Читать книгу Buffalo Bill's Best Bet; Or, A Sure Thing Well Won - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 7

Table of Contents

In one of the most popular resorts of Border City, combining hotel, bar, and cardroom, a large crowd of men had assembled, as was their wont every evening, to while away the time.

The shuffle of cards, click of faro chips, clink of glasses, and hum of voices, mingled together continually, with now and then a hearty laugh and fearful oath rising above the other sounds.

It was a motley gathering, for there were returned miners, gambling away their silver and gold dust; plainsmen, back after a long trip westward; teamsters, bullwhackers, scouts, soldiers, cattlemen, a few Indians, vagabonds, and general dead beats, hanging around to be treated, and to pick up a dishonest penny when possible.

At one table were gathered some cattle herders, lately arrived from Texas, and as they were playing for large stakes, those uninterested elsewhere in the room had been drawn to the point of most interest to them.

“Pards, hasn’t I seen yer physymyhogamys before?” suddenly asked a queer-looking character, forcing his way through the crowd, and confronting the Texans, one of whom answered pleasantly:

“I think you have; you were one of the Hale emigrant train we struck on the trail.”

“You hes it right; I were ther boss teamster, but I’ll lay yer a prime pelt agin’ that pile o’ money thet yer can’t call my handle.”

A general laugh followed the remark of the borderman, and the Texan who had before spoken answered:

“I will bet you wine for all round that I can, for the money is not mine, and I guess you haven’t a pelt along with you.”

“Done; wine fer all ’ceptin’ ther dead beats.”

“But how are we to pick them out?”

“Oh, I knows ’em, Texas; now, come, what’s my appellations?”

“Old Negotiate,” answered the Texan, with a laugh.

A shout followed his reply, and the borderman said, in a lugubrious tone:

“By ther Rockies! Yer hev calt me, pard; I is gettin’ too darned well known in these parts; waal, what do you an’ yer pards drink?”

“We are one against many, and I believe in fair play, so you and your friends drink with us,” frankly answered the Texan, and turning to the crowd he continued:

“Gentlemen, join us; wine here, barkeeper.”

“Hold on, pard; let me sift ther dead beats out, fer——”

“No, no, Old Negotiate; I include all in my invitation; fill up all around, barkeeper.”

The corks popped, the wine went round, and the health of the handsome Texan was drunk with a cheer, after which Old Negotiate said:

“Pard, when last I see yer, thar were in your comp’ny a man by ther name o’ Kent King.”

“Yes, the Gambler Guide, whom our captain was taking to Texas.”

“Thet were ther man; has he passed in yit?”

“No, he escaped from us, when we were near Santa Fe.”

“Escaped!”

“The Gambler Guide free?”

“Kent King not dead?”

Such were the expressions that ran round the crowd, after a general exclamation of surprise that followed the Texan’s announcement.

“Yer say he escaped, an’ from you?”

“He certainly did.”

“Didn’t go by the way of a h’ist to a tree?”

“No; he gnawed the thongs from his wrist, secured his saddle and horse, and, though we gave hot chase, managed to escape.”

“Boys, thar’ll be music in ther air afore long in Border City, fer every man, woman, an’ kid heur hes been giving Kent King ther devil, as wuss nor a horse thief. He’ll come back fer a reckoning, or I are a screechin’ liar, and I bet a lariat agin’ a horse on it.”

“On which, Negoshy, that you are a liar, or thet King comes back?” asked one of the crowd.

“I’ll bet both, or t’other way, jist fer ther negotiate, pard, ef it suits yer; but, by ther Rockies, Buffalo Bill better look out, now thet wolf are on his trail.”

“You refer to the scout who was instrumental in his capture?” asked the Texan.

“Come ag’in, pard, fer I isn’t great on book larnin’.”

“Buffalo Bill was the one who run him to cover, I mean?”

“Yer has it; he are, an’ thet Kent King will kill him yet.”

“I fear you is right,” answered another. “Buffalo Bill hes got ter look sharp. I’ll bet high the gambler kills him.”

“I’ll take the bet.”

The clear voice caused all to start and turn. The subject of the conversation was before them.

“Buffalo Bill! Three cheers!” cried a voice; and a ringing salute was given him as he forced his way to the table and asked quietly:

“Who is betting against my life?”

“Put it thar, pard; now I’ll tell yer,” cried Old Negotiate.

After grasping the hand of the scout, he continued:

“These Texans an’ myself were havin’ a leetle chin music, an’ I l’arns from one thet Kent King escaped——”

“Ah! This is Mr. Tabor, I believe; an’ Seven-foot Harry,” and recognizing the different men around the table, Buffalo Bill greeted them warmly and asked:

“Has Kent King really escaped?”

“Yes, as I have just told these gentlemen, he escaped from us near Santa Fe.”

“An’ he’ll raise a breeze here when he comes back, an’ we was bettin’ thet he’d kill you, Bill,” said Negotiate.

“And I take the bet; who will wager, and what sum?” said the scout.

“I’ll take your bet, sir,” and a heavily bearded, stout-formed man stepped forward.

“You are a stranger to me, sir, and will have to plank down your dust, unless some one here knows you,” said Buffalo Bill, eying the man closely.

“I am a stranger in Border City, but I have the money to deposit, and as I know Kent King well, I’ll bet on his killing you if you have wronged him,” replied the stranger.

“Wronged him! Why, who could wrong a wolf? If he is your friend, I will say that you keep low company; but what will you bet that he kills me?”

The man seemed angered for an instant by the outspoken words of the scout, but answered quietly:

“Say a thousand dollars.”

“Done! It’s the amount you name, and I’ll seek a stakeholder!”

“I’ll get one,” the man answered.

“Hold on, pard; as you are a friend of Kent King, I am a little doubtful about your stakeholder.”

“Sir, do you dare say mine came differently?”

The man turned fiercely upon Buffalo Bill, who answered:

“Take it as you please; you certainly look like a——”

“What?”

“Horse thief!”

Two hands fell upon their pistol butts at the same time, but Ben Tabor, the Texan, sprang between the stranger and the scout, and said, in his calm, forcible way:

“Hold! This must stop here.”

“True, Mr. Tabor; I forgot that he was like a cat in a strange garret; for he is a stranger here, while I have a host of friends; come, sir, let us conclude our bet,” said Buffalo Bill frankly.

“All right; I was a fool to get angry; but who holds the stakes?”

“There is the very one; here, Panther Kate! This way, please,” cried the scout.

The one to whom he called had just entered the room. She was a young girl. Her form was perfect, and her fancy dress of beaded buckskin, with short skirt and tight-fitting waist, set it off to perfection, while her soft gray hat, turned up upon one side, gave her face a fearless, saucy air that was very winning.

In her belt hung holsters that held two ivory-handled revolvers, and a knife was suspended to a short chain, while with a jaunty, devil-may-care air, she held a small rifle upon her shoulder. Beautiful she certainly was, and her dark eyes had won many a heart that had failed to make hers ache in return.

In Border City all knew her. She had come there over half a year before with a traveling dramatic company and had remained when they departed, and was engaged as a singer and dancer at the town theater. After appearing each night, she would mount her mustang and ride out to a little ranch she had purchased, two miles distant, where she lived alone, caring for her cattle herself, and devoting her days to hunting.

She was a superb horsewoman and a crack shot; in fact, her deadly aim with the revolver had gained her her name, for one day she had killed two panthers with her revolver as they were springing upon her. Having finished her act at the theater, Panther Kate, or as she was known on “the boards,” Kate Kearney, took a stroll through the various saloons.

This she did each night, as though she were constantly on the search for some one; and, though no other of her sex dare go amid the wild set of men to be seen there, she showed no fear, and was welcomed whenever she appeared.

“Buffalo Bill, I am glad to see you back; did you call me?” she asked, coming forward, the crowd giving way for her, while many shouted:

“Yes, make Panther Kate stakeholder!”

“Kate’s the gal fer ter hold ther dust!”

“Kate don’t gamble her duckits away!”

“Nor drink ’em up!”

Such were the cries heard on all sides. The girl turned to Buffalo Bill, who said:

“Yes, Panther Kate; I have just made a bet with this—this stranger here that I kill Kent King——”

“Hold! Is that your bet, sir? I thought it was to be that Kent King killed you,” interrupted the stranger.

“Make it as you please, and in either case let the winner get the money.”

“All right; if he kills you, I win; if you kill him, you win.”

“Yes, and, Kate, you are to hold the stakes; here’s my dust.”

“And here is mine, girl.”

“Let me fully understand the bet,” she asked quietly, and it was explained to her.

“Thank you; I hope you will win, Mr. Cody; you know where to find me, and this gentleman can look me up should he be the winner; good night!”

And taking the bag of precious metal, Panther Kate left the saloon.

Scarcely had the man departed from the saloon, when, like a returning memory, there came to Buffalo Bill the knowledge that he had seen this man before—that in truth he was none other than Kent King himself, so disguised as almost to defy detection.