Buffalo Bill's Big Surprise; Or, The Biggest Stampede on Record
Date: 2021-01-11T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Dime novels; Buffalo Bill; 1846-1917 -- Fiction

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Title: Buffalo Bill's Big Surprise; Or, The Biggest Stampede on Record

Author: Prentiss Ingraham

Release date: January 11, 2021 [eBook #64262]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Credits: David Edwards, Susan Carr and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BUFFALO BILL'S BIG SURPRISE; OR, THE BIGGEST STAMPEDE ON RECORD ***

Buffalo Bill’s Big Surprise
OR,
The Biggest Stampede on Record

BY

Colonel Prentiss Ingraham

Author of the celebrated “Buffalo Bill” stories published in the
Border Stories. For other titles see catalogue.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION

PUBLISHERS

79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Copyright, 1914

By STREET & SMITH

Buffalo Bill’s Big Surprise

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.

CONTENTS

| | PAGE
| IN APPRECIATION OF WILLIAM F. CODY | 1
I. | BAD NEWS. | 5
II. | THE OUTLAWS’ ALLY | 11
III. | PLOTTING WITH A FOE. | 15
IV. | BURSTING SHELLS. | 22
V. | THE RETURN. | 31
VI. | THE FORGED LETTER. | 48
VII. | THE FLIGHT. | 56
VIII. | IN THE INDIAN VILLAGE. | 65
IX. | BUFFALO BILL’S BOLD VENTURE. | 86
X. | THE RESCUER REACHES THE GOAL. | 91
XI. | THE GUARD OF HONOR. | 96
XII. | CORRALLED BY INDIANS. | 101
XIII. | THE RIDE FOR HELP. | 107
XIV. | THE BLACK TROOPERS AT BAY. | 113
XV. | A VERY STRANGE FIND. | 118
XVI. | THE NEGRO MESSENGER. | 123
XVII. | TWO SHOTS. | 129
XVIII. | THE BAD MAN OF THE BIG HORN. | 137
XIX. | A DOUBLE ESCAPE. | 143
XX. | BLACK SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL. | 147
XXI. | TO THE RESCUE. | 152
XXII. | BLACK BILL’S LONE HAND. | 159
XXIII. | BLACK BILL’S PRISONER. | 165
XXIV. | THE LOST VALLEY. | 171
XXV. | UNSEEN FOES. | 178
XXVI. | FACE TO FACE WITH ENEMIES. | 185
XXVII. | A DISCOVERY. | 194
XXVIII. | A LIVING TOMB. | 201
XXIX. | THE RESCUE. | 207
XXX. | OUT OF DEVIL’S DEN. | 212
XXXI. | ANOTHER STRANGE STORY. | 215
XXXII. | UNDER A CURSE. | 223
XXXIII. | THE HACIENDA. | 230
XXXIV. | HAUNTED. | 237
XXXV. | THE SEARCH OF THE RUIN. | 243
XXXVI. | THE FIRST NIGHT. | 249
XXXVII. | A DEAD GHOST. | 255
XXXVIII. | ON SECRET WORK. | 261
XXXIX. | THE SCOUT’S RETURN. | 270
XL. | THE SHOT ON THE CLIFF. | 281
XLI. | THE FIGHT IN THE SLEUTHS’ CAMP. | 289
XLII. | A STARTLING VISIT. | 302
XLIII. | THE FAIR HERMIT. | 310
XLIV. | REVEALED. | 316

IN APPRECIATION OF WILLIAM F. CODY
(BUFFALO BILL).

It is now some generations since Josh Billings, Ned Buntline, and Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, intimate friends of Colonel William F. Cody, used to forgather in the office of Francis S. Smith, then proprietor of the New York Weekly. It was a dingy little office on Rose Street, New York, but the breath of the great outdoors stirred there when these old-timers got together. As a result of these conversations, Colonel Ingraham and Ned Buntline began to write of the adventures of Buffalo Bill for Street & Smith.

Colonel Cody was born in Scott County, Iowa, February 26, 1846. Before he had reached his teens, his father, Isaac Cody, with his mother and two sisters, migrated to Kansas, which at that time was little more than a wilderness.

When the elder Cody was killed shortly afterward in the Kansas “Border War,” young Bill assumed the difficult rôle of family breadwinner. During 1860, and until the outbreak of the Civil War, Cody lived the arduous life of a pony-express rider. Cody volunteered his services as government scout and guide and served throughout the Civil War with Generals McNeil and A. J. Smith. He was a distinguished member of the Seventh Kansas Cavalry.

During the Civil War, while riding through the streets of St. Louis, Cody rescued a frightened schoolgirl from a band of annoyers. In true romantic style, Cody and Louisa Federci, the girl, were married March 6, 1866.

In 1867 Cody was employed to furnish a specified amount of buffalo meat to the construction men at work on the Kansas Pacific Railroad. It was in this period that he received the sobriquet “Buffalo Bill.”

In 1868 and for four years thereafter Colonel Cody served as scout and guide in campaigns against the Sioux and Cheyenne Indians. It was General Sheridan who conferred on Cody the honor of chief of scouts of the command.

After completing a period of service in the Nebraska legislature, Cody joined the Fifth Cavalry in 1876, and was again appointed chief of scouts.

Colonel Cody’s fame had reached the East long before, and a great many New Yorkers went out to see him and join in his buffalo hunts, including such men as August Belmont, James Gordon Bennett, Anson Stager, and J. G. Heckscher. In entertaining these visitors at Fort McPherson, Cody was accustomed to arrange wild-West exhibitions. In return his friends invited him to visit New York. It was upon seeing his first play in the metropolis that Cody conceived the idea of going into the show business.

Assisted by Ned Buntline, novelist, and Colonel Ingraham, he started his “Wild West” show, which later developed and expanded into “A Congress of the Rough Riders of the World,” first presented at Omaha, Nebraska. In time it became a familiar yearly entertainment in the great cities of this country and Europe. Many famous personages attended the performances, and became his warm friends, including Mr. Gladstone, the Marquis of Lorne, King Edward, Queen Victoria, and the Prince of Wales, now King of England.

At the outbreak of the Sioux, in 1890 and 1891, Colonel Cody served at the head of the Nebraska National Guard. In 1895 Cody took up the development of Wyoming Valley by introducing irrigation. Not long afterward he became judge advocate general of the Wyoming National Guard.

Colonel Cody (Buffalo Bill) died in Denver, Colorado, on January 10, 1917. His legacy to a grateful world was a large share in the development of the West, and a multitude of achievements in horsemanship, marksmanship, and endurance that will live for ages. His life will continue to be a leading example of the manliness, courage, and devotion to duty that belonged to a picturesque phase of American life now passed, like the great patriot whose career it typified, into the Great Beyond.

BUFFALO BILL’S BIG SURPRISE.

CHAPTER I.
BAD NEWS.

It was at Fort Advance, one of the smaller frontier posts on the Indian border, just about the hour of sunset. Buffalo Bill and Colonel Carr, the commandant of the fort, were chatting together when suddenly Buffalo Bill raised his hands and pointed across the plains.

A horseman could be seen in the distance, and he was approaching at a furious gallop.

Buffalo Bill scanned the figure for a moment in silence.

“It is Hugh Hardin, the oldest of my scouts,” he said, “and I am willing to bet a few cigars that he brings news of a fresh Indian uprising.”

It was, indeed, Hugh Hardin, and a moment later he had pulled up his steed before Buffalo Bill and Colonel Carr, and, after saluting his superior officers, was making his report.

It was to the effect that the Indians to the number of several thousands were on the warpath, under command of Death Face and several other of their chiefs.

“I scouted near their camp,” said Hugh Hardin, “and I know that there is at least one white man in their number. I saw him. He is Eagle, a well-known outlaw. He was formerly chief of the band known as the Renegade Red Riders, which you broke up, Buffalo Bill, not long ago.”

“What! Eagle, the outlaw chief!” exclaimed the colonel. “I thought you killed him, Cody?”

“I followed him and drove him off a precipice into Rapid River—man and horse,” said Cody; “but it looks as if he had escaped by swimming, and joined the redskins, now that his own band is wiped out. Are you sure that he is with the Indians?”

“Perfectly,” said Hugh Hardin.

“That man must be captured at all hazards,” said the colonel. “I shall immediately order out a troop of cavalry, as well as a battery of infantry, and send them on to oppose the Indians.”

An hour later the detachment of cavalry and artillery, under command of Lieutenant Worth, one of the most popular young officers in the post, was starting for Rapid River.

Two other commands of artillery and cavalry were dispatched immediately afterward.

Buffalo Bill headed the column, of course, and when, early the next day, after a hard night ride, they were within a few miles of the river, he advised the lieutenant to call a halt.

“I will go forward myself on a scout,” he said, “before the Indians discover that there is a body of soldiers in the vicinity.”

“I suggest that you take one of the men in my troop, Sergeant Fallon, as an assistant. He has lived with the Indians for years, and can disguise himself perfectly as one, and speak the language well. Besides, they say that he has powerful friends among the Sioux chiefs. He can enter the camp in disguise, perhaps.”

Sergeant Fallon, a tall, lean, dark-faced man, stepped forward at the command of Lieutenant Worth, and, after a few words with Buffalo Bill, went off to disguise himself as an Indian, a complete disguise having been brought along with the artillery equipments by command of Lieutenant Worth.

“He is a mysterious man, evidently well educated,” said the lieutenant to Buffalo Bill, “and no one knows why he entered the army, as he is reputed to be very wealthy. He has good cause to wish to be revenged on Eagle, the outlaw chief. Eagle captured his daughter, Lucille Fallon, when she was on her way West, to hold her for ransom, and it was you yourself who rescued her when you wiped out Eagle’s band.”

“I remember the occasion,” said the great scout; “but here comes the man, and he looks like an Indian, indeed.”

Sergeant Fallon’s disguise was perfect, and an hour later the scout and he set out.

When they reached Rapid River, Fallon decided to swim his horse across and enter the Indian camp disguised as he was, and Buffalo Bill, knowing from what he had seen and heard of the man that he could thoroughly trust him, allowed him to do so.

Buffalo Bill accompanied him as far as the river, and watched him across. He lost his form after he had got halfway across, but waited until he was sure that Fallon had reached the other side and found the Indian guards.

Hearing no outcry or shot, he muttered:

“I guess he’s all right, but his danger is great.

“The man grows upon me more and more, and I am sure that he has once held a high position and been in command of men.

“Well, if he gets back in safety, I will use my influence to get him the commission he richly deserves.”

So saying, the scout gazed in silence for a while over the weird, wild scene, lit up by the moonlight into picturesque beauty, and then, turning his horse, rode back to his camp for the night.

The sergeant, meanwhile, had crossed the river, been met by the guards, and then rode to the camp beyond the ridge.

To his surprise, he found there over a hundred Indian braves, and about a camp fire built out of sight up in a niche of the cliff stood several forms, upon whom his eyes were at once riveted.

Fighting Bird, an old Sioux chief, was there, and near him stood the young chief, Death Face, while, seated upon a rock near, was a splendid type of a redskin leader, a man of almost herculean proportions, robed in gorgeous costume of tanned doeskin heavily embroidered with wampum, and wearing a war bonnet of barbaric splendor. His face was bold, rugged, crafty, intelligent, and merciless.

That countenance was furrowed with age, silver threads streaked his raven locks, but he was still the mighty leader of his people, the grand old fighter, plotter, good general, merciless foe of the palefaces, Iron Eyes, the head chief of his tribe.

By his side stood a fourth person.

It was one of elegant form, handsome face, dark and sinister, fine though it was. He was dressed in a black fatigue suit of army style, wore buttons of ten-dollar gold pieces, diamond studs and sleeve buttons in his negligee silk shirt, a massive watch chain, and a large, brilliant ruby upon the little finger of his left hand, his right being covered with a red glove.

This man had a cigar between his lips, stood like one waiting to be photographed, one booted foot resting upon a rock before him, and his elbow leaning upon his knee as a rest.

His spurs were of gold, his belt of arms showed that they were ornamented with the same precious metal, and, altogether, he was a most picturesque and striking figure, a man to stand in awe of.

As the sergeant approached, old Iron Eyes arose and greeted him, greeted him as he would one for whom he held both reverence and affection.

“Iron Eyes is surprised at meeting his paleface brother, the great medicine chief, White Wolf. The Iron Eyes has with him another great chief of the paleface race, the Eagle, his brother and ally, and here is my son, the mighty young chief who will some day wear the war bonnet of old Iron Eyes.

“It gladdens my heart to again see my brother, the White Wolf. He is welcome, and he has proven my friend.”

Such was the welcome and the introduction of the sergeant to those assembled about the camp fire in the little ravine among the cliffs.

CHAPTER II.
THE OUTLAWS’ ALLY.

Sergeant Fallon was perfectly calm under the ordeal he was passing through. He greeted the old chief most reverently and kindly, offered his hand to the outlaw, for he wished to feel his grip and remember it, and saluted the young son of Iron Eyes courteously, while he did not by any means ignore Fighting Bird.

But he lost no time in at once saying:

“I am here unexpectedly to-night, for I wish to tell the great chief that his foes are not sure that he has warriors camped here, and they intend to send out scouts on foot to cross the river and find out. By drawing your braves far back, putting out your camp fires, and not one being seen, the scouts will come over and find no braves here.

“They will report this to their chiefs, and then when another night the force attempts to cross, the warriors of Iron Eyes will be here to ambush them.”

The words of the disguised sergeant were listened to in silence, but with great interest, and old Iron Eyes said:

“The Chief White Wolf speaks with wisdom, and my warriors shall at once draw back to cover.”

“Yes, it will be the very thing to do, for if the soldiers believe that you have withdrawn your guards from the fords, they will cross, hoping to surprise you, and dash upon an ambush and be beaten back right here, as they should be.”

“I would send couriers to the other bands, also, chief,” the outlaw joined in, “to have them also fall back for the night. Would you not, White Wolf?”

“It would be just what I should do, sir,” answered the sergeant.

Orders were at once given to put out the camp fires, get the ponies and camp outfit, and retreat over the range half a mile back.

The sergeant went along and rode with Iron Eyes, the two talking together like old friends.

When they had come to a halt, the outlaw stepped up to the sergeant and asked:

“What force is on the other side, sir?”

“There are three commands, sir; two of considerable strength, the other not so large.”

“Have they any guns?”

“All three commands have artillery, sir.”

“And infantry?”

“Mounted infantry, with cavalry and guns.”

“Then Carr is in earnest?” said the outlaw.

“Yes, sir, he seems determined.”

“There are three men there whom I hate. I will give a reward to get their scalps.”

“Who are they, sir?”

“One is Lieutenant Worth, who has been a persistent foe of my band of Red Riders; one is Buffalo Bill, and the other is Sergeant Fallon.”

“I know them all, sir.”

“They have both been strong allies to wipe me out, and here I am a fugitive to-day with no men left, and must begin life anew to gain both gold and revenge. But I am not dead yet, and I will have both.”

“You are right, Captain Eagle,” said the sergeant.

“May I ask your name, my friend?”

“My name is Louis, sir.”

“What position do you hold under Colonel Carr?”

“I am in the ordnance department, but hold only an inferior position.”

“You have once dwelt among the Indians?”

“Yes, as a fugitive from my own people, I became a renegade and was a medicine chief. When I could do so I returned to my people, unknown, however, to work like you, for gold and revenge. Some day I will have both.”

“See here, you are just the man that can aid me, and in doing so help yourself.”

“I am willing, if there is any money in it.”

“There is, and big money, too, for you.”

“I am your man, Captain Eagle,” was the earnest reply.

The outlaw was evidently greatly excited through some thought that had crossed his mind. He paced to and fro for a minute, his hands clasped behind his back, his whole bearing that of one who was moved by strong emotion.

Again turning to the sergeant, he said, and in a perfectly calm tone:

“You dwell at Fort Advance, of course?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know Sergeant Fallon well?”

“He is my most intimate friend, and I occupy his quarters.”

“Good! Have you any love for him?”

“I have for him, sir, the deepest hatred, as he has been my worst enemy, and at times I have been tempted to take his life.”

“Then you are the very man I want for an ally—what do you say?”

“I will serve you, sir, as I can serve myself in doing so.”

CHAPTER III.
PLOTTING WITH A FOE.

The outlaw leader seemed pleased with the idea of his ally’s hatred for Sergeant Fallon, and said, when he was told that he would serve him:

“Well, you will have to go slow, and there is much to be done.”

“I am ready.”

“I’ll tell you just what my plan is, and see what you think of it.”

“I’ll frankly tell you what I think.”

“I believe you, for the chief speaks of you in the highest terms, in fact loves you as a brother, and the only thing I had against you was that, after being a renegade, you went back to your people.”

“It was, as I said before, for a purpose.”

“Ah, yes; but now to my plot with you.”

“I am all attention.”

“You, of course, know the sergeant’s daughter?”

“I do.”

“She is an heiress, you know?”

“I have heard so; in fact, I know that it is the case, from the sergeant.”

“I had her a captive, with others, but Buffalo Bill guided Lieutenant Worth, Sergeant Fallon, and others to my retreat and rescued the prisoners, destroying my band and making me fly as a fugitive for shelter with my good friend, Iron Eyes.”

“I see.”

“Now, I wish to get possession of Lucille Fallon, the sergeant’s daughter.”

“Ah!”

“And that is what I wish you to aid me in.”

“I can do it if any man can.”

“My plan is for you to notify me, by a letter left at a certain spot on the Overland trail, which I will describe to you, when I can get possession of her. She can be called to Pioneer City through an excuse of some kind to meet a lawyer there who will not come farther on, and I will hold up the coach and capture her.”

“But your men are all dead or prisoners?”

“Yes, but I am organizing another band out of new material, men who will serve my purpose even better than the others did.”

“You wish to capture the girl and get a big ransom for her?”

“That is just it, and Sergeant Fallon with her.”

“You wish both?”

“I do, the one for revenge, the other for gold.”

“Well, I believe I can arrange it.”

“You must understand the whole situation, the name of the girl’s lawyer in New York, something of the facts of the case of her inheritance, and just what to do. Now, when she was my captive, I looked over her papers, and I have the name and address of the lawyer, in fact, one of his letters, and I can forge his writing perfectly.

“I will write the letter to her, mail it from Pioneer City, telling her that, writing as the lawyer, I cannot come any farther, as I am suffering with an attack of rheumatism, and that she and her father must come to me, the lawyer, mind you, by return coach. I will then lie in wait on the trail and capture them.”

“A good idea.”

“There is another thing: You must see to it that the girl’s jewels and money are taken along, though she must not know this. Smuggle them on the coach in some way, for you can get possession of them, intimate as you are at the sergeant’s home, and I will share with you.”

“Thank you. I know where the money and jewels are kept, and I can get them, and will see that they go through with the sergeant and his daughter, never fear.”

“Is Jack Jessop, the star driver, driving now?”

“Oh, yes.”

“It will be his last trip, for I’ll bury him on Monument Hill. He is too plucky a man to be in the Overland coach-driving business, and so he goes under.”

“It is just as well, I guess, though I rather like Jack.”

“Well, now, we’ll go over the whole matter again, and just as soon as you return to the fort notify me by letter what you think can be done, or if you can think of any better plan. The place to leave the letter is under the end of the third board of the Cañon River bridge, where it projects over the land, as I suppose it must, though I have not seen the new structure. At any rate, look well for a spot there, and I’ll find it, for I’ll take to the trail soon with my new band.”

“I’ll prepare the way for you, Captain Eagle, never fear,” was the answer of the sergeant, and then the two went all over the same ground again, the outlaw asking many questions about the fort and its people, and coming to what he considered was a thorough understanding with the man whom he little dreamed to be his foe.

This conversation being ended, the sergeant held a powwow with his old friend Iron Eyes, the outlaw, Death Face, and Fighting Bird being present.

It being then a couple of hours after midnight, Sergeant Fallon suggested that he would make a visit to the ford to see if the enemy had sent their scouts across, and send back word by a couple of warriors who would accompany him, as he would then be compelled to go on back to the command where he was expected to serve as the Indians’ spy.

Two young braves were, therefore, called to accompany him, and Iron Eyes said that he had increased the force of guards at each ford by fifty men, while several hundred more braves under Death Face would camp at the first mountain pass on the trail, where they could give battle to the soldiers, and be reënforced readily from the village.

Iron Eyes himself would return to his village, and Captain Eagle was to remain at the ford, being at liberty to go where he pleased.

Assured by these facts, and accompanied by the two braves, the sergeant set out upon his return.

He left the braves on the ridge, advanced alone to the river, and discovering, by the sign agreed upon between them, that Buffalo Bill had been there, he went back and told the warriors to return and report to Iron Eyes that a scout from the soldiers had been across the river, so that they could come back into their camp again.

Then he rode into the river to cross.

The sergeant was greeted by Buffalo Bill as he rode out of the water, the two friends clasping hands warmly.

“I am glad, indeed, to see you again, sergeant, for I was becoming very nervous about you.”

“I was delayed, as I did not dare appear anxious to get back.”

“I found Iron Eyes, Death Face, and the outlaw in camp when I went over, and a number of warriors, as well, so I decided to get them well out of the way at once, and would not delay for the time agreed upon.

“I found, upon my return to the ford, that you had been there and crossed. I gave the chief a great ghost story about the soldiers, and I had an hour’s chat with the outlaw,” and Fallon related all his conversation with the outlaw.

“When he holds up the coach he will not only find Sergeant Fallon in it, but Buffalo Bill, Lieutenant Worth, and a few good scouts and soldiers, with others following on behind, and a few more to head off the outlaws, so that we will catch the whole outfit,” said the sergeant.

“The very thing to be done, sergeant; but who has the outlaw chief for a band?”

“That is the question, Cody.”

“Doubtless redskins?”

“I had that idea at first, but he spoke of going to Pioneer City, where he had friends, and I believe he will get men there, and more than he had before, from what he gave out in the way of hints.”

“Then, to be sure, we will have to be well provided with men, say one on the box with Jack Jessop, who is also to be counted when it’s a scrimmage, and a dozen can pack away in the coach. Then a few scouts and soldiers on the trail behind the coach, some more of my men ahead and we’ll rope in the entire outfit, as you suggest.”

“We’ll do it, and arrange with the lieutenant, but keep it as secret as the grave. When the letter comes we will then be ready to go out on the first coach, and the man who rides on the box with Jack Jessop can wear a hat and clothes to appear to be my daughter, for she rode all the way through on the box, you know. But here we are at camp.”

Day had dawned, and the camp was astir, though the men were not building any fires, but were preparing to eat a cold breakfast.

Having washed off his paint and changed his clothes, the sergeant and Buffalo Bill went directly to the quarters of the lieutenant.

CHAPTER IV.
BURSTING SHELLS.

Before nightfall the two reserve commands had reached the fords, to which they had been guided by the scout sent to each of them.

They found them good camping places, water, wood, and grass in plenty, and which could be readily defended if need be.

There were a dozen fires built by those sent on ahead, and the officers in command were delighted to learn that there was a chance for a brush with the Indians, for, being ordered to the front, they believed there would be.

It was just before sunset that Lieutenant Worth, Buffalo Bill, and Sergeant Fallon rode into the camp at the upper ford, and were welcomed by the officers and men.

“Percy, how is your gun placed?” asked Lieutenant Worth of the officer in charge.

“It commands the ford and the other shore, though it is not in position to be seen.”

“All right, run it into position as soon as Buffalo Bill shows you, just to toss a shell or two, for he has been devoting the past day to studying the Indian camps at two of the fords,” said the lieutenant, with a smile, while the scout remarked:

“Say night, rather, lieutenant, for I’ve been resting by daylight.”

Going to a point which commanded a view of the other shore, Buffalo Bill ran his glass over it and said:

“Sergeant, when I reconnoitered, the camp was in those willows.”

“Yes, that is it; and the ponies are corralled over beyond them.”

“I’ll see if I can put a shell there,” and the officer in charge of the guns sighted one himself, a sergeant training the other.

“Fire!”

The six and twelve-pounders flashed together, and shells went shrieking across the river.

One burst directly in the willows, the other beyond, where the sergeant had said the horses were.

There was a neighing of horses, several ponies dashed into view, and it was certain that the shells had been a startling surprise to the redskins in camp.

“Percy, I wish one of your guns sent at once down to my camp, and with full speed, for I shall drop a shell or two into the camp across the river from me, and then push on down to the other camp, and have them give the reds a surprise, though we do not know just where they are located at the lower ford, and must guess at it.

“Toss a few more shells over there, and then limber up and get the gun away, whichever one you care to send.”

Half a dozen more shells were sent flying into the Indian camp, and then the gun was sent down to the camp of Lieutenant Worth, who, after supper with his officer comrades there, rode away with Buffalo Bill, the sergeant, and the three men sent there in the morning to build fires, back to his camp.

He found it no easy task to overtake the gun, the crew being anxious to reach their position and throw in a few shells before word could be sent down from the upper ford, though the firing would naturally be heard there, the sound traveling by the river.

The gun was dragged to the ridge, and the sergeant pointed out just where the camp and corral of ponies were.

“Aim it yourself, sergeant,” ordered Lieutenant Worth.

The sergeant did so, and the shell was seen to burst right behind the ledge.

Wild yells followed, and, with the firing of a second shell into the corral of ponies, it also struck home, for horses neighed wildly in fright.

“Give them a few more shells, sergeant, and then the gun can go to camp, while we hold on down to the lower ford.”

This was done, the gun retreated to camp, and Lieutenant Worth, Buffalo Bill, and Sergeant Fallon followed on down the river trail to the lower ford.

It was some fifteen miles distant, and over a rough trail; but they reached the camp soon after midnight, and found the officer in command and his men all under arms and ready for the fray, for they had heard the firing from the middle ford and expected to be called upon to move at any time.

“It is no alarm, Benedict, at least to us, though it is for the Indians.

“I took a fancy to let the redskins know we were across here in very heavy force, as Sergeant Fallon had so reported to them, and got Percy to open on them, and, borrowing one of his guns, I did the same, and now I wish you to stir them up.”

“With great pleasure, Lieutenant Worth,” answered Lieutenant Benedict, who was in command.

“Have you any idea of just where their camp and corral is?”

“I reconnoitered with my glass just before sunset and think I found their camp, and behind it is a meadow where I saw a pony astray.”

“We’ll chance it.”

Accordingly, the guns were placed in position, the spots pointed out to the gunners, and first one, then another roar came, the shells went shrieking on their errands, and bursting just where it was intended they should.

Again startled yells answered, and then half a dozen more shells went crashing into the timber on the other side.

“Give them a couple of shots just at dawn, Benedict, and the other camps will do the same to show them that we have guns at each ford.

“We will camp at the fords for a couple of days yet, and then return by easy marches to the fort, for I do not believe a redskin will venture across the river for a long while to come. Eh, Cody?”

“I do not think so, either, sir, unless Eagle, the outlaw, puts them up to some act of deviltry,” was the scout’s answer, and, after a snack, the lieutenant and his two companions returned to their own camp.

The stay of the commands at the fords was continued for three days longer, and every morning and evening what the troops called the “sunrise and sunset guns” were fired across the river at the Indian camps, the guns being loaded with shell.

Since the first night of the firing not an Indian had been seen or heard. They were either gone or in hiding farther off.

Sergeant Fallon volunteered to go across and discover, making the site of the three fords in the night along the trail upon the other side, but Lieutenant Worth said that he did not care to have him take any more chances.

Then the sergeant said it would be well for him to cross just where he had before, and let the Indians feel that he was still trying to serve them, also giving them another ghost story about the troops intending to remain for some time.

Thus urged, the lieutenant yielded, and, rigging out in his Indian costume once more, Sergeant Fallon rode slowly away from the fort after supper one night.

Lieutenant Worth and Buffalo Bill accompanied him to the river, and then waited.

It was bright moonlight, and the other shore could be plainly seen, the officer and the scout watching the sergeant all the way across and until he disappeared in the shadows of the other side.

They waited two hours before they saw him come again into sight. He rode into the river, came across, and joined them back in the shadows on the ridge.

“Have they gone, sergeant?” asked the officer.

“No, sir, they are there, only camped well back, and with half a dozen braves on guard at a time, while their force now numbers a couple of hundred men at each ford.”

“Give me the location of their camp, and we will toss a shell over there in the morning.”

“Pardon me, lieutenant,” said Buffalo Bill, “but that would compromise the sergeant, as they would understand that through him only the location could have been found out.”

“You are right, Cody, and it would not do.”

“You could hardly reach there as it is, sir, for they are well protected; but, as Cody says, it might bring suspicion upon me, and I was received in a most friendly manner.”

“Was Iron Eyes there?”

“No, sir; he is back at the village, and Death Face commands five hundred warriors at the pass where they would hope to check your advance, with the braves who would retreat from the fords, and others who would come from the camp.

“They have planned well, indeed, sir, and are in dread of your advance, for they think you have two-thirds of the force from the fort. Fighting Bird is in command at the ford here, and he is a plucky, able chief. The shots did some damage at each ford, for half a dozen warriors were killed opposite to us, two at the upper camp, and one at the lower, while a score were wounded, as the shells dropped right into their midst. Then, too, they lost a number of ponies by the shelling.”

“We did do some service then, at random.”

“Yes, sir, and they will be most cautious about recrossing the river for some time to come.”

“I hope they will not allow us to rust in camp.”

“No danger of that, lieutenant, for they are Indians, and they will break out in a new spot when they think you have forced them to lie quiet,” remarked Buffalo Bill.

“There is one thing I did not like, lieutenant.”

“What is that, sergeant?”

“The outlaw chief has left the camps.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When did he leave?”

“The day after my visit, sir.”

“Where did he go?”

“I was told by Fighting Bird that the outlaw seemed sorry to have trusted me, after I left, and told Iron Eyes so. Iron Eyes and Death Face laughed at him, and he said that he had made a mistake, but would rectify it, and soon after he left the camp. I asked where he had gone, but Fighting Bird said he did not know; but he thought to the village of the palefaces, meaning Pioneer City.”

“But he would not dare to cross the fords?”

“It seems, sir, that he knows of another ford up the river to which no trail leads, but where there is really a good crossing, and he went there. He wished to lead a band of warriors around that way to attack the upper camp, but the Indians were too much afraid of the big guns to listen to it.”

“It’s well for us they were; but would he dare go to Pioneer City, where he must be known?”

“Yes, lieutenant, for you know he always wore a mask as an outlaw, and no one saw his face.”

“His face is not known in Pioneer City, and I never saw it that I know of,” the scout remarked.

“But is he masked now?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you saw his face?”

“I did, sir, and I would know it again if I met his ghost in Hades,” was the sergeant’s emphatic response, for a moment did he break out from his accustomed quiet mien.

“Describe him, sergeant, please.”

“A man six feet in height, sir, herculean in strength, and with a dark, intellectual face, cynical, stern, and very handsome, but for its look of cruelty. He has a long dark mustache, and his hair hangs upon his shoulders. He is a very striking-looking man, sir, and worthy of a better calling, to judge by his appearance.”

“Well, I hope to have a close look at him some day; but what do you think he went to Pioneer City for?”

“I told you, sir, of his intended letter to my daughter, and as it seems he grew suspicious of me, my idea is that he has gone there to plot to get her into his power at once.”

“By the Lord Harry! but you may be right, sergeant. We will break camp at daylight and push for the fort. Come, I’ll send couriers to the other camps to move, also,” and the three returned at a gallop to the camp.

CHAPTER V.
THE RETURN.

When the three forces got under way they marched at a speed according to the distance they had to travel, that all might make the same camp the first night on the way.

The command from the lower ford made twenty miles, and, camping early, they were joined in the afternoon by the party under Lieutenant Worth.

At dark the third command, under Lieutenant Percy, came in, and Walter Worth surveyed his little army with pride at being the superior officer.

When they pulled out from camp early the next morning, seeing that the news that the outlaw had gone to Pioneer City made Sergeant Fallon anxious, he said to him:

“Sergeant, you and Buffalo Bill can push on ahead to the fort, for the command cannot get in to-night without crowding the horses very hard and riding late, and there is no necessity for either.”

The face of the sergeant brightened at the order of the lieutenant, and he said:

“Thank you, sir; I shall be most happy to go on ahead.”

“Say to Colonel Carr I will arrive with the command to-morrow, not caring to push the cattle.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sergeant at once reported to Buffalo Bill what the lieutenant had said, and the two started off at a pace more than double that at which the troops were traveling, retarded as they were by the guns, a couple of ambulances, and some pack mules.

The sun was yet above the horizon when the sentinel on the watchtower reported the coming of two horsemen by the trail leading to the Indian country.

The coming of the scout and Sergeant Fallon was soon reported to the colonel.

Their stories were told, the sergeant telling his first, and both were listened to with the greatest attention by the colonel, who then said:

“Sergeant, your daring and gallant conduct shall be reported, with a strong recommendation, added to others already sent to Washington, for your promotion to a lieutenancy.”

“I thank you, sir.”

“It will be a well-won appointment, sergeant, but, as you request it, it will be best to say as little as possible about your going into the Indian lines, as it might reach the ears of the outlaw, who you say left the camps after your first visit, presumably going to Pioneer City.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then he will be up to more deviltry, I fear; but, sergeant, your daughter is not here, you know, or had you heard of her departure?”

“My daughter not here, sir?” Sergeant Fallon’s face turned to the hue of death.

“Don’t be alarmed, man, for she only went by Jack Jessop’s coach this morning to Pioneer City to see her lawyer, who wrote to her that he was laid up there with rheumatism, and wished both of you to come on there.

“As she did not know you would return, she went alone; but what ails you, sergeant?”

“Colonel Carr, that letter was a trick of the outlaw chief to get my child into his clutches again!” gasped the sergeant.

The words of the sergeant fairly startled the colonel, and he looked anxiously toward the scout and said:

“Cody, the sergeant is too deeply moved to speak.

“Tell me yourself what this means?”

“It means, colonel,” answered Buffalo Bill, “that while in the Indian lines Sergeant Fallon had a long talk with Eagle, the outlaw leader, and became his ally in an intended capture of himself, the sergeant, and Miss Fallon. A compact was entered into between them, as I understood it from Sergeant Fallon, that he should inveigle himself and Miss Fallon to take the coach to Pioneer City, and he would hold it up and capture them.

“The outlaw had seen Miss Fallon’s papers and letters, when she was his captive, copied the address of her lawyer, and secreted a letter of his so as to forge his writing and signature.

“A letter to her was to be written from Pioneer City, pretending to come from the lawyer and saying, as he was laid up and unable to come to the fort, she must come to him on a most important legal matter that he would explain.”

“I see it all, and she has fallen into the trap, for it was to Pioneer City that the outlaw went to carry out his infernal plot. Sergeant, you have my deepest sympathy, and we will do all we can to rescue your daughter, I assure you.”

“I feel that, sir; but she is now in that man’s power, and——”

“Colonel Carr, may I offer a suggestion?” said Buffalo Bill suddenly.

“Out with it, Cody.”

“The outlaw crossed the river at a point beyond the upper ford, the Indians told the sergeant, at a secret ford known to him alone.

“Now, I believe he carried Indians along with him, so a trail will be left, and if he has captured Miss Lucille he will most surely take her to the village of old Iron Eyes, for nowhere else could he carry her in safety.”

“Yes, Cody.”

“If he held up the coach to-day it was on the other side of Cañon River bridge, and it is as far for him to ride from there to his secret crossing of the river as it is for us to go down from here, and by hard riding we could get there first, sir; begging your pardon, if we could start at once, push through and meet Lieutenant Worth, we could——”

“Cody, you have hit the nail on the head, and you and the sergeant shall start within half an hour on your ride.

“You, sergeant, can ride my best charger, Spur, for he needs exercise, and Lieutenant Worth will go back with you and take what men he deems necessary, leaving the command to Lieutenant Percy to bring on. Say to Lieutenant Worth, sergeant, that such is my wish.

“Let him pick his horses, and you should reach him in time to-night to get a short rest there for yours, and be away all together at dawn.”

“We will, sir; and I thank you deeply for your great kindness. We will start within half an hour, sir, but I dislike to force Scout Cody and others on such a hard ride,” said Sergeant Fallon earnestly.

“Oh, don’t mind me, sergeant, for I’ve had more rest of late than I wanted,” said Buffalo Bill dryly.

“Well, now be off, and remember, sergeant, you are to ride my horse, Spur.”

“Thank you, sir.”

With wishes for their success, the colonel saw them depart hastily for their respective quarters.

The long ride they had had was forgotten by both men, for what did they care for fatigue when it was to save Lucille from the power of the hated outlaw chief?

Buffalo Bill hastened to his quarters to change his clothing, and order two of his best horses brought out, for the scout was noted for the splendid animals he always had ready for use.

One of them he intended to ride, the other to be used as a pack animal, and he ordered a good supply of provision put in the pack saddle, and within an hour after leaving the colonel’s quarters he was ready for the trail. He had his supper, and just at dark rode up to the sergeant’s quarters.

“Time, sergeant, time!” he called.

The colonel’s magnificent roan, Spur, was there, with the sergeant’s saddle and bridle on, and there was a place in the pack saddle for what the soldier wished to carry along.

These were stowed away, and the two friends rode out of the fort side by side, the pack horse traveling behind.

The traps of the horsemen had been so divided up that the saddle horses had only the weight of the riders, the pack animal carrying the balance.

They were gazed upon as they rode away back on the trail they had come, the soldiers wondering at their going so soon after their return.

As they left the gate, the scout urged his horse into a slow canter, the sergeant’s and the pack horse settling down to the same steady pace.

Thus they went on their way through the darkness, leaving mile after mile behind them.

“We will reach the camp by midnight, sergeant, and that will give our horses and ourselves a good rest until dawn, and allow Lieutenant Worth ample time to select his men.”

“What number do you think he will take, Cody?”

“I should say six of my men and as many soldiers, and this, with the lieutenant and ourselves, will give us fifteen.”

“Enough, if Lieutenant Worth picks the men.”

“Which he will do, and yet a few more would not be amiss.”

“Well, suggest it, for he is most reasonable.”

“He is, indeed, and one of the bravest and most brilliant young officers I ever knew.”

“You are right there, and he is making his way well to the front.”

Seeing that they were not distressing their horses, the two kept them at a still more rapid pace, and it was just before midnight that they dashed up to the camp.

Lieutenant Worth was at once aroused and the situation explained to him, and before the sergeant could deliver the colonel’s message he cried:

“I’ll take a score of men and go back with you, for that villain must be run down. You know your men best, Cody, so pick out from the three commands together here ten of your best scouts, and let them take the finest horses, whether their own or not. You, Sergeant Fallon, pick a corporal and ten troopers, and see that they get the very best mounts. The quartermaster shall at once get supplies for a couple of weeks’ stay, for we must go well prepared, and——”

“I go, too, Lieutenant Worth, for I shall be needed,” cried Surgeon Denmead, who was present at the interview.

“Ah, Denmead, always the right man in the right place, and I am glad you spoke, for I will be glad to have you along.”

“Now, prepare all, for we must be in the saddle within the hour.”

There was no use saying wait until dawn, for the dashing young cavalry officer said:

“We will go ten miles on our way and then camp, for I’ll feel then as though we had started. If your horses are blown, Cody, you can take others.”

“I’ll ride another, sir, as will Sergeant Fallon, and take an extra pack horse, too, so the three we pushed to the camp here can run loose and thus rest.”

“Yes, and I’ve ordered half a dozen extras driven along loose in case of breakdowns, for there must be no delay on this ride.”

The party who were to make the ride then had supper, and in just one hour after the arrival of Buffalo Bill and the sergeant in camp, the party, twenty-five all told and thirty-five horses, rode off on their expedition to rescue Lucille Fallon.

“Set the pace, Cody, and don’t make it too slow,” said Lieutenant Worth, and Buffalo Bill rode to the front, the sergeant with him.

Behind rode Lieutenant Worth and Surgeon Denmead, then the corporal and his troopers, the pack horses and extras following, and the scouts bringing up the rear in two detachments, under Will Palmer and Hugh Hardin respectively.

When ten miles had been passed over, Buffalo Bill began to look for a camping place, when Lieutenant Worth called out:

“The horses are all right, Cody, so give them another hour of it, and we’ll reach a good halting place.”

Another hour was given them, and the scout led the command to a fine camp where water, grass, and wood were plentiful.

They quickly staked out the animals, one scout was put on duty, with orders to call a relief after one hour, and he to do likewise, until four hours had passed, when breakfast would be eaten and the ride resumed.

The men threw themselves down upon their blankets and were soon fast asleep.

Feeling that all was being done that was possible for the rescue of his daughter, Sergeant Fallon, knowing his need of rest, followed Buffalo Bill’s example, and dropped off into a deep slumber.

Two soldiers and two scouts were awakened by the sentinel to get breakfast, and the others were allowed to sleep on until it was ready.

The meal disposed of, the horses were saddled, and, mounting, away they started on another mad ride.

Buffalo Bill was leading the command as guide and scout, and constantly by his side kept Sergeant Fallon, while Lieutenant Worth and Doctor Denmead were not far in the rear.

The halt was made at noon, but not for two hours, as a consultation and look at the horses showed that they were not yet used up, save two, that were left behind.

“They will get a rest when we reach the river to-night, so push them for all they are worth, Bill,” said the lieutenant.

“Yes, sir; and we must reach the river while it is daylight to find that trail, and so wait there, for he may come up in the night and go across,” answered Buffalo Bill.

The halt was, therefore, made at noon for an hour only, and yet the horses were stripped and rubbed down while they fed.

Then the party mounted again and pushed on, the scout setting even a faster pace than before. He was determined to strike the river above the upper ford, and from there up look for the trail coming out where the outlaw crossed. To do this, hard riding must be made.

Another horse dropped out during the afternoon, and a second soon after. They were left by the trail side.

Buffalo Bill glanced back to see if he was pushing too hard, but the lieutenant waved him on, and the sergeant’s face brightened, as he said, in a low tone:

“God bless that noble young man.”

“Oh, he’s got the nerve to push to the end,” answered Buffalo Bill, and as he spoke, Lieutenant Worth called out:

“Your horses can stand the strain, Bill, so you and the sergeant push on ahead, and I’ll send what men after you I can pick out with the best animals. The rest of us can follow, but you go on and try and pick up the trail.”

The splendid animals ridden by Buffalo Bill and the sergeant were yet capable of hard work, as was also the one ridden by Lieutenant Worth, but he felt that he had better remain with the men.

So he picked out several of the scouts whose horses seemed less distressed, and told them to push on with their chief.

So on went Buffalo Bill, the sergeant and four scouts following, the rest bringing up the rear at a slower pace.

Buffalo Bill looked back and saw that they were dropping the command fast enough for the good of the animals, and so held at the reserved pace he had set.

On, on they went, halting at a brook for a few swallows of water, again a few mouthfuls of grass, and then on once more.

The river at last came in sight as they descended a ridge.

They had crossed the trail leading back from the upper ford half an hour before.

Riding down from the ridge, they reached the river just three miles above the ford. Here they halted for a moment, two of the scouts’ horses having failed them.

The animals were all panting like hounds, and the riders relieved them of their weight, and began to go on foot along the river bank, the scout remarking:

“There is certainly no crossing between us and the ford, for I have ridden this far above it several times.

“It is above that the secret crossing is, and the outlaw would hardly have risked it had it been nearer to where the soldiers’ camp was.”

“So I think,” the sergeant remarked.

So on they went, the scout and sergeant walking rapidly and viewing every foot of ground, while the scouts followed behind leading their horses.

Thus a mile had been gone over, and the face of the sergeant grew anxious, for he saw that the sun was drawing near the horizon.

Buffalo Bill’s face was placid, for he never relieved his thoughts, no matter what was his distress of mind.

On they went, limbering up their legs from long riding by rapid walking.

At last they came to a rise, when the scout halted. He saw that there were two ridges running to the river, a deep ravine between them.

Across the river he saw that there was a sand bar, and a point of sand stretched out into the stream, the swift flow being on the side where they stood.

The channel here looked narrow, too, and, examining the water, it appeared to be more shallow than above and below.

“Sergeant, I think here is the crossing.”

“The same thought was mine, sir.”

“Of course, they would have to swim their horses for several hundred yards, but by riding out upon that sand bar which is well above, they would land, forced down by the current, about at this ravine—in fact, if they were swept by, would not land at all.”

“If they crossed from this side, sir?”

“They would have to ride in yonder above at that break in the bank, and that would bring them on the sand-bar point. I will go there and see if they could get down to the river, while you look down in the ravine for their trail,” and the scout started on his way, to suddenly call out to the sergeant, who was climbing down the ravine:

“Here is the trail coming out, and there were a score of them.”

The sergeant, at the call of Buffalo Bill, hastened to where he stood. He was passing around the descent to the river between the two ridges, and had found a trail.

Reaching the spot, the trail was there, made by all of two dozen horses, they decided after an examination.

“It goes straight down the ravine to the river, and was, as you said, the landing when they rode in from the bar.”

“Yes, sergeant.

“We will leave the boys here and go on to that break up yonder, for there is where I feel sure they must cross, and, if my memory serves me right, there is no other for many a long mile above.”

Calling to the scouts to halt there where they were, Buffalo Bill and the sergeant pushed rapidly on to the break in the bank, nearly a mile above.

They reached it just as the sun touched the horizon, and a glance showed that it was a ravine like the one below, narrow, rocky, and steep.

But from that point a descent into the river could rapidly be made, and as the stream had a bend there, a swim would carry them across for a landing on the sand bar below.

Going around to the head of the ravine, Buffalo Bill and the sergeant came to a halt, as though they had been shot at.

“Too late!” said Buffalo Bill.

“They have crossed,” said the sergeant, and his face was white.

“Yes, not two hours ago, from the looks of the trail.

“That man knows the secret pass through Skeleton Range, or he could never have reached here in this time, for that cuts off all of thirty miles in coming from the Overland Trail to the upper ford.”

“Yes, I have followed the regular trail, long ago, but knew of no secret pass.”

“There is one, however, as an old trapper once led me through it. The outlaw must have known it, to have reached here before us, riding as we have, for, remember, it is just twenty-four hours since we left the fort, and we have come a little over a hundred miles.”

“Very true; we have done our duty, but in vain, for my daughter is still in that man’s power, and has been carried on to the Indian camp in the mountains.”

“I fear so.”

“What can we do now?”

“I’ll tell you.

“We came here on foot, so have left no trail. We will go to the lower ravine and join the boys, then draw off for a camp, for horses and men must rest.”

“True.”

“We passed a spot some distance back that will make a splendid camp, back from the river, and where the fires cannot be seen by the Indians, who must still be guarding the fords.”

“Yes.”

“Now to see if this trail was made by the same party, for I took notice of peculiarities I can readily discover, as there were two shod horses, and large animals, the others being ponies.”

“That means the outlaw’s two horses and the ponies of the Indian allies.”

“Just that,” and the two began to examine the trail.

“Yes, here are the tracks of the two iron-shod horses, Mr. Cody.”

“There are more shod horses—six more, sergeant—and that means——”

“The six horses of the stagecoach,” quickly interrupted the sergeant.

“Just that.”

“That tells the story, then, for the other tracks agree. It is growing dark, so let us hurry back and make a camp for the tired men.”

They walked rapidly back down the river bank, joined the two scouts awaiting them, and told the sad story to them that they were too late!

Mounting their horses, they rode back in the gathering twilight for a mile, when they met the other two scouts, who had dropped back on account of their horses.

They had halted just where the scout intended to make the night camp, and, seeing that the place was thoroughly sheltered, they began to build fires.

Just as the fires began to burn well, the command came in sight, and the tired horses gained courage and hastened on.

They were soon all there, the stragglers dropping in one by one, and a sadness fell upon all as they heard the ill-omened words: “Too late!”

Lieutenant Worth listened, with stern face and flashing eyes.

Then he said:

“Our first duty is to care for our worn-out cattle.

“Then we will have supper, and, afterward, hold a council of war, Bill, and decide what must be done, for Miss Fallon shall be rescued; yes, and that villain, Lamar, must be hanged.

“Those two duties must and shall be done!”

CHAPTER VI.
THE FORGED LETTER.

Lucille Fallon was surprised when she received a letter by mail, posted at Pioneer City, and addressed in the well-known hand of her lawyer.

It was short, and merely told her that certain legal technicalities having arisen that required her signature, and her father’s, to papers he held, he had decided to come himself and get them, and had reached Pioneer City, where, on account of an attack of rheumatism, he was compelled to halt and ask the sergeant and herself to come to him.

Lucille expressed her surprise that any business had been so important as to bring the lawyer out to the wild West, but she concluded to go, and regretted the absence of her father.

Perhaps she could do without him, and, if not, she would urge the lawyer to return with her to the fort, where he would be well cared for.

There were no other passengers, and with a small satchel as her only baggage, she mounted to the box with Jack Jessop and rolled away from the fort. She enjoyed the bright morning and beautiful scenery immensely, and Jack was glad to entertain his fair companion.

The bridge was crossed over the river, and then began the pull up a long hill.

Suddenly, as though by magic, a score of forms arose, it appeared from the ground.

They came from behind trees and rocks, and they came like so many apparitions.

They were all dressed in buckskin, wore slouch hats and masks, while they carried rifles in their hands and were armed with a belt of weapons as well.

They were all on foot, save one.

That one was mounted on a fine horse, and came out from behind a group of rocks. He sat his horse splendidly, wore a belt of arms, but carried no rifle. A broad sombrero sheltered his head, his hair fell upon his shoulders, and he was dressed in a black suit with gold-coin buttons. His face was masked completely, and his hands were covered with red gauntlet gloves. There was no mistaking the man, for it was Captain Eagle, chief of the Red Hand Riders.

“That imp of Satan, ther chief o’ ther Red Hands, by all that’s holy!” growled Jack Jessop.

Lucille turned pale, yet remained perfectly calm, while she said:

“He has little to rob me of, Jack.”

Up to the coach rode the chief, while he bent low in his saddle and said:

“We have the pleasure of meeting, Miss Fallon.”

“The pleasure is all yours, sir.”

“And, Jack, you and I have met before,” resumed the chief, paying no attention to Lucille’s sarcastic reply to his salutation.

“Yes, and some day we’ll meet once too often for your good, cap,” said Jack.

“Well, what have you aboard to interest me, other than the fair lady on the box with you?”

“Nothing, for I’m running light; but I was in hopes you was dead.”

“Oh, no; I am still on deck, as you see.

“But have you no dust from the mines on board?”

“Not an ounce.”

“No money?”

“This ain’t after pay time, as you know, so no money goes East on this run.”

“Well, I believe you, but I shall search your old hearse, all the same.”

He called to his followers, and they completely surrounded the coach. Then he began the search personally.

“What is in these boxes in the rear boot?”

“Weapons sent to Colonel Buck from the fort sutler; he ordered them.”

“They are treasure. Give me your hatchet.”

The driver passed it down, and, knocking open the boxes, the chief said:

“Good! repeating rifles and revolvers—just what I need; yes, and ammunition, too, with bowie knives and belts. Ah! here are a couple of fine saddles and bridles, too, and a roll of superb serapes. Why, Jack, I am in luck, especially as a decoy letter I wrote got Miss Fallon into my power, though I regret to see that her father is not along. Miss Fallon, the letter from your lawyer I forged. It has done its duty.”

When the outlaw chief spoke of the letter Lucille’s face flushed, and her eyes brightened with indignation and anger. She knew that she was the victim of a plot, and quick as a flash she whipped out from her belt a small revolver and threw it forward, her finger upon the trigger.

There was no tremor of the hand, the act was one of determined intention to kill the man, and she would have done so then and there, for he was caught wholly off his guard, had not Jack Jessop struck up her hand just as she pulled trigger.

The bullet, as it was, cut through the corner of the chief’s sombrero.

“A close call, that! Jack Jessop, you saved my life, so I’ll not kill you, as I intended to do; that act saved you.”

“I didn’t do it for you, but to save her,” grunted Jack.

“Oh, I know your intention, but the act was the same, for you saved me from death.

“Miss Fallon, you are as quick as a flash as a drawer, and a ready hand with a revolver. You owe it to Jack Jessop that you do not suffer for your intended taking of my life, for my men would have been quickly revenged upon you. Give me that weapon, please.”

Lucille sat, white, silent, and almost despairing. But she turned and handed the weapon to Jack Jessop, who in turn surrendered it with his own weapons to the chief.

“Get off the box, Jack.”

The man obeyed.

“Now, Miss Fallon, do you also alight.”

She also obeyed.

“Jack, I shall put these irons on your ankles. You can walk with them, for the chain is a foot long, but slowly. You will have to walk to the next station, and you’ll hardly reach there before night. I need your horses, so will take them, and I have pack animals along, too, for the plunder.

“Miss Fallon, I have a horse with sidesaddle for you, so you see I came prepared, even to good food for you, a canvas shelter and blankets.”

“You intend to take me a prisoner?” said Lucille.

“I certainly do, and hold you until I get the big ransom I shall demand.”

“My poor, poor father.”

“He is fortunate in not having come with you.”

“Jack, there is no help for it, so I’ll make the best of it,” said Lucille, turning to the driver.

“Tell my father what happened, and to arrange for the ransom, as he can do, provided it is not too large, for there is a limit, you know, and I am not of age yet, so funds cannot be readily gotten beyond a certain sum. Tell him not to delay, for I wish my freedom, and attempt no rescue, but pay the ransom. Good-by, Jack.”

Lucille held out her hand.

“You is the gamest leetle gal I ever seen,” said Jack Jessop, and the tears came into his eyes. Turning to the outlaw, he continued:

“Some day there’ll come a settlement for your red deeds and your cruel treatment of this lady, and I’d show you no more mercy than I would a snake.”

The chief laughed, snapped the irons on Jack’s ankles, then continued his search of the coach, taking several things of value.

Then he called to his silent men to bring up the horses, and to strip the team of the harness.

They quickly did so, and a horse was led up with a lady’s saddle.

Lucille sprang to her seat without aid, making the remark in an indifferent tone:

“It is lucky I wore my riding habit, fearing some accident.”

The things from the coach, arms, and other articles, with the harness, cushions, and rubber coverings, were soon packed on the horses, the chief mounted, and, turning to the driver, said:

“Good-by, Jack. I will not leave you unarmed, so here is your belt again. My compliments to Buffalo Bill, and tell him that some day I’ll get his scalp.”

With a wave of the hand he rode off, leaving Jack Jessop gazing after them, his eyes full of tears at the fate of poor Lucille, whom he was powerless to aid.

But Jack did not hesitate long, for he at once turned his steps down the trail toward Pioneer City, carrying the mails, which had not been disturbed, upon his back. He could not walk fast, ironed as he was, and it was night when he reached the relay station, utterly exhausted.

But he quickly had the iron chain hammered in two by the stock tender, and, mounting a horse, the manacles still about his ankles, he rode on to Pioneer City and reported what had happened, starting out at once again with a harnessed team after his coach.

The stock tender at the station he had sent off at full speed to the fort to report the affair to Colonel Carr.

The stock tender reached the fort after midnight, and, half an hour after, a lieutenant with his troop and six of Buffalo Bill’s scouts had started for Monument Hill to pick up the trail of the outlaws at dawn, and follow it, Colonel Carr believing that he could thus aid Lieutenant Worth and his party who were pushing on to the river to head off the lawless band.

Jack Jessop took his dismantled coach into Pioneer City with all haste, and then went to a blacksmith to get his manacles removed.

He found the town all excitement over the affair, and learned from Colonel Buck, the stage agent there, that a stranger had come into Pioneer City and purchased a sidesaddle and a lot of provisions and other things, remaining but a short while and stating that he was from the Fort Advance settlement.

“That man was the outlaw,” said Jack Jessop.

CHAPTER VII.
THE FLIGHT.

The outlaw chief placed himself by the side of Lucille as they started away, and she said quickly:

“There is no possible chance of my escape, so ride on ahead and I will follow you.”

“You do not wish me by your side?”

“I do not.”

“I wish to talk to you.”

“I do not care to converse with you.”

“But I have something of importance to say.”

“I do not care to hear it.”

“But you must, and the trail admits of two riding abreast now, and will not later on, and I will not disturb you long.”

“I have no power to enforce my wish.”

“I shall ask the sum of just thirty thousand dollars for your ransom, and when that is paid you shall go free.”

“You will not get it.”

“Why?”

“Well, though I have property of considerable value, neither my lawyer and guardian, nor myself, can get money on it until a certain time, and the cash that can be got is just that which is left over from the sum appropriated to pay certain fees, my schooling and living.”

“And what does that amount to?”

“About eighteen thousand dollars.”

“Somehow I believe you, so I will take what I can get. Twenty thousand, then, shall be the price, for the balance can be raised. Doubtless your father has it, and when that is paid, you shall go free. I shall arrange all matters so as to place no difficulties in the way, and, meanwhile, you shall be treated with every respect, and given what comforts I can allow you.”

There was something in the manner of the outlaw toward her that Lucille could not understand, and that was his marked respect.

When it grew near sunset he ordered a halt, sought a secluded spot for his captive, had her canvas shelter put up, and placed before her a good supper, after which he left her, with the words:

“I shall halt here for four hours, and then it shall be six more in the saddle, so get what rest you can.”

Lucille enjoyed her supper, spread her blankets, and was soon fast asleep.

A call awakened her, and, fifteen minutes after, they were again in the saddle, this time the chief riding ahead of her, his masked followers coming along behind her.

“Why do they mask still? for they are all Indians, I have discovered,” she said to the chief.

“You are not so sure of that.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” was the girl’s confident reply. “I wasn’t born in the West, but I know an Indian when I see one.”

Another long ride through the darkness of six hours, and the chief called a halt, two hours before dawn.

Again Lucille was placed in a secluded spot, her shelter put up and she was made comfortable, the chief remarking:

“We will not move for five hours this time, so you will have another rest, so make the best of it.”

Again she slept soundly, and when she awoke the sun was shining brightly. She at once realized her position, and sighed.

But she went to a rivulet near and made her toilet, then sat down on a rock and ate the breakfast which the chief had cooked.

He had killed a deer, and gave her a nice steak, some bacon broiled on the coals, a crisp hoecake, and a cup of coffee in which there was some condensed milk and sugar he had brought from Pioneer City.

She ate heartily, mounted her horse, and again took her place behind the chief, who remarked quietly:

“As you can see through masks, Miss Fallon, I told my men to take them off.”

“Yes, they are Indians, and a cruel-looking lot they are, though with hearts that are not as evil as their master’s, for their training has been to kill, torture, and rob an enemy, yours far different.”

He bit his lip, but made no reply, and again rode to the front.

After a short while he said:

“Buffalo Bill and your father are up at the fords with Lieutenant Worth, hunting Indians, as you doubtless know. Jack Jessop got in during the night, and doubtless sent word of the holdup of the coach both to the fort and to Pioneer City, so that the troops, if sent at once on the trail, have now reached Monument Hill.”

“On your trail?”

“Yes, but a long distance behind, for we are over forty miles from the hill, and before night I shall cross the river into the Indian country, as I know of a secret trail over the mountain range you see ahead of us which will cut off half a day’s hard ride, and treat you to a view of some magnificent scenery as well.”

“You are very thoughtful to treat me to grand scenery under such circumstances.”

“Well, I wish to make your captivity as pleasant to you as possible; but I have to ride hard, as I will only feel safe when I get you across the river.”

“And I shall be less safe.”

“You will be all right, for I will take you up into the village of the old chief, Iron Eyes, and there is a good cabin there which no Indian will live in. It was built by a renegade white man who fled with his family to the Indians and was adopted into the tribe. The man, his wife and the children died off, and their cabin still remains there in good condition, furnished as they left it, for they brought all their furniture with them in their flight.”

“I shall appreciate being separated from the Indians at least.”

“Oh, yes, you will be free from them, for the tepees nearest the cabin are not occupied, but all used to store pelts, food, and the hundred and one things an Indian snakes in. It is, in fact, the store village, and the nearest living tepee to you is that of the young chief, Death Face, and you can trust him, for he is of a most chivalrous nature.

“The other Indians will not go near you, I’ll see to that, so you will be alone; but that will not mean that you will have a chance to escape, as that would be impossible for a man to do, let alone a girl.”

Lucille made no reply, and the chief did not again break the silence until they had climbed the mountain range by a most dangerous path.

The outlaw halted as he neared the top of the range, having asked Lucille not to look behind her until he told her to do so, as he did not wish to spoil her view.

She wheeled her horse and glanced behind her, and an exclamation of delight burst from her lips.

Long she gazed in perfect rapture, and forgetful of herself, as she beheld miles of mountain, valley, and plain scenery.

“That little grove there shall be your noonday camping place, directly upon the summit of the mountain, so that you can see in every direction,” said the chief. “Down on the other side, a few hundred yards, is a plateau, a valley in the mountaintop, with a stream running through it, and there we shall go on and halt, for there is good grass for the horses. When you get tired of the view come to where we are, and dinner will be ready.”

Reaching the little grove of pines, Lucille again cried out in admiration, for before her now was a still grander view.

Flowing through a vast valley, was a large river.

“Do you see yonder mountains, miles below the river?”

“Yes.”

“It is there that the Indian village is, and that will be the end of our trail.

“Just there, where you see a bald hill by the river, is where we will cross by a ford but very few know of, for none of my Indians know of it, and it is one no one could find, save by accident, as I did by seeing a herd of deer take to the water and swim across.

“Something frightened them on the other side—a pack of wolves, I think—and they swam back again, landing at another point below. It showed me a crossing place, and I let several of my men into the secret and used to send couriers that way to and from my retreat to the Indian village. As the known fords are now guarded by troops, we will cross this way, if you are not too much alarmed.”

“And if I am you will go to the regular ford?”

“Oh, no; I am no fool, to run upon the soldiers.”

“What will you do if I have not the nerve to go across?”

“Simply go around by a ford that will give us two days’ hard travel.”

“Never mind me, then; cross by the secret ford, for I can venture it if you can.”

The outlaw then rode on, leading her horse, the Indians having gone to the camping place.

Lucille was alone on the mountaintop, and gazed about her in rapt admiration.

At last she said:

“If I had my horse and a good start, I would risk finding my way back to the Overland Trail, for I watched all along closely, and my horse would retrace his tracks, I believe.

“But, no, I must accept the situation as it is, and take things as they come.

“The outlaw, from what he says, seems to think the fords are guarded by a large force, so I will not undeceive him.

“Even now my father may be within a few miles of me, and, oh! if he only knew.”

The girl weakened for a moment, but quickly rallied from her emotions and continued her gaze for quite a while. Then she strolled about the mountaintop, plucked a few wild flowers clinging among the rocks, and next started down to the camp with the remark:

“Ah! I get the odors of boiling bacon and coffee, for the wind blows up from the camp. It makes me hungry, so I’ll go down to dinner.”

Down she went, soon to come upon the trail, and she was glad to find dinner ready, and enjoyed it.

Mounting again, the chief said:

“We must ride hard now, for the river will have to be behind us when the sun sets. Are you very tired, Miss Fallon?”

“Oh, no.”

So on they went at a very slow pace for several miles in going down the mountain, and then when they struck good traveling, they pushed rapidly on, the chief not sparing the horses now.

The sun was over an hour high when the river came into view.

A halt was made to cool the horses off a little, then, riding down a steep ravine to the water, the chief said:

“I’ll take your bridle rein here, Miss Fallon. Permit me to fold this rubber blanket around your feet and form, and you will not get in the least wet. Let your horse have full rein and do not be alarmed.”

“I am not in the least alarmed,” was the reply, and she permitted the chief to fold the rubber blanket about her in such a way that she would not get wet when her horse was back deep in swimming.

Then the chief rode in, she followed, her horse led, and the Indians came behind with the pack horses.

The animals began to swim almost immediately, and the brave girl rather enjoyed the scene than dreaded it.

After a long swim a sand bar was reached, they landed in safety, and, not to let the horses get cold, the chief pushed on for a couple of miles and went into camp, with the remark:

“We are safe now, Miss Fallon, and you can rest through the night.”

CHAPTER VIII.
IN THE INDIAN VILLAGE.

What the outlaw called safety was for himself and the Indians alone, and far from it for poor Lucille.

He believed that the three fords were guarded still, that he might run upon a scouting party from the soldiers’ camps at any moment, and he did not feel at ease until he had crossed the river with his captive.

It was bold in him to venture so near the upper ford, believing a party of soldiers to be there, yet he knew that the wild nature of the country through which the river flowed above would keep him from crossing for many a long mile, and, for Lucille’s sake alone, to his credit be it said, he wished to cross by the unknown ford, though, strictly speaking, it was not a ford, but a place where a horse or man might get over by swimming.

Lucille had escaped getting wet in crossing, and, as before, was given a secluded camping place to herself.

The chief made it most comfortable, as there was no hurry now, by cutting pine boughs and building a wikiup and placing the pine straw as a couch, with the cushions from the coach upon it.

A little fire was built near, just to make it more homelike, the chief said, and an extra supper was prepared for all.

Night fell, and soon after supper the tired girl, for she was tired, sank to sleep in a few minutes.

She awoke once in the night, to hear an owl hooting in the trees not far away, and a coyote yelping a short distance from camp.

But she banished all thought with an effort of her will, and went to sleep again, awakening only when the sun had risen.

“I hope you rested well last night, Miss Fallon?”

“I enjoyed a good night’s rest, thank you.”

“A ride of a little over thirty miles, and you will be in your new home to-night.”

“Home! Do not desecrate the name, for it will be a prison, not a home to me,” she said bitterly.

“Breakfast is ready for you.”

She ate it, her spirits returned, and once more she mounted for the ride.

Toward noon they began to climb the range she had seen from far across the river, and soon after the chief halted for dinner.

Then up the steep trail they climbed again, Lucille glancing back from time to time to behold the scenery, and, while the sun was yet two hours above the horizon, they came to a pass in the mountains, where she suddenly beheld an Indian sentinel standing in the trail ahead of them.

“Where is the chief?” asked the outlaw in the Indian tongue, and which was as Hebrew to Lucille.

The Indian sentinel pointed, and soon after there came toward them a horseman that at once riveted Lucille’s gaze. He was the Indian chief, Death Face, and he had just come down from the village to the pass, which his band of braves were guarding.

The youthful warrior was resplendent in a new costume, from boots to war bonnet, for he had on a pair of handsome cavalry boots. Sitting his horse with conscious power, armed with the white man’s weapons of revolvers and bowie knife, his face hideously painted, and mounted upon an animal that was bedecked in barbaric splendor, Death Face struck Lucille as being the most remarkable being she had ever gazed upon.

The chief fairly started as his eyes fell upon her, and the outlaw, after greeting him, said:

“Death Face, I have been on a raid into the white man’s territory, and this lady is my captive, whom I shall sell back to her father for a large price.”

To the utter amazement of Lucille, the young chief replied, in perfect English:

“I do not believe in the theory of my people, chief, of making war upon women and children, and I am surprised that you, as a white man, should do so; but that is your affair, not mine. Only treat her well.”

“That she will tell you I have done. I wish to place her in the renegade’s cabin in your camp.”

“You can do so.”

The outlaw and his captive were then riding on, when he halted and said:

“Chief Death Face, those braves of yours whom I took with me I shall arm with repeating rifles and revolvers. I also have a pair of fine revolvers, a knife and a rifle for you, with a very handsome buckskin suit sent by an officer at the fort to a friend in the East, with slouch hat and all.

“They will fit you, I am sure, and I wish you to accept them, as well as several fine Mexican serapes.”

“Thank you, Captain Eagle, I will take them.”

“You have done well, I see, on your raid?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Come to my quarters in the village to-night.”

“I will.”

“But have you any word of the soldiers?”

“They are still on the other side, though I did not see them.”

“I supposed they had gone, for we had seen no camp-fire smoke for three days.”

“It may be a trick, so still be cautious and guard the fords, especially now that I have a captive here for whose rescue Colonel Carr would doubtless send his whole force.”

With this the chief rode on, muttering to himself:

“I must win that fellow with presents, for he will be the next chief after Iron Eyes, and he has as much influence now. Probably he has been educated in some school, for he speaks English like a paleface, and acts like one, too. There is some secret about him that I cannot fathom.”

He had not ridden far before Lucille came up alongside of him. She saw now about her in a valley like cañon a camp of Indians.

They were in full war paint, and gazed savagely at her as she rode by, yet were gloating in her capture.

Once through the cañon, and the trail led down into a beautiful valley in which was the village of old Iron Eyes.

Lucille uttered a cry as the view burst upon her, for, through the valley ran a mountain stream, upon both sides of which, for several miles, were the tepees of the Indians, the scattered village of the red men.

The valley was dotted with thousands of ponies, and among the tepees were visible many women and children.

Warriors were riding about, youths were mounted upon bareback ponies, others were playing games, children were bathing in the stream, and squaws were busy getting the evening meal.

At the base of the hills on either side was heavy timber, and above the village towered the mountain ranges.

“What a view for an artist!” cried Lucille.

“Yes, it must strike you strangely, Miss Fallon.”

“It does; but you did not answer my question?”

“What was that?”

“I asked you, after we came through the camp of braves, who that young chief was?”

“He is called Death Face, and is the next chief in power to old Iron Eyes.”

“He is very young?”

“Not over twenty-two, I should say.”

“And yet holds such power?”

“He is a born fighter, a plotter, a soldier, and he has won his way up, young as he is.”

“How is it that he speaks English so well?”

“Only a few minutes ago he told me that he was taught by a renegade white man and his family.”

“And also learned from him, I suppose, not to war against women and children. He could set you a good example, chief.”

“I follow my own inclinations, Miss Fallon.”

“So I have discovered. But in what part of this village am I to find refuge?”

“Up at the head of the valley, in the cabin I spoke of.”

“There must be a couple of thousand Indians here, at least.”

“Double that number and more, for the village is five miles long, has some twelve hundred tepees, and can put out a force to defend it of two thousand warriors. Then there are several other contingent villages in these mountains that claim Iron Eyes as chief. It would be a sad day for any force of soldiers to invade these mountains, Miss Fallon, unless they came several thousand strong.”

“That was just what I was thinking,” answered Lucille.

As they rode into the village the squaws and children rushed toward them to see the newcomer.

But a few words from the outlaw prevented any rudeness, for they held no sympathy for the fair-faced captive.

Lucille paled at sight of them, but remained calm, and rode on by the side of the outlaw, whom she could not but now regard as her protector.

Up through the village they rode, the girl’s fears gradually giving place to interest, until at the upper end of the valley, under the shelter of a heavily-wooded ridge, the mountaintop, there were visible a number of tepees apart from the others.

“There is your camp, Miss Fallon. It is a deserted village—the supply tepees, as I told you. Yonder you see your cabin, apart from them, and there you will be safe. I shall have a half-breed squaw, who once lived at the fort as an officer’s servant, remain there with you and do your cooking.”

“And be my guard also?”

“In a measure, yes, for she will keep the Indians away from you, and you do not need any other guard here, as you could not escape over yonder ridge, unless you have wings.

“The squaw speaks English and has cooked for me when I have been here, for my own tepee is in the village. The cabin is furnished, as I told you, after a rude fashion, and you have your own satchel with clothing, so you will not be uncomfortable.”

As they passed a large tepee the outlaw called out to an Indian woman who stood there to approach them.

She did so, and Lucille noticed that her face was lighter than those about her, and she looked neat in her attire.

“Yellow Bird, I wish you to get your traps and come on up to the cabin. You are to look after this captive of mine while she is here, and take good care of her.”

The woman had glanced at Lucille as she came up, but that was all, and she replied, in fair English:

“Yellow Bird will do as the white chief bids her.”

Then they rode on, and soon halted before the cabin, which was built of hewn logs, with boards roughly sawed out of hewn timber serving as roofing. There was a porch along the front, and it was certainly a very fine cabin to find in an Indian village.

The chief took a key from a hiding place, which he appeared to know of, and unlocked the door.

There were four rooms in the cabin, and Lucille saw that it was furnished, though rudely, for the renegade had brought his belongings with him when he had fled from his own people.

“You will be at home here, Miss Fallon.”

“Yes, at home!” repeated Lucille, with sarcasm, to add quickly:

“But it is so much better than I expected, you have treated me so much differently than I anticipated, that I thank you.”

The moment that she was left alone by the outlaw, and she saw him and his braves ride away, Lucille Fallon yielded to the prerogative of a woman, and, seating herself in the cabin, burst into tears.

“At home! Ah! if this were to be my home, I would rather that the grave should be,” she cried bitterly.

She had totally forgotten about the Indian woman until she heard the gently uttered words:

“Don’t cry, paleface.”

She started to her feet, for she was too proud to wish any one to see her weeping.

Before her stood Yellow Bird, the half-breed Indian woman. She had tidied herself up, and had a bundle under her arms. Her face was a good one, not cruel, and she said again:

“Don’t cry, Yellow Bird be good to you.”

Lucille stepped forward and grasped the woman’s hand.

“You are good, I can see that. You have lived among the palefaces, the outlaw told me?”

“Yes, my mother was a paleface squaw, my father a great Indian chief. He died, and my mother went back to her people, taking me with her. She died, and I work hard for officer’s family at fort far away. I hear them say: ‘She only half-breed Injun; watch her.’ I feel mad, I feel bad, and run away back to my people. But some treat me good, one young squaw pretty, just like you, and I love her. I love you for her. Yellow Bird be good to you.”

The tears came into the eyes of Lucille, and, stepping close up to the woman, she kissed her.

It was under the impulse of her loneliness, her sorrow, her helplessness, and the kind words spoken to her.

The squaw started as though she had been struck a blow, for it fairly frightened her, but she said quickly:

“Oh, yes, Yellow Bird be heap good to little paleface.”

Then she set about her work to clean up, just as she had done when living in the officer’s family. She got water from a spring near, and built a fire in the large hearth, so that the cabin soon no longer looked forlorn.

The outlaw had left the stage cushions there, the stores he had bought in Pioneer City and Lucille’s satchel, and the young captive was soon quite comfortable, and she began to feel that she had cause to congratulate herself, after all, that matters were as they were.

In Yellow Bird she believed she had found a friend. Yet Lucille was not one to gush, and she decided that there was a very narrow margin between deceit and sincerity in one’s appearance, so she wished to know whether the Indian woman was really true or false.

As she watched the squaw preparing supper, she asked her about Death Face, the young chief.

“He heap good young chief—heap like paleface. He be great chief some day, and maybe have peace with palefaces, for he don’t like to kill Little Paleface’s people, but big fighter in battle. Red people all love Death Face. Iron Eyes heap cruel man, kill and scalp paleface, hate them bad. Iron Eyes kill many.”

Lucille glanced out of the open window and said half aloud:

“Speak of the devil, and his imp appears. There comes Death Face now.”

He rode up to the front of the cabin and was alone.

Lucille walked out on the piazza and to her surprise he bowed courteously to her and then said:

“I hope you are comfortable here!”

“Comfortable, yes, far more so than I anticipated being, but unhappy, as you may know, for my people are not your people, my life not your life, we are raised in a different atmosphere and are foes.”

The chieftain listened to her in deepest attention, gazing fixedly at her, and then said:

“I like to hear you talk, for it brings back to me the voice of those I loved, those who are gone.”

“Whom do you mean?”

“I mean one whom I loved as a father, another who was a mother to me, and a sister and brother. They are all gone—dead; but I had not forgotten them, and you bring them back to me now, so I love to look at you, love to hear you talk.

“Speak again, for your voice is as sweet as the murmur of the brook in summer, as sweet as the trilling of the birds, and your face as lovely as the mountain flowers that seem timid, just like you.”

Lucille listened with rapt attention to the words of the strange young chief, for he spoke with a softness of tone, a respectful look, and with words that fell strangely from the lips of an Indian, and were in strong contrast to the hideously painted death face with which he had ornamented his countenance.

As though he feared he should not talk to the captive longer, Death Face said:

“I will go now, but I came to see if I could help you, if I could make you more comfortable.

“This was my home once, and I am glad to have you here.

“Do you see those graves under the ridge yonder?—they are buried there, those I loved, and I put white crosses above their graves, and cut their names on them with my knife.”

“You can read, then?”

“Oh, yes, and write. You will find books in the cabin to read. Don’t feel bad, for you shall not be harmed, for Death Face says so. I will come again.”

He wheeled his horse and rode rapidly away, leaving Lucille wondering at her strange Indian acquaintance.

Walking over to the graves under the ridge, Lucille saw that there were four of them, all marked by rude wooden crosses, but it was too dark to see the names, and she hastened back to the cabin, where Yellow Bird had her supper ready.

It was a tempting repast, and eaten with real relish, Lucille talking the while to the squaw and asking her about the young chief, Death Face.

Yellow Bird had little more to tell her than what she had already known, or would not tell her more. She did not say that all the maidens in the village were in love with the young chief, but that he seemed to care for none of them.

The firelight was the only light they had in the cabin, and Lucille asked the woman to bring in wood enough to burn all night.

This Yellow Bird did, and then the captive spread some bedding, put the serapes the chief had given her over them, and retired for the night, bolting the doors firmly.

Yellow Bird spread her bed in front of the fire, and the two were soon fast asleep.

When Lucille awoke the next morning she found Yellow Bird was getting breakfast, and the squaw told her that the young chief had been there early and left bear and other robes for her, dressed deerskins, and plenty of game and fish which he had shot and caught.

The outlaw came after breakfast and asked her how she was, and then said:

“There is a hammock in this house, Death Face told me, so I will swing it on the porch for you.”

The hammock was found, swung, and then the outlaw said:

“I have brought you pen, ink, and paper, Miss Fallon, and I wish you to write a letter to your father.

“Tell him how you are treated by me, but make known that he must pay the sum of twenty thousand dollars for your ransom. The letter will be mailed to him at Pioneer City, and he shall send his answer by Jack Jessop, who will be met by a man whom I will instruct to be on hand. Your father must state in his letter if he will pay that ransom on the next run of the coach, and send it by Jack Jessop to be given to my representative. If my man is harmed, then I will not answer for your safety.

“But, if he promises to send the money by Jessop, when he is ready to pay it, then you will be returned to him in safety, being given into Jack Jessop’s charge the third run of the coach after your father writes agreeing to my terms. Do you understand, Miss Fallon?”

“Perfectly.”

“I will write also, and you shall see my letter. Then I will see that the letters are mailed without delay in Pioneer City.”

“It can be done none too soon to please me.”

“So I thought.”

“One minute, please?”

“Yes.”

“You said on the way here that you would tell me a secret some day that I am interested in.”

“I believe I will tell you a secret,” said the man, thoughtfully, and he sat down upon the porch.

Lucille sat in the hammock, using it for a swing, and the strangeness of her situation and surroundings could not but impress her.

“I’ll tell you my secret, yes, and perhaps you will then understand that I seek revenge as well as gold from your father. By the way, do you think I resemble your father?”

“In form, yes, and in face, also, save for the stamp of wickedness on your countenance.”

“Well, he is innocent, I am evil. But we should be alike, for we are brothers.”

Lucille sprang out, of the hammock and cried fiercely:

“It is false!”

“I tell you we are brothers, he being several years my senior,” said the outlaw. “My first love was a young and beautiful girl, and, though she loved me, he stole her from me.”

“I do not believe you.”

“Well, he married her, that is certain——”

“My mother?”

“Oh, no; your mother was his second wife.

“He won my sweetheart from me, married her, and then went to Texas to live. I heard afterward that his wife died after two years of wedded life, but I did not know, did not care, and I was not aware of where he was, or what doing until during the Civil War. I was taken prisoner by the Confederates, when in my captor, the colonel of a regiment, I recognized my brother. He knew me at a glance, and he came to me and we had a long talk together.

“He told me that he had not known of my love for the woman he married, that he had never been told by her or her parents about an engagement between her and myself, that I was away and he therefore could not hear it from my own lips, and hence he had asked her to be his wife. He was going to Texas to live, and the marriage was hastened and she went with him, and only when on her dying bed had she confessed to him that she had been engaged to me.

“Then he had written me the truth; but his letter I never received, and I did not believe what he told me.”

“Yet it was the truth.”

“How do you know?”

“I have his first wife’s written confession, in which she told all, and how her parents had told her not to speak of her love affair with you, as he was rich, you were not, having squandered much of your fortune in fast living. Her name was Dorothy Armand, and she left her confession with her jewelry and other things that my father placed in my mother’s keeping, and all of which she left to me.”

“Yes, her name was Dorothy Armand, as you say; but she deceived me, and I would not believe her dying confession, or take my brother’s word, either, for they wronged me, and I never forgive a wrong.”

“But my father never did you a wrong, whatever his wife did in deceiving him as to her engagement to you,” said Lucille warmly.

“His name is Louis Fallon Lamar, and he was a colonel in the Confederate army, as I have said, and a Texan ranchero. He got me exchanged, I admit, and gave me money; but that did not atone for the past, and I hated him, for even in war he beat me, as he rose to be a colonel of cavalry, I only a captain of infantry.

“He had married again, he told me, and had a daughter, but I was glad to feel that he was ruined by the war. What became of him then I never knew until I recognized him as a soldier in the United States army, and only a sergeant.

“Then I remembered that I had heard that a Southerner of our name had killed a man in the East, and had fled to escape the gallows.

“I wrote East, got the particulars, and found that it was my brother Louis. I have only hoped to capture him that I might send him back as a fugitive from justice to be hanged.”

Lucille’s eyes flashed fire, and for a moment she did not speak. Then she said:

“Let me ask you to look me in the eyes while I tell you what I know about what you have told me of my father.”

“I am listening.”

“My father did come out of the war ruined almost. He had married again, my mother being his second wife. He had felt keenly the unhappy circumstances of his first marriage, in fact, it cut him to the heart. He saved my mother’s father’s life at the risk of his own, was wounded by the shot intended for my grandfather, who took father to his home, where his daughter, my mother, nursed him through a long siege of suffering. My mother loved him, and he loved her, so they were married.

“My father went North on business, accompanied a gentleman to his home one night with whom he had some business. Burglars broke into the house, and the host was shot down and robbed. Before he died he stated under oath that it was my father who had killed him, that they had a business deal on hand, that my father knew he had thousands of dollars in his home, and had come into his room at night and killed him.

“My father had been in a distant wing of the house, had arisen at the noise of the struggle, had gone to the aid of his friend, to come face to face with you as you fled. You were dressed just as he was, you had killed your man, robbed him, and were flying. Stunned by the recognition, my father had been incapable of action, and, tottering to a seat, had remained there until arrested as the murderer.

“Determined not to hang for your crime, and feeling that there was no hope for him, he sprang upon the constable who guarded him, choked him into unconsciousness, secured the keys of his manacles, freed himself, and fled. He wrote my mother that he was not guilty of the crime, but circumstantial evidence was against him, his insane flight added seeming proof, and she unfortunately believed that he had committed the deed, and wrote to him.

“Thus a wide gulf was between them, and he became a homeless wanderer and fugitive. He went to dwell among the Indians, and, having been educated as a physician, he became a medicine man in the tribe, checked a smallpox epidemic in their midst, and became a great chief, honored and loved by them. Discovering gold in his wanderings, he hid it away and at last decided to make good use of it. So he left the Indian village, carrying his gold on pack horses, and, going to a settlement, shipped it home to my mother.

“It was a fortune for us, and she gladly received it, for her income was not large, and long before she had repented of her belief in my father’s guilt, and tried in vain to find him.

“One day, just one year ago, my mother received a letter from the judge of the court in the city where the murder was committed which had wrecked my father’s life. It told of the confession of a prisoner, who had died in prison, that my father was innocent of the crime, that it was his brother who had been the murderer—he, the prisoner, being his ally—and that he saw the recognition of his brother by my father, and the shock it gave him.

“But the murderer had committed other crimes, forcing him to become a fugitive, and so he could not be found, nor could my father, who afterward, I learned, had entered the army on the border. My mother was dying then, and I had to cling to her. She died, and soon after I had my lawyer find out if Sergeant Louis Fallon was my father, and he did so.

“Then I wrote him that I would come to him. You know the rest, and I know that you have wronged my father beyond all forgiveness. Yes, you are his crime-stained brother, Loyd Lamar.”

CHAPTER IX.
BUFFALO BILL’S BOLD VENTURE.

The council of war which Lieutenant Walter Worth had said he would hold that night in the camp near the secret crossing of the river, where it was found that the outlaw had escaped across into the Indian country, continued until late at night, the young officer, Surgeon Denmead, the sergeant, and Buffalo Bill being the four present.

Talking the matter over, in the light of all the facts with which they were acquainted, they were certain that Lucille had been captured by the outlaw leader.

The letter which the outlaw had told the sergeant he would write to entrap her had been sent, and so there was no doubt but that he had been on hand to receive his prize.

The Indians had told the sergeant the last night he had crossed the river that the outlaw had gone to Pioneer City by a secret ford.

That trail had been found where it had left the river, and the trail where it had entered the river going back had also been discovered.

This proved that the outlaw had secured his captive and hastened with her to the Indian camp.

To rescue her, then, was the question, and Sergeant Fallon at once said:

“There is but one thing for me to do, and that is to put on my disguise and go into the Indian village after her.”

“Yes, sergeant, and I will go with you,” said Buffalo Bill firmly.

“It would be madness for you to do so, Cody.”

“Oh, no, sergeant, for I would go as an ally, not to keep you company. I would go on foot, not mounted.

“We can cross the river, and while you go down to the ford, I will go over here.”

“You can proceed by the regular trail, while I will take it afoot to the mountains, there make for the bald peak we can see, and there you can find me, as I will look for you.

“Afoot, I can readily hide. I will leave no trail, and am afraid of no redskins trapping me, for I have been within hailing distance of their villages scores of times.”

“Pardon me, lieutenant, but do you think Mr. Cody should make the venture?”

“No, sergeant, I do not.”

“Nor do I,” said the surgeon.

“See here, that young woman is a captive, and I tell you there should be more than one to aid in her rescue.

“I know Indians from ’way back, and I’ll guarantee to go to their village and return.

“You, in your disguise, are all right, sergeant, and you may be able to help me escape with her, and come away yourself later.

“We can pick out certain points in the mountains which we can discern, where we can meet, and I feel we can accomplish your daughter’s rescue; yes, and get hold of that outlaw by some means also, for I’ll not be happy until his chips are called in.

“I go, too, sergeant.”

“Well, Cody, I see you are determined, so I yield, for I have every confidence in your powers to give the redskins the slip, but what are we to do?”

“Stay right here, lieutenant, until we bring Miss Lucille back, for we may need your support and need it bad.”

“All right. I will do as you suggest; but you and the sergeant arrange your plans of action between you.”

“We will, sir, to-morrow.”

The next morning the scout and the sergeant went up on the range and picked out half a dozen objects on the distant mountains across the river, and agreed to make them points of rendezvous.

Then the sergeant said:

“Mr. Cody, I wish to confide in you.”

“Well, sergeant.”

“I have a brother who was a wild young fellow, and believed that I had treacherously cheated him out of his ladylove, when I knew nothing about his love for her, and she became my wife. She was not Lucille’s mother, she being the daughter of my second wife.

“Now, my brother never forgave me, and some years after he committed a crime of which I was accused, and it made an outcast, a fugitive of me.

“He married and came West, and the other night when I looked into the face of the man known as Eagle, the outlaw, I felt sure that he was my brother.

“I have not seen my unfortunate brother for many years, but the face, as I saw it by the flickering camp fire’s light, the voice, impressed me that it was Loyd Lamar.

“Now, if he is my brother, he knows that Lucille is my daughter, and that is a relief to my mind. If the outlaw is my brother, and I would almost take oath that he is, I have but one request of you, and that is to kill him, and not capture him to be taken to the fort and hanged.”

“My dear sergeant, I had promised myself I would do that, on account of his wife, and I will be that more anxious to save him from the gallows now that he is suspected of being your brother,” was Buffalo Bill’s reply.

That afternoon they started upon their perilous mission, Buffalo Bill crossing the river at the spot where the camp was and the sergeant riding down to the upper ford, to go over after dark and continue on by the trail to the mountains.

But the sergeant in crossing came to grief, for there stood on the other bank as sentinel a young brave who was striving to win a name for himself.

He saw in the moonlight a horse and rider crossing the ford; so, taking aim, the redskin fired, pulling trigger just as he discovered that it was not a paleface but an Indian.

The sergeant felt a stinging pain in his shoulder, the blood began to flow; he, therefore, turned back, fearing that he was seriously wounded, and did not know why he had been fired on.

Fortunately Surgeon Denmead was there, and at once went to work on him, remarking after a while:

“I have got the ball, Worth, and, with care, the wound will not be fatal, though serious.”

CHAPTER X.
THE RESCUER REACHES THE GOAL.

One afternoon, a week after Lucille’s coming to the Indian village as a captive, and while Lucille and the chief, Death Face, who had proved to be half white, were seated upon the little piazza looking at the sunset, the young man on the chair, the maiden in the hammock, there suddenly dashed around the corner of the cabin a tall form, brandishing a revolver in each hand. He had his revolver leveled full at the young man, as he called out sternly:

“Up with your hands, renegade, or you die!”

“Buffalo Bill!” cried Lucille, in suppressed tones, as though realizing, even in her surprise, the danger of speaking that name there. Then she quickly added:

“For God’s sake do not kill him, for he is my friend.”

Death Face sprang to his feet, yet made no move to draw a weapon, but stood gazing defiantly into the face of the scout, who, at the words of Lucille, lowered his weapons and said quickly:

“Let me step into the cabin, for I may be seen here.”

Quickly Lucille seized his hand and fairly dragged him into the cabin, while she said reproachfully:

“Oh, why did you come here, for your life will be the forfeit?”

“I came for you, Miss Lucille, but I did not expect to find you in a white man’s cabin, free and with company.”

“I will explain all later, but now you must go into hiding, for if you were discovered——”

“Not a redskin has seen me, I assure you. I have been four days coming from the river to this cabin, which I saw from the ridge above, as I did you also, and this young man, who I thought must be some renegade.

“I crept up behind the cabin, having seen you seated on the piazza, and, dashing around, covered him; but you say he is your friend.”

“You are safe here, Buffalo Bill, for I cannot but call you so, and you shall know the whole story. So sit down, for it is a long one, and there are secrets in it which you must not breathe to any one.”

“You have my pledge not to betray anything, Miss Lucille,” said Buffalo Bill, and then he heard the story of her father’s strange life, her uncle’s, and her own.

The scout listened with an interest that was intense, and when he had heard all, said in a low tone:

“And I have a story to tell, too, Miss Lucille, and it is that you need no longer dread your wicked uncle, the outlaw. I crossed the river at the spot where you did, and that night camped not far away. The next morning the outlaw rode full upon me: we saw each other at the same time, but I was a little the quickest, and my bullet pierced his brain. I had crossed the river upon a small raft the soldiers had made for me, and so I staked his horse out, when I was sure that he was alone, and, putting the body on the raft, poled back to the other shore. There I found that your father, who was to have crossed at the ford, and go with me to rescue you, had returned, having been fired on by the Indian sentinel and slightly wounded.”

“You mean it—slightly wounded?” cried Lucille.

“I tell the truth, for Surgeon Denmead was in camp and extracted the bullet. I had a talk with your father and he was doing well, but did not wish me to risk coming. How glad I now am that I did, for I have found you, though I have not rescued you.”

“And my outlaw uncle?”

“Lieutenant Worth had his soldiers bury him, for the lieutenant is waiting on the river for your return. Just as I was leaving another force came up which had taken your trail from Monument Hill and followed it to the river, so both are there.

“I recrossed the river then on the raft, waited until night, and, mounting the horse of the outlaw, made a flank movement to reach the camp, determined to play Captain Eagle, if I met a redskin, for we were not unlike in size and face, and I speak the Indian tongue fairly well, while the horse and the coat and hat I appropriated would help me out, I knew.

“I did not care to risk it by day, so flew by night only, reached the ridge, reconnoitered, and here I am, Miss Lucille; and my advice is that we get out of this at once.”

Lucille turned to Death Face, who said:

“Yes, we will go. I will bring ponies, too, and we will go up the ridge trail, where Buffalo Bill’s horse is, and then, together, we will go down to the river. If we meet any bands, Death Face, the chief, passes unquestioned.”

So it was decided, and, while the young man went to make his arrangements for leaving the Indian camp forever, Lucille and Yellow Bird prepared for their escape, Buffalo Bill keeping in hiding.

Under the guidance of the young chief, the trail to the river was made in perfect safety, Buffalo Bill being taken for the outlaw, and Lucille and Yellow Bird for braves by the bands of Indians they passed.

No one questioned Death Face, and on he rode with his escaping party, Lucille and Yellow Bird having their faces painted, and in their leggings, riding in masculine fashion, while the pack horses they had along were well loaded with things taken from the Manly cabin and the young chief’s tepee.

Reaching the river before dawn, the Indians left them, and Lucille added to her costume her riding habit and felt better able to face the soldiers on the other side.

They crossed on the raft, which made several trips, the horses swimming over; then, mounting, they rode on to the soldiers’ camp.

Such a welcome as greeted them, when Buffalo Bill and the sergeant’s daughter were recognized, cannot be described, for the soldiers seemed to have gone wild.

In the week that had passed since he was wounded the sergeant had much improved.

The meeting between father and daughter was most affecting, while tears came into the brave man’s eyes as he grasped Buffalo Bill’s hand and said:

“I owe all this to you, Cody, and Lucille tells me she has told you all.”

Fearful of risking his daughter so near the redskins, the sergeant said he was able to travel. The march was, therefore, begun after the noon meal, the trail taken being the same one that Lucille had traveled with the outlaw.

The command was three days getting back to the fort, but when they came in sight, and it was seen that Lucille had been rescued, again there was a wild scene of rejoicing.

Then, too, the sergeant had more joy added to his cup of bliss, for the last coach through had brought him his commission, “for special and gallant services,” as a first lieutenant in the army of the United States.

CHAPTER XI.
THE GUARD OF HONOR.

After a month’s stay at the fort, under the plea of his wound unfitting him for service, for it was still troublesome, Lieutenant Fallon resigned his commission, feeling that he had been vindicated in having won it, unaided, and, with his daughter, went eastward, and thence to Texas, to his old ranch home.

In a short time there was a wedding at the ranch, for thither had gone Lieutenant Walter Worth to claim his bride. Shortly after the lieutenant’s departure, Buffalo Bill set forth upon a new mission which promised a harvest of adventures.

Having been appointed, for a special purpose, chief of scouts of the Tenth United States Cavalry, a regiment of black troopers, Cody rode off on one of his lone trails to reach the command at its frontier post.

He loved the adventure and danger attending this new mission, yet sought it also for the benefit he could bring to those who dwelt upon the advance borderland, and depended upon just such men as himself to protect them from the redskins of the wild West.

The noted scout had been ordered to Fort Aspen for his special duty, as the commandant, Major Armes, had made the request that he should be, on account of the threatened hostility of the Indians, and, also, as Buffalo Bill was the man who knew that country better than any other frontiersman.

Major Armes also had been much troubled by the lawless bands of gold hunters who had sought to invade the Indian country, risking massacres, and keeping the redskins constantly worried over the determination of these palefaces to get a foothold in their hunting grounds and then force them farther toward the “Land of the Setting Sun.”

Many bands of lawless invaders of the beautiful country had recklessly penetrated the mountain and valley recesses in search of the precious yellow metal, and they had thus avoided the chain of soldiers the government had put there to keep them out.

One band after another had met its doom in the forbidden land, and been wiped out utterly by the Indians, who had left not one of them to tell the story of the massacre.

They had taken their lives in their own hands, and, against all warnings and efforts of the soldiers, had broken through the military barrier and penetrated the Indian country, to meet there quick death.

Even several emigrant trains, with women and children along, had foolishly ventured, and Buffalo Bill had reported that the groups of whitened bones he had found told the story of their fate.

Though the soldiers were trying to protect their country from invasion, the hostile Sioux were as bitter toward them as toward those who sought to make homes there, and war, merciless and unending, had been declared.

“If I had Buffalo Bill, as my chief of scouts, I believe he could, with his knowledge of the country, of these Indians, and his great skill as a frontiersman, head off these would-be settlers and bands of gold seekers from what they regard as a promised land, and this done, the Sioux would be more willing to make peace with the army, realizing that our desire was to protect them.”

So wrote Major Armes, the commandant of Fort Aspen, to Colonel Carr, in seeking to have the valuable services of William F. Cody as chief of scouts.

And the letter further said:

“The Tenth Cavalry of colored troops also needs just such a man as Buffalo Bill to steady them and give them perfect confidence in the one who leads them upon deadly trails.

“They one and all have perfect confidence in Buffalo Bill, believe that he bears a charmed life—as I also am inclined to believe—and they know that the Indians dread him, regard him with a certain superstitious fear, and his influence is very great along the whole border.

“I, therefore, respectfully urge that he be sent to Fort Aspen, for a while at least, if only to bring confidence to the garrison.”

The result of Major Armes’ letter was that the next courier through to Fort Aspen brought dispatches stating that Buffalo Bill should come very soon, and that, spoken to upon the subject, he had said that, instead of making up a scouting band of white scouts, he would pick colored soldiers to be his allies.

In other words, he would have a company of black scouts from the Tenth Cavalry.

Major Armes at once notified the garrison that Buffalo Bill was coming to Fort Aspen, and what his intention was regarding the band of black scouts.

There was excitement at once in the garrison, and the colored troopers were delighted that the great borderman was going to show his confidence in them by taking his scouts from their regiment.

“Now we’ll blow de Injuns off de farm.”

“You better believe I speaks fer bein’ a nigger scout.”

“Annudder nigger heah does say de same.”

“Wonder if Massa Bill gwine ter brack hissef up so as ter look like us?”

“Won’t dem red niggers git up an’ lead us brack scouts arter ’em?”

“An’ I guesses dem palefaces as wants ter go inter de Promised Lan’ will tarn back an’ settle somewhar else.”

Such remarks and others of a like kind ran the rounds of the colored troopers, when they heard the good news that Buffalo Bill was coming, and better still that he intended to pick men from their regiment for his scouts.

Major Armes was much pleased, and knowing about the time the scout was expected, he ordered a negro sergeant and twenty men to take the trail as a guard of honor and meet him a day’s ride from the fort.

The sergeant and his picked men were as proud as peacocks at the duty and the envy of all the rest of the regiment, who had to remain behind.

Had the colored troopers had their say, all would have gone to meet the scout and Fort Aspen would have been left without a garrison.

And so the black escort set out upon the trail to meet the noted scout.

CHAPTER XII.
CORRALLED BY INDIANS.

The sergeant in command of the escort was Mobile Buck, and he was so enrolled. He was a fine soldier and a brave one, and had won his rank for his good qualities.

Sergeant Mobile Buck was vary cautious, however, and he wisely decided that it would be better to have an advance guard of one man to take chances of an ambush, than to have his whole force in danger, so he kept a trooper well ahead.

What that solitary trooper thought of his being selected for that post of honor will never be known, as his sacrifice saved the sergeant and his other men.

It was when some thirty miles from the fort, and when nearing the time for going into camp, wild yells were heard half a mile ahead, and soon back came the colored trooper’s horse, riderless.

This and the yells told the story, and the sergeant was quick to take advantage of a retreat to a little hill, rocky and wooded, he had found only a mile back. He ordered his corporal to retreat there and go into camp, against the advice of several of his men that the safest place to fall back on would be the fort, and in a hurry, too.

But Sergeant Mobile Buck called to two of his men to remain with him, and he set out to discover the trouble ahead, how many Indians there were, and what he had better do under the circumstances.

He soon discovered more than he cared to, for fully half a hundred Indians were in sight, with no telling how many more were hidden near by.

Back he rode to the retreating place, fully convinced that the advice offered by a few, to fall back on the fort, was wise.

But he discovered as he came in sight of the hill, that the corporal and his men were in trouble, for there were a number of Indians there also, advancing to the attack.

“That cuts off retreat,” said Sergeant Buck, and he charged for the hill with his two companions.

This charge checked the attack of the redskins and greatly pleased Corporal Black, who did not belie his name, as he was as black as charcoal.

The corporal was only too anxious to be relieved of his command, and have the sergeant assume responsibility.

“We are in for it and no mistake, corporal. How many Injuns have you seen?” said the sergeant, as he rode into the retreat.

“Some says dere is hundreds of ’em, but I ain’t seen dat many yit, though I has seen more’n I wants ter,” was the reply.

“There were about fifty that ambushed Buck, maybe more, and perhaps as many yonder, so we are cut off, I fear.”

“Did dey kill po’ Brick?” asked the corporal.

“I guess they did, for they are Injuns.”

“An’ scallip him, too?”

“I don’t know, for that wasn’t easy, as his hair was cut close.”

“So hit was, but mine ain’t,” and the corporal felt of his hair, which he feared was long enough to get a grip on.

The sergeant smiled, then took in the chances of defending the hill, being glad to see that the corporal had put the horses in as secure a place as could be found and posted his men in fighting positions.

The corporal might be scared, but his military training stood him in need.

“Grass, but no water here; yet we can hold ’em off for a while, for some man has got to slip out to-night and go back to the fort for help,” said the sergeant.

All had been listening eagerly to his words; but each one looked away at this suggestion, fearing he would be the man picked out to go.

“Maybe Massa Bill Cody come along and sabe us,” said the corporal.

There was a cheer at this, and it showed just what the colored troopers thought of Buffalo Bill’s powers to help them.

The sergeant seemed pleased, also, and he set to work to strengthen his position, place his men where they could do the most good and ordered them to throw up the earth about each one of them so as to protect them.

They were only too anxious to do this, and worked like beavers.

“There they come—steady, men, and wait until I order you to fire!” the sergeant said calmly.

The Indians had now united their forces, and it was evident that they belonged to the same band, had been watching the troopers for some time, and had arranged to ambush them all: only the advance guard of poor Brick, sent ahead by the sergeant, had spoiled their plan, as they had fired on him with their arrows, believing that the others were close upon his heels.

Having united their two bands, a hundred in number, all came with a rush upon the intrenched troopers, yelling like madmen, their ponies at full speed, and sending showers of arrows before them with an occasional shot from a rifle, where a brave was so unfortunate as to have firearms, then not common among the redskins.

“We’ve got ter do ’em, men, or they’ll down us,” shouted the sergeant, and a moment after he cried:

“Aim to kill—fire!”

Some of the troopers may have fired at random; but more did not, and down went ponies and riders, while the repeating rifles of the soldiers keeping up their rattle, and deadly rattle it was, checked the onward rush of the redskins, for they wavered, turned, and fled for the shelter of the nearest timber.

The colored troopers were jubilant with delight.

Without a white officer they had beaten off the redskins, who were five to one against them, and killed or wounded a number of braves and ponies.

Sergeant Mobile Buck was a hero of heroes, and he felt it, too. Whatever his men might feel about it, he, at least, was glad he had come. It gave the sergeant confidence, and it helped the men.

One trooper had been killed, shot through the throat with an arrow, and three others slightly wounded.

But the dead man was removed out of sight, and the wounds of the three men dressed, weapons reloaded, the position strengthened, and supper cooked and sent around, for night was at hand.

“I doesn’t like dem dead red Injuns lyin’ out dere,” said a trooper, with an awe of the dead and darkness.

“Never mind, we’ll have more of ’em soon,” said the sergeant.

Then darkness came and the men waited, each man a sentinel, for there was no sleep for those black defenders of the hill that night.

All was silent and darkness, suddenly broken by the words:

“Who commands here?”

The voice was clear and stern, and came from a point close at hand. Then a tall form arose from behind a group of rocks.

“Massa Buf’ler Bill!”

The cry came almost in a shout, and every man left his position and rushed to where the scout stood, for he it was, in truth, who had invaded the retreat of the corralled negro soldiers.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE RIDE FOR HELP.

The darkness hid the tears of joy in the eyes of the colored troopers, at the coming of Buffalo Bill.

The scout had crept into the corral unseen, and he said sternly:

“If I could get in here, redskins can—who is commander here?”

“I am, sir, Sergeant Mobile Buck, and we were going to meet you, Chief Cody.”

“I am glad to meet you, Sergeant Buck; but you have only colored troops?”

“Yes, sir, from the Tenth Cavalry, and Major Armes told us we could come and meet you on the trail, and mighty glad we are to see you, sir.”

“I saw your man ahead killed, but could not save him, for he rode right into an ambush I was watching, and his doing so saved me. Then I watched developments and saw you retreat here, so waited until dark to creep in, for there are more Indians coming and you are in a bad way.”

“Oh, Lordy!”

Buffalo Bill laughed.

“You are not dead yet, boys,” he said, “and you made a good fight when they attacked you; but you will not be attacked again until morning, about dawn, and then by a force large enough to run you down.”

“Jist you take us to de fort, Massa Bill, fer you kin do it, sah,” said one, and all held the same opinion.

“No, you could never leave here, and I’ll have to sneak out; but my horse and pack animal are a mile away, on the trail to the fort, and I’ll go there for help, and it will take three or four troops to do it, too.

“The fort is about twenty-five miles from here, and I’ll make it in three hours, for I’ll hide my pack animal soon as I can, and I will be back with help in four hours more.

“That will get us here just in time, and you keep watch for all you are worth, strengthen your position all you can, have your rifles and revolvers ready, and you can fight them off, if they do attack, until we get here.”

“Don’t yer think I better go wid yer, Massa Bill?” asked a trooper, who preferred to take his chances with Buffalo Bill alone to remaining with his score of comrades.

“No, every man is wanted here.”

“Dat’s so, an’ I wishes you was goin’ ter stay, too, sah,” and this remark voiced the idea of all.

“Now, sergeant, send your men back to their posts, and let them know if they go to sleep some of them may wake up in the Indians’ happy hunting grounds.

“Then Sergeant Buck go with me to the end of the timber, for I wish a word with you.”

The troopers were sent again to their posts of duty, and the sergeant went with Buffalo Bill to a gully, by which he intended to retreat, for it was not guarded as horses could not go that way.

“Sergeant, you have done well in your fight, and I appreciate your having come to meet me. It saved me. Tell your men I want each one of them in my band of scouts, so I have my eye upon them. You may have to fight again, but do it to the death as I’ll get help to you as soon as I can. Good night, and luck.”

Buffalo Bill grasped the hand of the brave negro, who replied:

“We’ll die game, sir, if we have to; but we depend on you, Massa Bill, for you’re the only man who can save us, and you will, sir, I know you will.”

The deep voice quivered, and Buffalo Bill turned away, going rapidly down the gully to where he had left his horses.

He passed within a dozen feet of an Indian outpost of several braves, heard them talking, and the smoke of their pipes reached him, while he saw a spark of fire.

But he went on, reached his horses, mounted and rode off at a sweeping gallop toward the fort.

At length he halted and muttered:

“It is taking big chances, but I will do it. I can hide my pack horse there and it will cut off a dozen miles, if I do risk the lives of my horse and myself in making the leap, which is all of twenty feet.”

He turned off the trail, just as the moon, on the wane, rose to light his way.

A roar came to his ears, a roar of falling water, and he soon halted on the banks of a foaming stream.

“My pack horse will be safe here,” said Cody, and he quickly unsaddled the animal.

Then he stripped his own horse of his heavy Mexican saddle, laid with it his rifle and belt of arms, save one revolver, took off his boots, hunting coat, and broad-brimmed sombrero, and approached the steep banks of the river.

It was a cliff, and all of twenty feet down to the water. A quarter of a mile below was a fall over which the stream wildly rushed, and across from him a hundred yards or more lay the other shore, the banks low and sandy.

“It will save a dozen miles, Buckskin, and we can make it—we must!” he said, in his decided way, and he quickly made a bridle of his stake of rope, leaped across the bare back of his splendid horse, wheeled suddenly and rode rapidly toward the cliff.

“Now, Buckskin, make the leap, and by it save the lives of my black troopers!” cried Buffalo Bill, as he urged his horse directly out upon the mad leap.

Buckskin did not hesitate; he seemed to feel, with his master, that only by the leap from the dizzy height could he save the lives of human beings by cutting off a dozen miles in the trail and getting help from the fort to them before they would be wiped out by the Indians.

The noble horse leaped far out from the cliff, hung in the air, it seemed, for one precious second, and then went down swiftly into the raging flood.

He struck hard, sank from sight, though Buffalo Bill held his revolver far above his head to prevent its getting wet, for those were not the days of the present improved cartridges.

Then the horse arose, and his rider guided him toward the other shore.

It was a wild current, and they were swept rapidly down toward the falls; but the horse swam with vigor, and stripped of his saddle and trappings he was not hampered, Buffalo Bill helping him with all his power.

At length, the shore was reached, the hoofs touched bottom, and Buffalo Bill dismounted to give the horse a rest.

But only for a minute, for, remounting, he set off at a sweeping gallop for the fort, from that point not half a dozen miles.

“I have saved all of an hour and a half, if not more. You did it splendidly, Buckskin,” said the scout, and coming back into the trail, he sent the horse flying along at full speed.

Within half an hour the light of the fort came into view, and it was not yet midnight.

“Ho, sentinel, let me in—I am Buffalo Bill, the scout—and sound the alarm, for help is needed at once, or Sergeant Mobile Buck and his men will all be wiped out!”

This startling salute and alarm at once roused the garrison to action, and Buffalo Bill dashed to the headquarters of Major Armes, and reported his coming to that officer and asked for three troops of the Tenth Cavalry to go to the rescue.

“God bless you, Cody, you shall have them, and within ten minutes,” cried Major Armes, and the order was given.

Within half an hour, mounted upon a fresh horse, Buffalo Bill rode away from the fort at the head of over a hundred black cavalrymen, to the rescue of Sergeant Buck and his band.

“I’ll set the pace, Captain Keyes, and those who cannot keep up can follow.

“We must make it within three hours, sir,” said Buffalo Bill, and Captain Edward Keyes answered:

“Go ahead, Cody, and we’ll be with you.”

CHAPTER XIV.
THE BLACK TROOPERS AT BAY.

As Buffalo Bill knew just how urgent the demand for haste might become, he set a pace that, though he knew many of the troopers might not be able to keep up, yet many would do so, and these could make the attack on the Indians, while the others would constantly be coming up as reënforcements.

Major Armes had also promised to send a wagon with rations, a six-pounder gun, and a company of infantry, mounted, as a reserve, in case the Indians should be in still larger force than Buffalo Bill had supposed them to be.

To the black troopers in the little hill retreat it was a sad sight to see Buffalo Bill leave them, though they knew that by his going alone was there a chance for their rescue.

They knew their danger, and the warning the scout had given them, that “if he could get into their retreat an Indian could also do so,” had made them keep the closest watch, and not an instant did they close their eyes.

“If I wakes up arter a nap, I wants it ter be in this world, not de next, so I doesn’t go ter sleep,” said a trooper, and he voiced the sentiments of all.

To add to their wakefulness the corporal, in going his rounds, was seen to suddenly fall and lie motionless.

The sergeant hastened to his side to find that an arrow had penetrated his eye—he was dead.

Sergeant Mobile Buck dragged the body into hiding and wisely said nothing. He then went the rounds of the men himself, and very cautiously, for he knew that Indians were within arrow range and watching.

Then the sergeant discovered how it was that the corporal had lost his life, for the moon was rising, and he had stood with its light behind him, his form in bold relief against its silvery face.

“Be careful of showing yourselves with the moon behind you, for there are Indians watching for a chance to send an arrow at you,” said the sergeant, and he was cautious how he moved, for not only did he desire to escape what he had warned others of, but he thought also of the men, should he be killed or seriously wounded, and how readily they would get into a panic with no one to govern them.

So the hours passed, the sergeant going on his rounds every half hour, and one time discovering a dark object out upon the open plain, and which he was sure was not there when last he passed that way.

“Give me your gun, Benton,” he said to the sentinel nearest the dark object.

The trooper obeyed, and the sergeant took a rest with the carbine over a rock, aimed well and pulled trigger.

A wild yell, a form springing into the air, measuring a few feet, and a heavy fall followed.

“You must keep better watch, Benton, for that redskin would have plugged you in half an hour more,” said the sergeant.

Benton was thoroughly alarmed now, and said:

“Yas, sah, you done sabe my life, an’ I ain’t gwine ter fergit it, nuther. You bet I’s keepin’ watch now, sergeant, I is.”

The shot had startled the troopers, as it was answered by yells from the Indians across in the timber.

But the sergeant continued his round, and to each man he told of Benton’s narrow escape, until several shots were fired at rocks fearing they might be large groups of Indians.

That a random shot thus fired sounded a death-knell a choking war cry told.

The sergeant had got the rifles of the corporal and of the other slain trooper, and kept them ready for use when the time came.

But he continued his rounds through the night.

Then he ordered all to be ready, for he felt sure an attack would be made.

That Buffalo Bill had not got back was a cause of deepest anxiety, but the sergeant was brave and told his men that the scout with help was doubtless close at hand, only waiting for the Indians to attack the retreat, and this gave them hope.

Soon a dark mass was visible, moving out from the distant timber. The Indians were advancing to the attack, and they were mounted.

“Men, we’ll empty these extra guns at them first, for they’ll reach them, and then you fire only when I give the order,” cried the sergeant.

The three guns rattled forth their seven shots each, and they must have hit hard, for the redskins wavered, yelled like demons, and came on with a rush.

“Fire!”

All the rifles opened fire, and the shots told, for ponies fell and riders dropped to the ground.

But the rush was on, the Indians were in heavy force, hundreds against a score of black troopers, and the showers of arrows, the maddened yells and the roar of the charging ponies, struck terror to the hearts of the troopers.

“Hold ’em, men, or all is lost,” shouted the sergeant, adding:

“Revolvers now!”

But as the rattle of revolvers began and the redskins were almost up to the retreat, above the wild yells of the redskins arose the piercing, thrilling notes of a bugle, followed by the ringing war cry of Buffalo Bill, and a stern command from Captain Keyes:

“Ride them down, men!”

The bugle notes broke upon the ears of the redskins just in time to deprive them of their prey, for, wheeling to one side of the retreat, they drove on at full speed, for they knew that United States cavalry was upon them and in large force.

“After them, men!” shouted Buffalo Bill, and with Captain Keyes by his side, and nearly a hundred troopers following, they rode hot on the heels of the flying redskins.

It was a complete surprise, of the kind that causes a stampede, and the Indians only sought to escape their pursuers until they reached a place where they could rally and ambush their foes.

But Captain Keyes was too good a soldier to be caught in a trap, with tired-out horses and men, and he called a halt when his command drew near a heavily timbered hill.

“Halt here, men, and let them think this is all the force, while Cody, you go back, meet the other men and flank yonder ridge with them, ordering a courier to go to the reserve and fetch them, with the gun, to your aid with all speed.”

It was almost daylight now, and the tired men rested where they were in line of battle, while Buffalo Bill rode back, checking the troopers still coming up and ordering them to keep out of sight in the timber, while he went to the retreat of those who had been rescued in the nick of time.

CHAPTER XV.
A VERY STRANGE FIND.

“The goo’ Lor’ bress you, Massa Bill!” came a cry in chorus from a dozen men, as the scout approached the retreat.

Sergeant Mobile Buck came out to meet Buffalo Bill, and wrung his hand hard, while he said:

“You did it, sir—you saved us, and just in time, for my men were giving way.

“I lost five killed, sir, and half a dozen wounded, though only two seriously.

“It will do the men good, sir, this fight, and they’ll follow you, Mr. Cody, to the devil!”

“And I want you and every man of them for my squadron of scouts, sergeant, as I will need yourself, a corporal, and twenty-four men.

“Now look to your wounded and then bury your dead, for I’ll have breakfast sent to you from the main camp over in the timber yonder, where they are now cooking for Captain Keyes and his men, who will remain where they are until I can flank yonder hill, for we have as many more men in reserve and a gun.”

“That’s good, sir, and Mr. Injun will get it bad, won’t he?” said the delighted sergeant, while Buffalo Bill rode through the retreat and called out:

“You had it hot and deadly here, I see, boys, but you fought like wild cats, all of you, and I am proud of my black scouts, for I want you all.”

A cheer answered the words of the scout, and he rode rapidly back into the timber, where the stragglers had come up with the pack animals, a camp had been formed, and breakfast was being prepared.

Sending a white scout on his trail of the night before to bring his pack horse, saddle and bridle from where he had left them on the river bank, Buffalo Bill hastily had breakfast with a half a hundred troopers, and led them by a flank movement to get in the rear of the Indians on the ridge. He had long before sent a courier to tell the reserve force, the troopers with their gun, to branch off at a trail, which would head him off at a point where they could reach the rear of the redskins.

All went just as he had hoped it would, the reserve met the command under Buffalo Bill, and by hard riding, were after the Indians, halted on the ridge and watching Captain Keyes in the valley in their front, feeling that he was afraid to attack them, were surprised by a shell bursting in their midst on the hill.

It fairly dazed them with surprise and dread, and only when shell after shell began to crash among them, and Captain Keyes mounted his men for a rush on the ridge, did they break in a wild stampede.

These, too, saw that they were between two fires, Captain Keyes and the force of Buffalo Bill with the gun, and there was but one way to escape, and that was to desert their ponies and take to the deep cañons leading into the mountains where a horse could not find footing.

It was hard for an Indian to do, to leave his pony, but it was a question of life and death, and they fled on foot, thus making it a glorious victory for the palefaces.

Sending a courier to have his pack animal and a fresh horse brought him, Buffalo Bill went on the trail of the redskins, to see if they continued their flight, or halted to try and make an effort to regain their horses when night came, and Captain Keyes came up with his men to go into camp with the entire force.

It was nearly midnight when Buffalo Bill, on foot, returned to the camp.

“They’ve got enough for the present, sir, and are all on the jump for their village; but I will go out mounted at dawn and alone, keeping on their trail for a day, at least, until sure what they will do,” he said to Captain Keyes.

“And shall I camp here, Cody, or return to the fort?” asked the captain.

“Better rest here until day after to-morrow, sir, and then return by slow march toward the fort, so I can overtake you, if they meet other bands and return, for there may be more of them.

“If I see nothing suspicious, sir, please say to Major Armes that I will return to the fort within two or three days.”

“All right, Cody, and I hear you are going to have a squadron of negro scouts?”

“Yes, sir, for it will give the colored troops confidence, and I believe I can make good scouts of them, while the Indians are as scared of the black soldiers as the latter are of them—they don’t just understand their being black and call them ‘Heap Black Paleface Braves.’”

“Not a bad name, either, if they will only prove braves; but the Indians are experts in giving names.

“Now get what rest you can, for you need it, and I know of no man who could do what you have.”

Ten minutes after Buffalo Bill was fast asleep; but at dawn he woke up, and his pack horse and a fresh riding animal having come up, he had breakfast, mounted, and rode away on his lone trail.

That day every sign pointed to the fact that the Indians had been so badly beaten that though they had met a couple of bands of their comrades, they did not turn back, but went on to their villages together.

It was toward evening of his second day’s trail, as he came to a good camping place, that Buffalo Bill decided to halt for the night, when he was startled by hearing a human voice calling to him, and the words spoken in a low tone.

Out of a thicket staggered a tall, gaunt form, with black face, haggard, and showing deep lines of suffering, while his clothing was in rags, his feet wrapped in deerskins, a foxskin cap upon his head, a tattered blanket, and a rifle, revolver, and knife his weapons.

CHAPTER XVI.
THE NEGRO MESSENGER.

“Well, my poor fellow, who and what are you?” asked Buffalo Bill, as he dismounted and stood before the vagabond negro.

“I’s mighty near starved ter death, an’ I’d died soon ef I hadn’t had you find me, boss,” was the answer. “I seen you comin’, and I lay low and was goin’ ter let you pass me by, sah, only I seen yer face, and know’d yer were a good man.

“If you had been an Injun, sah, or one ob dem bad white men I seen in dis country, I’d ’a’ jist pulled my gun on yer and got yer horse an’ rashuns ter eat, fer de Good Book do say dat preservin’ o’ one’s life am de bestest law o’ natur’, sah.”

“So you would have chanced killing me?”

“Yas, sah, and it w’u’d hev been a big chance, too, as I has got but one load in my gun an’ one in my revolver.”

“Well, I am glad you didn’t take the chances; but I would have found you, anyhow, as I intended to camp right here for the night.”

“Den I is sabed, sah, I is sabed, fer I gits somet’in to eat, an’ sabin’ me, sah, means a heap, fer dere is lives dependin’ dis werry minit upon dis nigger.”

“Where—— But you must be fed first, and then you can tell me. Sit there, and I’ll soon have a fire, and cook supper.”

“Boss, I is mos’ so weak I has got ter let you do de work, an’ you see, sah, I is wounded, too.”

“Poor fellow!” Buffalo Rill glanced at a bullet wound in the negro’s side.

Hastily the scout set to work, pitched his camp in a secluded spot on the bank of a little stream, and, taking from his pack saddle a pair of extra blankets, he spread them on the ground and told the negro to lie down.

He quickly gathered some wood, built a fire among some rocks, and, after staking out the horses, started to prepare a venison steak, bacon, hoecake, and coffee for supper.

The negro would have eaten ravenously, so nearly starved was he, only the scout made him go slow, and did not give him half what he craved.

“I’ll give you some more after a while; but now I’ll build a shelter for you, as I think you’ll have to rest here for a few days, at least.”

The shelter was built and made comfortable, and then the scout cut off from the swollen, blistered, and bruised feet the deerskin covering that served as shoes, took a liniment from his pack, and, after having the man stand in the water for some time, put it upon them, after which he dressed the wound in his side, which, though painful, was not serious.

“Who gave you this?”

“A bad white man, sah, who pretended ter be my friend, but arter he heerd my story, he shot me, an’ he meant ter kill me, only I got one in on him, sah.

“Then I heerd a man call out, an’ voices talking, so I lit out, thinkin’ they must be his frien’s, an’ I come rapid, sah, thinkin’ I c’u’d reach the fort afore I died.”

Buffalo Bill was now convinced that the negro had a secret of importance to tell, so he gave him another steak, some hoecake, and a cup of coffee, and watched him eat it with the look of a half-starved animal.

“I am mighty glad I met you, my man. What is your name?”

“Black Bill, dey calls me, sah.”

“All right, that is one bond between us, for my name is Bill. Did you ever hear of Buffalo Bill?”

“Is I hear ob him, sah? Indeed I has, an’ dere ain’t nobody livin’ dat ain’t.”

“Well, I am Buffalo Bill.”

The look on the negro’s face at this information fairly startled the scout.

“You is de very man I’s lookin’ fer,” exclaimed the negro finally, after he had recovered from his surprise. “Yas, sah, I knows you is Massa Buf’ler Bill, I does, as he tole me jist how ye looked.”

“Who did?”

“De gemman who sent me ter find yer, sah.”

“Who was it?”

“Massa John Hill, sah.”

“Ah! My old friend, John Hill?”

“Dat’s him, sah.”

“I thought he went East.”

“He did went dere, sah, but he come back.”

“Where is he?”

“Whar de debble c’u’dn’t fin’ him, sah, fer he do be los’.”

“Lost! Where?”

“In de Big Horn country, sah, whar I left him an’ t’others. Dere’s a heap ob ’em, Massa Buf’ler Bill, men, wimmens, an’ chil’en.”

“When did they go there?”

“Months ago, sah. Yer see, sah, I ust ter b’long ter Doctor Miner, a gent from de Souf, who hed los’ his fortin by de war; but I didn’t leab him, sah, an’ we was comin’ West ter hunt gold, when we come across a outfit of folks as was also gold huntin’, fer Massa John Hill hed met ’em an’ tole ’em he know’d whar ter git it.

“So, sah, we all comed along an’ he guided us inter de Big Horn country, an’ we go down inter a valley an’ make home dere.

“But dere was bad men in dat outfit, and four ob ’em one night tuk blastin’ powder we fotch along an’ blow up rocks ter stop de only path down a cañon we hed leadin’ inter or out ob dat valley.

“It were beautiful when we got dere, but dere were no way ob gittin’ out, sah, fer it were all around wid mount’in cliffs, an’ mount’in sheep c’u’dn’t git out.

“Yer see, all de gold we hed dug was done by day an’ left up in de cañon, de men goin’ home to de valley at night.

“Dat’s why dem four bad men got dat powder an’ blow up dat cañon, an’ we c’u’dn’t git out.”

“Yet, you did.”

“I has been a sailorman, sah, an’ I don’t git dizzy, an’ I said as how I’d climb dem cliffs, an’ I did, by buildin’ ladders wid poles I cut, choppin’ down a tree here an’ dere, an’ arter weeks of work I got out, an’ den I fetch up my weepin an’ some grub, an’ Massa John Hill he told me ter go ter Fort Fettermore an’ fine you, an’ tell you he sent fer yer ter come an’ save dere lives; but ter tell no one else but you, an’ when you come wid your scouts, you was ter bring ropes in plenty, so as ter git ’em out of dat lonesome valley.”

“And those four men?”

“Dey overdid it, sah, fer dey didn’t git a horse, mule, or waggin out ob de valley fust, an’ dey hed ter hoof it wid dere gold, or de gold we all hed got, an’ carry it, an’ I guesses it were mighty slow work.

“I guesses, sah, dey set off de blow-up business afore dey was ready, fer all de pervisions were in de valley, sabe what was kept in de cabin on de cliffs fer de men’s dinner.”

“How long have you been on the trail, Bill?”

“’Bout a month, sah, fer I hed to reckon as how ter go, an’ got los’, so my grub gin out, my ammunition, too, an’ I has hed a terribul time, sah, so I had.”

“You look it; but you met white men on the way?”

“One, sah an’ heerd others. Dey was gold hunters, sah.”

“Not the four men who left the valley?”

“No, sah, dat one I seen wasn’t.”

“This is a strange story you tell me, Black Bill, but I believe you.”

“Praise de Lor’, sah, fer now you kin sabe ’em all.”

“I will try,” said Buffalo Bill firmly.

CHAPTER XVII.
TWO SHOTS.

Black Bill would have talked all night had the scout allowed him to do so; but Cody checked him again, dressed his wound and feet, and gave him a little more to eat, after which he made him go to sleep.

The scout looked to the comfort of his horses, and then, wrapping his blankets about him, lay down to rest.

At dawn, Buffalo Bill arose, built a fire, cooked a substantial breakfast, having caught several fine fish from the stream, and then he awoke the negro, who was still sleeping soundly.

Black Bill was then allowed to eat all he wished, and the scout gave him a change of his clothing to put on, and looked after his injuries.

“Now, Black Bill, you are not fit even to ride, but you soon will be. This is a good camp for you, and you will be comfortable. I will leave you my pack horse, make you comfortable, give you plenty of food and ammunition for your weapons, and I’ll kill a deer before I go. Then you can fish and take it easy.”

“Whar is you goin’, Massa Buf’ler Bill?”

“To Fort Aspen, with all speed, for I shall get there a number of negro scouts I want with me, the ropes John Hill says we will need, pack horses well laden with provisions, and I’ll be back here in four days.”

“Yas, sah.”

“Now, I do not think you will see any Indians here, for they have skipped for their villages, and this camp is on no trail. If you should, you must mount my pack horse and get away, for I will leave my compass, and you must keep directly west.”

“Yas, sah.”

“It might be that the white men may be trailing you; but, if so, you must make your escape, and be on the watch for any danger.”

“Yas, sah, I kin do pretty well ter take keer o’ myself.”

“I don’t doubt it. In four days you will be well enough to ride, and we’ll start for that valley you have told me of, and get those people out of their trouble.”

Half an hour after, Buffalo Bill, having made his black comrade thoroughly comfortable, mounted his horse and departed on his trail to the fort.

Black Bill looked after him wistfully as long as he was in sight, but, looking back, the scout saw him wave a farewell, and muttered:

“I am sorry to leave him, yet I must do so, as I can do nothing else, for he could not stand the ride to the fort and back, and lives depend on quick work, if I am not mistaken.”

And the scout put his horse at a swift and steady pace.

But he had not ridden many miles when suddenly he saw an Indian bound from the ground and spring to the shelter of a tree, his bow and arrows in hand.

It was a long shot, and the scout had to fire quickly, and did so. It seemed as though there was a double report; but the redskin fell, and no others were visible.

Cody knew that he had killed the Indian, and rode toward him, dismounted, and bent over the body, when suddenly a human form confronted him and a voice said:

“Pard, I guesses I’ll take the scalp o’ this Injun, an’ as I holds ther drop on you, ye’d better be kinder discreetlike.”

Buffalo Bill was certainly caught off his guard by the appearance of the stranger upon the scene where he least expected to see a human being, unless a stray Indian.

Yet it was a white man, and certainly an odd-looking one. He was dressed in rudely tanned buckskin from head to foot, for he wore a cap of that material, ornamented with the tail of a fox for a tassel. He was a man of large size, muscular build, and looked hard as a pine knot, while his hair was long, unkempt, and iron-gray, and his beard short and grizzly, half hiding a face by no means prepossessing in the features that were visible.

The stranger was armed with an old rifle, a muzzle-loader, a revolver of rather ancient manufacture, a couple of single-barrel pistols, and a large bowie knife, while at his back hung a long bow and two quivers of arrows.

The eyes that gazed upon Buffalo Bill with a triumphant leer were vicious, small, and glittering with hate, that seemed their natural expression.

He held his revolver upon Buffalo Bill to cover his heart, and seemed to feel that he was wholly master of the situation.

“Well, who in thunder are you, you old sinner?” demanded Buffalo Bill, seemingly not in the slightest degree taken aback by the sudden appearance of one that seemed to be a foe.

“I are ther Bad Man o’ ther Big Horn,” was the cool reply.

“The what?” and Bill smiled.

“Ther Bad Man o’ ther Big Horn.”

“You don’t mean it?”

“I do.”

“Well, you do look as if you could get away with a big horn.”

“Look a-hyur, stranger pard, is yer pokin’ fun at me?” angrily asked the man.

“No, you are pokin’ that old gun at me,” was the cool response.

“Who is you, anyhow?” asked the man, struck with the superb bearing and handsome, fearless face of the scout.

“Sitting Bull,” answered Bill, most innocently.

“Do yer take me fer a fool?”

“Like as not you are one of the renegades said to belong to his tribe,” was the bold remark of the scout.

“No, but I are friendly with ther Injuns.”

“That means you dare not live among your own race, for you look as though you might have been a white man once.”

The basilisk eyes of the stranger fairly blazed at this, and his brow grew dark with rage, while he answered quickly:

“Ef I are, yer’ll never live ter tell thet yer seen me.”

“I’ll stake that I do. Come, put up your money, or make no threats.”

“Waal, you is a bold one, and I’d like ter know yer handle.”

“The boys in camp call me Buffalo Bill.”

Instantly the man’s face changed again, growing livid with passion, while he hissed forth:

“You is Bill Cody, is you?”

“When I am at home, that is my name,” was the reply, and Bill continued: “Now tell me your name, for the more I see of your face the more I feel we have met before.”

“We have.”

“What deviltry were you in when I saw you last, old man?”

“I’ll tell yer jist what I were doing then: It were a long time ago, and you was a mere boy then, and you was guide fer a train I went ter rob one night, and——”

“You are Ginger Sam, by Jove!” cried Buffalo Bill, recalling the man’s face, after nearly twenty years.

“Yep.”

“I remember you now, you miserable old sinner, and how you and your gang hired as teamsters to the train and intended to massacre all hands one night and get the booty.”

“Thet’s so; but you overheard two o’ ther boys talkin’, and ther’ were hangin’ done by ther train people, and I’d hev gone ther same way if I hadn’ lit out. Yer thwarted me then, Bill Cody, and I’ve heerd o’ yer doin’ big things o’ late on these hyur borders, an’ I intend ter cut yer days short.”

“And I have heard how you played your old tricks of deviltry until you could not live in a border settlement, and here is where you came to hide your ugly head, was it?”

“Yas, and it’s better than hangin’.”

“You are a bad citizen, Ginger Sam,” said Bill Cody, with a light laugh, although the man still kept him covered with his revolver.

“I’m a citizen thet shall take in Buf’ler Bill, fer ye’ve no business in these hyur parts, and, hevin’ comed hyur, I’ll see that yer remain, fer I’m ther Bad Man o’ ther Big Horn, I told yer.”

“Do you see that dead Indian lying there?” asked Bill.

“I do.”

“Well, you had better spend your time burying him than in killing me, for it will be more profitable business.”

The outlaw was astounded at the cool nerve displayed by Buffalo Bill in his danger, and could not understand his light, bantering tone. He meant to kill Cody, there was no doubt; but as a cat will play with a mouse to torture it, he wished to make Buffalo Bill suffer terror and despair, so he delayed firing the fatal shot, feeling that he had the scout wholly at his mercy.

“I kilt that Injun.”

“Why, I shot him myself!” said Buffalo Bill. “What a liar you are!”

“I tell yer I was jist leavin’ ther timber when I seen thet Injun, hevin’ got sight o’ me, I s’pose. So I cracks away, an’ I seen him flop over an’ then lie still; but I lays close, fer I thought t’others mou’t be near, an’ then I seen you come out o’ thet timber from this p’int.

“I flanked yer, and I’ve been lookin’ at yer, an’ now yer says you kilt ther red.”

“And I tell you the truth, and I can prove it.”

“How kin you?”

“Where did you aim to hit him?”

“In the heart.”

“Well, look and see if there are two bullet wounds in his body, for I heard your shot, I remember now, and have no doubt but that you fired at him; but he was dying when you did so. Look for the two wounds.”

The man stooped to do so, and, with the bound of a panther, Buffalo Bill was upon him.

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BAD MAN OF THE BIG HORN.

Thrown off his guard by the manner of the scout and by his interest in searching for the second wound in the body of the Indian, Ginger Sam went right into the trap which was set for him, and did just what Buffalo Bill had been endeavoring he should do.

Quick as lightning in his movements, Buffalo Bill had sprung forward and seized the hand that held the revolver, before the outlaw could come to an upright position, and at the same time he presented one of his own weapons full in the face of his foe, while he said, in the coolest manner possible:

“If you wish to keep in good health, Ginger Sam, you’ll do as I tell you!”

The outlaw was livid with rage, and seemed to feel that his last day on earth had come.

“Do yer intend ter kill me?”

“I do not know what I shall do with you in the end, but at present I intend to disarm you. Drop old Daniel Boone’s rifle you hold in your hand there.”

“It mout break it.”

“I guess not, for it’s too old a settler to be hurt by a little tumble. Drop it, I say!”

“It mout go off an’ shoot yer from ther concussion.”

“My revolver will go off and shoot you from the muzzle, if you don’t obey!”

“Down she goes.”

The outlaw dropped it in such a way, at the same time giving it a kick, that showed he would like to have it explode in the fall and kill his captor.

But it did not, and, kicking it one side, Bill commanded:

“Now, unbuckle your belt and let it fall!”

“Now, thet would be dangerous.”

“Do as I tell you, and be careful not to let your hand touch those blunderbusses you carry, or you won’t know what killed you.”

The man uttered an oath, but obeyed, and the belt of arms fell to the ground.

“Now step this way.”

Bill drew him a few steps away from his rifle and belt, and then, with a sudden violent wrench of the wrist, tore the revolver from the outlaw’s hand, and pitched it over with the other weapons.

“Now, Bad Man of the Big Horn, I was born tired, and don’t like work, so take your knife and set to work to build a house under this tree,” said Buffalo Bill.

“A house?” asked the surprised man.

“Yes.”

“What kind of a house?”

“One that will fit a dead man.”

“Yer mean a grave?” asked the outlaw, in a tone of horror.

“I do.”

“Yer don’t mean ter kill me, and fust make me dig my own grave?”

“No, you are not worth burying; but I wish to bury that Injun, there, and being lazy, as I told you, I want you to dig his grave.”

The outlaw seemed to feel relieved in knowing that he was not the one to occupy the grave, and he at once set to work, and with his knife began to throw out the earth quite rapidly.

Buffalo Bill sat near, coolly watching him, and keeping him covered with his revolver, and noticing the rapid work of the outlaw, he said:

“I guess you were sexton for some graveyard, Ginger Sam, before you took to thieving?”

“Thet are jist what I were, Bill Cody,” replied the man, stopping in his work.

“And you took to robbing by night the people you buried by day, and got caught at it, I guess, so had to dig for the West?”

“Waal, you hits things pretty squar’, Bill Cody, fer they did plant a leddy in my yard one day, thet were durned fool enough ter leave it in her will thet she were ter be buried in her di’mints an’ t’other jew’lry.

“I know’d ther kin folks w’u’d dig her up some night, ef I didn’t, so I did, an’ them as was comin’ ter do it seen me, an’ I jist hed ter light out from them parts.”

“Well, you look the ghoul you are: but go on with your work, for life’s too short to listen to your sins, old man!”

The ex-sexton resumed his work, with a sigh, and soon had an opening which brought from the scout the remark:

“No Injun could wish for more than that, Ginger Sam, and you are the boss gravedigger of the Big Horn, whatever your other sins may be. Now wrap that Injun in his blanket and lay him in it.”

“Won’t yer scalp him?”

“No. Come, delay no further, but bury that man, for I wish to be on my way,” said Buffalo Bill.

“Whar goin’?”

“You’ll know all in good time.”

The man muttered an oath, but obeyed orders, and when the redskin had been buried, Buffalo Bill bound Ginger Sam securely with one end of his lariat, and forced the man to go on his way in the lead.

After gaining a point where the trail led across a river, Buffalo Bill said:

“Cross over, Ginger!”

“What do yer want ter cross fer?” was the surly response.

“I have my reasons, so wade in.”

“No; I don’t keen ter git wet.”

“Very well, take the back trail for the grave you dug; it will hold two,” said Bill indifferently.

The outlaw shuddered, and replied quickly:

“I’ll cross the river.”

“Right are you, Sammy, my boy.”

Into the water they went, and, once on the other shore, where a number of trails divided, Buffalo Bill selected the one that would lead him to the fort.

“Thet trail only goes up into ther hills,” said the outlaw nervously.

“It is into the hills I wish to go.”

“Ther’ ain’t nothin’ up thar yer want.”

“There’s where you are off your base, Ginger, for there is.”

“What do yer want?”

“I desire that you shall take the quickest trail to the fort.”

“I’ll die fust,” was the savage reply.

“You had better do as I ask, for I am not one to palaver.”

“I’ll not go a step.”

“Then I’ll lead you there,” was the quiet reply.

The outlaw saw that Buffalo Bill was in earnest, and his thoughts flashed like lightning through his brain.

His gaze falling upon the lariat end, held loosely in the hand of Buffalo Bill, his eyes suddenly gleamed with inborn resolve, and he said resignedly:

“Waal, pard, as I don’t know thet I kin kick agin’ yer, I’ll do as you say.”

“Right, Sammy! Now, move on!”

The outlaw obeyed, taking the trail once more with nimble step.

As it wound along the edge of a ravine, through the bed of which dashed a stream, the outlaw suddenly sprang over the precipice into the depths below.

Buffalo Bill caught hard at the end of the lariat, as it tightened, but could not hold on, and the end slipped through his hand, and a plunge following told him that his captive had fallen into the waters below.

CHAPTER XIX.
A DOUBLE ESCAPE.

Hardly had the splash of the descending form reached Cody’s ears, when he was on foot and peering over the precipice. He saw that the water was swift-running and deep, and that the stream wound out of sight a few rods below by turning a rocky point. Instantly he decided upon his course, and cast aside his arms and outer clothing. At once he took the leap.

It was thirty feet down to the water, but he struck feet foremost, and without injury.

In the meantime, a perfect swimmer, Ginger Sam knew just what was before him, although his arms were bound behind his back.

Keeping under water until he had rounded the point, which the current and his own efforts soon enabled him to do, he then rose to the surface and began to make for the shore.

It was hard work, with only his feet to aid his efforts, and, retarded as he was by his clothing and the lariat, but he made it at last, and under the shelter of the overhanging hill had just sat down to rest, smiling grimly at his escape, when round the point shot Buffalo Bill, swimming with tremendous strokes.

The hunted man uttered a cry of alarm, and, springing to his feet, darted away at great speed.

But the scout had always been noted for his fleetness on foot, and he bounded along at a pace that overhauled the outlaw, who was hampered, too, by his bound arms and the dragging lariat.

Seeing that Buffalo Bill was gaining upon him, he finally came to a halt, and sang out lustily:

“Don’t shoot me!”

“I have nothing to shoot you with, but I’ve a notion to drown you,” answered Bill Cody, as he laid no light hand upon the other’s shoulder.

“Don’t do it, Bill, for ’twan’t no fault o’ mine. Yer see, my foot slipped when I turned round ter speak ter you, an’ when I found myself free, I concluded I’d try an’ stay so.”

“As a scientific liar, Sam, you are ’way up; but, come, no funny business, but go!”

There was nothing for the outlaw to do but to obey, and he did that promptly, taking a route that soon brought them to where the faithful horse was standing guard most patiently in the spot where his master had left him.

“Now, I am due at the fort, for I have important work on hand and do not wish to be delayed, so I will tie you to a tree here until my return, or I’ll take you to your cabin, for I am sure you have a camp near. Which shall it be?”

“I’d be eaten up by b’ar an’ sich ef yer tied me to a tree.”

“So I fear, and that would keep you from being hanged, so where is your cabin?”

“I got a den.”

“Then lead to it, and quick.”

The man saw that the scout was in earnest, so said:

“We has got ter climb and leave yer boss here, so untie my han’s, fer we goes up thet cliff.”

“I’ll do it, and if you attempt to run, look out for a shot.”

“I’m inter it now, so I won’t kick.”

Buffalo Bill then untied the man’s hands, told him to stand on the cliff until he hitched his horse, and, as he turned to do so, quick as a flash the man made the leap again.

Buffalo Bill sprang to the cliff, but did not follow him.

“I have not the time to lose, and I won’t shoot him when he comes into view,” he muttered.

Soon the man appeared, smiling boldly, and apparently believing Buffalo Bill was in pursuit.

But with his arms free, he felt the chances were that he could get away, as the scout was not armed.

“I’ll not shoot you this time, though I could do so—we’ll meet again,” shouted the scout.

But the outlaw had at once dove deep, when he saw the scout on the cliff, rifle in hand.

Then Buffalo Bill mounted his horse, after hiding Ginger Sam’s weapons, and rode rapidly away, for already had he lost too much time. He pushed his horse hard, as he felt he could do so, with the animal to get rest at the fort, and, making but short halts, he kept on through the night, to strike at dawn the camp of Captain Keyes, who had taken up the trail for the fort, going by easy marches with his wounded soldiers and Indians.

CHAPTER XX.
BLACK SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL.

After a hearty breakfast, Buffalo Bill confided to Captain Keyes his experience, for he wished to keep the story of finding the negro, Black Bill, a secret from all save the commanding officer.

“Now, captain, I wish to pick my men and go at once on the trail, for, from what that negro tells me, I fear those people are in a bad way.

“I know they have no right in the Big Horn country, but they are there, in great danger, and there are women and children to be rescued.

“Now, I have every confidence in Sergeant Mobile Buck, and I wish a corporal who is an equally good man for the work ahead.

“Then I feel I can trust the men with Buck in his corral, and I wish twenty-six all told, so, if you will pick out the balance to make up the number, I know I will have just the band I can rely on.

“Then, too, sir, I wish to take all the tools you may have along, every lariat, stake line, and rope in the outfit, plenty of provisions on pack animals, and the cannon powder, as I may need it for blasting, from what Black Bill tells me.

“Now, Captain Keyes, if you will fit me out at once with the men and things I need, it will be a great favor, and we’ll be on the return trail within a couple of hours.”

“I’ll do it, Cody, for what you tell me about these people interests me greatly.

“I know just the men to send with you, and all we have in the outfit which you can use is at your disposal,” said Captain Keyes.

Sergeant Buck was at once called, and Buffalo Bill told him he wished him, a corporal, and twenty-four men to take the trail with him, Captain Keyes adding:

“Yes, and we are to pick the men, sergeant, for Chief Cody will only take colored soldiers, and they are to be his scouts.”

“I’m mighty glad, sir, and I know we can get good men, sir,” was the answer.

A corporal was first selected, and though he was the hue of ink, he rejoiced in the nickname of Milk White, being generally called “Corporal Milk.”

With his aid, and he was a splendid soldier, strong as a giant, and an all-round good man, the twenty-four colored scouts were selected, the entire squad of Sergeant Buck’s original escort being taken along, save the wounded, for all wished to go with “Massa Buf’ler Bill.”

The scout took along extra rifles for all, carried on the pack animals, every horse was picked for speed and endurance, a large supply of provisions was taken, with every rope and lariat in the command, and a big supply of ammunition and cannon powder.

Within two hours, as Buffalo Bill had said, the band of black scouts mounted and rode away from the command, all wondering what the reason might be for the strange expedition.

Buffalo Bill rode at the head, the sergeant following with fourteen men, and then came the corporal with his ten men as a guard to the pack animals and a reserve force.

Buffalo Bill felt proud of his black scouts, and determined to push rapidly on to the lone camp of Black Bill, where a halt for a couple of days’ rest was to be made, and to enable the wounded and half-starved negro to recuperate.

Buffalo Bill also intended to take this time to mount his own pack animal, which would be fresh, and try and strike the trail of Ginger Sam, who would not be expecting him back from the fort for some days.

He had by no means given up hope of capturing that gallows bird.

So Buffalo Bill pushed rapidly on with his scouts, and halted only when it was near sunset, for dinner and supper combined, and the men turned in for sleep until after midnight.

Then a start was made, and early that afternoon the camp of Black Bill was reached.

To the sergeant and corporal the scout had told of his coming upon the starving and wounded negro; but to the men the surprise was very great, upon coming across the lone camp.

Black Bill greeted the chief of scouts with a shout, saying that he was getting well fast, and he knew he would be ready for the trail at once, if need be.

“No, take a couple of days more, for I do not wish you to move until really able to do so.”

The chief of scouts did not remain long in camp, but started, mounted on his pack animal, to go to the place where he had left Ginger Sam and try to pick up his trail. He was confident that the man had a cabin somewhere near there, as he had known the cliff trail so well, and by leaping from it into the stream he could make a landing and escape.

The scout felt sure that Ginger Sam was in that country looking for gold, and doubtless allied with the Indians, while again he might have another comrade with him. He was determined to know and capture the outlaw if he could, to kill him if he had to do so.

He reached the place where the man had landed from the stream, and, to one of his great scouting skill, he readily trailed the tracks of the large and heavy boots, soaked as they had been with water.

It soon became a hard trail to follow, but after a mile it led into a cañon, and there the scout beheld a small, rude cabin.

The door was closed, and the scout slipped up cautiously, to find it tied on the outside. It was empty, but it was evident that Ginger Sam had been there, for he had changed his wet boots for others.

The ashes in the fireplace were cold, and Buffalo Bill seemed to grasp the situation, for he said:

“He came here and left without weapons; he has gone, and where but to the Indian village to get more.

“That will take him a week or longer, so I will visit him upon our return, for he doubtless has a gold find near here, so that keeps him alone in these wilds, for alone he certainly is.

“He may have struck it rich, and so will I when I find him, as there are old scores to settle with that man.”

Then, fastening the door as he found it and returning to where he had left his horse, for he had followed the trail on foot, Buffalo Bill started for the camp of his black scouts.

The negro courier from the penned-up settlers of the valley had made himself solid with one and all of the black scouts, who did all they could to hasten the recovery of his strength. He had recuperated wonderfully, and was so anxious to start upon the trail of rescue that Buffalo Bill decided to make a start the next afternoon and travel by half-day trails until Black Bill was able to stand what the others could.

So the next day the chief and his scouts started upon the trail of rescue.

CHAPTER XXI.
TO THE RESCUE.

Feeling that he was on a trail of rescue, Black Bill rallied so fast that he began to scout on ahead, and one day as Buffalo Bill came near to where the negro lay full length upon the ground, he had reached the summit of a range and was gazing over at something he had discovered on the other side.

Creeping up to the side of the negro, Buffalo Bill peered over cautiously, and he, too, lay low, and motioned to the coming scouts to come quietly and see the discovery that Black Bill had made.

“Massa Bill, jist look a-yonder, sah, and see what I found,” said the negro.

“You can have them, Black Bill, for I don’t want them,” answered Buffalo Bill, as he looked in the direction the negro pointed.

The discovery was an Indian village. There it was in the valley, a hundred tepees, at least, and with a large herd of ponies feeding near. It did not look like a permanent village, and the experienced eye of Buffalo Bill now told him that it was not. It was an Indian village upon the march, and apparently halting there in the valley for rest and game for a few days.

One by one, the black scouts came up and dropped down at full length by the side of their chief to peer over the range.

They had expected some important discovery, but they saw more than they cared to see.

Not a word was spoken other than a low ejaculation of surprise or a whistle at the startling discovery.

Every eye was upon Cody, every ear waiting to catch his words. But he had taken his field glass from its case and was already surveying the river, the valley, the Indian village through it. What he was thinking his face did not reveal.

“Ain’t yer goin’ ter skeer ’em, Massa Buf’ler Bill?” asked the guide.

“You mean by playing ghosts, Bill?”

“Yes, sah.”

“There’s safety in numbers, and I don’t think they would scare so much as we would wish them to.”

“Jist try it, sah.”

“We will try it when a plan I have fails, when we have to do so.”

“Yes, sah.”

“Night is not very far off, none of the Indians will be coming up here at this hour, and we can follow down the range until we get opposite to where their ponies are.

“From there we can see where the guards are, and how many if, indeed, they have any watching their ponies.

“Then as soon as it is dark we can go down into the valley, mount some of the best ponies and stampede the whole herd.”

The scouts all gave a chuckle of delight.

“We can dash away with them, and keep pushing them along.

“Of course, as you know, some of the braves will have ponies near their tepees, and will follow, but they won’t see us, and, if there are many of them, we can push on ahead of the herd, if the pace becomes too hot.

“In this way we can get by these redskins without being seen.

“The Indians will not know what stampeded their ponies, and we will leave them to find out the best way they can.”

This plan of Buffalo Bill met with the approval of each man, though Black Bill seemed to regret not being able to get a chance to “skeer dem red Injuns silly,” as he expressed it.

Down the range, out of sight of the Indian camp, went the scouts, until Buffalo Bill halted at a spot just above where the herd of ponies were feeding.

Finding a hiding place, the chief swept the valley with his glass, and soon discovered that there were only a couple of youths in charge of the herd, and they were seated upon their ponies in the shadow of the trees along the river bank.

“There are boys in charge, pards, but soon after night braves will come to relieve them, we may be sure, so we will be ready to move the moment the shadows deepen in the valley.

“Three of you go to the farther end of the herd and mount, and we will go to the end near the village, so when you start they’ll follow under our driving.

“You take the lead, corporal, and keep the ponies going at full speed when they get started.”

The men understood the plan, and in half an hour it was dark.

Of course, supper was not to be thought of then, and, while Corporal Milk led the way to the lower end of the herd, Buffalo Bill and those with him rounded up the ponies feeding nearest to the Indian village.

Good ponies were caught without trouble, the scouts mounted, and, with their lariats for bridles, began to urge the herd forward.

The men lay low on the backs of the ponies, so as not to be seen, and, as the corporal and those with him dashed off on the leaders, the other scouts pushing the herd upon them, the two startled Indian boys could just get out of the way as the stampeded animals went flying down the valley.

What stampeded them those two boys could not tell, but their shrill cries gave the alarm, as well as did the thunder of hundreds of hoofs.

There were braves in the village who had ponies near their tepees, and as soon as they could they dashed off in pursuit.

But the stampeded ponies had over a mile the start before the warriors could get away, and that meant a long, hard chase unless the ponies stopped of their own free will.

There were not over a score of braves who had ponies near by, and, as they came upon the two boys, the latter had a strange story to tell, of the whole herd raising their heads as one animal, uttering wild snorts, and going off as though possessed of evil spirits.

On down the valley swept the herd, and, as mile after mile was gone over, the slow ponies and used-up ones began to lag behind.

But Corporal Milk and his men led the way, and Buffalo Bill and those with him kept the pace a hot one, forcing the ponies that could run and endure the strain close on the heels of the leaders.

Behind them they knew the warriors were coming with all the speed they could to try and head off the herd.

But a stern chase is a long one always, especially when the leaders have a start of over a mile, and several hours thus passed before at last the shadowy outlines of the pursuers could be seen.

“We must push to the lead now, pards, at all hazards.

“We have to desert our ponies, and, fortunately, we have the timber along the river to hide us,” said Buffalo Bill.

The ponies they rode then were pushed the harder, and they began to pass animal after animal. The center of the herd was reached, then they forged nearer and nearer to the front, the ponies they passed halting as they went by them, and thus checking the more rapid pursuit of the braves in chase.

At last Buffalo Bill saw Corporal Milk’s tall form ahead, and the next moment the scouts were all bunched together.

“Off to the right, here. All lie low on your own horses now, and no one speak aloud, for there are a score of braves pursuing,” said Buffalo Bill.

The word was passed in a low tone from one to the other, the scouts wheeled to the right, the shadow of the timber along the river was reached, and each man slipped from the back of the animal he rode, pulled off the lariat bridle from his pony, and bounded into the shelter of the trees.

Lashed with the lariats to urge them on, the group of ponies just deserted, though fagged out, ran on down the valley, and suddenly in chase swept half a dozen braves.

“They had gained well on us, but they’ll soon head those ponies off and return up the valley,” said Buffalo Bill.

“It was a successful stampede,” remarked the corporal.

“Yes; now to push along for a few miles, as soon as those braves go back.”

This the braves were not long in doing, going back at a canter and driving the ponies so recently deserted by riders before them, yet with no thought of the reason of the wild stampede.

CHAPTER XXII.
BLACK BILL’S LONE HAND.

After going a couple of miles the black scouts returned to Sergeant Buck and his men, and they all pushed on once more, flanking the Indian village.

They came to a small stream running down from the mountains, and this the chief followed up until it was seen to come out of a cañon.

Here was a good camping place, so a fire was built in a crevice of the rocks, supper was gotten, and the scouts turned in for the night, well tired out after their hard day’s work.

Up with the light, they were determined to press on before having breakfast, and fortunate for them it was, as they had not gone half a mile, and were just nearing the mouth of the cañon they had camped in, when Buffalo Bill, who was well in the advance, was seen to come to a sudden stop.

The scouts halted, also. They saw their chief step cautiously back into a thicket, then move to the right and there stand gazing at what had attracted his attention and halted him so suddenly.

After a moment he motioned them to approach.

They did so, and, gaining a point of observation, beheld, not a quarter of a mile distant, a band of half a hundred Indians just going into camp. They had picketed their ponies, and were gathering wood with the intention of having breakfast there.

“Those fellows are on a rapid march, and evidently belong to the village up the river, and are going home.

“I judge they have come from across the Big Horn, and have struck the trail of their village and now have halted for rest and food.

“Pards, we cannot get out of this cañon until they have passed on, for we can’t scale those cliffs, not being birds, and you know this stream tumbles over a precipice at the head of this trap.

“Corporal, you remain here with me, and we’ll see what we can discover more about that band, while the rest of you return up the cañon and take it easy.”

Buffalo Bill and Corporal Milk then remained in hiding, watching the redskins, while the remainder of the band returned up the cañon, which at its entrance was a quarter of a mile in width, but narrowed to a few feet at its end, and there the creek tumbled over a cliff into a waterfall.

The Indians, the scouts saw, were some threescore in number, and their ponies stood with heads lowered as though they had been very hard ridden.

Several fires had been built, and the smell of broiling venison floated up the cañon, while the redskins could be seen gathered about the fire, eating heartily.

There was a thicket near that hid half of their camping place, but Buffalo Bill quickly ran his field glass over the band, and at last said:

“Those redskins have been up to some deviltry, I am certain.

“They have no plunder or scalps, but they have not been on a hunt, or they would have their game with them.

“Then, too, there is so much game in this country they would not have to go after it.”

“They’ve been on a war trail near some of the forts, sir, and look as though they had been worsted in a fight,” said the corporal.

“Yes, that is about it. Doubtless they have been in the neighborhood of Fetterman, as they came up the right bank of the Big Horn.”

“Do you observe any wounded among them, sir?”

“Yes, now I am looking for wounded I see a number who appear to have been used rather severely in a fight. I see that they appear in no hurry now, having crossed the Big Horn and struck the trail of their village; but their arrival there will cause wailing instead of rejoicing—— Holy smoke! Look there!”

Buffalo Bill pointed toward the other side of the cañon, where, quietly walking out upon the plain, was no less a personage than the giant negro, Black Bill. He had come out of the cañon, and was walking deliberately down toward the Indian camp, the latter not yet having discovered him.

“Blast that darky! He will ruin us!” cried Corporal Milk, as he looked toward the spot where Buffalo Bill had pointed and discovered Black Bill going deliberately toward the Indian camp.

“He will be killed if we don’t save him. Run, corporal, and call the boys!” cried Buffalo Bill.

He was about to obey, when the sergeant came running up, and not far behind him were the other scouts.

“Do you see that nigger, chief?”

“Yes.”

“He’s mad, or a traitor. He was there with us up the cañon, and said he could scare the reds to death. Then he got up and walked away, and soon after we discovered that he had gone toward the other side of the cañon. We followed, and you see what he has done!”

“Yes; perhaps he has got us into a hole from which there is no escape. Stand ready, men, to see what the outcome will be.”

The men were all ready for a fight or a race, as it might turn out for them.

Every eye was upon the negro, who was now too far off to recall. He was walking calmly along, straight toward the Indian camp, and they, strange to say, had not yet discovered him.

They were still broiling venison steak on the end of sticks and eating it in a way that showed their hunger by no means satiated.

Feeling secure where they were, confident that they would not be pursued that far into their country, and not knowing that their village could not be over half a day’s journey ahead of them, they were taking matters coolly, to recover from the strain they had evidently been under for some time.

Still the giant negro guide walked on, while the scouts could only stand ready for action, watch him, and wait for the finale. He appeared not in the least disturbed as he moved toward the Indian camp.

But suddenly there was heard a wild, almost unearthly cry.

It was of terror and ferocity commingled, and it was echoed by half a hundred throats, while it brought every brave to his feet.

There was one glance of wild eyes toward the negro, gigantic in form, black as ink, and gliding rather than seeming to walk toward them, and with yells of fright they sprang for their ponies.

There was not a moment of hesitation, and their cries told the story of their stampede and terror, for loud was heard in their own tongue:

“The black spirit! The evil spirit of the Big Horn!”

Leaping upon their ponies, here and there two braves upon the back of one horse, leaving their camp outfits, saddles and all, they started off as fast as they could mount.

They could be seen lashing their ponies furiously, and looking back in terror, and were all soon spread out as they sped up the valley.

Then Black Bill was seen by the amazed and watching scouts to start in a run after them.

This added to their flight and terror, and the blows falling upon the worn-out ponies could be distinctly heard by the wondering scouts.

The scouts could hardly restrain from a cheer, but Buffalo Bill said:

“Remember, boys, we are scouts of silence on this trail.”

Not an Indian was now visible, the last one having turned a bend in the valley that shut them out of sight.

The negro, however, still kept on after them.

Then he, too, turned the bend and disappeared.

Still Buffalo Bill gave no order to move.

For some time they waited, but Black Bill did not reappear.

The Indian camp remained as they had left it.

If there was a badly wounded redskin there he was not visible.

The fires still burned, and several Indian ponies were grazing near, but no human being could be seen.

At last an exclamation came from several of the scouts together.

The guide was returning down the valley, but was yet a mile away.

CHAPTER XXIII.
BLACK BILL’S PRISONER.

As Black Bill came on down the valley, the scouts wished to go out to meet him, to greet him with a cheer.

But this Buffalo Bill would not allow.

“We do not yet know who may have been left in the camp, pards.”

Upon second thought, this was considered the wisest plan, and they kept in their place of concealment and waited.

Down the valley in silence walked the guide, and at last reached the camp. He disappeared behind the little thicket of pines, then reappeared, and, walking to a grazing pony, slung his lariat.

The animal was cleanly caught and led back to the thicket.

Then some minutes passed away, and once more the negro reappeared. He was leading the pony, and upon the animal, supported by several saddles and blankets and tied there with lariats, was an Indian brave.

That he was badly wounded the scouts could see at that distance. The head of the pony was checked up, so that he could not feed, and then he was led to the trail and started up the valley on the trail of the Indian village and the braves who had stampeded.

Until the pony disappeared from sight around the bend the giant negro stood watching him. Then he turned back to the deserted camp and disappeared in the thicket.

Still Buffalo Bill did not allow the scouts to show themselves.

After another long wait, the negro reappeared, and, looking toward the cañon, he beckoned several times. “Now, pards, we’ll go.”

With this, Buffalo Bill led the way, and they walked rapidly toward the Indian camp, Black Bill having returned to the thicket.

When Buffalo Bill and his men reached the camp, they beheld a strange scene.

The redskins had deserted everything. But that was not all, for they had left the badly wounded Indian Black Bill had sent off, and two dead comrades, the latter having evidently just died of their wounds. And they had left still more, for, lying in the pine thicket was a prisoner.

It was a white man. He was securely bound, painfully so, and, as the scouts rode up, they saw Black Bill kneeling by his side and unfastening the thongs that were about his hands and feet, which were much swollen.

A glad cry broke from the lips of Buffalo Bill as he advanced toward the prisoner.

It was Don Miller, a gold hunter the scout knew well.

“Ah, Miller, I am glad indeed to see you, and I have found it hard to believe you dead,” said the chief, “as I heard you were.”

“Only half dead, Cody; but you have saved me.”

“And glad we are to do so.”

“All the rest were killed—I am the last of my band of hunters.”

“Yes, and the man I would have risked much to save, for I have not forgotten what I owe you, Miller. Scouts, this is my friend, a gold-boomer captain, Don Miller.”

The men pressed about him and grasped his swollen hands, which Black Bill had released.

Turning to the negro guide, Buffalo Bill said:

“Well, Bill, you have kept your word and frightened the redskins into fits, so I know now surely that there is virtue in what you have asserted about black spirits being a terror to the Indians of this Big Horn country.”

“Yes, sah, dey runs like de debbil when dey sees a nigger. I done tell dis gemman here so. But, Massa Bill, we must git out of here right quick, for dem Injuns will come right back after dere prisoner in a short time.”

This was decided upon at once, and preparations to start were begun.

“Yer see, sah, we must not disturb de camp ’ceptin’ de gemman and de gold, and as I hab sent off dat wounded Injun he’ll tell ’em about me.

“I didn’t open my mouth to him, was still as death, but jist took him up, put him on a pony, and tied him on all right. Then I started him off. He think I am de black evil speeret of de Big Horn, and when dey come back dey’ll find I has let de prisoner go, and what I hab done wid de gold dey won’t care.”

“Black Bill, you have got a very level head. It is just what we will do. Come, boys! We must carry Mr. Miller and the gold, too.”

“I’ll divide the gold, pards, for saving me as you did,” said Don Miller.

“If you can find a man in my band who would touch a dollar’s worth of it for a service to you I wouldn’t have him with me five minutes after I knew it,” said Buffalo Bill, somewhat hotly, and the men joined heartily in their chief’s opinion.

A quarter of an hour after their arrival in camp the scouts started off, with Buffalo Bill in the lead.

The Indian camp was left just as it was found, with the exception of the gold and the rescued prisoner.

The gold boomer’s horse and the ponies were left grazing near the dead redskins, where they had been placed by their comrades, and there was nothing to reveal that other than the supposed “evil spirit,” a black ghost, had been there.

The superstitious dread of the Indians all knew would allow them to believe that the evil spirit had been angry with them for taking the paleface.

The scouts turned toward the base of the mountains and went along the range.

Mile after mile they held on until a stream was come to, flowing out of a cañon, a march of fully a dozen miles had been made, and in a secure spot Buffalo Bill encamped his men.

Then the swollen limbs of the rescued prisoner were bathed, arnica put on them, and a good meal cooked for all to enjoy, for Buffalo Bill saw that a bend in the range would completely hide the smoke from the Indians up the valley.

It was a good place, too, where the gold could be hidden, for Don Miller proudly said there was not a man in the party but whom he would trust with the secret.

If the people of the valley were found, the retreat would be up the Big Horn to that point, at least, whether they were making for Fort Aspen or Fort Fetterman, and the gold could be taken up and carried along or a special expedition made for it.

So the gold, in bright, glittering particles, from the size of a pinhead to an acorn, and nuggets as large as a hen’s egg, were packed more closely and hidden in a crevice in the cliff overhanging the cañon.

The march was not resumed that day, for Buffalo Bill wished to see whether the Indians did follow, and, if so, that was a splendid place for a stand, if as “black spirits” the scouts could not frighten them off, and had consequently a fight on their hands.

The next morning, as not an Indian had been seen, the party took up the march.

Don Miller expressed himself as feeling much better, and said that he would be all right soon.

On his account it was slow traveling, but Buffalo Bill felt that he owed his life to the gold-boomer captain, and could not do too much for him, and the men had the same feeling toward him for what he had done for their chief.

Thus another day passed, and Buffalo Bill knew that they had got well up toward the Big Horn Mountains, and if the people of the valley lived they could not be so very far from where the camp then was.

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE LOST VALLEY.

Still another day and another went by, and each night brought the scouts farther and farther into a most beautiful country, yet one that thus far had been most fatal to all palefaces venturing there, lured to risk life and untold hardships and suffering in search of the yellow dross that buys men so readily, body and soul.

Buffalo Bill once owed his life to Don Miller when he was a scout, and liked the man; but he had given up scouting, and had gone to lawless gold hunting in the Big Horn, and the report had come that his whole party had been massacred; but Cody was only glad that his friend had escaped.

Noon the next day brought them to a perfect garden spot in the Big Horn Mountains. The springs were as clear as crystal and as cold as ice, the trees grand, and the little valleys most inviting for a camp.

Black Bill boldly asserted that the Indians would never come there, that they believed these mountains the abode of the evil spirits.

Buffalo Bill knew, in spite of Miller’s protestations and nerve, that Don was not yet well, but good food, rest, and bathing in these springs would help him; so he decided to go regularly into camp there.

They need have no dread of Indians there, and they had left no trail to be followed easily.

They would halt there, for the men needed the rest, and he and Black Bill would take short searches to try and find the Lost Valley and its mysterious people.

Several times in the last day the giant negro had halted and regarded his surroundings in a fixed way. He seemed to be trying to recall some feature in the landscape as though he had seen it before.

It had been two months and more since he was there before, if he had passed that way in his wanderings, and then the trees were bright green, in midsummer.

Now they were changing to autumn tints, and, as is well known, this changed the whole aspect of the country.

The springs the negro had not seen, though there were people from the Lost Valley who had been there.

“Black Bill has been near here before, I feel certain, Sergeant Buck, and our plan is to scout about the mountains until we strike some locality familiar to him.”

“Yes, chief, that is just it, sir.”

“We can all have a rest, and Miller is really not well yet.”

“No, sir, and it is not any wonder, when you think them red devils had his hands tied behind him during all their retreat, and his legs so tightly bound that the flesh was cut into.”

“Yes; but he will rally quickly here and soon will be well.

“He is a brave and noble-hearted man, if he did break the law by invading this country as a gold boomer.”

“He is all you say of him, chief, and the boys are very much attached to him, sir.

“Then, too, sir, he’s another strong arm and brave heart, if we get into trouble, which I now believe we will not, as Black Bill seems to be a terror the redskins won’t face,” said Sergeant Buck.

“But will you pick the camp?”

“Yes.”

The spot selected was all that could be wished.

Wikiups were built as a shelter, for the cold nights were coming on, and the men made themselves most comfortable right near a large spring.

Leaves furnished good mattresses to spread blankets upon, the provisions were plentiful, and very little use had been made of the ammunition, save to kill game.

As there was no game near the spring, it was decided to send several scouts on a hunt the next day to get deer, and in the streams the fish were plentiful.

The scouts had realized the virtue of being blacked up in that country, and Don Miller had transferred himself also, in appearance at least, to a negro.

Without a guard, the scouts lay down to sleep, and nothing disturbed their slumbers.

The next morning Corporal Milk took a party hunting up the valley with him, and Buffalo Bill and Black Bill began their real search for the Lost Valley.

The hunters were gone all day, and when they returned to the camp at sunset they carried very heavy loads of game of various kinds.

But the scouts who remained in the camp could give no reply as to what had become of Buffalo Bill and the negro.

They had not put in an appearance, and it was certainly thought that they should have done so.

“Was it any one else than the chief, I would be anxious,” said Sergeant Buck hopefully; but all could see that he was anxious, even though it was the chief.

Buffalo Bill had said that they would be back before night. He had not returned. It had been his intention, they knew, to go out each day with the negro, and in a different direction, to try and come upon some scene Black Bill would recognize.

If he did not do so from that camp, they would move to another, and in that time Don Miller would be as well as any of them, and they would see what discovery could be made.

But here, the very first day of the search, the chief of the scouts and the giant negro did not return. What could it mean?

Buffalo Bill was not the man to get lost anywhere. He could find his way in the darkness right through an unknown country. It was a talent with him—an instinct—and his men never feared for him, save from an ambush from an enemy, or treachery.

There were several of the scouts who still doubted the black guide. They could not feel the faith in him which their chief did. In spite of the seeming honesty of the negro, they doubted him. He was an object of mystery to them—a man to dread.

They could not believe that he had started alone to find aid, to look up Buffalo Bill, and yet could not find his way back to the point whence he had started. It looked strange to them. Now he had gone off alone with the chief of scouts, and they had not returned. This to some looked like treachery.

The scouts awaited supper for some time, and then ate it, as the chief and the negro did not return.

The meal was, however, not enjoyed by any one.

Bedtime came, and yet what could be done? No one could go out at night to look for the missing chief and the negro.

If nothing had happened, then Buffalo Bill would find the way to the camp in a mountain storm.

All knew that the scout did not go without his blanket, a haversack of food, and was prepared to spend the night anywhere he might be overtaken.

A search of the traps of the negro showed that he had gone also prepared for a stay, if necessary.

At last the scouts decided to retire and put the best face on the nonreturn of the chief by saying that they had doubtless gone so far, made some discovery, and to carry out their intention had decided to camp where they were for the night, to be on the spot early in the morning, rather than return to camp.

“We will start on the hunt, pards, if they are not here to breakfast,” said Sergeant Buck.

Dawn came, but the chief and the negro had not returned.

One of those who appeared to be most anxious about the chief was Don Miller. He wanted to go on the search.

“We will all go, and divide in twos, and if we cannot find their trail we will go the way we think they must have gone.

“You take care of the camp, Mr. Miller, and each one of us, as he gives up the search, will come in; only I do not wish any man to give up until he is certain that he cannot find the chief, and must get back here by night.

“Yes, I want every man back here in camp by night.

“You will see where we are located, and no man need get lost.

“Come right back to camp if any discovery is made; and, I tell you, boys, we must find the chief.

“If he has been treacherously dealt with, as I see some of you believe, then we know who did it, and we must find him.

“Now, pards, let us be off!” said Sergeant Buck.

Such was the sergeant’s speech to his comrades, and they all started on their search.

And in the lone camp, Don Miller remained by himself, watching them as they disappeared on different trails, and musing to himself in a very determined way:

“Buffalo Bill must be found, dead or alive; and, if dead, he shall be avenged!”

CHAPTER XXV.
UNSEEN FOES.

When Buffalo Bill and the guide left the camp together, the chief went down the valley leading from the Big Horn Mountains, where the camp had been located, hoping to pass some scene that the negro would recall at sight.

Could he do this, Buffalo Bill felt little doubt but that they could in that way find the Lost Valley, for the scout had perfect faith that the negro was sincere in all that he had said, and that it was not the creation of mind diseased.

Brave as he was, good plainsman, also, it would be readily understood by Buffalo Bill how the negro failed to find a given locality when he had been guided thither by some one else, and had simply left there to endeavor to find his way to a place where he could get word of him, the chief of scouts, who was to be secretly urged to come to the rescue of people in distress.

Why some one else—the guide of the party, for instance—had not been sent on this mission Buffalo Bill had been unable to find out from Black Bill.

Starting out alone with Black Bill, and having arrived, as it were, almost upon the scene to which the negro had wished to bring him, Buffalo Bill thought that, perhaps, he would tell him more than he thus far had done, and to encourage him to do so he had said:

“Well, you think we are near the Lost Valley?”

“Sure, sah; very sartin.”

“What do you tell by?”

“Well, sah, dere is trees, and mountains, and valleys dat looks familiarlike, though I can’t jist place ’em; but I is sartin I has seen ’em before.”

“Did you ever go far from the valley?”

“Not very, sah; but I hunted ’round, maybe ten and a dozen miles away.”

“Suppose you find some spot that you recall thoroughly, will you go right to the valley?”

“Well, Massa Bill, I’ll go as near as I kin, and then let you decide what is ter be done.”

“All right; keep your eyes open, and see if you can find any place you remember to have seen before.”

“Yes, sah; I’m a-lookin’ hard, sah.”

They went on together for some miles, and the valley they were following opened into a larger one.

As they came out into the larger valley, the guide halted suddenly, rubbed his eyes, looked about him, and said earnestly:

“Massa Buf’ler Bill, I knows whar I is.”

“What do you recognize about this valley?”

“If I is right, sah, you see dem cliffs ’way yonder?”

“Yes.”

“Dem is over de cañon where dey used ter git gold.”

The negro started off in a way that told the scout that he was in earnest, that he had certainly got his bearings from some familiar scene before him. He kept up a rapid pace, Buffalo Bill keeping close by his side.

The cliffs loomed up nearer and nearer, and at last the scout and the negro were almost under their shadow.

“You see dat break yonder in de cliffs?”

“Yes.”

“It is a cañon, sah. It runs back from where you see de open place, and dere big springs yonder dat flow down the cañon, and dere whar dey found de gold.”

The negro went forward alone, and began to climb up the steep rocks to the break in the cliff. Watching him, Buffalo Bill saw him peep cautiously over, as though he expected to see an enemy beyond.

A moment he remained thus, and then came a distant report of a rifle that echoed and reëchoed among the cliffs, and Buffalo Bill saw the negro sink down upon his face as though dead.

Buffalo Bill was fairly startled at what he beheld. He had not thought of danger there to himself or to the negro. The shot had come so unexpectedly that, for a moment, he did not know where to look for an enemy.

It appeared to have ended the life of the guide, for he had fallen in a heap and lay motionless, like a dead man.

But the scout was not one to hesitate long when action was needed, or to allow a crime to go unpunished when he could bring the perpetrators to book.

Thoughts went like lightning through his mind. He thought of the people of Lost Valley that the negro had risked so much to rescue. Could they have killed their rescuer?

How far was the Lost Valley from where he then was?

Of course, it must be those from the valley who had fired on the black giant. But who they were he must know, and where they were, as well as why that murderous shot had been sent at a rescuer.

Bounding forward while these thoughts were raging through his brain, the scout reached a large rock at the base of the cliff.

As he did so, a man sprang in view through the break of the cliff, and within a few feet of the form of the negro. He was a large man, heavily bearded, long-haired, and he held a rifle in his hand.

With a wave of his hand to some one unseen, he called out:

“Come, Tom; for I told you I was right. It’s ther giant nigger of the valley.”

Buffalo Bill heard the voice answer afar off, but did not catch what was said; yet he heard the reply of the man in full view of him, for he replied to the other:

“Yes, dead as ther devil. I chipped him atween ther eyes. Come along.”

The scout remained behind the bowlder. He could afford to wait; for he knew that another enemy was near, and would soon be in sight. The one in sight had fired on the negro, knowing who he was, and being anxious to kill him. He had spoken, too, of the valley; so he must know where that was.

His words told Buffalo Bill that Black Bill was dead, and, in the very moment of his success in bringing him to the rescue of people who, if these two were a specimen of them, did not deserve rescue.

“I think I’ve got the best of this,” muttered Buffalo Bill, and, slinging his rifle at his back, he drew a revolver in each hand.

“Ho, Rocks, yer got him,” Buffalo Bill heard, for he dared not look toward the speaker for fear of being seen.

“It’s ther nigger, ain’t it?” asked the man who had fired the shot.

“Sure.”

“How’d he get out?”

“Who knows; fer I thought he’d given up tryin’ long ago.”

“He didn’t, though, if he’s here.”

“No, he didn’t; but there can’t be any more of ’em out.”

“You bet ther ain’t, and they won’t be no more; so we’ve got it our way, sure.”

“We has, ef our two pards come back all right.”

“They’ll git here, fer gold will fetch ’em, you bet.”

“Then we’ll be rich for our nat’ral lives.”

“We will; and hev something ter leave after death.

“We played to win, and we got ther game; only I don’t like this nigger gettin’ out.”

“Me nuther.”

“More might be gettin’ out now.”

“Not ef they’re comin’ ther way he did; fer thar ain’t many men kin do it that I’m acquainted with.”

“Nor me; but I wish our two pards would git back with the horses, for it’s after time some weeks, and provisions is running low.”

“Yes, and gold won’t buy food in this country.”

“No; all we has got won’t git us a meal if we was starving.”

“That’s so; but suppose we keep a eye on ther valley, for if we see more of ’em gittin’ out, it means death ter us, if we don’t fust kill them.”

“It does; but we’ll do ther killin’, as has just been done in this case of ther nigger; but let’s drag him down inter ther soft ground, go through his pockets, and see what he’s wuth to us outside of the killin’, and then he kin be left for coyotes ter chaw on, fer it’s too much like work ter plant him.”

With this, the two men took hold of the negro, and their oaths revealed to Buffalo Bill that they were dragging him along down the steep hillside, and found it no easy task.

Nearer and nearer they came, and the scout moved to the side of the rock nearest to which they must pass.

A moment more and they came within ten feet of him, and would have come full upon him, when suddenly they were confronted by a tall form, and heard the words:

“Hands up, both of you!”

CHAPTER XXVI.
FACE TO FACE WITH ENEMIES.

The sudden appearance of the chief of the black scouts before them, appearing like an apparition to the two men, who had no thought of danger near, caused them to cry out in mingled terror and utter surprise.

The form of the negro, which they were half bearing, half dragging along, was dropped with a suddenness that was by no mean showing a proper respect for the dead.

The two men stood for an instant like statues, and before them towered the tall, athletic form of Buffalo Bill. He held a revolver in each hand, and was ten feet from them.

“Hands up, I said!”

The men had not heeded the first command, perhaps from utter helplessness, in their amazement. Now they did heed, and quickly.

Buffalo Bill stepped forward toward the one nearest him, unbuckled his belt, thus disarming him of his knife and revolvers, and then drew the strap of his rifle over his head.

“Now, your turn, sir!”

The man did not move.

“Step here, quick, or I’ll reach you with a bullet!”

The scout saw that the men had discovered that they were two to one, and were plotting resistance. But the hint of reaching for him with a bullet brought the man quickly to within the length of the scout’s arm. He, too, was disarmed of his belt and weapons and his rifle.

“Now, I wish to tie you, and if I see the first show of funny business, you will hand in your chips.”

The men made no resistance, but they were glancing toward each other furtively, and certainly were plotting to escape.

“Lie flat on your faces, both of you, and put your hands behind your backs!” came the order.

“I’ll tie ’em, Massa Buf’ler Bill.”

The words fairly startled the scout, with all his iron nerve. It was as though a dead man was speaking to him.

The two men uttered a yell of fright, and, for a moment, seemed about to risk bullets in the face of superstitious fear.

Had it been nighttime, the added dread that darkness brings to the superstitious would have sent them away on the jump.

“Why, Black Bill, I thought that you were dead, and, thank Heaven, it is not so!” said Buffalo Bill earnestly.

“No, massa; it was a close call, for dat bullet done cut my head, and I guess will kill me yet.

“I is awful dizzy in my head like, but I kin tie dese gemmens, all right.”

With this, the negro passed his hand across his head, took his lariat from over his shoulder, and began to tie the two men, Buffalo Bill keeping them covered with his revolver, and aiding in binding them securely.

“The one lariat will do for them both, and keep them tied together—there, now we have them; but you cannot stand up?”

“It don’t seem as though I could, sir,” said the black, who kept sitting on the ground.

“I’ll see to your wound right off.”

With this, the scout placed the weapons on the ground, wheeled the prisoners face to face, and bound them thus with his own lariat.

“Now, Black Bill,” and he began to examine the wound.

It was in the center of the forehead; but, having been fired upward, the bullet had glanced on the frontal bone, cut along under the scalp for several inches, and then made its way out, leaving a long gash, not serious, though the shock of the blow had felled the black and rendered him unconscious for some minutes.

Bathing the wound with water from his canteen, and binding it up with a bandage moistened with arnica, the scout said:

“You are all right now, and the dizzy feeling will soon wear off.”

“It don’ hurt, sah; but it do feel like a mule hed kicked me.”

“Rest is what you want, and we’ll go to the camp of these two men, for it cannot be far away.”

The men had stood watching the every movement of the scout, and talking in whispers to each other.

“We ain’t got no camp,” said one.

“See here, men, you sought to kill this negro pard of mine, and that he escaped death is a marvel. I heard all that you said, and I know that you have a camp here, for you came from the camp of those who settled in this basin.”

“That’s so, Massa Bill, fer I knows ’em both, one being named Tom Vail and t’other they calls Rocks. Dey had two pards, and we all thought dey got kilt de day of de ’arthquake. I knows ’em, sah; but why dey want ter kill me I doesn’t know, fer I never did ’em no harm, and den I thought dey was dead, and felt sorry for ’em, but dere must be two more of ’em, sah, so look out, Massa Bill.”

“Yes, there are two more of them, though they are not here just now, but are due. I know a little about these fellows myself, for they gave themselves away when they thought they had killed you. Come, lead the way to your camp, or I’ll find a way to make you, and which you will not like.”

The scout had unwound his lariat, so that they could walk side by side, and the two men saw that there was no nonsense to be put up with on their part, so one said:

“We has a leetle camp down the valley, if yer wants ter go there.”

“Lead the way. Black Bill, I’ll help you,” and, supporting the negro with his arm, Buffalo Bill followed on behind the two men, as they shuffled along down the valley, the weapons of each man being hung about their necks so that they would have to carry them.

The two prisoners walked slowly, partly because their legs were tied so as to prevent rapid traveling, and also because they did not wish to go. They were livid with rage and fear, with hate and anxiety, for they did not know what would be their fate, while they saw their hopes dashed to earth in a second of time.

Down the valley they went for a mile, perhaps, the walk seeming to benefit the negro, and, at last, they turned into a small cañon in which grew a grove of pines, and at the head of which was a spring.

“De cañon whar de people hunt fer gold not far from here, Massa Bill,” said the negro, and then he added:

“I jist guesses dat’s what dese men is here for, while t’others is in ther Lost Valley, for something had been de matter, sartin.”

The camp now came into view, a stoutly built log cabin, with door and shutters of hewn timber, and a shed along the front.

It was near the spring, was sheltered by the overhanging cliffs and the pines, and, winter or summer, was a safe and comfortable retreat.

“De people built de cabin, Massa Bill; put it up fer dere provisions, which dey kept here, ter keep from going back to de valley, sah, every night, and dey only all went on Sundays.”

“So you did find your camp, eh?” said Buffalo Bill to the two men, and he made them fast to a tree, back to back.

Then he spread the negro’s blanket for him upon the pine straw, and said:

“Now, you lie down there, while I reconnoiter this camp, which is a very snug affair, I see.”

The two prisoners muttered oaths, the black lay down at full length, and Buffalo Bill threw open the door of the cabin and the shutters, which gave light within.

It was a large cabin, and there were a number of bunks in it along the rear wall.

There were shelves, too, with provisions, and a table, cooking utensils, weapons, and picks, shovels, axes, and hatchets.

A haunch of venison hung under the shed outside, with bacon, hams, and dried fish, showing that the men were still well supplied with provisions.

In a plot of ground back of the cabin there were potatoes, cabbages, and turnips growing, and places to store them away for the winter.

“You fellows have had the best, I see, and I am going to know about you before I am done with you,” said Buffalo Bill.

Then he added that he would cook dinner for all hands, and draw on the cabin’s larder for his supplies.

A fire was smoldering outside of the cabin, and this was replenished, and soon a dinner of roast potatoes, bacon, venison, hoecake, and coffee was prepared.

Black Bill was asleep; but woke at the scout’s call, saying that he felt much better, save for a headache.

“It is well it is no worse. Now, see what a good dinner we have; or, I may say, supper, for it is getting late. I guess we’ll camp here to-night and return to our camp to-morrow; or I will go and bring the boys here, for you must keep quiet for a few days.”

“What is you doing here in the Big Horn country, anyhow?” said Rocks, as Buffalo Bill untied the hands of the prisoners for them to eat their dinner.

“That is just what I came here to ask you, and, as a government officer, I have the call.”

“The nigger calls you Buffalo Bill.”

“Yes.”

“Is you him?”

“Yes.”

“I has heerd of yer,” said Rocks, watching the scout with interest.

“So has I,” Tom Vail added.

“You may hear of me before I leave this country of the Big Horn.”

“Did ther nigger bring you here?”

“About that.”

“What for?”

Buffalo Bill was willing to be questioned. He might find out what Black Bill had so far not made known to him. So he answered:

“You know this country belongs to the Indians, and the government wishes to protect them in it, and will not send troops here, unless compelled to do so to punish murdering redskins.

“You men, and others like you, are aware that the Big Horn is rich with gold finds, care nothing for the government’s pledges to the Indians, and invade the mountains and valleys as gold boomers.

“This keeps the Indians restless, revengeful, and hostile, causing them to kill bands of whites where found, raid settlements away from their lands, and thus force the military to punish them severely for what you gold boomers have driven them to do.

“You are, therefore, lawbreakers, and become murderers, for you kill the Indians, and they in turn kill the gold boomers and many innocent whites as well.

“Now, I know that there is a settlement here, and, though they may have done no harm to the Indians, they are still lawbreakers, and must leave the country.”

“You’ll have a lively time getting ther people of ther Lost Valley out of this country, Buffalo Bill.”

“It may be; but they must go,” was the determined rejoinder of the chief of scouts.

CHAPTER XXVII.
A DISCOVERY.

Buffalo Bill would have liked to have returned to his own camp that night, but he saw that Black Bill was still somewhat dazed by the wound in his head, and he did not just know how it would turn out.

The scout had known similar wounds prove fatal when least expected, and if the negro was left to guard the two prisoners he might lapse into unconsciousness, and there be a possibility of the men getting free.

Then, too, he knew what had been said by the two men of the pards they were expecting.

They were overdue and might never come; and again, if they did happen to come that very night it would mean sure death to Black Bill, should he be left there alone.

So the scout decided to remain, and, after the meal was over, he secured the prisoners, left the negro in charge, and started out on a search. He was not long in finding a trail leading into a wild cañon, through which flowed a stream, like a river in wet weather, but at other times dry.

Going down this, the scout saw that he had struck the gold beds of the people of the Lost Valley.

It was a case of placer mining, the wash from the mountains of the particles of gold, and yet the pick and shovel had been brought into use also in the bed of the cañon.

“They have gotten considerable gold out of here, that is certain, and these men have been steadily at work, I see; but where are the people of the Lost Valley, for only these two murderous scamps seem to be anywhere about.”

So musing, Buffalo Bill went on through the cañon, came out into a large valley, and, climbing to the top of a lofty cliff, looked about, glass in hand.

It was nearly sunset; and the rays of light were cast far down the valley, and the eyes of the scout fell upon moving objects there.

At once he turned his glass upon them.

“They are horsemen!” he cried, “and they are coming this way.”

A moment after he continued:

“There are two of them, but they are leading five horses. By Jove! I believe they are the pards of these two murderers, just returning. How lucky I did not return to my camp!

“Yes, they must be their two comrades; and, if these men are murderers, they can be no better that are coming.

“They are all of half a dozen miles away, and it will be an hour and a half before they can reach the cabin, and darkness will be in soon. I’ll go and prepare for them.”

The scout took another long look at the far-distant horsemen, then descended from the cliff, walked rapidly back through the gold cañon, and reached the cabin just as dusk fell.

“Men, I am sorry to have to gag you and make you more secure, but I am determined to be upon the safe side. Are you well enough, Bill, to help me?”

“Oh, yes, sah.”

“Then get two sticks, put a piece of blanket over the head of each, and have it so you can tie it back of their heads.

“I will tie these men in their bunks, when they have been gagged and they will give us no trouble or anxiety.”

“It will kill us,” shouted Rocks.

“Oh, no; you don’t die so easily.”

The two men, bound as they were, sought to resist, but they soon found that they were as children in the hands of the scout, and they were placed in their bunks, made fast there, and the gags put in their mouths so that they could utter no sound.

To test this the scout gave each one a severe pinch, to make them cry out, but a low groan was all that they could utter.

“You see, I discovered some visitors coming, and who I am sure are the pards of these two men coming for them; so we wish no outcries of alarm, for I shall capture them also.”

The two men could hear, if they could not talk, and they writhed and moaned at what they heard.

“You, Black Bill, hide in the pines, rifle in hand, and be ready to drop those men if they attempt to run away.”

“Yes, sah, I’ll do it.”

“Hide a short distance off in the pines. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sah.”

“All right. I’ll wait in the cabin to welcome them.”

The negro shouldered his rifle and walked to a place of hiding, with the scout by his side.

Then Buffalo Bill returned to the cabin and closed the door, to wait the arrival of the visitors.

That the chief of scouts had made no mistake in his surmise as to who the two horsemen were was proven by the sound of hoofs coming up the cañon.

The guide saw by the moonlight two men, with five led horses, two carrying packs, pass by him. He heard one say:

“I’ll be sartin afore I make a break, for we don’t know what has happened in ther three months we has been away.”

“All right; I’ll wait here,” was the answer.

The first speaker then rode on alone to the cabin and called out:

“Ho, pards, kin yer give a couple of friends lodgin’ fer ther night?”

The two prisoners writhed in agony of spirit, but Buffalo Bill, imitating the voice of Rocks, and having learned the names of the two men, called out:

“Hooray! Is that you, Jim Sims and Alex Sands?”

“It are. Any one with you?”

“Yes; two pards is here. Wait until I open the door, and you bet we is glad ter see yer, fer Tom is laid up jist now and feelin’ mighty bad.”

“Hoop-la! Come on, Alex!” cried Jim Sims in a joyful tone.

“They are here, and all’s O.K., with the goose hanging high.”

The tone was exultant, and Jim Sims leaped from his horse, stepped to the door, and was suddenly seized by the throat with a grip of iron, hurled to the dirt floor and heard the words:

“Utter a sound of warning to your pard and you are a dead man!”

The man was silent with fright, and, in an instant, the lariat of Buffalo Bill had been passed round and round his arms, pinioning them to his body, while his weapons had been removed.

“Come in, Alex, and see poor Tom,” said Buffalo Bill, and the other man, having dismounted, stepped into the cabin, to be felled his full length by a stunning blow dealt him by Buffalo Bill full in the face.

“Ho, Black Bill!” called out the scout, and the negro sprang into the cabin at the call, having followed the last man closely.

The latter found himself bound before he recovered from the scout’s stunning blow full in the face, but he gasped:

“Who is yer, cuss yer?”

“A government officer on the track of gold boomers, four of whom we have just roped in, for there lie your pards Tom and Rocks, in as bad way as you are.”

“Is this one all secure?”

“You bet he is, Massa Buf’ler Bill.”

“Buffalo Bill! That means we hang, Jim!” cried Alex Sands, in bitter tones.

“So you are Buffalo Bill, is yer?” asked Jim Sims.

“Yes; anything else I can do for you?” The scout naturally felt elated over his successful capture without firing a shot or having taken a life.

“No, cuss yer, yer hev done too much.”

“We’ll take the gags out of the fellows’ mouths now, as we have these two secure,” and, going over to the bunks, the two gags were removed, water was handed the men, and the four were at liberty to talk together, as soon as all four were secured in bunks for the night.

Then Buffalo Bill and the negro went to care for the horses, and a good grass plot was found down the cañon, where the animals were staked out.

The two packsaddles were well filled with supplies, and two of the other horses had bridles and saddles on them for the use of the men who were to ride them back to civilization when the gold boomers returned with their riches.

From the conversation of the four, Buffalo Bill soon gleamed that the two had had a hard time of it going through on foot, but had reached Helena at last, and, after a long rest, had bought horses and supplies, and, watching their chance, had started back again for the Big Horn Basin for their pards, and cheered by the riches they would become possessors of and going to bring back with them to civilization.

The firelight showed Buffalo Bill that the two men had hard faces, about on a par with his first two prisoners, and he knew that it would not do to leave them alone, bound as they were, with Black Bill, until the negro felt wholly himself again, and so he said:

“Now, we will turn in, Black Bill, and get a good night’s rest, and to-morrow I’ll go after the boys and bring them over here, for this seems to be about the end of our trail.”

CHAPTER XXVIII.
A LIVING TOMB.

When morning dawned, the scout and the giant black were on their feet.

The latter said that he was all right, only his head was sore and felt twice as heavy as usual.

The prisoners were taken out of the bunks in the cabin and tied to trees near the outside fire, where breakfast was put on by the negro, while the scout went to lead the horses to water and to change them to a fresh grazing ground.

This was accomplished by the time the guide had breakfast done, and, as the chief came up, he found the prisoners talking earnestly with the black, who called out:

“Massa Bill, what you think dese bad gemmens want me to do just now?”

“Kill me, I suppose, and set them free.”

“Lordy, Massa Bill, you read minds same as you does a book.”

“It does not require much mind-reading to know that they offered you big money to turn against me.”

“That’s just what they did do, sah; offer to give me half de gold dey have got ter set ’em free and let ’em kill you.”

“They didn’t know you, Black Bill. But I don’t blame them, for killing is their trade, and they naturally wish to go free. Come, men, and we’ll have breakfast,” said the scout, with no show of resentment toward his prisoners.

The meal over with, Buffalo Bill decided to start at once for the scout’s camp, leaving Black Bill to guard the four prisoners, who were greatly cast down at their failure to bribe the negro to allow them to go free, and which they could only do by putting the chief out of the way.

They had, indeed, offered him half the gold that they had, and said he could accompany them on their way.

That the guide would prove false to him Buffalo Bill did not for a moment believe, and he called him aside and said:

“Last night I would not leave you alone, with those fellows, black pard, for I was not just sure how that head of yours would pan out after that wound, and feared they might best you. But now you are all right, and I will go to our camp after the boys.

“You keep your eyes upon these men, for they are as tricky as snakes, and bound as they are, they are four, you one, and they may find some way of getting the best of you should you be off your guard for a moment.”

So saying, he shouldered his rifle, and started off for the scout’s camp. He had not gone very far before he saw two men approaching. At a glance he recognized Sergeant Buck and a soldier.

They saw him about the same time, and gave a shout of joy.

“We are after you, chief, for, as you did not put in an appearance last night we got anxious about you.”

“Where’s the black giant?” called out Sergeant Buck.

“Safe, but by a miracle only, for he got a wound that was a very close call.”

“Fell on the rocks, sir, I suppose?”

“No, he was shot.”

Then Buffalo Bill told of the discovery so far made, and the capture of the gold boomers, and learning that the scouts were scattered in search of him, he said:

“You return, sergeant, and bring the outfit here, for I will have some one down the valley to meet you. If the boys do not come in until night, come to-morrow, and Ben will go with me now, and see if we cannot make further discoveries.”

Sergeant Buck at once set off on the return trail, and Buffalo Bill and Ben went back down the valley.

As the break in the cliff was reached Buffalo Bill led the way up the steep hillside, and the two continued on through the narrow pass.

Buffalo Bill had an idea that he would make some discovery by going through that pass that severed the range.

As they drew near the farther end, they could see through the opening that a large valley lay far below them, a thousand or more feet.

The pass had narrowed to less than a hundred feet, and arose in solid walls of rock far above them.

When within a short distance of the end, Buffalo Bill halted suddenly and cried:

“See there, Ben!”

“This end of the pass has been blasted out with powder.”

“That is just what it was, Ben, and—we have found it—see? The Lost Valley lies before us!”

The chief of scouts, since his meeting with the black giant, almost used up by starvation and wounds, had had his mind set on the penned-up settlers in the Lost Valley. He had given his pledge to the negro to answer the call upon him for aid, to go with him on what to other men would have seemed an aimless trail. He had pushed on against all dangers, all obstacles, and his intention was to triumph.

There before him was the Lost Valley.

It was no wonder that a triumphant smile hovered about the mouth of Buffalo Bill and his dark eyes glowed with joy. He had come to the end of the long and perilous trail.

Where they stood, beneath their feet, and all around them, the rocks were blackened with powder. There had been a heavy blast there, as they could see. And that blast of powder had shattered the cliff, and hurled a small mountain of rock down into the valley far below.

It had broken off the edge of the cliff right at the end of the pass most abruptly.

Right beneath their feet the cliff broke off and went downward almost like an artificial wall for a thousand feet or more.

The two scouts advanced to the edge and their eyes became riveted in wonder at what they beheld.

Below them was a valley, or, rather, a basin, for it was surrounded on every side by towering cliffs. No break could be seen anywhere, no cañon pushing into the surrounding wall of rock.

It was not a valley surrounded by mountain ranges, but a valley completely encircled by cliffs rising one thousand feet.

But that was not all, for right in its center was a large lake, with wooded shores.

Around the lake, in the timber, were scattered a score of cabins. A herd of cattle, horses, and mules were there, too. A group of wagons were in one place. Men, women, and children were also visible.

The crowing of a rooster was heard down in the valley, and a flock of sheep was feeding right beneath the cliff on which the scouts were standing.

For a long time Buffalo Bill gazed through his field glass at the strange sight, and then without a word handed it to Scout Ben.

He, too, looked long and attentively, and when he removed the glasses from his eyes Buffalo Bill said:

“How to get down there is the question.”

“There must be some way, sah.”

“I can discover no break anywhere in the walls. We must start those people out pretty soon, for it will be slow traveling with a wagon train, and we must not be caught on the way. Come, we will go after Black Bill.”

CHAPTER XXIX.
THE RESCUE.

Black Bill, revolver in hand, lay on the pine straw, guarding his prisoners, who were tied to trees in front of him.

Neither the negro nor his prisoners heard the scout approaching, but the latter heard Rocks saying:

“See here, nigger, don’t you be fool enough to think all four of us is goin’ ter hang, and that one of us won’t git away, and that we will kill you sure as the sun shines if you don’t let us go.

“That fool, Buffalo Bill, has gone off trustin’ you, and our horses ain’t far away, so we can all pack some provisions on, load up with gold, and be far away afore he comes back.

“As you say you are all on foot, ther scouts kin never catch us, and you’ll git gold enough to last you all your days as a rich man.”

“I’d ruther be a poor honest man than a rich one what had betrayed the gemman I owes my life to more than one time.

“You gemmen is as bad as you kin be, and I’m onter your whole game now, though them in the valley don’t know it.

“When dey does, your necks won’t be worth nothin’, I is a-thinkin’, gemmens.”

“Good for you, black pard.”

The negro sprang to his feet, and was face to face with Buffalo Bill and Ben. The four prisoners scowled and muttered curses.

“Well, Black Bill, we have found your valley.”

“Done found it, Massa Bill?”

“Yes, we went through the break in the cliff where you so nearly lost your life yesterday.

“I have sent to our camp after the boys; but it must have been a very hard and dangerous task, from what I have seen of the descent, to get that train down into that sunken valley, a very Devil’s Den I would call it.”

“De pass led through and down de side of de cliff, sah. It were mighty dangerous fer wagons, sah, but all right for de people ter walk.

“Saturday nights dey all went down in de valley ober Sunday.

“One Saturday, Massa Bill, all went but four men—here dey is, right here now.

“Dey had been working on de cliff road, blastin’ it out wid powder, for we brought our wagons along, with plenty of powder, sah.

“Just at sunset dere came what we all thought was a ’arthquake or volcano, and de whole front of de cliff fell into de valley. Dere was rocks and fire and smoke go way up inter de air, and three people in de valley was kilt dead.

“When dey all got deir senses de next day, Sunday, dey came to de conclusion dat de four men, dese very gemmens here, hab let de powder git on fire and blew up de cliff and dem, too.

“But I now know dat dese gemmens blowed up dat cliff on purposse, sah, dat dey might git all de gold what was found in de cañon and keep it. But, Massa Bill, dem poor people in de valley was same as in jail, for dey couldn’t git out.”

“These four men did prepare that powder mine to blow off the edge of that cliff and keep those people in the valley, which you call lost, and they were a lost people as well.”

Standing on the very edge of the precipice, Buffalo Bill began to watch the cliffsides with his glass.

“Try and make them see you, Bill,” said the scout.

The negro fired his rifle, and gave a loud halloo.

Many faces were upturned at once, women and children were seen running here and there, and a wild cheer arose as the negro was recognized.

The scene was a startling one, for the people in the valley were wild with joy.

Writing with a pencil upon several pages of his notebook, Buffalo Bill put them in his handkerchief, wrapped it around a large stone, and tossed it down into the valley. There was a wild rush for it at once.

“I told them that we were here, planning to get them out of their valley.

“That I had noticed that the winding trail along the face of the cliff had been blocked up where the rocks had fallen below, and also that it would readily be reached by lariats from here, and we would find a way to rescue them.”

“You’ll do it, Massa Bill, and I kin see now, sah, dat a few lariats tied together will reach de old trail yonder.”

“We can blast the rocks out that fell and choked up the trail, and we can bring that whole outfit out of that valley, though it may take us a week, perhaps longer, to do so.

“I will write them what to do.”

Another note was written and thrown down as before.

Captain John Hill himself picked it up, and his voice reached those on the cliff:

“God bless you, Buffalo Bill.”

“If you will spare us some powder, we can blast this end clear.”

“There is another pass farther along, which you can blast out down to the trail.”

“Good!”

“We will begin work to-morrow, for all my men will be here then,” was shouted back in the clear tones of Buffalo Bill, and a great cheer told him he had been heard, and hope filled every heart.

Within one week the scouts slept in the valley, and the next morning all hands went to work repairing wagons, harness, and shoeing the horses and mules, while preparations were made by the women for leaving the place, which had so long been to them a living tomb.

Just two weeks after the arrival of the scouts, the march was begun.

One wagon at a time was taken up the ledge trail; the women and children followed, then the extra horses, and next the cattle, sheep, and all that could be carried along.

CHAPTER XXX.
OUT OF DEVIL’S DEN.

The march from the Devil’s Den, as Buffalo Bill called the sunken valley, was a long one and slow, with wagons, stock and all on the move, for chasms had to be bridged. Ten miles a day was a fair rate of travel at first.

Buffalo Bill led the way by the spot where Don Miller’s gold had been buried, and this was recovered.

In fairly good time Fort Aspen was reached.

When nearing the fort, Buffalo Bill appointed Don Miller as guide to the wagon train, and, with his black scouts, he started on a secret expedition.

The chief of scouts had a certain object in view, and he wished each one of his men to share the honor with him, if the expedition proved to be the success he hoped it would.

Of course, Black Bill also went along, for he had become the very shadow of Buffalo Bill, and was the hero of the whole band of black scouts.

The object of Buffalo Bill was to capture Ginger Sam, whom he felt sure he would find at his cabin in winter quarters.

At night the cabin was reached and quietly surrounded, and at daylight, when the cabin door was opened by Ginger Sam, he looked squarely into the muzzle of Buffalo Bill’s revolver.

Up went his hands and he said:

“Waal, you wins ther game.”

“I will, when I play my last card, Ginger Sam.”

“What are that?”

“A rope,” was the significant reply.

“You don’t intend ter hang me?”

“Yes, with four more of your kind I found in the Big Horn and whom Major Armes will make short work of, as he will you, and that will about clear this country of such cattle as you. I knew you were bad as they make ’em, but I have a friend who knows you to be a renegade and the secret instigator of half the Indian deviltry done here. I refer to Don Miller, whom the Indians captured, and understanding Sioux well, he asked about you, as he thought you might get them not to kill him, for once he had saved your life. But get your traps ready, for after breakfast we start for the fort.”

The next afternoon Buffalo Bill, his black scouts, and his prisoner reached Fort Aspen, and the welcome the garrison gave them, and also the rescued settlers, for they had arrived the day before, was enough to repay the men all the hardships they had endured.

“Another one to hang, Cody?”

“Well, he’s a little late, for the other four were hanged this morning; but it is never too late to do a good act, and there has been a price on that man’s head for a long time.

“Yes, the four wretches who proved such traitors to the settlers, I had tried at once, and they were quickly sentenced, and to-morrow this man’s life shall end, for white outlaws must expect no mercy here.

“But, Cody, let me thank you for your splendid services in behalf of Fort Aspen and its garrison, and believe me, a full report of what you have done shall go to headquarters without delay.”

CHAPTER XXXI.
ANOTHER STRANGE STORY.

About a week later, Cody returned to Fort Advance one night from a lone expedition, just as all the garrison were looking upon him as dead, believing that he had at last met the doom so many had predicted he would, and wondering why he had not long before done so.

“Corporal of the guard! Cody is returning,” repeated the sentinel, as he recognized a horseman coming at a lope over the plain.

And such a cheer as went up at the words of the sentinel was seldom heard, for that Buffalo Bill had discounted all predictions and again proved his title to “bearing a charmed life,” was a joy to one and all in the fort.

He looked worn and haggard, and his horse was gaunt and weary, as they passed in through the stockade; but the greeting was a grand one.

Even Colonel Carr had begun to regard the scout as dead, for many anxious days had passed since he had left the post on his recent mission.

Straight to headquarters he rode, dismounted, turned his horse loose to go to the stable, and was met by Colonel Carr on the piazza, so glad was that officer to welcome the great scout back again.

“Come in, Cody, and I feel as though I was welcoming you back almost from the grave.”

“Not so bad as that, colonel, though I have been on a long trail, and a strange one, sir.”

“I do not doubt it—you show it in your face, and I was sorry that I allowed you to go on the search.”

“And I am glad that I went, sir, for I found the secret valley, and I discovered enough to know that the inhabitants need looking after. But I have a new plan to submit to you, sir. I’ve found a mystery that must be uncovered.”

“Well, tell me about your trip.”

“I went on the trail, after leaving Fort Aspen, which a Mexican who died there told me to take, and it led me into a country seldom traveled, down in the land of an old deserted fort, Rosal.

“I struck the Rosal range and found there a large lake in a most beautiful valley, situated by itself, for all approaches to it are desert lands, beyond which no one would suspect to find a garden spot of beauty.”

“Yes, I have heard only indirectly of such a country there, but not that it was settled.”

“Well, it is settled, as you shall hear:

“The valley is beautiful, fertile, the surroundings well timbered, grass abundant, and there is a large, deep lake of clear and icy water.

“I was surprised, I can tell you, sir, when I saw it, and yet my suspicions were only beginning with the first view from the range summit.

“But first, sir, two days ago I ran upon an adventure and a strange one.

“As I began to enter the unknown and beautiful lake land, I came unexpectedly upon what had been once the home, doubtless, of some old Spanish or Mexican don; but it was in ruins, almost, and seemed to have been long deserted.

“Halting to gaze at it, I was startled to hear voices, the first I had heard for days, and in English.

“There was a shot, a cry in a woman’s voice, oaths in Mexican, and I knew that some one was in trouble, so I rode to the rescue.

“It didn’t last long, for I saw a man in Mexican uniform lying on the ground, a young girl near him, their horses close by, and they had been held up by several outlaws.

“One I dropped, the others skipped, and I found I had rescued a Mexican officer and the young girl, who, while on a ride had been attacked by road agents, who had not expected help near.

“A glancing shot on the head had stunned the officer, knocking him from his saddle.

“As the men dashed off and escaped me, for I didn’t press them close, I admit, there being more than I wanted, one called out: ‘I’ll remember you for this, Buffalo Bill.’”

“This showed that he knew you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But go on with your strange story.”

“In a few words, sir, the officer had revived, and from the young girl I learned that she lived some distance away, and the outlaws had sought to force from her some secret, what I did not know, and, as I felt that the villains believed I had help near, and finding out that I had not would return, I urged a quick movement to a place of safety.

“The girl and the officer quickly mounted, the latter still half dazed from his wound, and I told them I would remain behind to check pursuit and then follow upon their trail.

“I did remain for a while, then left, but I stuck to the trail I had been traveling, thinking that they might think there was a crowd if I followed the girl and the officer.

“As I rode along I suddenly spied a glittering object on the ground, and picking it up I was surprised to find that it was a bracelet studded with gems. I will show it to you later, for I have it.

“Feeling sure that the lady had dropped it, I retraced my steps and picked up their trail, only to lose it, and I am certain that they covered up their tracks to throw me off the track.

“Search as I might, I could not pick up the trail of the officer and the girl, so I gave it up at last and went on to the valley, to halt at a fine ranch I came upon and there ask hospitality.

“But to tell you first of this strange valley and its people.

“The settlement numbers a thousand people, is an adobe village, and the dwellers there are Mexicans, with a mixture of Americans and Indians.

“From Silver Lake’s settlement the ranches branch out in the valley, and there are some fine haciendas among them, the rancheros being rich in cattle and horses, and a mixture of Americans and Mexicans of the better class.”

“You surprise me, Cody, and interest me greatly,” said Colonel Carr.

“I was greatly surprised and interested myself, sir, during the two days and nights I was in the valley.

“All seems peaceful there, too, and yet upon that valley rests a cruel curse, for it is under a ban of outlawry that is most mysterious, and the more terrible because the actors are unseen, unknown, and therefore secret foes.

“Upon this strange community hangs my mission of duty that I ask to go upon.”

“Well?”

“I was struck with the beauty of the valley, the apparent wealth of the rancheros, and where I stopped was the home of an American, who was half Mexican, for he had had a Texan for his father, who had married a lady of Mexico. He received me with the greatest hospitality, and we became so friendly that he told me that night, as we sat together, of the ban upon the fair valley.

“I questioned him closely, for I wished to know all that I could discover, and he made known, though with considerable dread at doing so, that the curse upon the community was from the deeds of a secret foe or rather foes. Who that foe was no one could tell, and yet he was most in evidence at every ranch in the valley, upon which he levied tribute or blood money, I may say, and got it.”

“But how did he do this?”

“By a placard stuck on the gate of a ranch house, or hacienda, demanding a certain sum to be placed in a designated spot on a day or night named, under the penalty, if refused, of a death in the family.”

“This must be looked to, Cody.”

“That is just what I am after, colonel.”

“But why do not the rancheros have the nerve to put this unseen robber to the test?”

“They have, sir, and to their bitter cost.”

“He has carried out his threats, then?”

“He has, sir, promptly and without mercy, and that is why they no longer refuse the demands upon them.”

“I can hardly wonder at it, when an unseen foe strikes at those they love.”

“He does more, sir, for he has taken from each home a hostage, keeping them comfortably, as they are allowed to write home, but holding them against refusal of his demands, and threatens to thus keep them until he gains the purpose for which he is striving, a certain amount of money, I take it, sir.”

“There is no doubt of it, and it is a novel way of gaining his ends; but still I believe he can be checkmated.”

“I feel confident of it, sir, and for that reason I wish your permission to go to that valley and solve that mystery, hunt down that unseen and unknown foe.

“You know that Scout Texas Jack brought with him a dozen Texans as scouts, and they are all saddle sharps, superb lassoists, dead shots, speak Spanish more or less fluently, and are utterly fearless.”

“They are all that you say, Cody.”

“Now, colonel, I wish to take Texas Jack and his Texans and go to that valley and take possession of a deserted hacienda I saw there and turn ranchero, buying cattle and horses, and establishing myself there for the one purpose of discovering the daring leader who thus threatens, robs, and persecutes these people, and I am sure, sir, that I can unearth a mystery that will fully compensate for our time.”

“Cody, you can go, and take the men you ask for. You have been there, understand the situation, and know what you are doing, so I leave all to you.”

“Now, colonel, as the owner of this bracelet dodged me, beyond all doubt, I have it to return to her and will do so. Here it is, sir.”

“Why, it is worth a small fortune, Cody,” said the colonel, gazing earnestly at the handsome bracelet.

CHAPTER XXXII.
UNDER A CURSE.

Buffalo Bill went on to tell how hard he had tried to find the owner of the bracelet, and what he considered proof that she and the wounded Mexican officer had covered up their tracks.

“I gave that deserted ranch a close call, sir,” resumed the scout, “for I was interested in it, and it was really a grand old ruin, avoided, as I found out later, by all, and feared, for it is known as the Haunted Hacienda, and the believers in ghosts all are sure that it is the haunt of evil spirits.

“I took it all in and made up my mind that it would be valuable for me to haunt when I returned to the valley with the force I was going to ask you to let me have, and which you have kindly given me.

“I rode on up the valley to the settlement of Silver Lake City without meeting a soul.

“That city, as they call it, is beautifully situated, and is composed of adobe houses, the people seeming to have very little to do. Some mine in the mountains, others of the men are cowboys on the ranches down the valley, there are several stores, saloons, and a blacksmith shop or two, with an old mission chapel and a priest. There is a halfway inn there, and if the landlord is not a villain, then his looks belie him.

“I told him I was looking for a ranch, and he told me there was none for sale.

“I asked him about the deserted hacienda, and he said that no one would live there, as it was haunted by evil spirits, and he either believed it, or could lie with as straight a face as I ever saw.

“He said the place belonged to some one in Mexico, who had inherited it; that every one who had last lived there had died overnight, from what cause no one knew, for there were no signs of violence upon them, but all were found dead in the morning, as also every horse, cow, sheep, and dog in the walled-in place.”

“This is a remarkable story, Cody.”

“Yes, but he told it as the truth, and there stands the deserted hacienda, with the graves, thirty-three in number, in one corner of the grounds.

“I asked the landlord as much as I dared, to try and find out who the maiden and the Mexican officer were. From what I could learn from him, if the one I rescued was the one he had in mind, the young lady is known as Suelo, the Recluse. She is the daughter of a Mexican nobleman, I heard, but lives alone at her hacienda, which is a fine one, with only her servants and a score of Mexican cattlemen, and all appear to worship her.

“But no one in the valley knows much about her, the landlord said, and who the Mexican officer was he did not know.

“I did not tell him I had rescued them, but merely said I had met them, and her beauty and his fine looks and uniform impressed me.

“I called upon the priest, but he was absent, and so I determined to bring the bracelet on with me, and when I go back I shall look up the owner, and then, sir, I shall take the deserted hacienda as my ranch.”

“Well, Cody, you are the best judge of just what to do; but I assure you I will not only be anxious about you, but will watch the result with great interest. If you need aid I will give you letters to the nearest posts, so you will be able to call on them for what men you may wish.”

“Thank you, sir. My idea was to stop at the government corrals on my way down—for you know they send the cattle southward to feed in winter—and borrow a lot of steers and horses to drive to my ranch and care for, thus carrying out the idea that I had gone to the valley to settle and make it my home.

“I shall tell the priest that I will pay rent when the owner demands it, and thus keep my taking possession of the deserted ranch from appearing a lawless act.”

“It would be a good idea. Come to me when you are ready to start, and I will give you all letters necessary to have you carry out your plans,” said the commandant, and Buffalo Bill departed, to prepare for his latest mission.

All the garrison at the fort wondered what was going on when they saw Buffalo Bill ride away from the post at the head of fourteen of the best scouts, most daring Indian fighters, and wildest riders on the frontier.

Men and horses had been picked for a purpose, it could be plainly seen. They had extra animals along, and half a dozen pack mules, well loaded with a camp outfit, provisions, and ammunition.

Those that saw them waiting for the start beheld Texas Jack, the noted ranger scout from the Lone Star State, and next in rank to Buffalo Bill at the post.

“Where are you going, Jack?” asked an officer of cavalry, passing the squad of wild riders.

“Don’t know, sir. Got orders to get ready for a long trail, and am prepared for a fight, foot race, or siege, sir.”

“I have not heard of any news that causes Colonel Carr to send out Cody and his picked saddle sharps,” continued the officer.

“Nor have I, sir.”

“Have none of the men an idea?”

“Not one, sir, and we are waiting for Cody, now, for he has gone to the colonel for last orders.”

As Texas Jack spoke, Buffalo Bill appeared, coming from the colonel’s quarters. He was splendidly mounted and armed.

“Which way, Cody?” asked the major of the post.

“Southward on a scout, major,” was Buffalo Bill’s reply, and, saluting, he rode to the head of the line, and gave the order to march.

The scouts obeyed, following in two files, Texas Jack at the head of one, Winfield leading the other, while two men brought up the rear, to keep the pack-mules closed up.

That the band of wild riders were curious about their going, was certain; but not a hint came from their chief, and not a man dared to question him.

The start had been made after dinner, and after a ride of twenty-five miles a halt was made for the night.

The next day forty miles were placed behind them, and the scouts knew that the chief had started upon a long journey.

So it went on for day after day, from forty to fifty miles being made, the cattle being well cared for, with long noonday halts, until the chief of scouts bore toward the right, into a land that was unknown to his followers.

“We will leave Santa Fe well to our left,” said Texas Jack to Winfield one day.

“Yes, but why does not the chief give us a hint of where we are going?”

“He will, in good time.”

“Oh, yes; but it is an important trail, I feel sure, and connected with his trip southward which he has just returned from.”

“No doubt it is; but the government cattle corrals must be in this course.”

“Yes, and I believe we are going after cattle; but to-morrow will tell, as the corrals and grazing grounds are on the headwaters of the San Juan, and that is the way we are pointed now, and we must reach there before two more camps.”

The same style of conversation and guesswork the other scouts indulged in, and still the chief said nothing as to their destination, and all decided that it was to the corrals to drive back cattle.

But that night, when they went into camp, Buffalo Bill said, after all had had supper:

“Pards, I have had nothing to say as to our mission, as there was little to tell you. But, as we strike the government corrals at noon to-morrow, I wish to say that we are to get there a large herd of cattle, and a band of a hundred or more horses.”

“Yes, we supposed that was what we were going for, chief,” said Texas Jack.

Buffalo Bill smiled, and replied:

“Colonel Carr thought it best for me not to tell you my purpose until we neared the corrals, and then, if any of you wished to back out, you could remain there, and I could find other men in your places; but I think I picked those men who will stand by me.”

“Just try us!” cried Texas Jack, and the other men all cried out in the same vein.

“Now, though we are going to get cattle and horses, we drive them south instead of north, and I tell you plainly that we are going to a pleasant valley where I am to turn ranchero, and you are to be my cattlemen.

“That I do this for other motives than posing as a ranchero, you may all be certain, and that there will be hot work ahead of us I feel very confident.

“Does any man wish to remain at the corrals?”

The response to this question of Buffalo Bill was so earnest that he knew he had nothing to fear from any one of his riders.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE HACIENDA.

After an uneventful journey, Buffalo Bill rode up to the little inn where he had before halted, and was greeted by the same Mexican landlord, whom he had not particularly fancied.

Speaking English well, the landlord recognized the handsome scout, and said in a way that was meant to be hospitable, but which was full of curiosity:

“Ah, señor, you again come this way—is your stay to be short, as before?”

“On the contrary, Señor Riel, I am here to stay.”

“Ah, señor! you like the Silver Lake Valley, then?”

“Very much.”

“You are a gambler, perhaps, señor, or you have no business?”

“Oh, no, I am a ranchero, and have come to settle down the valley, near the lake.”

“You amaze me, señor, for there is no ranch to sell there.”

“There is one unoccupied, and may be for sale. I shall take possession of it, herd my cattle in the surrounding country, and, when the owner appears, will pay him what is just. Now, tell me, Señor Riel, if the padre is at home—— Oh, I see him there now,” and Buffalo Bill walked rapidly away to where a small, dark-faced man was standing, dressed as a Mexican priest.

“The Padre Juan, I believe?” he asked politely.

“Yes, my son, but I know you not.”

“No; I am an American, and once passing through this valley, decided to find a home here. I called upon you, but you were away from home, and I have just arrived to settle here.”

“How can I serve you, señor?”

“I have some miles away my cattle and horses, and my destination is the old deserted hacienda down the valley on the lake. I would ask you if you can place me in communication with the owner?”

“I cannot, my son, for the one who fell heir to that truly accursed place is a stranger, and was never here. It is a blot upon the valley, and will be a home of ill omen should you dwell there, which Heaven forbid.”

“I thank you, padre, but my men and cattle are near, and to-morrow night I will take possession of the ill-omened place, as you call it, with the pledge to you to pay what is right for its use. As we are all men, we need but little household furniture, and that I can buy at your stores here in Silver Lake City.”

“But, my son, let me tell you that this whole valley is under a curse, and if you remain here, especially within that dreary hacienda with its record of death, you but become another upon whom suffering must fall.”

“I will take all chances, padre, and as the deserted hacienda is to be my home, let me say that I will be happy to entertain you there whenever you pass that way.”

“Thank you, señor, thank you, but only in case duty called me would I cross the threshold of that house, for it is haunted by the crudest of memories, if not worse. I wish you well, señor, but I have warned you—it was my duty.”

Returning to the landlord of the little adobe tavern, Buffalo Bill told him that he wished to make some purchases, and to get a wagon to take them to the deserted hacienda.

“You will go there, then, señor?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You do not heed the warnings, then?”

“I am not superstitious, and so warnings of imaginary evils have no dread for me; but, if warned of a real danger, I heed, as I flatter myself that I am no fool.”

The landlord shook his head; and then said he would furnish the means of transportation for what the señor cared to purchase, and he would take him to the best places at which to buy them.

The purchases were soon made, loaded in a wagon, and started upon the way for the hacienda, the scout, after having dinner at the tavern, starting on after the men, for they were already well on their way to the new home of Buffalo Bill in the mysterious valley.

The wagon was soon overtaken, and afterward the herd, and Buffalo Bill said:

“We now camp, pards, and to-morrow early we go into our home.”

The night halt was made, an early start followed the next morning, and before noon the cattle were halted upon the rich meadowland on either side the lake, several scouts left to guard them, while the rest rode on after their chief, who had gone on ahead to the hacienda.

“If that is not an owl’s roost I’m mistaken,” said one.

“It may be an outlaws’ retreat.”

“The place may be haunted.”

Some laughed, some did not, others looked grave, and said nothing. The superstitions of a few had been aroused.

But into the walled-in plaza rode the scouts, followed by the wagon, and there stood Buffalo Bill, but his left sleeve was stained with blood, his face had a bruise upon it, and he had the appearance of one who had been in a terrible struggle.

“Boys,” he said calmly, “make yourselves at home, for I am master here.”

Telling Texas Jack where to halt the cattle and horses, to have a guard of several men over them, and then come on with the others and the wagon and animals.

The chief of scouts had cantered on alone to the hacienda.

As he approached it, he saw that all appeared there as he had left it a month before.

To him it looked as though no one had visited the place, and he saw not even a skulking coyote. This put him on his guard, for he knew that when he had visited the place first many coyotes had run out. Now, having found none about, he at once concluded that some one had been there within the last few minutes. So he was on his guard. Leaving his horse in the grounds, he entered the hacienda.

It was a large structure, one story in height, built of adobe, and in the center was a square towerlike structure, with a top that looked very much as though the whole space within the walls, several acres in area, could be swept by even revolvers in the hands of persons stationed there on the tower roof. In the rear was a lofty cliff. It commanded, too, a wide range with rifles, and that it was intended for a stronghold there was no doubt in the scout’s mind.

There were about thirty rooms in the building, some furnished with chairs and bedsteads, but of all else the place had been swept clean.

Selecting the rooms that were to be their quarters, and being glad to see that the place within the walls would readily hold all their horses and cattle in an emergency when the entrance was repaired, Buffalo Bill was passing out through a long and dimly lighted corridor, when he beheld before him what appeared to be two diamonds glittering in the half darkness.

But he was not deceived, he had seen just such balls of fire often before in his eventful life, and he was as quick as a flash in dropping his hand upon a weapon in his belt.

It was his knife, and he had just time to draw it and raise the point, when, with a savage growl there sprang upon him a huge mountain lion.

The weight of the animal hurled Buffalo Bill backward, and he fell against the rough wall with considerable force, bruising his face badly, while he also felt the teeth of the mad animal buried in his arm.

But he had got his knife on guard, and the long, sharp blade had cut into the heart of the lion, the force of the spring driving it to the hilt.

Half dazed by the fall against the wall and the blow of the huge body against him, Buffalo Bill yet recognized that he must cut, and once more he drove his knife deep into the shaggy hide.

But to his joy he recognized that there was no need of his doing more, for the animal upon him was a dead weight, the first knife thrust had entered his heart, and the teeth that had been driven into the scout’s arm had not been closed upon it, for the mountain lion had sprung to a quick and sudden death, the keen blade catching, by an accident, just in the right spot to kill.

Throwing off the weight, Buffalo Bill arose to his feet.

Was it from the concussion that he had received that made strange figures appear before his eyes, or did he really behold a ghostly form, clad in white, at the end of the long, dark corridor, one arm pointing straight outward, the other down at the ground.

“I’ll tackle you, too, for ghosts are more to my liking than mountain lions,” said Buffalo Bill grimly, and he rubbed his eyes to see that they were not deceiving him, and, drawing his revolver now he rushed forward to grapple with this new foe.

But then, as he felt that it was no vision of the brain, but in reality a ghostly looking form, not fifty feet from him, he halted and called out in a voice that echoed through the corridor:

“Hands up, there, or I’ll fire and kill you!”

But the order was not obeyed, the form still standing mute and motionless, and pointing as before.

Instantly came a red flash from the scout’s revolver, and a sharp report rang through the hacienda.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
HAUNTED.

Buffalo Bill at once moved rapidly toward the spot where he had seen the white form. Twice he fired his revolver as he approached to light up the scene. But he saw nothing.

The rear of the corridor had no egress, only a window some eight feet from the floor. Upon either side were doors, full a dozen feet from the end of the corridor, but one of these was closed too securely to open, and the other was the one he had entered the long hall from and led into the rooms he had selected for himself and comrades to dwell in.

Not a particle of superstition had the scout, but here was a mystery he could not solve.

How had the mountain lion got into that corridor? He had not entered by the door, for that was closed and locked on the other side. He could not have come through the window, even had he been able to leap that high, for it was closed. The other door was locked or bound on the other side, but to have come through that way it could only have been done with the aid of a human being. All the doors, save the one the scout had entered by, were closed. How, then, could the mountain lion have got into the corridor without human help, and who was the white-robed form at whom he fired?

Lighting match after match, Buffalo Bill looked about him. He could discover nothing to show how the lion and the white form had entered.

There lay the lion dead. The spectral visitant was gone. And yet he had aimed to kill, and Cody knew that he was not one to miss.

Going out of the door through which he had entered, the scout closed it behind him, and, leaving the building, walked out into the bright sunlight.

His sleeve was wet with blood, and he was feeling weak and a little shaky.

But just as he was going to the brook to bathe his wounds, Texas Jack, Winfield, and eight of the men came at a canter into the plaza.

They saw that there had been a death struggle, and he did not keep them waiting long to know what it was.

“I have had a fight with a mountain lion I found in the hacienda, Jack, and killed him, fortunately, before he did me much harm. Get my medicine case from my saddle, and you, Stevens, see just how badly he bit my arm, for you are the surgeon of the outfit.”

“Yes, chief,” answered Stevens, who had gone to Texas to practice medicine, but had devoted himself to scouting instead.

The chief’s wounds were soon shown, and the marks of the teeth of the animal were seen below and above.

“It is not nearly as bad as I would expect from the teeth of a mountain lion,” said Stevens, whom his comrades called “Doc.”

“He must have been small,” said Winfield.

“No, he was large enough. I have him in the hacienda; but that is not all I found, boys.”

“I see that your face is bruised and head cut,” Doc Stevens said. “What was it, chief?”

“A ghost.”

Some of the men looked startled at this announcement, while others laughed.

“Well, boys, I saw a human form, clad in white, and, as it did not obey my order to hands up, I fired. But I could find nothing when I looked for the dead body.”

The words of the chief created an impression, for all knew that he was not in a joking humor.

“The truth is, pards,” Cody went on to say, “we are not wanted in this valley, and I will tell you why. I had no idea that there was such a settlement as this in this valley, and I wish to know if you had ever heard of it?”

“I have been through here, before, ten years ago, and it surprised me then, chief, but I have met no one else who knew that there was a settlement here. Then its people were Mexicans, Indians, negroes, and a few Americans.”

The one who spoke was Lone Star Sam, a handsome, dashing fellow, reserved, courteous, whom his comrades regarded as a man with a past that had left its impress upon him, for he never spoke of it.

“What did you find out about it, Sam?”

“Very little, sir.”

“What brought you here?”

“I was in search of one I was anxious to find, and, hearing of this settlement from a Mexican officer, I came here to see if my man was here.”

“Was he?”

“He was not.”

“Did you stay long at that time?”

“About a month, chief.”

Then Buffalo Bill told his story, and let the scouts understand what discovery he had made, and what Señor Otega, the ranchero down the valley, had made known to him, though he did not say where he had got the information.

“Now, boys, we are here to find out where these secret outlaws are. They are doubtless leagued for gold alone, but revenge may play a part in their actions also. That they have a retreat is assured by their keeping their captives as hostages. Where this retreat is we must find out. Who they are we must know, and when we have set our trap we must spring it in a way that will leave escape for none. A dozen there may be, perhaps more, to work so well and successfully.

“The landlord—Riel is his name—I do not trust, so beware of him; yes, and every one else, even the Padre Juan in Silver Lake, as he, too, may be a wolf in the garb of a sheep, though I think not. Trust no one, but keep your eyes and ears open, and be prepared at any time to fight for your lives.

“I am, remember, an American ranchero, and you are my cattlemen. We are here to stay, you can tell the inquisitive, and secretly we are here to ferret out the mysteries of this valley.

“The curse that rests upon it is a mystery, the secret band of robbers and kidnapers is another, my having met that Mexican officer and maiden is a third, while the masked man and his four unmasked followers is a fourth mystery. Then there is this deserted and haunted hacienda, and let me warn you that it has begun its underhand work already, for human hands led that mountain lion in where I found him, and the white-robed form I fired at was no apparition, and you are all too sensible to believe that such a thing could be.

“Now come up and see our quarters, and get the packs off the mules and unload the wagon, for I wish to get lanterns, and, first of all, make a thorough search of the old place. Where are the two wagon drivers?”

“Back with the men I left with the herd, for nothing would induce them to come any nearer to this hacienda, so one of the boys brought the wagon on, and when it is unloaded, will drive it back and let them skip, for they wish to be well on their way before night overtakes them, and swear they would not have come a step had the landlord told them where they were to take their load.”

Buffalo Bill laughed at the fears of the two Mexicans who had come with the wagon, and Texas Jack went on to say:

“And, chief, those two fellows vowed that there was not a man in the valley you could get to come to this hacienda, day or night.”

“All right. We don’t want any to come. But we are men, and here we remain until I accomplish what I came for.”

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE SEARCH OF THE RUIN.

The corridor of the hacienda was first entered through the wing the chief of scouts had selected for occupation, and it was seen that all, save the door through which he had made his entrance and exit, was securely fastened.

Whoever it had been the chief had fired at, could only have entered by that single door, as far as could be seen.

The rear window was opened then, and showed that it had been closed for a long time. So did the wide front doors, which filled almost the other end of the corridor. But the other doors, save that one through which Buffalo Bill had entered, showed plainly that they had not been opened for a long while.

That door the chief himself had opened from within the wing, and yet the lion had been found in the corridor, as also had the white apparition, whatever it was.

“Well, if a mountain lion could get in here, a ghost ought to. The lion was certainly not a specter brute, as I have proof,” said the chief, with a grim smile. “We will now look over the rest of the building.”

And they did so, going into each wing, the chapel, and the basement in the solid rock beneath it, the second story, and up to the tower.

This done, and finding nothing more than that it had been the haunt of owls and bats, the party blew out their lanterns and returned to the wing where their comrades had been hard at work.

With water from the stream, and brooms, they had cleaned up the rooms well, a fire had been built in the large open chimney, the tables got out, chairs set around, the cooking utensils put in the fireplace, the bedding placed in the sleeping rooms, and in little more than three hours the hacienda, in that wing at least, presented a very comfortable appearance.

Then the wagon was returned to the two waiting Mexicans, and the broken-down plaza entrance was repaired, as it was decided best, for a few nights at least, to drive the horses and cattle into the walled grounds about the hacienda, so that they would begin to understand that it was home.

Just before sunset the stock was driven up, and the gateway having been finished, so as to make it strong again, it was closed for the night, and the scouts went to get supper.

Two guards were appointed for the night, one in the hacienda, one at the entrance to the grounds, and Buffalo Bill selected men whom he knew were not of a superstitious turn of mind, remarking to Texas Jack:

“If we put on a man who was looking for ghosts, this is the very place to find them, and he would be alarming us constantly with challenges of apparitions, so I just put on men who have no fear of the dead.”

“You are right, for though there is not a man in the band who would not fight big odds if he knew he was facing men, several of the boys would skip at the sight of anything in this ruin they did not understand. I am sorry that you told them the ghost story.”

“No, it was best, for if this hacienda is the haunt of outlaws as I believe it has been, it will be by springing the supernatural upon us, that they will endeavor to frighten us away.”

“Yes, that is so, and from that standpoint it was best; but the cleverness of that apparition act shows that they have some means of getting in and out that we are not on to yet, chief.”

“Well, it won’t be long before we are, if the men are not stampeded by a supposed ghost,” was Buffalo Bill’s answer.

In the band of brave men congregated in the hacienda that night, about half of them had a superstitious dread of the old deserted mission ranch.

Buffalo Bill saw just how these men felt, and he read the faces of those who had no dread. So he said, as all were seated in the ranch waiting to retire:

“Remember, pards, I believe that efforts will be made to drive us out of here to-night. Not by direct force, for, with our numbers, they will not attempt any attack.

“But this hacienda is very old. Strange deeds have been done here, crimes committed, and most mysterious happenings have occurred.

“Now, there is no such thing, as all of you know, as spooks and ghosts, for the dead never come back to earth in spirit form. But, relying upon the fears of many that believe in spooks, wicked men play the ghost act to frighten all away from this place for a purpose of their own.

“My idea is that this place has been the abode of outlaws, and our coming here thwarts their game to keep hidden. As they dare not attack us openly, they will play the specter game and try and stampede us.

“But that will not go with you, and as an extra precaution to-night I will keep four men on duty instead of two. Two of you can be together: a couple in the hacienda, the others about the grounds.

“But, remember, neither of the guards must move into the domains of the others, for my orders are to shoot everything on two legs you see prowling about, be it ghost or man.

“Now, Jack, you go on duty with three men until midnight, and I will relieve you then with three more.”

This plain talk quieted the foolish dread of those who had been feeling anxious as to what might happen, and Texas Jack went on duty with three men whom he called to follow him, being careful to select two of the three whom he knew had an uncanny fear of the place.

One of them he left on guard at the hacienda with a comrade who had no fear of ghosts, and the other he took out in the grounds with him, though showing no sign that he suspected either.

The horses were huddled together in one corner of the walled-in plaza, and the cattle were in another, all quiet and apparently wondering why they were penned up.

As the guards left the hacienda the others turned in for the night, and were soon fast asleep, Buffalo Bill setting the good example by dropping off instantly into a deep slumber.

Soon after the guards had gone on duty, the horses began to grow uneasy, just why Texas Jack could not understand. As they still continued their restlessness, he told the man who was with him to stand guard at the gateway while he went among the restive animals.

But the man preferred to go with him, and he said no more.

The two quieted the horses, to find that the cattle also were getting restive, and, cowboy fashion, Texas Jack began to sing to them, for, as he muttered to himself:

“If they stampeded they may break out, and about half the nags will go with them.”

The cattle also became quieted under the weird chanting of the Texan, and then the horses once more became restive.

“Say, Pinto Paul, you stay about the horses while I soothe the split-hoofs with the melody of my voice, which can lull them to rest,” said the Texan, in a light vein.

“Jack, give me an order to tackle the mate of that mountain lion the chief killed, or to brace up against a couple of outlaws, and I’ll do it, but don’t expect me to play a lone hand, for I don’t intend to do it.”

“You are surely not scared, Paul?”

“I tell you that this is no place for living men when the dead are prowling about.”

Texas Jack saw that Pinto Paul was in deadly earnest, and he said no more, merely remarking:

“Well, Paul, if you think I am a foil to the ghosts we’ll stay together, and we’ll keep by the gate, so as to head the cattle if they make a break for it, and I’ll keep up my song.”

CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE FIRST NIGHT.

The plaintive song of the Texan did have a soothing effect upon both cattle and horses.

Thus the time passed away out in the grounds, while in the hacienda when all became quiet it seems that the spooks began to get in their work also.

The first the guards heard was a low moan which sounded like a man in suffering, but just where it came from the two guards could not tell.

The superstitious one of the two was for rousing the men at once, but his comrade said:

“What for? We see no one, and it is merely a trick to frighten us, for the chief is right; this is an outlaws’ haunt.”

When there joined in with the moaning the sound of a woman weeping, Mustang Frank began to show real fright, but Lone Star Sam calmed him, and the two listened to the strange sounds. As though a man’s moaning and woman’s weeping were not enough, there joined as a treble the sound of a child crying like one in pain.

“Let’s arouse the chief.”

“No, Frank, it is nearly midnight, and he’ll be on hand then. Besides, we cannot shoot, mind. This place is haunted by men whose interest it is to frighten us away; but we won’t scare a little bit, Frank.”

“Speak for yourself, pard, for I’m about scared silly this blessed minute.”

Lone Star laughed.

“Listen!” he said. “I thought we would have more of it, for hear that dog join in the quartet, only I don’t like the music—ah! here comes the chief.”

Buffalo Bill just then came out into the corridor.

“Well, pards, we are having a serenade, I hear. But it is time for you to turn in, just twelve, and I’ll watch here, while Haskell stands by the outer door; but remain on duty until I return from seeing Texas Jack.”

“Do you mean any one can sleep, chief, with this going on?”

“Yes, Frank. We were not born in the woods to be scared by an owl,” was the answer, and Buffalo Bill left the corridor and met Winfield, and the other two men who were to go on guard.

They were Haskell and Broncho Rawlings, and both of them were very nervous, for they had heard the weird sounds echoing through the hacienda.

“Winfield, you and the others come with me to where Texas Jack and Pinto Paul are on duty, and we will see if they have been disturbed by these outlaws playing ghosts.”

On they walked and found Texas Jack having as much trouble to soothe Pinto Paul as he had to keep the cattle quiet.

“Anything wrong, Jack?”

“The cattle and horses are very restless, and Paul thinks ghosts are about, but we have seen nothing, though we have heard the howling of a dog and hooting of an owl.”

“Well, Jack, I will relieve you and Pinto Paul, and Broncho Rawlings will stand guard over the cattle while I take the gate. You, Winfield, return to the hacienda and relieve Sam, taking Haskell with you.”

This was done, Broncho Rawlings taking his stand among the cattle, and at once beginning to sing as Texas Jack and Pinto Paul had done, for they were, indeed, restless.

Winfield and Haskell returned to the hacienda, accompanied by Texas Jack and Pinto Paul, who muttered:

“I suppose it will be out of the frying pan into the fire in the old ghost nest.”

The men were all awake now, yet not up. But Texas Jack showed no dread, simply remarking that a ghost would be made of those in reality who were playing the spook act, and he turned in.

Pinto Paul, meanwhile, stirred up the fire for light, not heat, and sat by it, merely remarking:

“Now, I’m not sleepy a little bit, pards.”

Winfield meanwhile had placed Haskell on guard at the outer door of the hacienda, while he went in to relieve Lone Star Sam and Frank.

These came into the large sleeping room, and while Lone Star calmly went to bed, Mustang Frank joined Pinto Paul at the fire, remarking:

“I’m with you, pard, for I always was scared of a danger I couldn’t see.”

“Me, too.”

“This old rookery is a graveyard from ’way back, and, you bet, ghosts are on the prowl this night, for they’ve invited no company, and don’t keep a hotel for men in the flesh, such as we are. Just listen to that music, will you?”

Weird sounds rang through the hacienda.

When Buffalo Bill had gone into the corridor he had intended to relieve Lone Star and Mustang Frank. But when he visited the spot where Texas Jack was on guard he thought that the entrance to the ranch was the best place for him, after he had heard the Texan’s report. He knew if the cattle and horses were restless some one was causing them to be so by prowling about among them, and in some way exciting them.

If that “some one” could only stampede the whole lot, causing them to break through the gateway, then he and his scouts would be in a bad way indeed.

It was true that the gateway had been repaired, but not as well as was intended, for timber would have to be cut and hauled there to make it secure, and a rush of steers would break down the barrier that was there.

That any other demonstration would be made in the hacienda than the weird sounds already heard, Buffalo Bill did not believe, so he decided that he would keep his stand at the gate and let Rawlings guard the cattle, singing to them to quiet them.

The moment the others had walked away, Buffalo Bill had quickly crouched down in the shadow of the wall, just at the entrance. He heard no sound save the impatient tramping of the horses, the singing of Broncho Rawlings, and an anxious lowing of a frightened steer.

An hour passed, and he saw that the horses were becoming more restless.

A moment after his keen eyes detected a white object running along the wall. It came from the corner where the horses were.

Keeping his position, Buffalo Bill watched the white object as he could distinctly see it.

The song of Broncho Rawlings was still kept up, and the cattle, too, became restive in spite of the lulling notes of the melody.

“Broncho soothes them, but if I attempted to sing to them I’d stampede the whole outfit, yes, scouts and all,” said Buffalo Bill, with a full realization that music was not one of his accomplishments.

The chief of scouts was upon the opposite side, crouching in the shadow of the massive adobe column on either side of the entrance.

The white figure came straight toward him, and had Pinto Paul been where Buffalo Bill was, he would have stampeded with alacrity.

The white figure did not seem to be able to see well, for the scout had not been discovered yet.

Halting at the entrance, not twenty feet from Buffalo Bill, the “ghost” showed what its intention was. It intended to break down the barrier, and thus leave an open way for the cattle to stampede.

But the entrance had been better closed than the midnight prowler in white thought, as it had some difficulty in its attempt.

Just then there came from the hacienda, rising far above the singing of Broncho Rawlings and all other sounds, wild and piercing shrieks.

The ghost seemed determined to break down the barrier as he heard the sound, but was suddenly startled by the stern command:

“Hands up, there, or I’ll fire!”

A cry broke from the white-robed form, and, with a bound, he was off, when sharp, loud, and deadly came the report of a revolver.

Just as Buffalo Bill pulled the trigger it seemed as though the white form fell heavily, and then Buffalo Bill’s voice was heard:

“Turn out, all, to quiet the cattle.”

CHAPTER XXXVII.
A DEAD GHOST.

Out of the hacienda came Texas Jack and the others, while, springing before the entrance, Buffalo Bill called out soothingly to the cattle, the other scouts doing the same as they came out.

There was a moment of suspense, but then the herd calmed down, as all the scouts, thoroughly trained cattlemen, began to sing to them.

Then Texas Jack went to the aid of Buffalo Bill, calling out as he advanced:

“Winfield stands guard with several men in the hacienda, and I came to see who fired that shot, chief.”

“I did. There is a dead ghost lying yonder, and I hope it will end this fool dread of spooks,” was Buffalo Bill’s reply.

Seeing that the cattle were being quieted by the scouts, Texas Jack walked toward the white object lying thirty feet away, at the foot of the high wall.

“Well, Jack, it’s a flesh ghost, isn’t it?” called out Buffalo Bill, as he saw his pard bend over it.

“It is, sir, and I’ll call several of the men to guard the gate while we carry it up to the hacienda to have a look at it.”

“Do so.”

Several men at once came at the call, among them Pinto Paul.

“There’s the ghost, Pinto Paul; at least, he is more ghost now than he was a short while ago,” said Texas Jack.

“What is it?” he asked, in an awed way.

“A dead man, now, who was playing ghost a while since. He did not know that I was on duty at the gate there, for he heard Broncho Rawlings singing, and supposed he was alone on watch.

“As the ghost was trying to take down the barrier, to let the cattle out, I held him up, but, as he did not heed, I fired on him. I did not fire to kill, but to wing him, but just as I pulled trigger he fell into a hole I remember is there, and caught the bullet in a vital spot. But it shows that spirits can be killed, Pinto.”

The scout made no reply, for he was beginning to see that if the hacienda was haunted it must be by flesh and blood of ghostly forms.

“I’ll give you a hand, Jack,” said Buffalo Bill.

But the Texan dragged the white form out of the gully into which he had fallen, and shouldered it without an effort.

As he moved off toward the hacienda Buffalo Bill joined him, calling out to the scouts to keep the cattle quiet, while he went to investigate the ghost in the glare of the light.

Arriving at the hacienda, Texas Jack deposited his load before the fire, and lighted a couple of lanterns, while Buffalo Bill walked to the corridor where Winfield was on guard.

“Well, Winfield, how goes it?”

“All quiet, now, sir; but that shrieking was a bloodcurdler, even to me, and I feared it would stampede some of the boys along with the cattle.”

“No, we headed them off. But keep your ears open for the slightest sounds, now, though I do not believe we will have any more disturbances. The ghost is laid, I think.”

So saying, Buffalo Bill returned to the large room.

The fire had been brightened up, and, with the light of several lanterns, the room was very light.

Texas Jack had laid the form upon the floor before the fire, and, with a couple of the men who had come in, was standing looking at it. It was clad in a white garment, made to resemble a shroud, and the head was also wrapped around, though two holes had been made for the eyes to peer through. On each side, near the belt, there were two slits, through which the arms could be thrust.

The white covering was taken from the form by Buffalo Bill and Texas Jack, and a dark, foreign face was exposed.

“It is a Mexican,” said Texas Jack.

“Yes, and he came to kill, if need be.”

Buffalo Bill pointed to the belt of arms the man wore. He was attired half in Mexican, half in frontier garb, and his face was an evil one. Also, about his waist was a buckskin belt that contained several hundred dollars in gold.

“Well, Jack, we need not report the killing of this man, at least just yet. We will wait and see if we hear of it, and, if so, the man who makes it known we will spot. I trust, now, the boys will not fear ghosts any more.”

“I hope not, chief.”

“Send each one of them here to have a look for himself, and they will know that I was right when I said an effort would be made to scare us away from here.

“As we did not scare, they will try some other plan to get rid of us; but, one thing is certain, that these men have some way of entering and leaving the hacienda we do not know of, but must find out.

“You see there is not a sound now, for they know that one of their spirits has come to grief.”

Texas Jack went out after the men, and they all took a look at the “ghost,” made their comments, saw where the bullet of the chief had struck him in the head, and then the body was put in a vacant room, a guard placed in the grounds, at the gate, and the rest of the scouts returned to their blankets, Pinto Paul remarking:

“Well, I take no more stock in ghosts, though I don’t just love this old owl’s nest.”

The night passed away without much sleep for a few of the scouts. There was not another sound heard in the hacienda, and the horses and cattle quieted down. This proved to the men that they had been frightened by the white-robed form going about among them.

The body of the dead Mexican was buried in the walled inclosure, while Winfield prepared breakfast and put things to rights.

After the meal was over, he and six of the scouts took the cattle to graze, while Texas Jack and the others started upon a thorough search of the old mission ranch. They were anxious to find out just where their disturbers of the night before had hidden, or, if concealed in the place, how they had got into it, and made their exit.

Having posted men here and there on the watch, one in the tower, one upstairs, one in the grounds, and seen the others start in the search, Buffalo Bill put on his best rig and rode away, his men wondering where, and why he had dressed up. He rode his best horse, carried a rifle slung to his saddle, and seemed prepared to meet friend or foe.

That he carried no provisions along, after saying that he would not return until night, was also a surprise to the scouts, who knew that their chief was not one to miss a meal except on compulsion.

Down the valley rode the scout, and, following the lake shore its length, he turned, after going half a score miles, in a trail leading to the left toward the mountain range on the eastward.

Up among the foothills he saw a fine hacienda which he knew was the place where he had spent the night in passing through the valley a month before.

Toward this he wended his way, for he wished to talk with Señor Otega.

The señor it was who had told him of the secret band of robbers in the valley, of the curse that rested upon the people, and this had influenced him in coming there to solve the mystery, to hunt down the outlaws.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
ON SECRET WORK.

Buffalo Bill did not care to trust even Señor Otega with any secrets, for he knew not who he could place confidence in; but, having now come to the valley, being on the spot, he might find out from the señor some information that might be of value to him.

He wished to see just who the maiden he had rescued was, who the band of outlaws might be, when Señor Otego had said that not one of the secret foes of the people in the valley had ever been seen.

Then who was the officer in the Mexican uniform, and why was he in the valley thus attired, why the victim of these men?

It was to get at the bottom facts, as well as he could, that Buffalo Bill had started upon his visit to Señor Otega.

As he neared the ranch he saw the cattle and horses feeding near, the cowboys, five in number, guarding them and gazing curiously at him, and to these he nodded as he rode near, and said pleasantly:

“Good morning, pards.”

They returned his salute in silence, and were evidently surprised at seeing a stranger.

Going on up to the hacienda he saw Señor Otega just about to mount his horse, but discovering him, he turned toward him, and said:

“Why, señor, you in our valley again? You are welcome, I assure you.”

Buffalo Bill responded to the questions, and then said:

“But my coming prevents you from going on a ride, I fear?”

“No, for I can go another time, as there is no great hurry. I was merely intending to ride over to see the stranger who had taken possession of the old mission ranch and urge that he give up such a thought, for I deem it my duty to advise him.”

“Thanks, señor. Do you know who he is?”

“An American of wealth, I believe, who came here with his people, cattle, horses, and all.”

“Permit me to say, señor, that I am the one. I took possession yesterday.”

“You surprise me.”

“And it is a surprise to me that you should know it so soon.”

“I learned it last night, from my men. But, señor, I am the more distressed, now, as I learn you are the man, for I like you, and to go to that terrible place is but to go to your doom.”

“Not so bad as that, I hope, Señor Otega. The fact is, I fell in love with your beautiful valley, and, anxious to find a home, I decided to settle here, and the old hacienda was the only place I could get. So I came here from the northward, bringing my cattle, horses, outfit, and cowboys with me, and I assure you we shall be most comfortable. You see, I took an early opportunity to call upon you.”

But Señor Otega seemed to be lost in thought, and said, in an absent-minded way:

“Come in, come in! Why did you come to this valley, señor?”

“To settle here, at least for a while.”

“You have your people with you?”

“Yes, all of them, and real men, too.”

“I am glad. But why did you seek a home beneath that doomed roof?”

“Do you remember telling me the curse that rested upon this valley? You told me that your daughter had been taken from you by an unseen foe.”

“Yes.”

“Has she been restored to you?”

“Alas, no! She is still a prisoner. Only yesterday I paid the tax of one thousand pesos put upon me.”

“It is an outrage.”

“It is the seventh I have paid, señor, and I believe there are to be five more, if not still more, before she is returned to us.”

“And other families pay this same tax?”

“Yes, señor.”

“It is infamous.”

“But they do not all pay the same sum, señor, for the taxgatherer knows well the circumstances of each of his victims, and collects accordingly. He does not put upon any one a sum that cannot be paid, for when I pay a thousand, a poor man pays a hundred, and one pays five thousand pesos, señor.”

“Who is that?”

“A young girl, the Señorita Suelo Sada, known as The Fair Hermit.”

“Ah! who did you say she was?”

“One left a large fortune by a kinsman, who owned the ranch where she lives, and she came here to dwell, but receives no visitors, has no friendships, and lives such a life of utter seclusion we call her here in the valley the hermitess, the beautiful recluse, and other such names.”

“Who of her family are with her?”

“Not one.”

“Does she dwell all alone?”

“All alone, señor, save her servants and cattlemen, of whom there are quite a number, but they, too, hold themselves aloof from all others, and the stockmen are known as the hermit cowboys.”

“Then how can these secret taxgatherers, as we may call them, make a demand upon the Señorita Sada for so large a sum, as they cannot have any of her loved ones, señor?”

“Ah, but they have. She is betrothed to a Mexican officer, I hear, and he came here on a visit to her, was seized on his way home, and is now held a prisoner by these men whom no one knows. I learn the demand is made upon her regularly for five thousand pesos, and she pays it.”

“Is the officer a man of any prominence?”

“He is a captain of lanceros, señor, in the Mexican army.”

“It is strange that his government has taken no steps to release him.”

“There is a threat to put him to death if such an attempt is made.”

Buffalo Bill did not tell about his rescue of the fair hermit and the officer.

“Do you know his name, señor?”

“It is said to be Del Sol.”

“You know the padre in Silver Lake City.”

“Oh, yes, Padre Juan.”

“Can he do nothing to help you?”

“He is under a ban also—a threat—if he does.”

“And the landlord of the inn? The Señor Riel?”

“Señor Cody, I do not like that man, I do not trust him, though he, too, is under the ban, as his son, an only child, is a prisoner. Still, I have a dread of him.”

“Well, Señor Otega, the secret foe can only capture me or one of my men, to get a ransom, and we’ll watch that they do not.

“I did not come here to pay ransom to robbers; but I came here to settle, and I like our home, haunted though it may be.

“I told you that I intended to help you, and I am here to do so; but, remember, not a word of that to any one, for it might thwart my plan.”

“I will be silent, señor, for something tells me you are here for good, to be relied on. I was going over to the old mission ranch to warn whoever had settled there to leave, for I did not know it was you. Are you sure that nothing disturbed you last night?”

“We heard sounds, the cattle were restless, but no harm befell us, señor, and we’ll take chances, for that is what we are here for.”

“How many men have you, señor.”

“I thought it best to bring at least half a dozen,” was Buffalo Bill’s evasive reply, for he did not wish his force to be known, even to Señor Otega. He had not allowed the two Mexicans who drove the wagon from Silver Lake City to see more than six men beside himself, keeping the others off beyond the cattle.

“It will be best to have just double the number they think I have,” was the chief of scouts’ way of thinking.

Buffalo Bill remained to dinner at the hospitable ranch, and the señora, a sad-faced, lovely woman, gave him a warm greeting, for she had been pleased with his frank and genial manner upon his last visit to their home.

Late in the afternoon the scout started upon his return, the señor accompanying him a few miles on the trail.

Learning that he had just moved in, the Señora Otega insisted that she be allowed to add to his comfort, and when he was ready to go he found a pack horse ready for him to carry along, and it had been loaded with grapes, vegetables, preserves, and a large quantity of choice provisions, which the good lady insisted that he must accept from her.

“Just turn the pack horse loose to-night, and he will come home and give you no further trouble,” said the señor.

The scout was touched by the señora’s kindness, and as he rode away with her husband, he said:

“You told your wife, then, that I was here to help you?”

“Not a word, señor; but I told her when you left a month ago that you were Buffalo Bill, the great military scout, and had promised to be our friend; and, with a woman’s quick intuition where her love is interested, she feels sure that you have come to save our poor daughter.”

“Yes, I saw that she was trying to read me, and I appreciate her kind gifts to make me comfortable. We will enjoy her bounty greatly.”

As they reached the lake shore the sun was touching the horizon, and the señor halted.

“I will turn back here, Señor Cody, for my wife will be anxious. You see, we have lately received quite a handsome legacy, and if it were known, then our secret foes would capture me or my wife and demand a much larger ransom.”

“Then return home at once, and I regret that you came thus far with me.”

“You have the most dangerous trail to travel, Señor Cody, and a long ten miles.”

“I am used to dangerous trails, señor, but if I thought danger might beset you I would return with you.”

“Not unless you remain all night, señor.”

“I could not do that. The ghosts in the old hacienda might put my men to flight.”

The sun had now sunk behind the western range of mountains, and the lake valley was already darkening under the fall of night.

“That man is all right, for he told me of a legacy lately received. I came here prepared to doubt every one, but I’ll set him down as a square man,” muttered Buffalo Bill, as he rode along the lake shore, under the shelter of the fringe of timber, beneath which led the trail up the valley.

Señor Otega had turned his horse toward home, and set out at a rapid canter.

Reaching a belt of timber, the animal was walking along at his ease, the night having set in, when, without a warning, there settled over the señor’s head a coil of rope, and he found his arms pinioned to his side, while he heard the words in Spanish:

“Resist, Señor Otega, and you are a dead man. I have men here to master you.”

Señor Otega thought first of his wife, and he groaned in agony of spirit.

“What does this outrage upon me mean, for you call me by name, and hence know me?”

“It means that you are a prisoner, and the Señora Otega will be taxed to keep you alive,” was the reply.

Señor Otega now, to his chagrin, saw that he had been lassoed by one man, and he had seized his bridle rein and stood by him, with a revolver leveled at his head.

But there came a flash, a report, and the kidnaper sank in his tracks by the side of the señor’s horse.

CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE SCOUT’S RETURN.

At first thought Señor Otega had believed that he had been the one shot at, and as his horse set a good example of flight, he determined to encourage him in it, believing there were other outlaws about.

But ere the horse had made half a dozen bounds, a voice called out:

“Ho, señor, I fired that shot!”

Señor Otega recognized the voice at once. It had a ring in it that once heard could not be forgotten. So he wheeled his horse, and rode back to find the one who had rescued him standing by the side of the fallen outlaw.

“Señor Cody!”

“Yes; I had a dread that your coming with me as far as you did might get you into trouble, so I turned back to dog your steps, unseen by you, and see you enter your ranch in safety.”

“How glad am I that you did, señor!”

“I was not very far behind you, nearer you than I thought, for you must have slackened your speed, and I distinctly heard the voice of your captor.

“I instantly sprang from my saddle, and, advancing on foot, realized that you had been captured, and I saw one man, but took the chances of there being more.

“As he was an outlaw, I thought it best to put him out of the way.”

“God bless you,” was all the ranchero could at first say.

But he soon conquered his emotion and told just what his captor had said to him.

Buffalo Bill listened attentively, and then said abruptly:

“This man was sent to kidnap you?”

“Yes.”

“Is he alone?”

“Yes.”

“His being there shows that he saw you leave your home, was watching your return, shadowing you in fact.”

“No doubt of it, señor.”

“Well, I wish you to be guided by me in this matter.”

“I will.”

“Say nothing, even to your wife, of this attack on you to-night. I mean that no one must know of this attack on you, señor.”

“But why, Señor Cody?”

“This man was sent to do this work. If he does not return to report, they will not know what has become of him, for I shall strap his body upon his horse, which must be near, take the animal to the lake, lead him in, and thence along the shore in the water to a spot near my ranch.

“I will search the body for any telling articles there may be on it, and will hide away his saddle and bridle.”

“But the horse, señor?”

“I will give him into the keeping of my men for a day, and after they have branded him and disguised him, his own master, if alive, would not know him, and one of them will ride him, so he will not go back to his home, at least, not just now.”

“You know what you are about, Señor Cody?”

“I hope so. Now we will find that horse, mount his master on him, and I’ll lead him back through the timber, not in the trail.”

“And your horse, señor?”

“Is trained, señor, and will keep always in the trail as I start him until we reach the lake shore, and there I will mount him.”

“What will this dead man’s comrades think?”

“In my opinion they will track him, find his trail leading here, then back to the lake, where they will lose it.

“They will see that your horse was halted here, remained for some time, and the tracks will reveal that two men were here, their comrade and you. They will take my footprints for yours, so you must not dismount.

“But when I have removed the body, you must move your horse about all over the spot, to mark out all traces of where it lay, for the ground is soft, I notice, beneath my feet. Then you go on homeward, and continue to gallop until you get there.”

“But that will not explain that dead man’s absence?”

“Yes, for they will believe that, being alone, when he captured you, why you simply bribed him to let you go.”

Going into the timber, Buffalo Bill was not long in finding the horse of the outlaw, and the body of the dead kidnaper was tied across the saddle with his own lariat, and then the animal and that of Señor Otega were moved all about, until every trace of where the man had fallen had been destroyed.

Bidding the señor good night, and promising to pay him another visit in good time, Buffalo Bill walked back to his own horse and the pack animal, turned toward the old ranch, threw the rein of the other over the saddle horn, and started them off at a walk.

Then he returned to the kidnaper’s horse, and led him through the timber, and then back over the two miles to the lake shore. There he overtook his horse and the pack animal, and they were taken into the lake, but at different points.

Along the beach, ankle deep in the lake, they continued their way, over the miles that lay between the point where they had entered the water and the old Mission Ranch.

At last the scout left the lake at a place where his trail led direct to the hacienda. He saw the glimmer of a light there, and he knew that it must be at the gate, and placed as a beacon to guide him home. Not a horse or a steer did he see, and he felt that they had all been driven into the grounds again for safety.

As he neared the gate, the cheery voice of Texas Jack called out:

“Is that you, chief?”

“Yes, Jack.”

“We were getting anxious about you, and not one of the men has retired.”

“What, more ghosts?”

“Not the shadow of one, but the men wished to remain up to see if you came in all right.”

“Oh, yes, I am all right. But I have a pack animal loaded with good things, for I have been off on a visit, and, Jack, I have another horse here, with his dead master upon him.

“Now, walls have ears, they say, and for fear the old hacienda may have some secret closets where foes are watching, I do not wish the men to breathe a word of this dead man.

“First, he must be searched, then buried to-night in the grave with the other one, and his horse must be disguised.”

“I understand, chief.”

“In the morning drive the cattle and horses over my trail to the lake.”

“Yes, chief.”

Feeling that he could leave all to Texas Jack, Buffalo Bill dismounted and entered the walled-in grounds, discovering that the men had during the day made a barrier that nothing could break through. Then he went on to the hacienda, for he was both tired and hungry.

The men welcomed their chief in a way that showed how glad they were to see him back, and that they felt a most warm regard for him.

But he said nothing of his adventure other than to tell them to go out and see Texas Jack.

Buffalo Bill had no desire to say anything in the hacienda that other ears than those his words were intended for should hear. He was very suspicious about the old structure, for, though it seemed one could discover if there were secret closets about it, he very well knew that such had not been found out, and they were certainly there.

This was proven by the mountain lion in the corridor, the sounds of moaning and weeping, and the howling of a dog the night before. Those sounds could only have been made by persons in concealment.

The scouts had discussed the matter among themselves when out of the place, and off from it, for the chief had warned them about talking when in the hacienda, and, where they could understand that men could have uttered the moans and other sounds, they could not comprehend just how the weeping of a woman and the voice of a child could have been heard.

“Pards, those ghosts must enter here by way of the cliff up yonder, so to-night we’ll put a strong guard there to head them off,” said Buffalo Bill.

And so it was planned for the next night.

Going out to Texas Jack, they saw the dead body, and it was quietly buried; then they took the horse in hand, and soon had him cleverly metamorphosed.

The saddle and bridle were taken into the hacienda and hidden, and all were told that they must utter not a word within the house that they did not wish to be known as there might be eavesdroppers whom they did not wish to know their plans.

This all attended to, Texas Jack went up to the hacienda to report, and that also he had what had been taken from the dead man put away for inspection on the morrow.

There was a guard of four men that night, two in the hacienda, two in the grounds.

Soon after midnight Buffalo Bill was awakened by low groans. Where they came from he could not tell. He arose in the darkness, and tried to trace the sound to its source. But in vain.

Lone Star was on guard in the corridor, but he, too, knew not whence they came.

Then followed the sound of weeping in a woman’s voice, as upon the night before.

“Go, Sam, and see if there is any disturbance among the cattle. I will keep watch until you return,” said Buffalo Bill.

Lone Star left, and the chief took his stand just in the middle of the corridor, and listened attentively.

As he listened, there was heard the wailing of a child, as though in pain. And the moans, the weeping, and the wailing continued.

“It all comes from the center of this hacienda, either from overhead or from underneath, which I cannot tell,” mused the scout.

Suddenly there rang out the wild, piercing shriek of the night before.

For a moment Buffalo Bill was startled, so close to him did it seem.

The men were all awakened by it, and upon their feet in an instant.

There was an alarm sounded, but just then Lone Star Sam returned, and reported the horses and cattle quiet.

“Yes, and the same game must be played here to quiet these ghosts,” said Buffalo Bill.

Lone Star had heard the shriek, for it had even reached the men on guard at the gate. He said every scout was up and ready for business.

“This must not be,” said Buffalo Bill. “They must pay no attention to any sounds they hear, and then we will master the situation.”

This order was given secretly to each one of the men, and they returned to their beds, though some did not care to sleep, as that unearthly shriek still echoed in their ears.

The morning dawned, and then Buffalo Bill gave orders to each man to retire the next night early, and to pay no attention to moans, groans, weeping, wailing or shrieks.

“We will disappoint them, pards. And more, only one man need stand guard to-night in the hacienda, and one at the gate.

“If there is cause for alarm, a pistol shot will be the signal to bring up to the spot where we are needed, but remember, nothing less than seeing a ghost to-night counts, for hearing them is nothing.”

These orders were given away from the hacienda, where no one could hear, if concealed within the walls.

The men to guard the cattle left early with the herd and the horses, and the trail of Buffalo Bill’s horse and the led animals was blotted out to the lake.

One of the men even rode the horse of the dead kidnaper out on duty.

His heavy tail had been thinned out more than half, as also had his bushy mane, while two brands had been put upon him that looked old. This was done by folding a cloth, saturating it in water, placing it upon the side of the animal, and then holding the red-hot brand against it until the hair was scalded off, but the flesh not burned.

This gave it an old look, and the horse certainly would not be known by the man who had owned him.

Just at midnight a low moaning was heard. As the wind had come up, and was whistling about the old hacienda, it made the moaning seem more dismal than ever. Then deep groans were heard.

A few scouts moved uneasily at this, but no one rose, no one spoke.

The weeping of a woman followed, without causing any disturbance among the sleepers, if any one was really asleep. Next was heard the plaintive wailing of a child.

Still no one stirred. A few minutes after there was a perfect chorus of these melancholy sounds, and still the scouts lay quiet.

Suddenly, without warning, the same unearthly, terrible shriek which had before brought all the scouts to their feet echoed through the old hacienda.

To say that some of the scouts started would be but the truth. But all had their orders from Buffalo Bill, and not a man moved. The shriek had caused hardly any more disturbance than had the moans, weeping, and wailing.

But, as though angry at having remained unnoticed, the shrieker sent forth peal after peal, until Buffalo Bill called out:

“Oh, quit that racket, ghost, and go back to your grave; for we can’t help you.”

The scouts laughed, and in a moment the sounds ceased altogether.

Nothing more disturbed the night’s rest, and the morning dawned with the secret sleuths the victors.

Buffalo Bill rose early, and while breakfast was being got ready he went out and scaled the cliff.

“Pards, to-night some of us will camp out upon that cliff,” he said upon his return.

CHAPTER XL.
THE SHOT ON THE CLIFF.

The secret sleuths all seemed particularly pleased with their chief and themselves, when they felt that they had not been turned out of their beds by the carrying on of the “ghosts” during the night.

Those who had been most superstitious took heart also, and began to feel that the “dead folks” were not so much to be dreaded, after all.

The guard at the entrance had reported that the cattle had shown no restlessness, and he had neither seen nor heard anything to alarm him, save the wild shrieks up at the hacienda.

Buffalo Bill had picked out four men to accompany him to the cliff, when night came, to remain there on watch.

A guard was also to be stationed in the tower, one at the gate and another at the entrance of the living wing.

In case of an alarm five more scouts were to hasten over the wall, and, led by Lone Star, who knew the way, go to the help of those upon the cliff.

Buffalo Bill had selected to accompany him Texas Jack, Kit Kingdon, Rio Grande Dick, and Blue Jacket Bob, all of them splendid fellows in a close fight.

And all were to take their rifles along.

They were to carry their blankets as well, so that all could sleep except one who watched.

Quietly they slipped out of the gate, after dark, and, Buffalo Bill leading the way, they went around the wall to the cliff and began the steep climb by the aid of the trees.

It was no easy task by day, and doubly dangerous in the darkness.

But the climb was made in safety, and when the plateau was reached the five men formed a line, and, spreading their blankets upon the ground, lay down to watch.

Buffalo Bill had taken the center position, and he told his men that they could go to sleep, as he would remain on guard and call them if he had any grounds for alarm.

The men were thus stretched right across the plateau from one cliffside to another, and about a hundred yards apart, just over the ranch.

But though each man spread his blanket, he did not go to sleep.

All were too anxious to make some discovery that would enable them to entrap the outlaws.

If there was an alarm, they were to rally toward their chief, and if their foes proved too numerous they were to give a signal for help from the hacienda, and then retreat toward the cliff overlooking it.

Midnight came and passed without any sound, and then Texas Jack, who held the end position on the right, beheld a form in white coming from the cliff that looked down from the range over the plateau, and which rose several feet above it. He was instantly on the alert, and expecting that the one he saw was not alone, he dared not yet give the alarm.

Nearer and nearer drew the form in white, gliding quickly along, until suddenly Texas Jack called out sharply:

“Halt! Hands up!”

There was a startled cry, a quick shot at random toward Texas Jack, and the white form was off like a deer toward the cliff.

Seeing that he must get away, Texas Jack raised his rifle and fired as the shadowy form was disappearing in the darkness.

Instantly all was excitement on the plateau, the scouts rallying quickly toward Texas Jack, who had darted forward in pursuit, calling to his comrades to follow.

Buffalo Bill was the first to reach his side, and he was bending over a man lying upon the ground and groaning with pain.

“Stay and see what you can get out of him, Jack. Blue Jacket, run to the cliff and give the alarm for Lone Star Sam and his party to come in. Dick, light those lanterns and have them ready, but under cover, and then all of you follow me.”

With these orders Buffalo Bill moved rapidly on toward the cliff, and as quickly as possible his men followed, two of them with lanterns.

Buffalo Bill reached the cliff of the range rising above the spur, and as the others came they stretched out along its base.

Blue Jacket Bob called out to say that Lone Star Sam and the others were coming, and in a quarter of an hour they were on hand, and half a dozen lanterns were following like fireflies along the wall of rock which towered above the plateau.

But not another soul was seen, nothing was found, and the whole cliff seemed to be nowhere scalable.

But the scouts kept up their search until the dawn, determined to see then if there was any discovery that could be made.

Stevens, the surgeon, had been called to the wounded man, and as Buffalo Bill went to where he lay, just as day broke, he found the scout doctor seated by his side, Texas Jack having left the unfortunate fellow to his care.

“Well, doc, how is he?”

“Perfectly conscious, sir, but he will utter no word.”

“His pallid face shows that death is not far off.”

“Yes, sir; I have told him that he must die, that he can live but an hour or more, and that I could do nothing for him, though I have tried. But the wound is mortal.” Stevens showed where the bullet had torn its way.

Buffalo Bill knelt by the side of the dying man, who was beyond doubt an American, for his hair was light in hue, and his eyes dark blue. He was dressed in buckskin leggings, a blue woolen shirt, moccasins, and a slouch hat, but, in strange contrast, about him was wrapped a large white robe, intended to be white, though much soiled. He had had on a belt of arms, but it had been removed by Texas Jack to make him more comfortable.

The man’s blue eyes rested upon Buffalo Bill with a strange expression in them.

“My poor fellow, I am sorry I can do nothing for you,” said Buffalo Bill kindly.

The man shook his head.

“Can you not talk?”

“Yes.” The word was distinctly uttered.

“Will you not tell me if I can serve you in some way?”

Again the wounded man shook his head.

“Why were you playing ghost, for you thus brought your death upon yourself?”

No reply.

“Have you no kindred, no friends to whom you wish to send a last word?”

“I will leave no word.”

“But would it not be best?”

“No.”

“If you wish your friends to know of your death, upon my word I will not tell them what you are.”

“Let me die in silence.”

“Doc, can you not give him something to relieve his sufferings?”

“He refused it—he will soon be beyond suffering.”

Just then Texas Jack approached, and as he did so Buffalo Bill said:

“Texas Jack, the poor fellow is dying, but will utter no word to commit himself or betray his comrades.”

The blue eyes of the dying man rested upon the face of Texas Jack in an earnest way:

“Jack Omohundro, I know you. We were boys together in far-away Virginia. And your hand has ended my career. So be it, for I might have met a worse death—— Ah! I see that you know me now, but do not betray me here, nor to the people at home, who believe me dead years ago. Give me your hand, Jack.”

Into the bright eyes of the Texan, who had witnessed many a death scene, came tears that rolled down his bronzed cheeks, as he grasped the hand, while he said softly:

“Yes, Ned, I know you, my boyhood friend. We never dreamed of this in those old days. I will not betray you.”

The Texan’s form quivered with emotion, and a smile swept over the face of the dying man.

Buffalo Bill’s fine face grew stern as death, but it was to force back the flood of feeling that rushed upon him, and Doc Stevens hastily drew his sleeve across his eyes.

“Jack, I will atone all I can for my evil past, I will tell you that which will let me die easy in mind, for it will save many from sorrow and suffering, yes, and some lives, too—listen to me while I can talk.”

The scouts walked away, but the dying man recalled Buffalo Bill, who had removed his broad sombrero, as Texas Jack’s fell from his bowed head.

Bold, fearless, reckless fellows that they were, the scouts all saw that their chief was respecting a death scene, even though it was an outlaw that was dying. They beheld the attitude of their lieutenant, Texas Jack, saw that his hand clasped that of the dying man, and they bared their heads in compassion, for they knew that there was some link that bound the two together.

Later came the last words of the dying man:

“Jack, old friend, good-by.”

All heard the words, saw the smile, and then beheld the ashen hue deepen on the face of the dying man, as the end came.

Texas Jack folded the hands upon the breast, and wrapped the white shroudlike robe about the form.

“He was my boyhood friend, pards, and as he asked me to keep his secret it will die with me,” said the Texan. And to his dying day Texas Jack never made known the identity of the outlaw.

After the body of the dead outlaw had been decently buried down in the ranch graveyard, Texas Jack motioned to the chief of scouts, and the two walked apart together.

“You heard his strange story?”

“Yes, Jack.”

“And who the leader of these secret foes is?”

“Yes, he is known as El Diabolo, the Cowboy King, is feared by everybody, and is the chief of cowboys on the ranch of the girl hermit.”

“And you will act upon the information he gave us, Bill?”

“Of course, but not too hastily, as I wish to make a clean sweep of all the guilty ones, and have none of the innocent suffer.”

“You are wise in that; but if you could trust your friend, Señor Otega, he might help greatly.”

“Yes, but I’ll know just who to trust before I make a move. I shall make a visit to Silver Lake City and see how matters are there, for I wish to see the priest, and also have a talk with Riel, the innkeeper. In fact, I expect to go on a still hunt and be much away, so you take full control here, and at the right time we will act and make no mistake.”

CHAPTER XLI.
THE FIGHT IN THE SLEUTHS’ CAMP.

Several days passed away, and Buffalo Bill was absent from the camp, for, acting under his orders, Texas Jack had encamped his men outside of the hacienda and away from its immediate surroundings.

The chief of scouts was what the men called “playing a little game,” in this, for it could give those who haunted the hacienda the idea that the scout sleuths were afraid to stay there any longer.

The truth was that Buffalo Bill was on a still hunt of detective work, and each one of his men was aiding him all in his power.

The scout had not been gone a day from the camp before visitors began to drop in there, a thing that had never happened while they were at the hacienda.

Just how it happened Texas Jack and his men did not know, or if they did they kept it to themselves; but trouble came, and at night, when the scouts were away from the camp.

Blue Jacket Bob and Rio Grande Dick were the two men left in camp, and following the arrival of three strangers came a fatal fight.

To the surprise of Blue Jacket Bob, two of the cowboy visitors were from the ranch of Señor Otega, and the other was from the hacienda of the fair hermit, and known to belong to the band who served the cowboy king, the Señorita Suelo’s chief of cowboys.

Perhaps they had expected to find only one guard at the cowboy camp and rob it; but the two men they found there had proven more than a match for them.

When Buffalo Bill returned to camp he found Texas Jack and the men, save two, off on scouting duty; but of those two one was dead, Rio Grande Dick, and Blue Jack Bob was wounded.

With Buffalo Bill came Señor Otega.

Doc Stevens had joined his chief back on the trail, fortunately as it proved, and as the three rode into camp there stood Blue Jacket Bob in the moonlight, and he called out:

“Doc, I have a wound in my arm for you to dress, and it needs it, for I could not go to look you up, being all alone in camp.”

“Why, where is Rio Grande Dick?”

“I am sorry to say, sir, that he is dead.”

“Dead! How was it, Bob?”

But Buffalo Bill could see that Blue Jacket Bob was suffering, and he insisted that he should not make a report until his wound had been tended.

This was now done by Doc Stevens, who said:

“It is not dangerous, but he has lost considerable blood. Here is the bullet—give him a drink, please.”

The bullet had been extracted from the shoulder, a drink of brandy was given the wounded man, and as soon as he was made comfortable he said:

“There lies poor Dick over there, chief.”

“How was it, Bob?”

“You see that man lying yonder?”

“Yes.”

“He was one of the cowboy king’s men.”

“Yes, I remember him, and next in authority to him,” said Señor Otega.

“I guess he was; there is his horse hitched where he left him. He came to our camp with two men. One said to us that they had brought a friend of theirs over who wanted to know us, and he had some fine liquor and cigars, and wished us to join him. I said that we did not drink, but would smoke with them, and asked them to be seated.

“We all sat down here, and were talking when he called out suddenly: ‘Now!’

“The three men, with that, at once drew their revolvers and turned them on us.

“But, though we were taken by surprise, we are quick on the draw, and our revolvers were going off with theirs, and for a second or so it was lively here.

“We all sprang to cover of the timber, of course, and so we had it.

“I don’t think it lasted half a minute, and then I found I was the only one standing up, and I was wounded.

“I walked over to where those three traitors lay, but they were dead. I then went to poor Dick. He was gasping, but murmured something about a plot to kill us. Then he grasped my hand, and the poor boy was gone.”

As he spoke, Bob brushed tears from his eyes, and there were others who felt the drops trickle down their bronzed cheeks as they thought of their dead comrade.

The scouts had listened with rapt attention to Blue Jacket Bob’s story, and Buffalo Bill said:

“Bob, you have done nobly, old fellow, and there is proof lying before us of your plucky fight against odds. Now, señor, what is your opinion of the treachery of your men to-night?”

“They came to rob this camp, señor, and failed, though they had one of the fair hermit’s cattlemen as an ally.”

“What a pity that they all got killed, that we cannot entrap one alive, or wound and capture one!”

“It is, indeed, a pity, Señor Cody. But you recall that I told you the secret foes had spies on every ranch, or were suspected of having?”

“Yes, Señor Otega.”

“Well, these two were the spies, doubtless, on my ranch.”

“I see.”

“And the other man was a comrade of theirs, and hence a spy on the ranch of the fair hermit.”

“I guess you are right.”

“Now, what is to be done with these bodies, for poor Dick we will take with us for burial at the ranch?”

“It would be best if you ride over with me and report the affair to the alcalde.”

“Who is he?”

“The landlord, the Señor Riel.”

“All right,” and to Texas Jack, who just rode up:

“Jack, you and three others be within call if I need you, for I may have to shoot the alcalde,” said Buffalo Bill, to the surprise of Señor Otega, who cried:

“Oh, señor!”

“If ever there was a scamp, Señor Otega, that landlord is one, and I shall stand no nonsense with him.”

“All right, sir, and you’ll find us within call,” said Jack.

With this, Buffalo Bill and the Señor Otega mounted their horses and rode away from the camp. Texas Jack, Lone Star Sam, and Mustang Frank following soon after.

The landlord was found in the Fandango Hall, at Silver Lake City, but he was called into his office by Señor Otega, who said at once:

“Señor Alcalde, we have an unfortunate affair to report to you.”

“The Señor Cody I suppose has killed some one?”

The look the man got from the scout made him wince, but the words were calmly uttered:

“You must not jump at conclusions, sir, or I might be tempted to punish impertinence. I am here to report to you that two of our men were left to guard camp, while the rest were away. We returned to find that one of our men had been killed, the other wounded, and the three men who had gone there to rob the camp were lying dead, having been shot by our comrade, Blue Jacket Bob.”

“This is bad, very bad.”

“The three men were those whom we had reason to believe friends, for two were Señor Otega’s cowboys, and the other was a cattleman of the band of the cowboy king, and he it was who arranged the robbery, which ended in the loss of their lives.”

“This is bad, very bad. I must demand the man who did this killing, and while the Señor Otega goes to fetch him I will hold you as hostage, Señor Cody.”

“You shall neither take Blue Jacket Bob, nor will you keep me here. I have reported the facts, and it is a pretty state of affairs when we cannot protect our camp and our lives. If you wish a trial, name the day and we will be here.”

“And I will guarantee on bond, Señor Alcalde, for the appearance of the accused man,” said Señor Otega.

“I must have a guarantee from them also.”

Buffalo Bill laughed and replied:

“You doubt my word, and I have reason to doubt you, and, in fact, do. No, I’ll pledge my word, and remember, the Señor Otega here shall give no bond for us, and we will be here on the day you set for trial.”

“I wish a guarantee.”

“See here, Landlord Riel, you shall have one. With your own people you would consider this justifiable killing of three robbers and murderers. We are here in this valley as are others, and you shall not make us an exception.”

“But I must punish murder,” said the landlord, all in a tremor.

“There was no murder, save the killing of my poor comrade by those men who were murderers and robbers. Blue Jacket Bob acted in self-defense, and I’ll tell you to your face, if you dare to attempt to hold me a prisoner, or arrest my comrade, I’ll make known to these people the confession of one of those three men, and a dying man does not lie.

“I alone know that confession, Landlord Alcalde, or whatever you choose to call yourself, and I will make it known, and leave it for you to prove that dying lips lied.

“Do you grasp my meaning as I intend you shall, Señor Riel?”

Señor Otega stood amazed at the bold words of Buffalo Bill. He knew perfectly well that there had been no dying confession; he was surprised and startled at the daring shown by the scout, and flinging into the face of a man whom every one in the valley feared, a charge of guilt, as it were. He glared at the alcalde, expecting a terrible outbreak.

Instead, he saw that his face was livid, that his lips were drawn back from his white teeth like a snarling dog, and that they were clicking together with a nervous chill.

“Señor Otega retire a moment, please, for I wish to ask our friend here of this man’s confession.”

The voice of the alcalde was hardly audible.

A glance at Buffalo Bill, and the Señor Otega saw a sign for him to go.

“I will soon join you, señor, as the alcalde will not detain me long,” said the scout pleasantly.

When the door closed behind Otega, the alcalde said in a low tone:

“Who made this confession you speak of?”

“I do not know the name of the man of the cowboy king’s band,” was the evasive reply.

“Ah! it was he?”

“Shall I tell you that the confession appeared like that of a man who sought to destroy you, alcalde; but where there is smoke you will always find fire, and were I to speak there are plenty to listen, though I myself might not believe that you can be guilty.

“Suppose we square this matter by your giving me a discharge for my comrade; in other words, that he acted in self-defense, and you bury the three bodies at your expense.”

“Yes, yes, señor, that will do, for I have no desire to prosecute you or your comrades. You are strangers in our valley, and I will give you the paper asked, and in return your lips are sealed about the confession of that dying man. As you said, it was the malignant confession on the eve of death, to ruin me, for we had had some trouble several times, and there is not a word of truth in it.”

“I did not tell you what he had said.”

“No, no.” The alcalde looked most anxious.

“Just write out the paper for my pard, please—his name is Robert Mead, nicknamed Blue Jacket Bob.”

“I see.” The alcalde hastily filled in a discharge and handed it to the scout, saying as he did so: “Now, there is no charge, you know.”

“Thanks, señor.”

“Now, what did that wicked man have to say about me?”

“Well, I heard enough to know you were in some way allied to these secret foes of the valley, and kept by fear of death of making known all that you are aware of.”

“Nonsense, señor, utter nonsense! Still, it is best not to let it be known that I had such a charge against me, and you are not to speak of it, you know.”

“Not one word I ever heard from that dying man against you, señor, shall ever pass my lips, at least as long as you don’t forget.”

“Then that will be all right. I will call in the Señor Otega, and you are to have a glass of wine with me.”

“Thanks, but I do not often drink; the Señor Otega never does, and you must excuse us. But you will send over after the bodies, for we shall leave camp to-night.”

“Yes, I will return with you, with two of my men, and take them in charge.”

Señor Otega was again surprised when the alcalde and the scout came out together, and as Texas Jack saw them approaching he and his comrades hastened back to camp.

The alcalde had two men and a wagon to follow him, and the bodies of the three robbers were taken back into the settlement, where there was already plenty more work for the landlord in his magisterial capacity, there having been a riot in the Fandango Hall, and half a score of men lay around dead, while many more were wounded.

“Those three dead from our camp will fit in with the ones slain at the fandango,” said Señor Otega, as he rode with Buffalo Bill as they started on their homeward trail just before dawn.

“Oh, yes, the alcalde will fix things up all right, and I have Blue Jacket Bob’s acquittal paper here,” replied Buffalo Bill.

“And, señor, how did you manage it?”

“Easy enough.”

“Well, you played the boldest game I ever saw, and you are the first one who ever frightened Alcalde Riel, I assure you. Why, not one of those men made a confession.”

“No, but if he thought they did, and he was guilty, it was just as well as though they had.”

“Yes, just as well.” Señor Otega was lost in admiration at the bold deed of Buffalo Bill in bringing the alcalde to terms.

Back to his ranch went Señor Otega, while Buffalo Bill and his men returned on the trail that would take them by the way of the temporary camp where poor Rio Grande Dick had lost his life.

The chief of scouts found that his orders to get ready to return to the haunted hacienda had been carried out, and all were in readiness for the move.

Rio Grande Dick had been given decent burial, and the men felt that their chief had been doing some splendid secret-service work during his short absence from them.

“Pards, I have found out enough to convince the most skeptical of you, that is the most ardent believer in ghosts, that every spook we will have to deal with can be brought down with a bullet,” said Buffalo Bill.

“I have gleaned certain information that fastens the crimes in this valley upon a man, yes, men whom no one suspects; but what we do now will bring the guilty to the end of their rope.

“Though you did not know it, there was one of our band left alone and in hiding in the haunted hacienda, and what he discovered proved that we are on the right track.”

Though Buffalo Bill did not even hint as much, the men were sure that their chief had been that lone watcher in the ruins of the fatal ranch.

Continuing in his easy way, Buffalo Bill said:

“Now, men, we return to that old spook nest next, and we stay there until we lay the ghosts, mark my words.

“All I ask is for each man to give me his full support, and we’ll soon strike the end of our trail.”

The answer was a cheer, and the march was taken up for the fatal ranch.

If there was one of the scouts who longer felt dread of the ruin, that is, a superstitious dread, he did not show it.

The place was again occupied, and after a talk with the men, before they reached the hacienda, it was agreed by one and all that not a word should be uttered there that would in any way give their plans away.

That night a move would be made by Buffalo Bill which should lay the foundation for the laying of the spooks, and all were on the eager watch for what was to come.

CHAPTER XLII.
A STARTLING VISIT.

Night came and Buffalo Bill was on guard at the gate with Winfield.

The cattle and horses had not been driven in, as the scouts had returned home, and there were enough for four for night duty and four for day duty, with the others to look to the duties about the hacienda, and be ready for any service they might be called upon to do.

As Buffalo Bill had signified his intention of going on an expedition the next day, he carried his blankets down to the entrance to sleep there, and have Texas Jack call him.

Jack awoke the chief just at dawn, asking:

“Now, what does it mean, chief?”

“I am going to make a call—in fact, a couple of them, for I shall dine with Señor Otega, and from there go on to the hacienda of the fair hermit.”

“Do you mean it, chief?”

“Certainly.”

“Don’t go there.”

“Is it the fair hermit you distrust, or her cowboys?”

“It is the king of the cowboys I have no faith in, and his men will do as he tells them, as my dying friend said.”

“I do not doubt that.”

“He is bitter over our coming here, as all of them are, and he will seek to do you harm in some way, I am sure.”

“My dear Jack, that is just why I want you and the boys along.”

“Ah!”

“You are to follow my trail, you know, and, stopping at the Otega ranch later in the afternoon, some time after my departure from there, he will give you a couple of men to accompany you, guiding you to the hacienda of the fair hermit.

“You can then go as near as you dare, meet me upon my departure, and on the return, instead of having one man to waylay, as they will expect, they will find half a dozen, and I will not fall into the trap.”

“I see.”

“I do not know that they would kill me, I rather think they would not; but just now I wish to take no chances—wish to keep out of trouble—as I am playing a little secret game myself, which you will all be let into as soon as I make a discovery or two I hope to.

“Now, follow in a couple of hours, and when you reach the Otega ranch go there alone, leaving the men in hiding.”

With this Buffalo Bill rode along the trail, now well known to him, leading to the home of Señor Otega. He was watchful as he rode along, as he deemed it necessary that he should be.

It was within half an hour of dinner time when he reached the Otega ranch, and he was received by the señor and his lovely wife most cordially.

“You are going to be our guest for several days, I hope?”

“Thank you, no, for I must go on my way this afternoon.”

“I am sorry; but we will soon have dinner.”

Señora Otega left the room to see to it, when the señor remarked:

“Now, which way, señor, for I am sorry to see you alone on a trail?”

“I have company, sir, but they are not visible.”

“Good!”

“My friend, Texas Jack, will be here this afternoon, and will you give him a couple of men whom you feel that you can really trust as guides?”

“I can give him a dozen men, Señor Cody, but candidly, and with shame I say it, I know of but one man on my ranch whom I would fully trust. The fact is, I do not know in whom to place confidence. They may be all faithful, and yet one may not be so, and that one might be the person I select for you.”

“That is very true.”

“But one man I am sure of, Palma, my cowboy chief, and he will go with you where you please.”

“Thanks, señor, he will do, and if you will allow him to go with Texas Jack I will feel obliged.”

“But you, señor?”

“I am going to make a visit, señor, to the hacienda of the fair recluse.”

“Oh, señor!”

“Yes, and I wish you to give me full directions for reaching there.”

“I will, yet—— I do not wish to see you go there.”

“Why not?”

“The cowboy king.”

“Is not the Señorita Suelo a protection upon her own ranch?”

“Yes, but——”

“Well?”

“She will not see you.”

“I will make the trial at least.”

“But why go there?”

“I have a special desire to see her.”

“In your mysterious but seemingly sure way you are working for an end, señor, and I say Heaven speed you.”

“When I come back from my visit to the hacienda of the Señorita Suelo, I will get your cowboy chief to come to the Mission Ranch for a visit of several days, and he will guide us around to the other side of that range, for up there is the retreat of the secret foes.”

“I believe you are right. But I also will go, for you, a stranger, must not run all the risk in working for us here in this valley, who have suffered at the hands of the secret foes. I will accompany you, señor, and you may need my aid, as well as that of Palma.”

“I shall be only too happy to have you go, señor, for I shall go there for work, deadly work.”

Buffalo Bill rode away from the home of Señor Otega half an hour after he had enjoyed one of the señora’s most substantial dinners.

The ranchero was sorry to see him go, yet he was beginning to feel that all the scout understood he would accomplish. He had given him full directions for reaching the hacienda of the fair recluse.

It was situated down the valley from him, at the foot of the lake, and just half a score of miles from the Otega ranch.

As he drew near it, after a brisk ride, Buffalo Bill was glad to discover that there were innumerable hiding places for Texas Jack and his men, and their approach could not be seen by any one in the hacienda.

Some of the cowboys herding cattle gazed at the scout with interest as he rode along, but he seemed neither to avoid nor care to meet them.

One, however, rode in such a way as to cross his trail, and he said, as he drew near:

“Going to the hacienda, señor?”

“Yes.”

“The cowboy king is not there.”

“I wish to see the Señorita Suelo.”

“She receives no strangers, señor.”

“I shall at least try to see her.”

“It will be useless.”

“Has she not cattle and horses for sale?”

“Yes, señor, but the cowboy chief attends to that.”

“In his absence who does?”

“You will have to come again, señor.”

“I will ride on, however, and request to see the señorita.”

“It will only be refused.”

“Very well, I can then turn back. But when will the cowboy king return?”

“To-night, señor.”

Thanking the man, Buffalo Bill rode on, and soon approached the heavy gate of the hacienda.

A man stood within, looking through a small window, and said, somewhat rudely:

“The señorita entertains no strangers beneath her roof.”

“I have not asked it, my man. But you will go and say to the señorita that the Señor Cody desires to see her for a few minutes.”

“I’ll go, señor, but she will not see you.”

He returned within ten minutes and said:

“The señorita regrets to decline to see the señor, and that she is not able to offer him hospitality beneath her roof.”

Buffalo Bill smiled, and, taking from his pocket a notebook, he tore out a leaf and wrote upon it:

“‘If taken from the wrist the charm is broken.’ The Señor Cody begs to restore the charm.”

“Hand this to the señorita, my man.”

A silver dollar slipped into the hand prevented any reply, as the man had upon his lips a refusal to bear the message. But he walked off, and Buffalo Bill waited with no show of anxiety as to the result.

This time the gatekeeper was gone for a much longer time than before, and when he returned there was a puzzled look upon his face, as he said:

“I’ll allow you to enter, señor, for the señorita will see you?”

“I felt that she would see me,” was the quiet reply of Buffalo Bill.

“She has done so, but——”

“But what?” asked Buffalo Bill, looking the evidently greatly surprised gatekeeper straight in the eye.

“The señor is doubtless an old friend of the señorita?”

This was ventured as though the man was cautiously feeling his way.

“I may and may not be a friend.”

The man halted at this and said:

“Well, I am very sure of one thing, señor.”

“It matters nothing to me what you think; do as you were told to do—lead me to the presence of the señorita.”

The man had a dogged look and manner. He appeared as though he meant not to obey the bidding; but there was that in the look of the scout which commanded obedience.

And so he moved on once more.

CHAPTER XLIII.
THE FAIR HERMIT.

“Visitors are not allowed here, and, were the cowboy king at home, he would not have admitted you,” said the man to Cody, as though determined to make another effort to talk.

“My visit is to the Señorita Suelo, not to her servant, the cowboy chief,” was the stern reply.

The gateman winced, for the cowboy king evidently was all powerful in that hacienda.

The gateman did not lead the visitor into the hacienda, but, halting at the flower-garden gate, said:

“The señor will find the señorita in yonder arbor.”

“She does not intend to have any eavesdroppers, that is certain,” muttered the scout to himself.

A short walk brought him to the arbor, a perfect bower of beauty amid the flowers that were upon all sides.

The señorita arose from a hammock, a book in her hand, as the caller approached.

“Señor, be seated,” she said, and she appeared embarrassed.

“Señorita, I have no right, perhaps, to intrude myself upon you, knowing the unwritten law of your house that no stranger must enter, but I have done so to return to you a trinket that belongs to you—one I picked up upon the scene when last we met.”

As Buffalo Bill spoke, he held out the bracelet he had found upon the spot where he had rescued the Mexican officer and the maiden from the outlaws.

The face of the fair Mexican flushed and paled in turn, and, stepping forward, she said earnestly:

“Señor, can you ever forgive me for my treatment of you that day, leaving you, as we did, after your saving the señor captain from certain death, and rescuing me from the power of cruel foes?

“Yes, the bracelet must have been torn from my wrist unnoticed by my captors in the struggle.

“You read what is written within it, señor, so the charm is broken. I will never wear it again; no, never! For what is there graven has come true—the charm is broken.”

She turned her head, and for a moment was silent, when Buffalo Bill spoke:

“I am sorry you no longer have faith in the charm; but I am glad to have returned it to you.”

“Señor, I am glad you have done so, for it has given me the chance to meet you to tell you how I appreciate all you did that day. Why we left you so unceremoniously I cannot tell, for my lips are sealed.”

“And who were those foes of yours, señorita?”

“I do not know.”

“And the señor captain—did he recover from the cruel treatment they gave him?”

“Yes, señor.”

“Señorita, I have a request to make.”

“I will grant it.”

“The favor I would ask is that when I come again to see you, you will see me.”

“I have promised; but you must not come when the cowboy king is here, señor.”

Buffalo Bill’s face did not change a muscle at this remarkable request of the fair recluse.

The girl looked at him somewhat anxiously, while he answered graciously:

“It shall be as you wish, señorita. I will now bid you adios and thank you for having received me.”

“Then thanks are due to you, señor, and I wish you would tell me if in any way I can serve you.”

“By allowing me to call again, as you have promised, if I deem it best to come.”

“You have my promise.”

“And may I again ask if you have any idea of who the men were who attacked you that day?”

“I have not.”

“Were they not the secret foes?”

“No, señor.”

“I did not know but that they might be,” said Buffalo Bill, in a peculiar way.

“No, señor, they were not of that band. Their masked leader was a foe to—to—the señor captain, and to me. I know; but, just who he is I am not aware. He wanted gold, and revenge, as well, it seemed, but he thwarted his purpose as far as getting money was concerned, for, but for your coming, as you so bravely did, he would have killed the señor captain, and from me he would have obtained nothing. The outlaws were strangers in the valley, señor, save their chief, and just who he was I do not know, as I have stated.”

“Perhaps when I call again, señorita, I may be able to inform you as to his identity.”

“Ah! can you?”

“I may,” was the cautious reply, and, declining the offer of refreshments, the scout took his leave, the señorita offering her hand as she bade him farewell.

“Señor, this valley is full of dangerous characters, and one knows not whom to trust. You are going alone upon a dangerous trail, and I warn you that you may be halted and held up, as they say here. This will protect you from robbery, perhaps from death. Wear it!” and she took from the silk scarf about her neck a pin of unique design and fastened it upon the lapel of Buffalo Bill’s jacket.

“Señorita, I will keep it as a souvenir of you; it will doubtless be a charm to protect me. I thank you.”

Again bidding the beautiful girl good-by, Buffalo Bill left the garden, crossed the plaza to where his horse awaited him, and rode toward the gate.

There stood the keeper, who now saluted him with marked respect, again saying:

“You are the first stranger, señor, who ever gained entrance to this hacienda.”

As Buffalo Bill rode along he was not forgetful of being in great danger, and he was surprised when he did not see the ranch cowboys he had seen when he was on his way to visit the fair hermit. He was riding quietly along when he saw a horseman approaching, a splendid-looking man, well mounted, and with silver-mounted Mexican saddle and bridle.

Buffalo Bill knew him at once from what he had heard of the cowboy king.

Both saluted and halted, the cowboy king saying:

“Off your trail, señor?”

“No, for I have been to the hacienda.”

“And why?”

“That I consider none of your business.”

“I shall make it my affair, Señor Cody, and you are covered by my men,” responded the cowboy king.

It was true, for four men were peering over a rock with rifles leveled at the scout, who said:

“So it seems; but do you not respect this badge?” and he pointed to the pin Suelo had given him.

“Not this time, for you are too dangerous a man to be at large. I know you, Buffalo Bill.”

“And I know you, now, for you were a deserter from the army, and later became a finished cutthroat; but I thought you were dead, Dallas Mowbray.”

“No, I left the northern country several years ago, as it became too hot for me, and came back to the Southwest, for I am really a Mexican, you know, and was once an officer of the Mexican army, but was exiled for certain acts. You see, I don’t mind telling you, as I regard you as good as dead.”

“Thanks; but while there is life, there is hope.”

“So I have found out; but I’ll fix you now—ho, men, come here!”

The four men came, their rifles still loaded; but as they neared the scout there were several shots heard—then one.

The first came from some thick timber close at hand, and the four men with rifles dropped dead.

The single shot was from Buffalo Bill’s revolver, who was quick to take advantage of the volley in his favor. He had sent a bullet through the heart of the cowboy king.

The next moment Texas Jack, four of his pards, with Señor Otega and his cowboy chief, Palma, came into view.

“You were just in time, Jack, and I thank you all.

“Find the horses of those four men, strap the bodies in the saddles, and we’ll take them to our ranch to-night, and to-morrow there will be two visits for us to make, and in full force, for I can see the beginning of the end of our trail.”

“As I also can, chief,” answered Texas Jack.

CHAPTER XLIV.
REVEALED.

Again did Buffalo Bill pay a visit to the hacienda of the fair hermit. It was the day following his meeting with the cowboy king.

Again he was received, and in the garden, as before, while the señorita said:

“You have come sooner than I expected, señor; but it is well, as the cowboy king is not here.”

“Why do you fear that man?”

“Ah! I cannot tell.”

“What is he to you?”

“Do not ask me.”

“Do you love him?”

“No!”

“I am glad, for I can tell you that you need no longer fear him.”

“What do you mean?” she gasped.

“Señorita, I have read your secret, for that man was the Mexican officer I saved with you from those men that day nearly two months ago.”

“You recognize him, then?”

“Yes, and as a vile cutthroat who joined our army, robbed the paymaster, deserted, and became a fugitive and an outlaw, at last, as we believed, being killed, but, instead, coming here. Did you not know him as all that was bad?”

“Señor, I was deceived by him, for I believed him an officer of the Mexican army. I was left this place, and he urged me to marry him secretly, and I did so, then coming here to live, and obeying him blindly. At times he came here, I believing he was on duty when he was away.

“It was when he was here that you rescued us, and from men I now think were not outlaws, but those who suspected him of certain deeds and determined to kill him. Perhaps they were my own cowboys, who sought to kill him, not wishing a master over them.

“Of late, I have had reason to doubt him, and I meant to know the truth, even if he killed me, as he has often threatened to do.”

“Have no fear now, for he is dead.”

“No, no, it cannot be, for he bears a charmed life.”

“It has ended—the charm is broken, as was the case when you lost your bracelet.”

“Which he gave to me; but do you know that he is dead?”

“I killed him, Señorita Suelo Sada,” calmly said Buffalo Bill.

“You?”

“Yes, I made you a widow, I am glad to say, for that man was the leader of the secret foes of this valley, the one who has put the curse upon it which all have dreaded.”

“God bless you, señor, for those words. You have freed me from worse than death. But only lately did I suspect that he was really bad at heart, and the words I got came to me by a secret letter, and I was told to closely watch his movements and I would discover the truth.

“My servants here are innocent, all in the hacienda, but I believe all the cowboys are guilty, and were members of his band.”

“I know that they were; but let me tell you that they are all prisoners now, for I led my men to their retreat last night, on the cliffs, back of my ranch, and through a secret entrance into the old hacienda, surprised their hidden camp.

“They had there a score of prisoners, men, women, and children, held for ransom, and I learned the story from dying lips, and enough more to enable us, under Señor Otega and his chief of cowboys, to find the secret entrance to the cliffs.

“We set free all who were there, killed the five guards over them, and to-day rounded up and captured your cowboys, seven in number, who shared the ransoms paid with their chief.

“You were not guilty, I know, Señorita Suelo Moro, for such is your name as Dallas Moro’s wife; but you will be so thought by many in this valley, and my advice is that you at once leave here and seek a home elsewhere, where no cloud hangs over your life, and Señor Otega will see to your property here.”

“Señor Cody, again I say, ‘God bless you,’ and from my heart I thank you more than words can tell. I have an ample fortune of my own, independent of this accursed ranch, where I have known only sorrow; but what I have done he forced me to do. To Señor Otega I leave this ranch, cattle and all, for him to dispose of, and pay back to those who have paid ransom, every dollar they have been cheated out of.

“Señor, with my few faithful servants I will leave here at sunset, and into your hands will I give the paper by which Señor Otega can act for me.”

From his heart Buffalo Bill pitied the beautiful and unhappy woman, and he was glad, a few hours after, to see her and her few faithful servants depart from the hacienda forever, while Señor Otega willingly accepted the duty, to carry out the mission she had intrusted to him, through Cody.

As quickly as Buffalo Bill and his secret sleuths had entered the mysterious valley, they departed from it, carrying with them their horses and cattle, and their prisoners also, to deliver over to the commandant of the fort nearest the scene, who held control of that part of the country.

Among the prisoners was Riel, the innkeeper, who, next to the cowboy king, was the guilty one in the many crimes committed in the beautiful valley.

It is needless to say that quick punishment was visited upon all the prisoners, and Buffalo Bill and his sleuths of the saddle gained great praise for their splendid services rendered, and Colonel Carr sent a special report to headquarters about the great chief of scouts’ brilliant achievement.

As to the beautiful valley, it is as peaceful to-day as a Quaker village, and the fair hermit of the hacienda is forgotten, for she was never heard of again by those who dwelt in the Silver Lake settlement, while the haunted ranch remains but a ruin, surrounded by its graves.

THE END.

No. 104 of the Buffalo Bill Border Stories, entitled “Buffalo Bill’s Barricade,” is a rattling good story of Indian warfare among the red men themselves, helped out by the great scout, who as usual, is on the side of those who are fighting for the right.

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Transcriber’s Notes

The Table of Contents at the beginning of the book was created by the transcriber.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation such as “gold-boomer”/“gold boomer” have been maintained.

Minor punctuation and spelling errors have been silently corrected and, except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, especially in dialogue, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

1. Page 2: “A Congress of the Rough-riders of the World” changed to “A Congress of the Rough Riders of the World”.

2. Page 238: “Lighting match after mach” changed to “Lighting match after match”.

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Table of Contents

- Buffalo Bill’s Big Surprise OR, The Biggest Stampede on Record

- CONTENTS

- IN APPRECIATION OF WILLIAM F. CODY (BUFFALO BILL).

- CHAPTER I. BAD NEWS.

- CHAPTER II. THE OUTLAWS’ ALLY.

- CHAPTER III. PLOTTING WITH A FOE.

- CHAPTER IV. BURSTING SHELLS.

- CHAPTER V. THE RETURN.

- CHAPTER VI. THE FORGED LETTER.

- CHAPTER VII. THE FLIGHT.

- CHAPTER VIII. IN THE INDIAN VILLAGE.

- CHAPTER IX. BUFFALO BILL’S BOLD VENTURE.

- CHAPTER X. THE RESCUER REACHES THE GOAL.

- CHAPTER XI. THE GUARD OF HONOR.

- CHAPTER XII. CORRALLED BY INDIANS.

- CHAPTER XIII. THE RIDE FOR HELP.

- CHAPTER XIV. THE BLACK TROOPERS AT BAY.

- CHAPTER XV. A VERY STRANGE FIND.

- CHAPTER XVI. THE NEGRO MESSENGER.

- CHAPTER XVII. TWO SHOTS.

- CHAPTER XVIII. THE BAD MAN OF THE BIG HORN.

- CHAPTER XIX. A DOUBLE ESCAPE.

- CHAPTER XX. BLACK SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL.

- CHAPTER XXI. TO THE RESCUE.

- CHAPTER XXII. BLACK BILL’S LONE HAND.

- CHAPTER XXIII. BLACK BILL’S PRISONER.

- CHAPTER XXIV. THE LOST VALLEY.

- CHAPTER XXV. UNSEEN FOES.

- CHAPTER XXVI. FACE TO FACE WITH ENEMIES.

- CHAPTER XXVII. A DISCOVERY.

- CHAPTER XXVIII. A LIVING TOMB.

- CHAPTER XXIX. THE RESCUE.

- CHAPTER XXX. OUT OF DEVIL’S DEN.

- CHAPTER XXXI. ANOTHER STRANGE STORY.

- CHAPTER XXXII. UNDER A CURSE.

- CHAPTER XXXIII. THE HACIENDA.

- CHAPTER XXXIV. HAUNTED.

- CHAPTER XXXV. THE SEARCH OF THE RUIN.

- CHAPTER XXXVI. THE FIRST NIGHT.

- CHAPTER XXXVII. A DEAD GHOST.

- CHAPTER XXXVIII. ON SECRET WORK.

- CHAPTER XXXIX. THE SCOUT’S RETURN.

- CHAPTER XL. THE SHOT ON THE CLIFF.

- CHAPTER XLI. THE FIGHT IN THE SLEUTHS’ CAMP.

- CHAPTER XLII. A STARTLING VISIT.

- CHAPTER XLIII. THE FAIR HERMIT.

- CHAPTER XLIV. REVEALED.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE