CHAPTER XIX.

THE TALK WITH TOLTEC TOM.

Buffalo Bill took Wild Bill and Nick Nomad with him when he walked to the jail to interview Tom Conover. The marshal went along also, as a matter of course. Left behind, Little Cayuse and his three Apaches retreated to the stables to get away from the curious crowd, and busied themselves there in attending to the horses.

Conover was pacing restlessly the narrow confines of his cell when Buffalo Bill and his companions arrived.

The marshal brought him out into the little room which served as the jail office, where he found the pards awaiting him.

“Hard luck, Conover,” said the scout, greeting him; “but we’ll hope you won’t have to stay in here long. They’re getting ready to investigate that shooting, and I’m told the woman isn’t really hurt much. I guess it can be shown that the thing was a pure accident.”

“I was a fool for potting away with my hardware down by those huts,” Conover admitted; “there’s where I was wrong. I hope you can git me out of this without trouble; that’s why I sent for you.”

“We think we can do that,” said the scout cheerfully. “You know my old pard, Wild Bill, I believe, and no doubt you’ve heard of Nick Nomad.”

Nomad had doubled himself up in a chair in an uncommunicative way, and sat staring at Conover under his shaggy brows, taking his measure; apparently the old trapper did not like his looks any too well.

But Wild Bill was in a different and amiable mood.

For a few moments they discussed the accidental shooting of the Mexican woman; after which, without preliminary, Buffalo Bill introduced the subject of the kidnaped boy.

“That’s why we are here,” he explained. “I am under instructions from the commander at Fort Grant to take up this matter at once; which means, probably, a trip into the Cumbres in pursuit of the kidnaping redskins. You’re familiar with those mountains, I believe?”

Conover’s puffed face took on a deeper red.

“Just say that all over again, Cody,” he requested, for the purpose of getting time to think.

Buffalo Bill rehearsed the story of the kidnaping in all its details, so far as they were known, mentioning what had been said about old Fire Top and his Toltec Indians, called the Red Feathers.

“Tell me what you know about old Fire Top and his Red Feathers,” he said in conclusion, “and what it was made you think Fire Top probably had a hand in his present case.”

Conover was still hesitating; and after that question was asked so squarely he did not speak for some seconds. Once or twice he put his hand up to the scarlet scar on his forehead, apparently not knowing that he did it, and his hand trembled.

“Could I talk with you alone about this, Cody?” he said finally.

Old Nick Nomad, squatting silent in his chair, shot Conover a distrustful glance.

“Certainly,” Buffalo Bill answered, rising. “We can go into that cell you occupied, or——”

“Oh, we’ll clear out—go outside,” said Wild Bill, also rising.

But though he made the offer so quickly, he, too, seemed not at all pleased.

The office was cleared, and Buffalo Bill remained alone with the prisoner.

“Maybe I’m pertickler, and I know them fellers didn’t like it,” said Conover. “But what I’m goin’ to say concerns that time I deserted you—flunked like a coward, over on the Niobrara.”

“I haven’t forgotten it,” the scout admitted quickly.

Conover glanced away at the window, as if he desired to avoid the scout’s direct gaze.

“Up to that time,” Buffalo Bill added slowly, “we had been good pards.”

“And never was afterward,” Conover added.

“That’s right; I went my way, and you went yours. They haven’t happened to cross since, until to-day.”

“I’d like to make myself right about that Niobrara bizness, if I can; but maybe I can’t. We was ringed in by old Rattlesnake’s Pawnees, you know, and our horses was hid in some cottonwoods down by the river, and you was wounded.”

“I’ll never forget it.”

“I wisht that I could,” said Conover. “I’ve wisht that a thousand times since. But forgettin’ the past is a hard bizness, as I’ve found. Well, though you was wounded, you said you thought you could hold them rocks where we were against the Pawnees, and for me to sneak out and git the horses, and then make a dash in with ’em, your idea being that maybe I could rush through the Pawnee line up to the rocks in the darkness, when you could climb to the back of your horse, and perhaps both of us git away. It seemed the only chance, and it was as desperate a one as any man ever figured on takin’.”

“I’ll never forget it!” the scout repeated.

“And you’ll never forget what I did—and that’s where the present trouble comes in; for you’ll never feel like trusting me again. I made the sneak all right through the Pawnee lines, but the reds were thicker than I expected; and when I got to the horses my courage failed. It wouldn’t, maybe, if I hadn’t been discovered; that rattled me, and scared me, and instead of trying to git your horse to you I simply straddled mine and cut out, leaving you there among the rocks, with them murderous Pawnees all round you.”

Buffalo Bill nodded quietly, his face unchanged. Conover was covered with confusion.

“But the next day,” said Conover, drawing a deep breath, “I tried to make it right; I rode to the nearest fort and gave the word, and troopers were sent right out.”

“And found, when they got there, that I had fooled the Pawnees and got away from them unaided, even though I was wounded; and that the nest of rocks to which you guided them was empty and the Pawnees gone.”

Conover was silent for a moment.

“It was a clear case of blue funk, Cody; I was scared, and I thought only of my own scalp lock. Of course——”

“Of course you never expected to see me alive again?”

“I didn’t,” Conover confessed, “not even when I led the horse soldiers to that spot. When I seen that the Pawnees was gone, my thought, naturally, was that they had rubbed you out and got away; and I believed that until I knew better, some time later.”

He stopped, and again his gaze wavered away to the window.

“That’s why I didn’t know if that note I sent you just now would do any good; and it was the reason I didn’t want to talk about this before Nick Nomad and Wild Bill. I admit I ain’t proud of that record.”

He still stared at the window, his face red and puffy, the corners of his eyes twitching. The scarlet scar on his forehead seemed redder and angrier than ever. His confusion was painfully apparent.

“And now about old Fire Top,” said the scout. “Just what do you know about him? And why did you think that perhaps he and his Toltecs were mixed up in this case of child-stealing? You are called Toltec Tom; I don’t know why. Back at the time of that Niobrara matter you were simply Tom Conover.”

“Yes, that’s so,” Conover admitted.

“Perhaps we can start the thing,” said the scout, seeing his reluctance, “by having you tell me how you got the name of Toltec Tom.”

“I was a prisoner of the Toltecs once,” was the hesitating admission.

“Of Fire Top’s Toltecs?”

“Yes.”

“How long were you held by them?”

“A number of months,” said Conover, continuing to stare at the window.

“That was in the Cumbres Mountains?”

“You’re right.”

“Then, perhaps, you can give me an idea whether there is any truth at all in this story of Quicksilver John, which the marshal here was telling me about.”

He ran over hastily the points of the marshal’s story of Quicksilver John.

“I think there was somethin’ in it,” said Conover.

“But it wasn’t all true?”

“Likely Quicksilver John would head the procession of champion liars, on some points,” Conover averred.

“Tell me, in your judgment, how much of it was truth.”

Conover withdrew his gaze from the window.

“Cody,” he said, with sudden emotion, “there was too much truth in it. But I can’t talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

For the first time in many minutes he looked straight at Buffalo Bill; and the latter noted now that the flush had gone from the puffy face, giving place to a grayish pallor.

“There aire some things a man don’t want to talk about, Cody, and that’s one of ’em, for me. But I’ll say this: I done you dirt there on the Niobrara, because my nerve went back on me; I played the coward, and it might have caused your death, as I thought it had, for a time. I ain’t felt easy about that, and maybe I never will. But there’s such a thing as a man being sorry for a thing like that, and willin’ to make amends, if he can. That’s me.

“And now my proposition: Git me out of this hole, on this charge that’s against me of shooting that poor Mexican woman, and then I’ll lead you and your men into them Cumbres Hills, and straight to the home of old Fire Top himself. Why I’m willin’ to do it I ain’t going to say, more than that. It will help me to pay off the debt I owe you.”

“You can go straight there?”

“No man can do that, Cody; them Red Feathers aire always watching, as I’ve reason to know. We’ll have to come it roundabout, some way. But I think I can help you, and I’m willin’ to try. I’d like to feel that I’m your pard again, and that that Niobrara debt is paid off.”

The pallor was going out of his face; his voice began to harden and show a firmness that indicated a sense of increasing manhood.

“I’d like to stand straight up on my feet again, and have the feelin’ that I’m worthy to be Buffalo Bill’s pard, like in the old times. And I’ll do the best I can; I can’t do more. I can’t tell you everything, though, and you’ve got to trust me.”

The scout rose and stretched out his hand.

“I accept your offer, Conover,” he said.

“And forget the past?” said Conover, as if he could not believe it.

“All of it.”

“Particularly that time on the Niobrara?”

“I said all of it.”

“And overlook the fact that I ain’t tellin’ everything I know, for which I’ve got reasons I don’t want to pass over now?”

“That, too. What I want is a man who knows something about Fire Top and his Toltecs, and the way to reach them. For I’m convinced that he, or his men, stole the child. What’s your opinion of that?”

“The stealin’ of the kid?”

“Yes. Why would he want to do it?”

“I don’t know; sacrifice, likely.”

But his voice was evasive again.

“But git me out of this, Cody,” he added, “and I’ll do what I can; I’ll try to redeem myself. And say nothing about that old Niobrara matter to Wild Bill and Nomad. They wouldn’t understand it, as you do; they’d think I hadn’t changed, and was ready to desert, or lead you into ambush, and things of that kind. Just keep that from ’em, will ye?”

Buffalo Bill nodded and stepped toward the door.

“That’s all right, Conover,” he declared. “Unless you make it necessary, I’ll say nothing to them about it.”

“You’ve never mentioned it to ’em?” came the question, in a troubled tone. “For, if you have——”

“I’ve never thought of speaking about it,” the scout asserted.

“I suppose you’ve had too many other things to think about, to keep remembering a thing like that, so long ago?”

“You’re right there, Conover. Shall I call them in now?”

Conover hesitated again.

“Yes,” he said, “might as well, I reckon; but I’m thinkin’ they won’t be overwell pleased to know I’m to be not only their pard, but their guide. I could see they didn’t like me.”

Wild Bill, Nomad, and Woods, the marshal, were asked by the scout to come into the office.

Then he laid out before them so much of the conversation had with Conover as was needed to let them know that Toltec Tom was to be a member of the party which was to hit the trail of the kidnaping Indians and follow it wherever it went.

Nick Nomad, squatting in his chair, still shot distrustful looks at Tom Conover.

“I don’t like his face,” he said to Wild Bill, after the interview had ended.

“Why not?” Hickok inquired.

“You see that red scar on his forrud, re’chin’ up inter his ha’r?”

“Yes; but what of it?”

“It’s bad medicine.”

Hickok laughed with light incredulity.

“Laugh ef yer wanter,” growled the trapper; “but ef thet critter goes along wi’ us you’ll be laughin’ outer ther t’other side o’ yer mouth afore we sees this hyar town o’ Skyline ag’in.”

“Rot! Why, you superstitious old gorilla, what’s a scar on a man’s head got to do with his character?”

“Lissen ter me,” said Nomad impressively: “Ther fust man I ever see what had a scar jes’ like that war a hoss thief what stole frum me ther best hoss I ever had—old Nebuchadnezzar; and that man war hung.”

“You hanged him?”

“I helped to do it; I pulled hard on ther rope.”

“And the second one?” said Wild Bill, laughing.

“Ther second one tolled me inter a game of poker some y’ars back when I war greener than I am now, and swindled me outer everything I had, leavin’ me on’y the old clo’es I stood in; and he’d no doubt took them if they’d been wuth it.”

“And the third one?”

“Is this hyar feller that they calls Toltec Tom. Ef he goes wi’ us he’ll do us; an’ that’s what he’s goin’ fer; no other reason.”

“You get worse and worse all the time, Nomad!”

“But even you don’t like him, Hickok!” the shrewd old fellow declared. “Thet’s ther truth, an’ yer knows it; you don’t like ther looks of him any more’n I do. Admit it.”

“I admit it.”

“Then, shell we let him go with us?”

“It’s not for us to say, Nomad; Cody is boss here, and we’re simply trailing along with him, to help him as much as we can.”

“Waugh! Waal, I’m shore goin’ ter speak ter Buffler. He don’t know what he’s bitin’ off when he pards in wi’ a wart hog like thet feller.”

Old Nick Nomad spoke his mind vigorously, elaborating to Buffalo Bill the objections he had stated to Hickok.

But the great scout was skeptical, even though, a thing he did not confess, he had still rankling recollection of that unpleasant incident of the Niobrara; he said that he had agreed to take Conover along, and that instead of being a handicap, he believed Conover would be able to aid them materially.

It was the last word.

Whatever Buffalo Bill said went.