Читать книгу Buffalo Bill's Bold Play; Or, The Tiger of the Hills - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 8

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Old Nomad was right in saying that when the baron tackled a job that interested him he would hang to it like a dog to a root.

The baron loved excitement, though he was not an excitable man. All hunters love excitement—that is why they hunt. Now, of all manner of hunting, there is nothing so tremendously exciting as a man hunt. It holds that tingling spice of personal danger which makes all other forms of hunting tame in comparison.

The German was in some ways a very shrewd man, though in others he was the personification of folly. But, taken all around, he had a good deal more hard horse sense that he was ever likely to get credit for. And some of his intuitions—call them guesses, if you will!—were really remarkable.

When he heard from Buffalo Bill that the fellow calling himself Jackson Dane had gone down to the Casino, and had been heard in conversation with Vera Bright, the baron’s intuitions told him that here was something worth investigating. He did not know what it was, but that did not matter. He determined to investigate, and he did, with the wonderful patience of a German. It is a patience which makes the Germans seem slow at times, but which enables them to “get there.”

In his miner’s clothing, the baron went down first to Gopher Gabe’s booze mill; but finding nothing there that interested him at the time, or offered anything, he went on to the Casino, which was not far distant. In fact, the Casino and Gopher Gabe’s disreputable establishment had secret inner connections, and Gopher Gabe was financially interested in the Casino. It was a sort of attachment to his bar, for there were “wine rooms” in the rear of the Casino, to which, at certain times, waiters passed continually with beverages.

The baron knew all this, without having to ask about it.

As no great time had elapsed since Buffalo Bill had been watching, the baron reasoned that Jackson Dane was still somewhere behind the doors of the Casino.

To get the hang of the entrances and exits, he went round to the back of the building, which abutted on an alley, where he found a rear door. But as the alley, after a semi-circular swing, came back to the main street, the baron found a spot where he could conveniently observe it, while at the same time watching the front entrances, and particularly that door marked “Private,” through which Jackson Dane had passed.

But it was a long and tiresome wait.

The baron, not caring to produce the long-stemmed pipe dear to his German heart, though he had it with him, bought a cheap clay article at a tobacco store on the corner; which he enjoyed, as he squatted silently in a convenient doorway.

Now and then he walked about, mingling with the people who came and went. But ever his eyes were on the doors, even when he seemed to be looking in other directions; not a man came out that the baron did not see and size up. Thus he remained until night came; when for his supper he bought a sandwich on the corner.

Throughout the evening performance in the Casino, the baron stuck to his post outside, though giving attention now and then to the singing, which could be heard from the street.

When the crowd came away at last, the baron was on his feet, moving about, watching everything.

He did not see Jackson Dane come out.

“I tond’t t’ink he has passed me,” thought the baron, when the last of the concert goers had departed. “So-o, uff he vos in dhere vhen I fairst sit me down, he iss in dhere yidt. I vill vaidt a vhiles.”

He waited, with German patience, until two o’clock in the morning, before he was rewarded.

At that time he seemed to be a drunken miner asleep in the doorway he had chosen, his body slouched against the door, his big hat over his eyes, in such a way that he could see under its broad brim.

At two o’clock Jackson Dane and Vera Bright came down the private stairs leading to the street, and they were quarreling.

“Ach!” muttered the German. “Yoost hear dot!”

It was a jealous quarrel; he could make that out, though he could get only a word now and then.

“Vhen lofers blay oudt, dhen der dickens iss to bay!” muttered the baron. “Mr. Shackson Dane iss two-vaced, somehow; yidt I tond’t seen yoost how. Dot misinformation may gome py me lader. Yaw!”

He could not see the man and the girl at first, but soon they came out through the door, still quarreling, and he had a fair view of them; so knew he was not mistaken as to their identity.

Dane strode up the street, and the girl went back into the building.

The baron pretended to awake with a snort; then rose heavily, and stretched himself.

“Ouch!” he muttered. “I am going to gatch so mooch coldt sidding here dot I petter gidt me avay.”

And he did.

He slouched into the street, which was pretty well deserted by that time; then, getting the bearings of Jackson Dane, he began to follow him, with care.

Dane went to the upper part of the town, and disappeared there, the spot where he vanished being not remote from the cabin of Juniper Joe.

“I haf been t’inking all alongk dot dhere is some gonnection between dhem two vellers,” the baron muttered; “unt now maype I gan findt oudt vot idt iss.”

But he failed in that.

He searched about for Jackson Dane, but did not find him, though several times he passed through the trees close up to the cabin.

Shortly before daylight he thought he saw Dane amid the trees; but he failed to see where he went.

Right there the baron camped down, to wait for daylight.

“Dhis groundt idt iss pooty soft,” he mused; “unt dher vay he vas valking he vouldt haf to make some dracks; I vill vaidt yoost a vhiles unt dake a loogk.”

When he could see the tracks the baron began to follow them, finding that they led out into the hills on the north of the town.

“I am vishing dot I haf Puffalo Pill’s Inchun drailers py me ridght now,” he thought, every time the trailing became difficult. “Liddle Cayuse couldt do dhis petter as me.”

But the German patience that characterized him caused him to stick to the work, even though at times he went so slowly that it seemed he was not progressing at all.

When he was a mile from the town, Schnitzenhauser suddenly doubled up, and fell on his stomach, in such haste that it jarred the breath out of him.

“Ouch!” he breathed, as soon as he could breathe at all. “Dot iss too kvick vork for oldt Schnitzenhauser. I am vondering dit he see me?”

He had sighted Jackson Dane, whom he had been so long following, and he could not be sure that Dane had not reciprocated.

For a time the baron lay flat on the ground; the only movement he made was to put back his hand to his hip holster, and get out his reliable forty-five.

“Der hartvare is der pitzness, uff he dries too choomp me,” he thought. “Aber I tond’t apsoludely knowed idt, I am gonwinced now dot dhis Shackson Dane is one willain.”

When he began to feel safe, the baron lifted his head and took a look.

Jackson Dane had scooped out a hole beneath a stone on a hillside, and was burying buckskin bags. Even as he looked, the baron saw him open one of the bags, put in his hand, and let a shower of gold nuggets slide through his fingers.

The baron was tremendously excited by that.

“Yiminy!” he gasped, lifting himself higher.

Jackson Dane did not turn round, nor indicate in any way that he caught that unwise exclamation; though after events indicated that he must have heard it.

He went on quietly with his work of cacheing the bags of nuggets.

When he had finished, having been watched throughout by the baron with deep interest, Dane covered the cache, taking apparent care to obliterate all traces of what he had done; then he walked straight away, into the bushes growing beyond.

“Py yiminy, dhis iss a luckiness vor me!” gasped the baron. “I haf fint vhere he iss hide some goldt unt I vandt to know vot iss der meanness uff idt. Meppy I vill resurrecdion idt unt took idt in to Puffalo Pill. Yaw! Dot vouldt make his eyes standt oudt so beeg pesite his noses dot he couldn’t see.”

He was quivering with the excitement of his discovery.

He crawled from behind the bush which had covered him; then in a stooping position hurried up to the cache.

As he bent over it there was a flash and a report and the baron pitched forward on his face.

Jackson Dane had not only discovered him but had laid a trap for him and had shot him, discharging his revolver from a nest of bushes twenty yards away.

The baron came to himself by and by, feeling very dizzy at first and without knowledge of what had happened.

But when he beheld the hole where the bags had been cached it brought him to full recollection.

“Yoompin’ yack rappits!” he gasped. “I am shodt—huh? Vale tond’t idt beat der Dutch? Yoost vhen I am t’inking I am so smartness dot nopody couldn’t pe eeny smardter I am shodt into sixdeen bieces.”

His head ached terrifically. When he put up his hand to it there came away a trickle of blood on his fingers.

“So-o I am shodt py der headt in!”

He stared at the hole in the ground marking the empty cache.

“Unt he haf daken off der goldt? Vale, vor bermitting dot I oughdt to pe shodt more as I am now.”

But the baron had not been robbed.

He looked about, but saw no one; then he examined his wound again. It was but a scratch on the top of the head; but it had knocked off his hat and dropped him senseless. The wound had bled freely and the baron discovered that his face was dyed crimson.

“Dot iss vodt haf made him t’ink I am deadt,” he thought; “vhen he seen dher bloodt vlowing like dot he iss shure I am a goneness undt he tond’t do noddings more; only he yoost dake der goldt unt gidt oudt. Yidt I t’ink me dot a doctor petter loogk at dot pullet sgratches pooty kvick.”

He knew that it was useless to think of following Jackson Dane; in his present condition the baron was not equal to it.

“Uff I kan gidt indo town I vill haf Puffalo Pill unt Nomat dackle der yob vot I had made a messes uff,” he said. “Yaw! I am no goodt.”

The baron climbed to his feet, staggered a few times in trying to go forward; then got a new grip of his strength and started off at a pretty good gait.

Now and then he experienced a sensation as if he were falling over on his face; at other times he felt as if he must sit down and rest. But Dutch grit carried him through and got him into the town.

Buffalo Bill and Nomad were at the Eagle House and astonished they were, too, when they saw him in that condition.

“Whoop!” Nomad roared. “What in the——”

“Kvit idt!” commanded the baron, waving his hand. “I am shodt, but I tond’t vandt nopoty to knowed idt.”

“Wow!”

Buffalo Bill and the trapper caught the baron by the arms and drew him hastily into the scout’s room.

“Bad hurt?” asked the trapper.

“Dake a loogk, unt seen vor yourselluf.”

Buffalo Bill made a hasty examination, asking questions, with Nomad, while he was doing it.

“Idt vos der Denfer dedecdive,” said the baron.

“Waugh!” Nomad rumbled. “How’d et happen?”

“Vale, he hadt a bistol, unt he bulled der triggers. How does idt effer habben, vhen a vellers is shodt—huh?”

“I mean——”

“I am in der vay vhen der pullet gomes—dot iss vot I mean.”

“Stop yer guffin’! Is his skull bu’sted, Buffler? Blame ef he don’t seem like it; acts like he’d lost what little sense he ever had.”

“You vix oop dot voundt fairst, Cody, unt dhen I vill do some dalkings. Der ploodt is ruining dhis nice brosbector’s suidt uff cloding, v’ich gost me dwendy tollars.”

“Yer aind’t keerin’ fer yer bu’sted headpiece?” said Nomad, with a grin. “I don’t wonder! ’Tain’t wu’th much.”

When the scout had bathed and washed out the wound, he finished his examination, and told the baron that it was but a scalp wound, which he did not consider at all serious.

“I think I can fix you up, without any need of sending you to a doctor.”

From his saddle pouches he got out material, and in a little while had the wound dressed as well as any surgeon could have done it.

In the meantime, the baron had begun to unfold his tale of woe.

“I vendt py der Casino down,” he explained; “unt vhen I haf sday dhere so longk dot I gand’t goundt how longk idt iss, Shackson Dane he gomes oudt, dalking mit dhis vomans. Vhen he goes oop der streedt, I am doing der shatow acdt yoost so neadtly as neffer vos. Budt oop py Yuniper Yoe’s I lose sighdt uff him.”

“Juniper Joe’s!” gasped Nomad.

“We have just come from there,” the scout announced.

“So-o! I haf come vrom some odder blaces. Oop py Yuniper Yoe’s I lose sighdt uff him. I hoondt roundt a vhiles, unt sday py der drees in, till idt iss pooty near morning. Dhen I seen him.”

“By Juniper Joe’s?” said Nomad.

“No; py der drees in.”

“Oh! But maybe he come frum thar.”

“Maype he dit. I am nodt knowing. As soon as I see him I losdt him ag’in.”

“Wow!”

“I am nodt an Inchun drailer, but I sday me righdt dhere undil I gan see his dracks py der daylighdts. So, I voller him. Afdher a vhiles I see him making a gache.”

“A gash!”

“No; a hole in der groundt vot he iss putting goldt nuggedts in. He haf der goldt nuggedts in puckskin pags; unt in der hole he puries dhem. Yaw!”

“Waal, go on, Schnitz! Et’s plum more irritatin’ than moskeeter bites ter lissen to you—you’re so slow.”

“Vhen he iss gone avay, I grawl oop py der gache, to dake a loogks. Unt dhen——”

“Yes, go on! An’ then!”

“‘Bangs!’ goes his bistol; unt I am deadt.”

“Wow! But you’re livin’ yit.”

“Maype so-o; aber vor a liddle vhiles I tond’t know noddings. Vhen I haf gome pack py mineselluf der goldt nuggedts iss gone, unt he iss gone, unt I am laying on der groundt yoost like a deadt mans. Now, vot do you t’ink uff dot?”

“Thet he seen ye, Schnitz, an’ laid fer ye.”

“Idt iss yoost vot I t’inks.”

“You are sure this man who shot you was Jackson Dane?” the scout queried.

“Yaw! I seen him.”

“Ye didn’t try ter foller him, after thet?” asked the trapper.

“Afdher dot? Himmel! Vhen I am shoodedt py der headt in, unt am pleeding like a stuck pigs? Pesites, I am inkinscious vhen he gidts avay, unt tond’t know vhere he haf gone.”

“No, o’ course, ye couldn’t well follered him, under ther sarcumstances.”

“Ledt me exblanadion idt to you petter,” said the baron, in his interest and excitement ignoring his throbbing head. “Vhere der gache iss made py him, der groundt iss werry hardt, so dot I tond’t t’ink dhere vos eeny dracks. Eenyhow, yoost pefore I got to dot sbot, I am vollering him by insdinctifeness; py vhich I mean dot I am going alongk yoost like a hoondting tog, aber I gandt smell eenyt’ings. Unt, dhen, I seen him!”

“I think we’ll want to take a look at that place as soon as we can,” Buffalo Bill remarked, deeply interested.

“I gan showed you idt righdt avay.”

“But your head!”

“Ach! Now dot you haf fixed him, idt iss noddings at all. Yoost a pullet sgratch.”

“You’re likely to feel bad effects from it, baron. I think, when it knocked you down and out, there must have been some concussion of the brain. It’s advisable for you to go to bed and get a rest, after that. Besides, you need sleep anyhow.”

“Sleeb!” the baron sputtered. “Couldt I sleeb afdher dot? Nein!”

“Ef you can give us good enough p’inters, I reckon Buffler an’ me can find the place,” said Nomad, anxious to set out immediately.

“Yoost ledt me dake a resting vor a liddle vhiles, unt I vill show you myselluf,” the baron declared.

He settled himself more comfortably in his chair; then fished out and filled his pipe.

“A goot schmoke iss vot I am needting. Aber a glass uff lager peer vouldt be efen petter. I am going to schmoke, vhile you tell me apoudt Yuniper Yoe, vhen you vos oop to his blace dhis morning.”

“Waal, you’ll find it as movin’ a tail, baron, as was ever stuck on a dawg,” said Nomad. “Buffler went up thar, jest after daylight. He found ther cabin locked tight as a money chist; and when he hammered on ther door he heard a groan. So he broke ther door down an’ went in, ter find Juniper Joe hog-tied an’ gagged in the corner, and Mrs. Joe layin’ slung out on the floor as ef dead. An’ ther place had been robbed.”

The German dropped his pipe and stared.

“Himmel!” he cried. “Iss dot der troot?”

“Nothing truer, baron.”

“It’s a correct account of it,” said Buffalo Bill. “The woman was unconscious from a wound on the head; it looked like a bullet wound to me, but she thought it had been made with the hammer of a revolver; at least, that is what she claimed. I got Joe on his feet, and then we worked over the woman for a while, finally bringing her round. They declared that the man who had attacked them and robbed them was Tim Benson.”

“Who iss also-o Shackson Dane!” said the baron.

“So far, that is merely a supposition.”

“Eenyhow, I am pelieving it.”

“Thet would er been excitement fer ye, baron, ef so be you hed been thar!”

“I vos hafing enough excidemendts, being shoodted py him.”

“Ther question is,” Nomad went on, “kin we hang these things together? F’r instunce, ef you trailed Jackson Dane frum ther Casino, could he also been ther man thet turned ther trick at Juniper Joe’s cabin?”

“He couldt,” the baron declared.

“Wow!” gurgled Nomad.

“Ledt me exblanadion idt to you,” said the baron. “Vhen I haf drailed Shackson Dane close py der cabin uff Yuniper Yoe, I lose him; dot iss, I tond’t gan seen him eeny more. Unt I t’ink vunce, maype he iss go py dher capin in; budt I tond’t know. I sday roundt unt vaidt. Py unt py, like vot I toldt you, I seen him makin’ a sneek drough der drees. Budt idt iss dark, unt I gan’t voller him. So I cambs me town dhere, unt vaidts vor idt to gidt some lighdter. Dhen I dake ub der drail, vot I see vhen der daylighdt gomes. Py unt py, I seen him ag’in, making der gache, unt hidting der goldt. Unt—dhen I am shoodted py him. Yaw!”

Nomad turned with beaming, wrinkled face to the scout, his blue eyes bright with excitement.

“Seems cl’ar ernough, Buffler,” he commented. “I reckon Dane went to Juniper’s; got inter ther cabin, knocked down the woman, and tied up Juniper, then hiked with the gold.

“Budt,” said the German, “I tought dot Yuniper Yoe haf shipped all uff his goldt avay py der Vells Vargo Gompany.”

“He told me,” said the scout, “that he had made another strike; and he showed me some of the nuggets he had got. They were handsome.”

“So-o?”

“I reckon et’s a shore thing that Dane went to Juniper’s an’ got his goldt,” averred Nomad. “Thet don’t prove that Juniper Joe was right in claimin’ thet Dane is this pizen tarantler, Tim Benson; but et goes a long ways toward it.”

“Dot iss so,” the baron admitted.

Buffalo Bill could but agree to the same thing.

“Now,” said the baron, putting away the pipe he had dropped, and had not smoked, “I am readty to leadt you to der sbot vhere I am shoodted, unt vhere vos der gache. Uff ve sdrike a drail dhere, ve gan voller idt, unt maype findt oudt somet’ing’s vort’ vhiles. I t’ink, py yiminy, dot ve ar-re on der righdt dracks, unt dot Shackson Dane iss Dim Penson.”

“Do you think you’re equal to it?” Buffalo Bill asked.

“Ach! Dot pullet voundt iss only a sgratch! Uff I sday me pehint now, I am going to vorry me indo some sicknesses. Ve ar-re going to haf some excidemendt now, I pet you.”

“Allus huntin’ excitement, baron!” said Nomad, with a smile. “Et’s goin’ ter be ther death o’ ye yit.”

“Uff so-o, I vill die habby.”