquarters are in Henrietta, but he rides circuit over a good part of this Brazos range. He was due in Hackamore yesterday.”

“How long does he stay there?”

“Why, long enough to round up the boys and tell ’em what to do to travel the straight and narrow trail. He’s a man, that sky pilot is, and a good friend of Perry’s and mine. His name’s Jordan.”

“Well, as soon as we get to the ranch we’ll lay the proposition before Perry and Hattie; then we’ll all ride over to Hackamore, and you and the girl will take the momentous step. I’ve a notion that that will settle everything and bring peace and happiness on the Brazos.”

For an hour the scout and the cowboy rode briskly through the moonlight. At the end of that time they reached the bank of the Brazos, and drew up at the door of a comfortable log cabin.

Silence reigned around the ranch house. No glimmer of light showed through its small windows, and there was no sign of life in the vicinity.

“I don’t savvy this layout,” muttered Dunbar forebodingly.

“Why,” returned the scout, “it’s late. Perry and the rest have gone to bed.”

Dunbar tumbled out of the saddle and threw open the door. The scout, still sitting on his horse, heard the cowboy moving around in the cabin and stumbling over chairs and other pieces of furniture. Presently a glow of light came through the open door. Looking into the big room, the scout saw chairs overturned and the whole interior in disorder.

The cowboy ran to the door.

“Something’s happened here, Buffalo Bill!” he cried excitedly. “There’s been a fight of some kind in the house, and Perry and Hattie have disappeared. Fiend take the scoundrels! Benner and the barons are back of this!”

Buffalo Bill dismounted hurriedly and ran into the cabin. He saw at a glance that the place had been the scene of recent violence and that some rascally work had been carried out.

“Put up the horses, my lad,” said he calmly to Dunbar, “and then come in and we’ll do some figuring. Keep your nerve, Nate. If you go to pieces, you won’t be able to give me the help I need.”

While the cowboy was taking care of the horses, Buffalo Bill surveyed the interior of the cabin. The fine softening touch of a woman’s hand was everywhere visible. Over a table hung a book rack with a little treasury of well-worn volumes.

A lamp stood on the table, and on the side of the table nearest the lamp a rocking-chair was overturned. An open book lay on the floor.

The scout picked up the book, and found that it was a copy of “Paul and Virginia.” He laid the book on the floor where he had found it.

There were yarn mottoes on the walls, framed in pine cones: “God Bless Our Home,” “Haste Makes Waste,” and “The Lord Loveth a Cheerful Giver.”

Something in those trite and homely sentiments touched the scout’s heart. The books and mottoes bespoke character—character that seemed out of place in that rough country—character that should not have been entangled in such a web of treachery and violence as had been thrown about the Perrys.

The scout opened one of two doors that were in the rear of the room, and carried the lamp into the kitchen. Here everything was in apple-pie order. Dishes were neatly arranged in a crude box cupboard, and the floor was as clean as a hickory-splint broom could make it. He tried the kitchen door, and found it locked.

Returning to the living room, he found Nate Dunbar standing in the middle of it and looking around dejectedly.

“They’ve been run off,” he declared hopelessly; “that’s what’s happened! If any harm comes to Hattie,” and here his voice fell husky and murderous, “I’ll camp on Lige Benner’s trail—and I’ll get him.”

“Don’t try to take the law into your own hands, Nate,” said the scout. “We’ll dig up all the information we can here, and then we’ll lay our plans. Who does most of the reading in this cabin?”

“Hattie. Those books are all hers.” Dunbar waved a trembling hand toward the shelf over the table.

The scout picked up an overturned chair, and seated himself.

“Miss Perry was here, sitting in the rocking-chair by the lamp and reading,” said he. “Some one came here and took her and her father away by force. It hardly seems to me as though these cattle barons, lawless though they are, would have dared to go to such extremes. They may be back of what has happened, but some of their hirelings did the work.”

Dunbar reeled against the wall, and caught his head in his hands.

“Tact and diplomacy!” he bitterly exclaimed. “How can you use weapons like those against such a pack of scoundrels? Cold steel is what they need! By Heaven, it’s only a two hours’ gallop to Benner’s! I’ll go there and make him answer for this!”

The cowboy jumped from the wall, and started for the door.

“Dunbar!”

There was a compelling note in the scout’s voice. The cowboy halted, and turned his haggard face.

“Sit down!” ordered the scout. “If I and my pards are to help you, I want you to keep a cool head, and not go off on any fool tangent. You can be of assistance to me—but only by showing a different spirit.”

“Buffalo Bill,” cried Dunbar, “if you had seen the Perrys tramped on and mistreated as I have, you’d be murder mad just as I am over this last outrage.”

“Two wrongs never made a right, Nate.”

“Right! Who talks of right on the Brazos? These barons are jumping on right and justice rough shod, and what they need is a taste of their own medicine.”

“They’ll get it, Nate, but they’ll get it in my way. There’ll be no parlor tactics, and when we hit it will be straight from the shoulder. But this talk of cold steel begs the whole question. Sit down and be sensible.”

Dunbar, with an effort, got the whip hand of himself.

“Isn’t there any one living in the cabin but Perry and his daughter?” went on the scout.

“No. I’ve been putting up here along with Dick and Hattie.”

“Where are the cowboys?”

“All gone—but me. They were scared off by the barons—scared off or bought off, I don’t know which. When I failed to get back yesterday, maybe Dick and Hattie thought I’d been bought off, too.”

“No, they didn’t. I’ve only known you for a few hours, Dunbar, but even that short acquaintance has convinced me that you’ve no yellow streak in your make-up. Perry and his daughter have known you a good deal longer than I have, and they’d never think you had turned traitor to their interests. How many cattle have you and Perry?”

“Perry came in here with a thousand head, but there’s no telling how many of our brand we could round up now. The herd has been rustled right and left.”

The scout was thoughtful for a few moments.

“What sort of a man is Perry?” he asked finally.

“The clear quill and as straight as a die.”

“Fighter?”

“As game a fighter as you can find. If he hadn’t been he’d have left the Brazos a month ago. But he’s too honest, too finely strung to handle a gang like the cattle barons, even if he had a large enough force behind him. Perry is an educated man, Buffalo Bill.”

“So I imagined. He hasn’t made the other cattlemen think that he’s better than they are, has he?”

“Not on your life! That ain’t Perry’s style. He’d be neighborly, if they’d let him.”

“I don’t believe,” said the scout, “that Perry was here when his daughter was taken away. There’d have been shooting, wouldn’t there?”

“Right off the reel,” answered Dunbar promptly. “Perry would have gone any length to defend himself.”

“There are no signs to indicate that revolvers were used. I suppose Perry kept his guns handy?”

“Always—since the barons turned loose on him.”

“Then here’s the way I figure it: You failed to come back to the cabin yesterday. Perry and Hattie believed that you had been trapped by Benner’s men. Perry went off to look for you. While he was gone, the trouble happened here. Perry may get back any minute, Dunbar, and then he can help us do our planning. Are there any horses in the corral?”

“No.”

The cowboy was moody. He could see the logic of the scout’s suggestions, but he was not in a temper to be sanguine over results.

“How far is Benner’s ranch from here?” asked the scout.

“Twenty miles.” Dunbar showed some interest. “Are you thinking of going over there?”

“Not yet. We’ll give Perry a chance to get back here first. How long have you been hooked up with Perry, Nate?”

“Nearly a year. I came here from the Panhandle country, and Perry had just bought out the Star-A steers. He wanted a foreman, and I took hold. Later on, when I saw how the other cattlemen were layin’ for him, I dropped a thousand-dollar stake into the pot. It was all I had. I reckoned, though, that I’d show Benner he had two to buck against. He had tried to hire me away from Perry, and the thousand I put up here was an answer to that.”

Buffalo Bill was liking the young fellow more and more. Nevertheless, he was not overlooking the powerful influence Hattie Perry must have had with Nate Dunbar.

“You’re all right, Nate,” said the scout. “The situation on the Brazos has reached a climax, and everything depends on the way you stack up from this on.”

“But we can’t do what you thought of while we were riding from Red Steve’s.”

“You mean that about the sky pilot, and eliminating Miss Perry as a factor in the trouble? That is still the work we must do, Nate, so it follows that our next step must be to find Miss Perry.”

“Why should those infernal scoundrels carry her off?” cried the cowboy.

“That was done, I believe, simply to frighten you and Perry, and force Perry to agree to Benner’s proposals.”

“Perry never’d agree!”

“At any rate, I’m sure the young lady has suffered no harm, and that she will be considerately treated. We must rescue her. With my pards to help, I’m sure we can accomplish that part of it.”

“But suppose Perry delays getting back? We ought to be doing something for Hattie right now.”

The scout pointed to the “Haste and Waste” motto on the wall.

“Keep that prominently before your eyes, Dunbar,” admonished the scout. “If we get in too much of a hurry we may spoil everything. If Perry doesn’t come within an hour or two, I’ll send you to Hackamore after my pards. They ought to be here by sunup.”

“Then what’s to be done?”

“Why, then we’ll ride to Benner’s ranch.”

“Hattie won’t be there. He wouldn’t take Hattie there.”

“Of course he wouldn’t, but if he has had anything to do with spiriting the girl away from this cabin, we’ll find out about it and get him to tell us where she is.”

Dunbar shook his head doubtfully.

“If you and your pards go to Benner’s ranch, Buffalo Bill,” said he, “you’ll be right in the midst of the whole gang. There’s enough of the outfit to smother you and your pards ten deep.”

The scout smiled.

“I reckon you don’t know much about my pards,” said he.

At that moment the beat of horse’s hoofs were heard, swiftly approaching. Both the scout and the cowboy jumped to their feet.

“Perry!” exclaimed the scout, starting for the door.

As he stood in front of the cabin, the lamplight pouring through the open door at his back, a horseman drew to a halt.

“Well, by gorry!” the rider exclaimed, in a flutter of astonishment. “Have I got the blind staggers? Pard Cody, is that you?”

The surprise was mutual.

“There’s no mistake, Wild Bill,” answered the scout, as pleased as he was surprised. “Get down and tell me what brings you here.”