Читать книгу Buffalo Bill, the Border King; Or, Redskin and Cowboy - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 9

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“We’ve got through, Jack!”

“We sure have, Pard Cody.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“I got a couple of nicks from the pesky arrows,” said Omohondreau. “But, shucks! them Injuns can’t shoot with a white man’s gun worth a hoot in a rainwater barrel.... Yuh lost Buckskin, Cody.”

“And sorry enough I am to lose the poor creature. He’s been a good nag.”

“How about you, Pard Cody?”

“A scratch from a bullet in my left shoulder. It’s bleeding a little, but I won’t stop to fool with it now. And I got four arrows through my clothes. Oh, we were lucky!”

“Betcher life! We’ve been favored mightily.”

“Thank God for it,” said Buffalo Bill devoutly. “I don’t expect often to come through two such circuses in one day—and have nothing worse to show for it.”

“Right. Now, old man, what’s the program?”

“Keep on. I don’t feel safe as long as we’re at the bottom of this hole in the hills.”

“That’s all right. But we haven’t got but one horse——”

“I was thinking of that.”

“And your thoughts?”

“We can’t both ride this horse, good as he is, all the way to Fort Resistence.”

“Right again!”

“One of us must push on for help about as fast as the horse can go.”

“Sure.”

“There isn’t much danger of the reds following us far, for their ponies aren’t to be compared with this fellow—and they all know what he can do.”

“Well?”

“Then you’d better let me go on, as soon as we come to the creek ahead and shape ourselves up a bit, and you can scout around until I return with help from Fort Resistence.”

“Pard Bill!”

“Yes?”

“They need every rifle they can git in the fort, yuh know.”

“They certainly do.”

“Scouting around yere all night, I can’t do much good, and that’s a fact.”

“Very true, Jack! Very true.”

“And I’ve got nothing to eat, while the maje and the folks at Advance will be mighty anxious tuh know if yuh got through all right—ain’t that so?”

“Reckon you’re right, Jack.”

“Then I’m goin’ to take a sneak back and try to git through the lines after dark.”

“No, you won’t, Jack Omohondreau. I veto that.”

“Put the kibosh on it, do yuh?” asked Jack, leering back at his partner over his shoulder.

“I certainly do!”

“Why, pard?”

“There’s no danger going on now for help, so I’ll return to the fort myself, while you strike out for Resistence and help. I got you into this. I’m not going to shoulder the heavy part of the job off onto you.”

“That’s like you, Cody! Always lookin’ for trouble to git into yourself. But I’m going back.”

“I say no,” replied Buffalo Bill firmly.

“Now, see here!” exclaimed Jack, in some heat. “It’s my idea to go back, and I’m going.”

“Well, you needn’t stop here,” laughed Cody, as Jack, in his excitement, brought the horse down to a walk.

“You listen to reason!” exclaimed Texas Jack. “I speak the lingo all O. K.”

“I admit that.”

“And I’m already playing Injun.”

“Pshaw! That may be, but I can soon change my colors.”

“You’re as obstinate as a mule, Cody!”

“See here, Jack, I admit that the folks need us back there at the fort, and one had better return, but I should be the one.”

“Tell you what, pard!” exclaimed Jack, smitten with a sudden thought.

“Well?”

“We’ll draw lots to see who goes.”

“I’ll beat you at that game, Jack!” cried Cody, with a laugh.

“Don’t yuh crow too loud, old man,” said Texas Jack gaily. “When we git to the creek we’ll see who’s who!”

“I’ll go you, for my luck is good.”

“I’m sure a child of fortune myself,” laughed Jack.

They soon reached the creek, which cut across the cañon at its widest part, spurting from under a ledge on one side, and disappearing with a tinkle of falling water through a crack on the other—one of those underground streams often found in the Rockies, which only by chance ever come to the light of day.

The scouts dismounted, making sure that all pursuit had been abandoned by their mounted foes, at least, and washed and dressed their slight wounds. In each man’s pouch was Indian salve, certain valuable herbs, dried, and bandages rolled for them by the women of Fort Advance. Your old frontiersman was no mean surgeon, and many a man to-day, whose early years were spent on the border, owes his life to some rough but prompt bit of surgery on the part of a pard with powder-stained fingers.

“Now, we’ll draw lots to see who goes back,” said Cody. “Wish we had a pack of cards.”

“I got what th’ boys call a Sing Sing Bible,” observed Texas Jack, drawing the pack from his pouch.

“Good! We can’t take the time to play any game, but I’ll shuffle, you cut, and the one who holds the ace of clubs goes back to Advance.”

“Agreed. Shuffle ’em good, old man—though I feel I’m going to win right now.”

“You’re too cock-sure,” laughed Buffalo Bill.

The scouts spoke in a light-hearted way, but each realized the terrible ordeal that might fall to the one who attempted to return to Fort Advance. Major Baldwin needed one of them as an adviser—and his rifle would be an acquisition as well, for both Buffalo Bill and Texas Jack were dead shots.

The uncertainty and impatience of the entire garrison would be relieved, too, if they were informed that one of the scouts had gone on to Resistence and would surely bring help the next day. This knowledge would put heart in the defenders of Fort Advance when the Indians attacked, as they surely would after nightfall.

The cards were shuffled by the chief scout, and then he held them in his open palm. Texas Jack cut at a point about half-way down the pack. One after another the pasteboards were discarded, and Buffalo Bill had already displayed two aces, when suddenly his partner chuckled and slammed down another card, face up. It was the fatal card—the ace of clubs.

“Got yuh that time, Pard Cody!” exclaimed Texas Jack in delight.

Buffalo Bill looked regretful, while his partner was triumphant.

“I told yuh I was a child of fortune,” laughed Texas Jack.

“I yield, old man,” said Cody. “May your luck carry you through in safety.”

“I’ll git there—or the reds will know I tried,” said Jack with emphasis.

“Aye, that they will. Now I must be off, Jack. The horse is rested, and he’s got a hard road to travel this night. I’ll be back with help as soon as possible.”

“You ought to make it by morning with any kind of luck.”

“I’ll do my best,” declared Buffalo Bill. “And now good-by, old pard! If you go under I’ll see that there are plenty of those red devils on the trail to the happy hunting grounds to make up for your loss.”

They wrung each other’s hands, and, although the spoken word was light, the look in each man’s eyes showed a deeper feeling. Buffalo Bill walked quickly to where the great white horse was feeding, and, vaulting into the saddle, the horse, without urging, started into his easy lope.

Once the mounted scout looked back. Texas Jack stood in the middle of the trail looking more like an Indian chief than ever, he was so silent and stern of feature.

They waved their hands briefly—a last farewell. Then the Border King disappeared around a turn in the trail, and Texas Jack prepared for his attempt, night now being not far away.