Читать книгу Buffalo Bill, the Border King; Or, Redskin and Cowboy - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 7

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Texas Jack’s real name was Jean Omohondreau, and he came of a wealthy and noble French family, although he was born in America. It is said that he had refused the title of “Marquis of Omohondreau,” although later he was known as “The White King of the Pawnees,” having been adopted into that tribe and completely winning the confidence of the red men.

At this time Jack was smooth shaven, and with his deeply bronzed features and piercing eyes and black hair he did not look unlike an Indian. Besides, he had lived among the savages even more than Buffalo Bill himself, and had that imitative faculty so general in French people. He could “take off” the savage to the life.

When Texas Jack came sleepily enough from his bunk, it took but a few words from Cody to wake his old pard up. The moment Jack understood what was wanted of him, he was in for the plan, heart and soul.

Oak Heart, who had been entertained—possibly to his great surprise, although he had not shown such emotion in his hard old face—by the younger officers with food and drink, and some of the paleface’s real tobacco, instead of dried willow bark, was now given a uniform and slouch hat in place of his war-bonnet and beaded and befeathered buckskin suit and gay blanket.

The natural acquisitiveness of the Indian character, and the childish joy they have in new finery, possibly made the chief ignore what was done with his old garments. Texas Jack made himself look the Indian brave to the life, put on Chief Oak Heart’s abandoned finery, and, mounting the splendid white cavalry charger—but with saddle hidden by his blanket—was ready to accompany Buffalo Bill.

The latter sprang into the saddle of his claybank—“Buckskin”—and led the way through the open gate. Behind them was the surprised Oak Heart upon Buffalo Bill’s old black, and the soldiers were ready to set him free the moment the two scouts had crossed the danger zone.

The Indians had retired sullenly after Oak Heart’s capture, and White Antelope had as yet been unable to rally them to another charge upon the stockade. Their last charge had been disastrous, and they had not only lost their principal chief, but had been unable to bring back to their camping lines many of the dead and injured. But the belt of red humanity still encircled the fort, and it was plain that they proposed to abide there until such time arrived as could compass their revenge.

Those of the less seriously wounded had dragged themselves back toward their companions; but the others had been removed inside the fort and were being cared for by the surgeon, after he had ministered to the wounded whites. The dead redskins were let lie where they had fallen for the time being.

Oak Heart had noted the care taken of his wounded braves by the white medicine-man. If this charity impressed him his immobile face showed no emotion. He sat the horse that had been given him like a graven image.

Now the moment had arrived for the departure of the two scouts from the fort. As the pair dashed through the open gateway many good wishes followed them. But the troops had been warned not to cheer. That might apprise the redskins that some desperate venture was about to be made.

“Good-by, Bill, and may God guard you!” cried Major Baldwin. “And you, too, Texas Jack! I hope to see you both again.”

Cody turned and waved his hand to him; but Jack, in the character of the captured chief, looked straight ahead over his horse’s ears, and he made no gesture.

“We’ll bear toward the left, Jack, for our best plan is to strike for the cañon,” said Buffalo Bill.

“Right you are, pard. But don’t let’s make a dash till we hafter. We’ll gain everything by keeping them red devils guessing.”

“Sure’s you live, Jack! The moment the reds make a move for us, you sign for them to go back. Keep ’em at a distance if you can.”

“I will,” assured Texas Jack.

“Sit up stiff, old man, and play the part right,” admonished Buffalo Bill with a laugh.

These courageous men could laugh in the face of almost certain death!

“What d’ye suppose they think of it, Bill?” asked Jack. “They’re awake, all right. I wonder what they think at seeing you bringing their supposed chief back to them?”

“I’d give a good deal to know just what they are going to think,” said Cody, more gravely. “But we’ll soon know.”

“Betcher we will!”

“It’s unnecessary to ask you, Jack, if you’ve got your shooting irons ready?”

“Ready and loaded, Bill.”

The two scouts were as watchful as antelopes, and as cautious. But they appeared to ride along at an easy lope, and in a most careless fashion. This is the coolness born of long familiarity with peril; they could meet death itself without the quiver of a nerve.

They progressed but slowly, and the eyes of most of the red men were fixed upon them. It was plain that the savages did not understand just what was going forward when they saw he who appeared to be their king riding thus quietly, and armed and caparisoned, with Long Hair, the white scout. They could not understand why he was coming back to them in company with Pa-e-has-ka.

Soon they began to move forward in a body to meet the coming “chief” and his comrade.

“Give ’em the sign language, Jack. It’s time,” muttered Buffalo Bill.

Omohondreau was an adept at this wonderful means of communication, which was really a general language understood by the members of all the red tribes. He raised first one hand, palm outward, and then the other, and motioned the red men back. The warriors hesitated—then obeyed.

But a mounted figure came dashing from another part of the field, and this silent sign manual did not retard it.

“Face of a pig!” ejaculated Texas Jack, in the patois of the French Canadian, and which he sometimes lapsed into in moments of excitement. “Here comes that gal, Bill!”

“The White Antelope!” exclaimed Cody. “I had forgotten her.”

“Shall I warn her away?”

“I’m afraid if you turned to face her she would see that you are not Oak Heart.”

“Quicker, then, Pard Cody!”

“No. They might suspect.”

“Heavens, Bill! What will you do when the girl overtakes us?”

“Whatever comes handiest.”

“I could put a bullet through her without turning,” muttered Jack.

“You wouldn’t be so cruel, old man.”

“Hang it, man!” exclaimed Jack in disgust. “She’s only a ’breed.”

“No. You’ll not injure her. I have your promise, Jack,” said Cody confidently.

“But she’ll finish us if she suspects. I think she has a pistol,” said Jack.

“We’ll see.”

“Hang it, Bill Cody! You’re the coldest proposition I ever came across. I’ll eat this old war-bonnet—and it’s about as digestible as a wreath of prickly pear—if we don’t have trouble with that gal.”

Evidently White Antelope was much amazed by the fact that her father did not even look in her direction, for she called some welcome to him in Sioux. Neither of the scouts made reply, but both kept watch of her out of the corners of their eyes. The girl, puzzled by the mystery, half drew in her pony.

The mob of Indians waited. That they were puzzled was evident; but as long as they remained inactive the scouts’ chances were increased.

“Can we make it, Pard Cody?” muttered Texas Jack.

“If the girl doesn’t suspect too quick.”

“She’ll queer us—sure!”

“I hope not,” and Buffalo Bill looked grave.

“If she comes nearer we’ll have to do something, Bill—as sure as thunder she’s coming!”

It was true. White Antelope had again spoken to her pony, and the animal leaped forward. She came from the left, and Texas Jack rode nearest her.

“Keep on, Jack!” exclaimed Bill under his breath.

He pulled back Buckskin and got around so as to ride between the supposed Indian chief and the girl. Instantly White Antelope seemed to suspect that all was not right. She raised her voice, crying in her native tongue:

“Why does the great chief not speak to his child? Oak Heart, my father, it is I, your daughter, White Antelope, who calls you!”

She was all the time riding nearer. There seemed no way to stop her, and she must soon be near enough to observe that the supposed Oak Heart was a false Indian.

Fortunately the tribesmen were some hundreds of yards away from the two scouts. But they heard something of what White Antelope said, and they began to move forward, murmuring among themselves. They did not for a moment suspect that this was not their great chief, but they believed that something was wrong with him, and that Pa-e-has-ka had Oak Heart in his power.

“They’re coming, Cody!” whispered Texas Jack. “They’ll make a rush in a moment.”

“Sign them again!” commanded Buffalo Bill. “It’s our only chance.”

“Think it will work?”

“It must work. We need a few moments more before we make a dash for the cañon.”

“But that gal——”

“I’ll ’tend to her,” exclaimed Buffalo Bill. “Signal the reds to keep back.”

Again Texas Jack raised his hands and made the well understood sign. But the Indians hesitated. They saw White Antelope still riding toward the supposed chief and the scout, crying to her father to answer her.

“Keep on for the cañon, Jack!” muttered Buffalo Bill beneath his breath.

He jerked his horse to one side, turning to meet the Indian maiden. As she rode down toward the scouts, her golden hair flying in the wind, her lips parted, her eyes shining, she was indeed a beautiful creature. Her beauty alone would have made any old Indian hunter withhold his hand. And Buffalo Bill had a deeper reason for wishing no harm to befall the half-breed daughter of Oak Heart.

“What is the white chief, Pa-e-has-ka, doing with Oak Heart?” the girl cried in Sioux, urging her pony toward the scouts.

Buffalo Bill was riding with the rein of the claybank horse lying upon its neck, and guiding him with his knees. His rifle lay across his saddle, the muzzle pointing in the direction of White Antelope as she rode near. He did not raise his voice, nor change the expression of his face, for the scout knew that he was being closely watched by the crowd of redskins in the background. But into his voice as he spoke he threw all the threatening, venimous tone of a madman thirsting for blood.

“The White Antelope, like her father, Chief Oak Heart, is in my power. Do not make a single motion to show that you are startled, White Antelope, for if you do my first bullet shall be driven through your heart, and my second shall cleave the heart of your father!”

These words, spoken with such wicked emphasis, seemed to come from a veritable fiend instead of the placid-looking white scout. The White Antelope’s great eyes opened wider, and she half stopped her pony.

“None of that!” snapped Buffalo Bill in English, which he knew the girl understood quite well. “Make a false move at your peril—and at your father’s!”

“My father——” began the startled maiden gaspingly.

“Ride closer. Keep beside me, Oak Heart! I forbid you speaking to your child!”

Buffalo Bill’s commanding tone was most brutal. His eyes flashed into the Indian maiden’s own as though he meant every word of his recent threat. But the supposed Oak Heart’s shoulders shook. However, he kept his head turned religiously away from his “daughter.”

The seconds were slipping by, and the scouts were approaching very near to the place where they would be obliged to turn sharply and make their dash for the cañon. Despite their bearing off so far toward the left, their course had been apparently toward the Indian lines.

White Antelope, all the rich color receded from her cheeks, rode beside Buffalo Bill on his left hand. She was not only frightened by the scout’s threat, which he seemed to be able to fulfil, but she was puzzled at her father’s inaction and seeming helplessness. She tried to force her pony forward slyly so as to obtain a look at Oak Heart’s features.

“None o’ that!” commanded Buffalo Bill in quite as brutal and threatening a tone as before.

At the moment a wild yell rose from their rear—from the direction of the fort. The girl turned swiftly to look. And so surprised were the scouts to hear a disturbance in that direction, that they glanced around, too.

Out of the gateway appeared a black horse, and on its back a figure in uniform and wide-brimmed hat. But as the horse dashed on the figure snatched off the uniform hat, displaying the long, flying hair of an Indian, and he broke into a shrill and terrible Indian war-whoop!

On the heels of this another roar burst from the fort, and out of the gateway piled a troop of mounted men—those soldiers that were first to get upon their horses to pursue the wily Oak Heart. The latter saw his daughter and knew her danger. Following his war-whoop, he shrieked a warning to White Antelope. She understood the words he uttered, although the scouts could not.

The girl turned swiftly and saw Texas Jack’s painted face.

“False paleface!” she cried. “You are not Oak Heart. The great chief is there!” and she pointed back at the flying figure on the black horse.

“It’s all up, Cody!” cried Texas Jack.

Buffalo Bill leaned suddenly from his saddle and snatched from the maiden’s belt the revolver which she cherished above most of her possessions. He feared her ability to use this.

“Off with you, Jack!” he cried. “Now’s our time!” and setting spurs to his claybank he raced after Texas Jack toward the opening of the defile which they had been so gradually and cautiously approaching.