Читать книгу Buffalo Bill's Weird Warning; Or, Dauntless Dell's Rival - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 7

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“Oh, he did, eh?” queried the scout. “Do you happen to know, Mr. Smith, where Wild Bill is now?”

“Why,” fluttered Smith, “isn’t he here?”

“No. He left here last night, right after supper, and hasn’t been back since.”

“Say, but that’s odd!”

“Spangler, here, says that you went with him.”

“I did go with him, as far as the slope leading down into the cañon. I have a friend living above here—a man I used to know in Chicago—and I called on him. He insisted that I should stay all night in his cabin, and I did so.”

“What is your friend’s name, Mr. Smith?”

“Seth Coomby.”

“Do you know such a man, Spangler?” asked the scout, turning to the hotel proprietor.

“Sure I know him,” answered Spangler. “He has a little, three-dollar-a-day placer up the gulch.”

“You say,” went on Buffalo Bill, once more facing Smith, “that you left Wild Bill on the slope leading into the cañon?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“Why, no. I supposed he was here. You don’t think he met with foul play, do you? I took a big liking to Wild Bill.”

“You didn’t have him very long, did you?” asked the scout keenly. “I understand you only arrived in camp yesterday afternoon, and that you and Wild Bill started for the slope right after supper. Not much time to take a liking to a man. Did you know Wild Bill before you came to Sun Dance?”

“No; never saw him before I got here. We got acquainted with each other before supper, and had a little talk over our cigars. Then we ate supper together, and then I started for Coomby’s, and Wild Bill walked with me as far as the slope. Say, I’m all broke up about this.”

“Wasn’t you talkin’ with a feller in the office afore ye got ter talkin’ with Wild Bill?” put in Spangler.

“That was Clancy,” said Smith.

“Yep,” returned Spangler, with a shake of his fat sides, “I know him, all right; and”—here Spangler gave the scout a significant glance—“Clancy ain’t got none too good a repertation in this camp.”

“You surprise me!” exclaimed J. Algernon Smith.

The fellow’s actions were ingenuous. He talked and acted like an Easterner, but he looked like a Westerner, for all that.

“You understand, Mr. Smith,” pursued the scout, with the glint in his eyes that had taken the nerve of many a wily schemer, “that Wild Bill is my friend, and that I am anxious about him. If he has met with foul play, as you just suggested, I shall have something to say to the scoundrels back of it—later. Just now, though, I want all the information I can get. You will pardon me if I ask you what this Clancy had to say to you.”

Smith stiffened.

“What Clancy had to say, Buffalo Bill,” he replied, “is, of course, my own business. Nevertheless, under the circumstances, I recognize your right to press inquiries. If you will step aside with me, I will explain.”

Buffalo Bill walked apart with Smith.

“In order to figure this matter down to where you will have a thorough understanding of it, Buffalo Bill,” went on Smith, in a tone that seemed perfectly frank and open, “I shall have to tell you my business in this camp—and that business is one I was told to keep dark. I have come here from Chicago to examine a mine with the view of purchasing it. Clancy came to me from the owner of the mine, who is shortly expected in this camp. What Clancy told me was that the owner would be here to-morrow or next day, and Clancy advised me not to tell any one why I was here. That is all. It is news to me if Clancy does not bear a good reputation. But I don’t suppose that affects the mine, anyway. I shall not purchase the property until I take my ore-samples and have them assayed. Then——”

“What is the name of the mine?” broke in the scout.

“It is called the Forty Thieves.”

“Queer name for an honest mine,” said the scout.

“That’s right; but they have queer names for mines—some of them almost laughable. For instance, I have heard of the Pauper’s Dream, the P. D. Q., the——”

“Who owns this mine, Mr. Smith?”

“A man by the name of Lawless; Captain Lawless he calls himself.”

The scout started.

“Have you heard of the fellow?” asked Smith eagerly.

“I have heard of a squawman who calls himself by that name, but whom the Indians call ‘Fire-hand.’ He is said to be an out-and-out rascal.”

“Great glory!” cried Smith. “It looks as though I had landed right in the hands of the Philistines. Have you ever seen this Captain Lawless, Buffalo Bill?”

“Never. One of my pards, Little Cayuse, has seen him, but I have not.”

“When will your pard, Little Cayuse, be here?”

The scout’s eyes narrowed.

“What is that to you, Mr. Smith?” he demanded.

“Why, merely that I should like to have Lawless pointed out to me before I talk with him. If I don’t like his looks, I’ll get away from here without examining the Forty Thieves.”

These words were the only ones spoken by Smith that struck the scout as peculiar. On the whole, however, Smith had stood the scout’s questioning well.

Buffalo Bill turned away and walked back to Spangler. Smith went on into the hotel.

“What do you know about the Forty Thieves Mine, Spangler?” asked Buffalo Bill.

“I know it’s no good, Buffalo Bill,” said Spangler, with a choppy laugh.

“Where is it?”

“Five miles down the gulch.”

“Who owns it?”

“Give it up. It’s changed hands so many times there ain’t no keepin’ track o’ the owners.”

“Do you know a man who calls himself Captain Lawless?”

“I’ve heerd tell o’ such a chap, but I ain’t never seen him.”

“Well,” said the scout thoughtfully, “show me into the room Wild Bill occupied. I and my pard will stay in it till Wild Bill gets back. Go for the saddles, Nick,” the scout added. “We’ll keep them in the room with us.”

Spangler yelled for the Chinaman, and the latter showed the scout to the room recently occupied by Wild Bill. When left alone in the place, the scout looked over it carefully.

The first objects to strike his attention were a pair of boots. He picked them up and looked at them. The heel of one was missing—the reason, no doubt, the boots had been discarded.

On a chair lay a blue-flannel shirt. Wild Bill had worn such a shirt, but it might also have belonged to any number of men. The left sleeve was cut away close to the shoulder, and around the edge of the abbreviated sleeve were evidences of dried blood.

Deeply puzzled, the scout laid the shirt aside. Wild Bill’s saddle lay on the floor, and near it his war-bag. There was a box of cartridges in the bag, and a few other odds and ends, but nothing that would give the remotest clue to Wild Bill’s whereabouts.

While the scout was examining the bag, Nomad came in with the riding-gear. There was an odd look upon the old trapper’s face.

“Found out anythin’, Buffler?” he asked.

“No.”

“Didn’t J. Algernon enlighten ye none?”

“Not to speak of. I’ve a sneaking idea, though”—and here the scout dropped his voice guardedly—“that Smith has put me next to a pay-streak.”

“Pay-streak? Whar?”

“Why, in an old, played-out mine five miles down the gulch—a mine called the Forty Thieves.”

“Forty Thieves! What fool ever tacked sich er label onter a mine?”

“Pass the ante, Nick. If what Smith says is true, though, a man by the name of Captain Lawless is mixed up with the Forty Thieves.”

Nomad stared.

“Meanin’ thet whelp of er squawman ther Cheyennes calls Fire-hand, Buffler?” he asked.

“The same.”

“Things are heatin’ up some, eh? Ye don’t reckon Wild Bill hes got tangled up any with Lawless, do ye?”

“I don’t know what to think—just yet.”

“Waal, while ye’re fiddlin’ eround fer a start, I’m goin’ ter give ye a surprise.”

“What sort of a surprise?”

Nomad drew close to the scout, and whispered in his ear.

“Thet Injun gal, Wah-coo-tah, is out ter the barn, an’ wants ter see ye immejiate.”

That was a surprise, certainly. How was it that the girl, whom the pards had left in the hills, had reached Sun Dance so soon after their arrival? And what was her business with the scout?

Buffalo Bill started for the door, but Nomad caught his arm.

“Ef thar’s anythin’ crooked goin’ on in this camp, Buffler,” said the trapper, “like as not ye’re bein’ watched. What excuse ye got fer goin’ ter ther barn, arter ther hosses hev been attended to, an’ ther ridin’-gear brought in? Ye ort ter hev one, ye know. Hyar! I’ll fix ye out.”

Nomad dipped into his war-bag and brought out a bottle of horse-liniment.

“Take this, Buffler,” he whispered, “an’ purtend ye’re goin’ ter rub thet stuff on Bear Paw’s off hind leg. Thet gal, Wah-coo-tah, is chuck full o’ important news o’ some kind, but she wouldn’t say er word ter me, ’ceptin’ I was ter send Pa-e-has-ka ter see her.”

Buffalo Bill took the bottle of liniment and left the room. Out in front he halted for a word with Spangler.

“My horse strained a tendon coming from Sill,” said he, showing the bottle, “and I’ve got to take care of him.”

“I got a Mexican that kin do it fer ye, Buffalo Bill,” said Spangler.

“I never let any one take care of Bear Paw but myself,” the scout answered, as he started for the stable.

So far as the scout could discover he was not watched by any one. The camp, as usual during the day, was quiet, and he could not see any one in the vicinity of the hotel.

When he got into the stable he stood for a moment looking around. Wah-coo-tah was not in evidence, and he turned to go out again. Before he could leave, however, the low, musical voice of the girl floated to his ear:

“Pa-e-has-ka no go. Wah-coo-tah make talk with him.”

The voice came from overhead. Buffalo Bill looked up and saw Wah-coo-tah gazing down at him through the brushy thatch that covered the stable’s roof.

“Why don’t you come down here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout.

“Wah-coo-tah ’fraid. No can take chances. Me stay here; when me through talk, me crawl back through bushes to bottom of cañon.”

“Have you seen anything of Big Thunder? Has he bothered you any since you got away from him?”

“Ponca no bother Wah-coo-tah. Him bother Pa-e-has-ka, because Pa-e-has-ka save Wah-coo-tah. Big Thunder him in Sun Dance Cañon. Me watch um come; so me come, tell Pa-e-has-ka look out.”

“Is that why you brought me out here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout, disappointed. “I’m not afraid of Big Thunder.”

“Big Thunder all same snake, but him no rattle. Him strike, but him no rattle first.”

“He won’t bother me, Wah-coo-tah, so don’t fret about that. Where are you going, now that you have left Big Thunder? You won’t dare go back to your people, because they would give you to Big Thunder again.”

“My mudder no give me up to Big Thunder. My fadder he do that. Me stay in hills till me git good chance, kill Big Thunder.”

“No, no, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout earnestly, “you must not do that.”

“Me no like um. Him try kill Wah-coo-tah.”

“Well, even at that, you don’t want the Ponca’s blood upon your hands. Why are you afraid to show yourself here in this camp?”

“Mebbyso my fadder see me.”

“Is your father in Sun Dance?”

“Him Fire-hand, Cap’n Lawless.”

This was a big surprise for Buffalo Bill. He began now to understand why Wah-coo-tah was so much more comely than the usual Indian girl. Her father was an American, her mother a Cheyenne.

And it was the girl’s father who had sold her, for five ponies, to Big Thunder! That proved to Buffalo Bill, more than anything he had yet heard against Lawless, what a thorough scoundrel the man was.

“I will protect you against Lawless, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout.

“Him got plenty Yellow Eyes to help um,” returned the girl.

“Well, he hasn’t reached the camp yet. I have been told he won’t be here until to-morrow, or next day.”

“Him all same in camp now, Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Where?”

“Him stay in hotel. Me see you talk with um in front of hotel.”

The scout was even more startled than he had been before.

“Who is he, Wah-coo-tah?” he demanded.

“Him man long yellow coat.”

“Smith!” muttered the scout, a glitter coming into his eyes.

Then it flashed through Buffalo Bill’s mind that if Lawless would play the rôle of Smith, he must be doing it for some underhanded purpose. Quite possibly that purpose had something to do with Wild Bill, and his mysterious disappearance from the camp.

“Wah-coo-tah,” went on the scout, speaking in a low voice and hurriedly, “I came to Sun Dance looking for a friend of mine by the name of Wild Bill. I was delayed in getting to Sun Dance. When I reached here, though, I discovered that Wild Bill had disappeared last night. Immediately after supper he was last seen with the man who calls himself Smith, but who you tell me is your father, Captain Lawless. The two walked down the slope into the cañon. Lawless says he left Wild Bill and went to stay the night with a friend named Seth Coomby, and that he didn’t see where Wild Bill went, and doesn’t know anything about where he is now. If you can find out anything about him, I’d like to have you do it.”

The girl’s eyes sparkled at the thought of being able to render Pa-e-has-ka a service, and so, in a measure, pay him back for what he had done for her.

“Me find out ’bout Wild Bill,” said she. “Listen, Pa-e-has-ka. Bymby, in two, three hour, you go to top of road that leads down into cañon. Look down cañon. You see um Wah-coo-tah’s blanket wave in wind, you git um horse and come. Sabe?”

“I understand. Have you had anything to eat, Wah-coo-tah?”

“Me got plenty ‘jerked’ venison. Me all right. You watch heap sharp for blanket; and you watch heap sharp for Big Thunder. Wah-coo-tah go now. Good-by.”

The girl disappeared from the roof, and the scout, amazed by what he had overheard, left the stable and walked back to the hotel.

J. Algernon Smith was none other than Captain Lawless, and Captain Lawless was none other than Wah-coo-tah’s father!

Why should Lawless be impersonating Smith, unless he had some ax to grind? What that ax was, Buffalo Bill was determined to find out.

He went to the apartment taken by Nomad and himself, and expected to find Nomad there; but the trapper was not in the room.

Having replaced the bottle of liniment in his pard’s war-bag, the scout returned to the front of the hotel. Just then he was more particularly interested in finding Smith than in locating Nomad, but neither one nor the other was in evidence.

The Chinaman came out and pounded the dinner-gong. Buffalo Bill waited for a few minutes, hoping Nomad would present himself, but he did not. Thereupon the scout hung his hat on a peg in the office and went into the dining-room.

He took his time over the meal, keeping his eyes on the alert for a glimpse of Nomad or Lawless. His watchfulness, however, was without result.

Puzzled and uneasy, he finished his meal and went out to where Spangler was holding down his chairs in the shade of the hotel.

“How far up the gulch does Seth Coomby live, Spangler?” he asked.

“’Bout two mile,” replied Spangler.

“What’s become of Smith? Do you know?”

“Not me. He’s harder ter keep track of than the Irishman’s flea. But, with all his comin’s an’ goin’s, I kin tell him he’s goin’ ter pay fer the meals he misses, an’ the bunks he hires an’ don’t sleep in.”

“Have you seen my pard recently?”

“I hevn’t seen him, nuther. Mebby he went off with Smith? Your pards hev a great habit of walkin’ off with Smith and not comin’ back ag’in. Wild Bill did it last night, an’ mebby Nomad did it while you was rubbin’ liniment on yer hoss.”

“Did you see Nomad going off with Smith?”

“Nary. I ain’t seen either one of ’em since they was here in front o’ my place an’ you was talkin’ with Smith.”

“I’m going away for a little while,” said the scout, “and if Nomad returns while I am gone, tell him to stay here and wait for me.”

“Sure I will.”

The scout took to the horse-trail and moved off toward the slope leading down into the cañon.

What he wanted just now was to locate Smith. Had the fellow, fearing discovery at the scout’s hands, skipped out?

Nomad had not suspected Smith of being other than he seemed any more than had the scout. Had Smith taken advantage of this and lured Nomad away, just as he might have lured Wild Bill?

The scout was going to Seth Coomby’s with the rather vague hope of finding Lawless there. It was only two miles, and the scout had made up his mind that he would walk the distance, for a change.

As he halted at the top of the slope, his eyes instinctively scanned the cañon, up and down.

Down the cañon, against the right-hand wall, he saw something fluttering from the rocks. At once he thought of Wah-coo-tah, and of her promise to flaunt her blanket so he could see it in case she found out anything and needed him.

All thought of visiting Seth Coomby’s in search of Lawless passed at once from Buffalo Bill’s mind.

He had looked down the cañon in the hope of seeing something of Dell Dauntless and Little Cayuse, who were already long overdue at Sun Dance. Dell and Cayuse were not in sight, and the glimpse of that fluttering blanket, with its call to immediate action, gave the scout plenty to think of aside from his missing pards.

Whirling on his track, he returned to the hotel and went to his room after his riding-gear.

“Reckoned ye wouldn’t go ter Coomby’s, eh, Buffalo Bill?” spoke up Spangler.

“I reckoned I’d ride instead of walk,” the scout answered. “I’m expecting two other pards of mine to show up in Sun Dance before long. One of them is a young lady. She is to have the room which Nomad and I are occupying. If they, or Nomad, come before I get back, don’t fail to tell them to stay here and wait for me.”

“Ye kin gamble on it that I will,” Spangler answered.

The scout was not long in getting the gear onto Bear Paw and striking a swift gait for the bottom of the gulch.