Читать книгу Young Wild West at "Forbidden Pass" and, How Arietta Paid the Toll - Old scout - Страница 4

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It was just about five o'clock in the afternoon of a cool day in autumn when Young Wild West and his friends rode into a little mining camp called Big Bonanza, which was situated in the heart of the range, known as the Silver Bend Mountains, Nevada.

It was the first signs of anything like civilization that the party had seen in two days, and though there were but half a dozen little shanties in it, the sight of it was a welcome one.

Young Wild West was beyond a doubt the greatest and best known of the heroes of the Wild West, and though but a boy in years, he had made a name for himself that many an elder person would have been proud to own.

He had earned the title of the Champion Deadshot of the West by his remarkable skill with the rifle and revolver, and he was ever ready to defend the title against all comers.

Many of his warmest friends called him the Prince of the Saddle, because he was without a peer at breaking and riding the wildest and most vicious horses of the West.

When upon the back of the beautiful sorrel stallion he always rode he made a picture that was dashing and handsome in the extreme. When on his trips through the wildest parts of the Great West he invariably was attired in a fancy buckskin hunting suit, and with his sombrero tipped well back upon his head, he surely showed up as a dashing young hero.

The flash in his eye told of his courage and persistence, while his athletic form betokened his strength and quickness.

But of all his qualifications to make up a dashing young Westerner his greatest was his coolness and fixed purpose to do right, no matter what the cost might be.

Few, indeed, are possessed of such sterling qualities, and it is only those who are that make real heroes.

But, as we have already stated, and the majority of our readers know, Young Wild West was a genuine boy hero of the Wild West, and that is only saying the truth.

Being the owner of several gold and silver mines, the young deadshot had an income that was more than sufficient to permit him to pursue his favorite hobby, which was riding about through the wildest parts of the states and territories in search of adventure.

At the time of which we write there was plenty of excitement and adventure to be found in that region, and Young Wild West was helping along the advance of civilization, which, by the way, has not reached all parts of the West yet, speaking in a true sense, and reckoning in law and order.

In company with our boy hero were his two partners, Cheyenne Charlie and Jim Dart, and two very pretty young girls and a young woman.

Cheyenne Charlie was a government scout and one of the best known Indian-fighters of his time. He was yet a young pan, and though he had been "through the mill," as the saying goes, he was better satisfied to be led than to lead, and thus it was that he had cast his lot with Wild.

The scout was a tall man, straight as an arrow, and his long black hair and mustache, together with his bronzed face, gave him the appearance of being just what he was—an out-and-out Westerner.

Jim Dart was a boy of about the same age as our hero, born and reared in the West, and though he seldom had much to say, he was full of grit, and always ready to do his share.

The two were known as the partners of Young Wild West, and they always dressed in the same style he did.

The two girls of the party were Arietta Murdock, the charming sweetheart of our hero, and Eloise Gardner, Jim Dart's sweetheart; the young woman was the wife of Cheyenne Charlie, and her name was Anna.

The girls, as they always called them, loved to travel around with our hero and his partners, and they had learned to look upon the dangers they were constantly coming in contact with rather lightly.

Arietta was the only one of the three who had been born and reared in the West, but Anna and Eloise had been there long enough to become accustomed to its ways, and they could ride horseback and shoot with great skill.

Two Chinamen, who were riding bronchos and leading pack-horses, were with our friends, and as they came to a halt in front of a saloon that had a sign across the front declaring it to be a hotel, one of them hastily dismounted, and before Young Wild West and the rest knew what he was up to he disappeared around the corner of the shanty.

There were three men, besides the man who ran the saloon, in front of the roughly-constructed building, and they seemed to be cowboys, by their general appearance.

All four of the men were regarding the new arrivals with no little interest, and when the Chinaman slid around the corner of the shanty one of them called out:

"One of your heathens is dry, I reckon, strangers. I'll bet he's headin' fur ther back door."

"Yer kin bet your life on that!" Cheyenne Charlie answered. "Hop likes his tanglefoot once in a while, an' he never loses a chance ter git it."

"Well, if that's ther case I'd better go in an' wait on ther galoot, then," spoke up the proprietor of the place. "We ain't used ter seein' gals around here, an' I sorter hate ter leave, too. But business is business."

The man spoke in a way that was not meant to be disrespectful, for what he had said was undoubtedly the truth. The few inhabitants of Big Bonanza were not in the habit of seeing female visitors.

"Well, gentlemen," said Young Wild West, "we have just dropped in here by accident, and I reckon if there's no objection we'll camp around here somewhere until morning. We are making a trip across the state, and we are going in a straight line as much as possible. What we happen to strike makes little difference to us; whether it is a mining camp or a desert. We are used to all kinds of traveling, and generally go prepared for anything."

"Talks like he was someone what sorter knows all about things, eh, boys?" remarked the cowboy who had called out that the Chinaman was heading for the back door to get into the saloon.

"Yes," answered one of his companions, while the other gave a nod.

"Looks as neat as a pin, too, don't he?" went on the man, who evidently took it that our hero was a boy fond of showing off in an expensive costume, and that he did not amount to a great deal.

"They all look neat," one of the others observed. "Them gals is sartinly worth lookin' at, ain't they? They've struck it rich somewhere, an' ther first big town they come ter they've bought new clothes. I reckon I kin judge things all right."

"So you think you can judge pretty well, eh?" said Young Wild West, as he dismounted. "Well, what do you take me to be?"

"A putty smart boy, who thinks it looks nice ter have his hair long, an' who likes ter put on lugs 'cause he's got some putty gals with him," answered the cowboy, after a slight pause.

"So that is your opinion, is it?"

"I reckon it is, young feller."

"Well, don't you think a person has a right to wear good clothes if he can well afford it?"

"Oh, yes. I ain't sayin' nothin' about that. But clothes don't make ther man—or boy, either. How long have you been West, Sonny?"

"How long have you been West?"

"About fifteen years, I reckon."

"Well, I can beat you by three or four years, then. Anything more you would like to know?"

"Oh, tell him ter dry up, Luke!" said the first speaker. "What's ther use of talkin' ter ther young dandy? Him an' ther other boy has hired ther man they've got with 'em ter take 'em around an' show 'em ther sights; an' they've, got ther man rigged out in buckskin an' fancy trimmin's, jest ter make 'em all attract attention. I'll bet I'm right on that!"

He turned to our hero as he said this and acted as though he was sure he was right.

"How much will you bet, you windy galoot?"

As Young Wild West said this he drew a roll of bills from his pocket and showed it to the three cowboys.

It was just then that the saloon-keeper appeared in the door, and behind him was the Chinaman who had sneaked in at the rear door of the shanty.

"What's all this talk about, gents?" he asked. "I hear some putty loud talk, so there must be somethin' goin' on."

"Oh, there isn't anything going on yet; but there might be, if the fellows don't get a little more civil," our hero answered, coolly. "It seems that they are trying to pick a row just because we have on better clothes than they have. If they are looking for anything like that I reckon they can get it mighty quick."

"Wow!" exclaimed the most talkative of the three cowboys. "Did you hear that, boys? Well, well! Who would have thought it?"

Cheyenne Charlie acted as though he would like to take a hand in the controversy, but he managed to keep quiet.

Jim Dart and the girls were looking on with smiles on their faces, while the Chinaman, looking out of the doorway, over the shoulder of the keeper of the saloon, actually grinned with delight.

They all knew that Young Wild West was quite able to take care of all three of the men if it became necessary and they also knew that something was likely to happen very soon.

The two companions of the talkative cowboy laughed uproariously.

They evidently agreed with him that the boy was away off in his remarks.

Cheyenne Charlie could keep still no longer.

"Jest show ther galoots that yer ain't foolin', Wild," he said. "Shake 'em up it little."

"Lat light, Misler Wild!" called out the Chinaman, from the door. "Makee allee samee be polite, so be."

"Shet up, you heathen!" roared the nearest cowboy, and with that he caught the Celestial by the pig-tail and pulled him out.

A kick followed this and the Son of the Flowery Kingdom let out a yell of pain.

Biff!

Young Wild West darted forward and struck the cowboy a blow on the breast that sent him reeling.

"If you insist on it I'll give it to you good and straight," he said, calmly. "How do you like that?"

Biff!

This time he landed one on the man's ribs, and down he went in a heap.

The other two started to interfere, but out went the boy's left and one of them landed on all fours in a jiffy.

Spat!

Our hero's right caught the other on the chin and he went, too.

As was to be expected, all three of the cowboys made moves to pull their guns.

But Young Wild West got ahead of them.

"Let go of those playthings—quick!" he shouted. "I will show you galoots that you have got to be more civil with us. Get up and say you are sorry for interfering with us."

There was something about the manner of the boy that told them that they really had made a mistake. The revolver was held by a hand that was steady as a rock, and there was no doubt in their minds but that lead would fly from it if they disobeyed.

They let go their revolvers and scrambled to their feet.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Cheyenne Charlie. "A fine lot of galoots you are! Young Wild West is only a boy, all right, but I reckon he kin lick a stagecoach load of sich fellers as you are! Make 'em do ther tenderfoot dance, Wild. Go on—jest fur fun!"

"All right, Charlie," was the reply, and the young deadshot fired a shot that hit the ground near the feet of the spokesman of the trio.

"Hold on!" the cowboy shouted. "It's all right, Young Wild West. I know who yer are now. I'll 'pologize. Don't shoot no more!"

Crack!

Again the boy fired, and then all three, knowing what was wanted of them, began to dance for all they were worth.

Crack—crack!

Cheyenne Charlie now took a hand in the game, and, while the girls and Jim Dart laughed merrily, the three cowboys did the "tenderfoot dance" in fine shape.

Both Wild and the scout fired three or four shots apiece, and some of them took chips off the high heels of the boots the cowboys wore.

"I reckon that will be about all," said our hero, as he ejected the shells from his revolver and then coolly proceeded to reload the chambers. "You galoots will know better the next time. I don't much like the looks of you, but I want to tell you that if you happen to take a notion to get square with us for what has happened you'll get the worst of it. I hope you understand what I say."

The rascals—for they were undoubtedly such—did not stop to make a reply, but darted into the saloon.

The Chinaman gave a parting laugh, and then, turning to the other Celestial, observed:

"Me havee velly nallow escapee, my blother."

"You allee samee velly muchee fool!" was the retort. "You allee timee lookee for um tanglefoot, so be."

"Me havee two velly nicee lillee dlinks, my blother; you no havee."

"Me no wantee," was the scornful rejoinder.

It was Wing, the cook, who claimed he did not want any whisky.

He was just a common, everyday Chinee, who did his work well and slept whenever he had nothing else to do, providing no one disturbed him.

Hop, on the other hand, was one of the very shrewd and cunning ones of his race.

Gifted with the art of sleight-of-hand, a lover of gambling and a fondness for playing jokes on people had made him a great character, indeed.

But he was a real fixture to the party that Young Wild West led, and as he had on more than one occasion been the means of saving the lives of different members of it through his cleverness, he was thought a great deal of by them all, and many of his shortcomings were overlooked.

Having disposed of the cowboys, Young Wild West now asked the keeper of the saloon if he thought there would be any objections to their pitching a camp somewhere around in the vicinity.

"I reckon not," was the reply. "There ain't no one as lives here in Big Bonanza, what would 'ject ter anything like that. They've all heard tell about Young Wild West, I reckon, an' some of 'em says as how they've seen yer. Yer kin bet that yer will be welcome here! Jest help yourselves ter any spot yer want."

"Thank you. I thought perhaps some one might raise objections—the three cowboys, for instance."

"Oh, they're strangers here. I never seen them until this afternoon. They must have come a putty long ways, fur there ain't a ranch in a hundred miles of here, as I knows of. Go ahead an' pick out a place ter camp. Ther boys will be here in a few minutes, fur it's about quittin' time now. I'll tell 'em that Young Wild West, ther champion deadshot, is here, an' you kin bet that they'll give yer a royal welcome!"