CHAPTER XXIX.

KANSAS KING, THE OUTLAW.

Pearl, the attractive girl whose home was the humble cabin in the hills, was strangely moody, after her meeting with Red Hand in the gorge, and her duties were attended to in silence, her thoughts seeming far away.

Her life at the cabin was not a lonely one. Constantly Indian runners were arriving and departing, after holding interviews with her father, and twice a day White Slayer came to the hut, always to seek her society.

Toward the young and handsome chief Pearl had a kindly feeling, for he had once saved her from a grizzly bear; but the idea of loving him, a redskin, never entered her mind, and she was determined she would never enter his wigwam as his wife, notwithstanding her father had told her she should do so.

From conversations had between White Slayer and the old hermit, Pearl soon discovered that there were two bands of whites in the Black Hills, and that the Indians were laying their plans to massacre both parties.

The thought sent a cold chill to the heart of the girl, and she at once determined to frustrate their designs. Going through the cave one morning, after White Slayer and the hermit had gone out together, Pearl reached a situation from which she could obtain a fine view of the Indian village.

With surprise she noted that there were numbers of warriors in the camp, who, she knew, had been off for weeks on a southern trail and hunting on the prairies. A closer inspection also showed her that a perfect chain of Indian sentinels extended around the village and that sentinels were stationed upon the highest peaks of the surrounding hills.

Walking toward the council lodge on the river were her father and White Slayer, while a large body of the principal braves were gathered there to meet them.

“All this means mischief,” was her conclusion. “I know my father has set the Indians up to this work of devilment, for he has sworn not to spare a paleface who enters these hills. But they shall not be caught asleep. That man of the red hand saved my life, and I will save his. I must act soon, for the work of death will not be long delayed.”

Thus muttering to herself, the girl retraced her way through the cave, and, entering the cabin, took her rifle and equipments from the rack over her cot.

“Valleolo, tell my father I will be back before sunset,” she said to the Indian woman who aided her in the housework.

“There is danger in the forest and the valley,” the squaw warned. “Let the Pearl of the Hills hear the words of Valleolo and remain at the wigwam.”

“There is no danger I fear to meet, Valleolo. I will be back at sunset.”

So saying, Pearl threw her rifle across her shoulder and rapidly descended the mountainside toward the bottom of the gorge which divided the hill. Hardly had she gone half a mile down the gorge, pondering in her own mind how she was to make her news known to the whites, and not compromise her father and lead him into danger, when she was startled by a shadow falling across her path.

Glancing up quickly, she brought her rifle to a ready, for before her stood the form of a man. Not an Indian warrior was he, nor Red Hand, nor her father, but one she had never before seen.

He was a young man, scarcely more than twenty-five years of age, and yet with something in his face that made him appear at least thirty, for dissipation and a cruel life of crime had set their seal there.

His form was slight, but elegant, and showed to advantage in closely fitting trousers and jacket of navy blue flannel, decorated with brass buttons, and with a band of gold lace encircling each sleeve.

The bottoms of the trousers were stuck in a pair of handsomely topped cavalry boots, the heels of which were armed with silver spurs of the Mexican pattern. A red silk sash encircled his small waist, and but partially concealed a knife and pair of revolvers.

Upon his head was a large-brimmed slouch hat, looped up upon one side with an arrow pin, and half encircled by a black ostrich plume.

The face of this stylish-looking individual would have been decidedly handsome had it not been for the reckless expression resting on it, for the features were good, the eyes particularly fine, and a dark mustache and imperial, the same shade as his long, curling hair, added to his general appearance, which was that of a dashing, gay young cavalry officer.

Behind the man stood a superb black horse, richly caparisoned with a Mexican saddle and bridle. Hanging to the horn of the saddle was a cavalry saber, while, as a companion to it, upon the other side, was a holster, from which protruded the butt of a revolver.

At sight of this man in her pathway, the first act of Pearl was to bring her rifle to her shoulder; but in quiet tones the stranger said:

“My dear girl, I beg you to lower that pretty toy, for I mean you no harm.”

Struck with his splendid appearance, and feeling that from a paleface she had nothing to fear, Pearl partially lowered the weapon, and then said:

“Why are you here in these hills, sir?”

“I came for pleasure, and yet I dreamed not of beholding here one so beautiful,” gallantly replied the stranger, stepping a pace nearer to her.

“Who are you, sir?” again queried Pearl, interested in spite of herself in the man.

“I am called Kansas King.”

Instantly Pearl sprang back, and like a flash her rifle covered the heart of the outlaw chief.

Without the quiver of a muscle Kansas King looked at the girl who so threateningly held him at disadvantage, and his voice was unmoved as he asked:

“Why does my name thus offend you?”

“You are a vile murderer,” she said, “and have laid waste the homes of your own people and the villages of the red men in wanton destruction; you are a white robber, sir.”

Pearl’s eyes flashed fire, for often had the Indian runners brought news to her father of the ruthless acts of Kansas King and his band.

“You paint my character in harsh tones,” was the answer. “But, at any rate, I mean you no harm, but come here to see an old hermit, one who has lived for years in the Black Hills and is a medicine man or chief of the Sioux under White Slayer.”

He was looking at her earnestly.

“Do you know anything of such a man, for I take it you are some waif of an Indian camp?”

Pearl half lowered her rifle.

“If you refer to the man who is known as Gray Chief, he is my father.”

“Your father! Then, indeed, he is a fortunate man. Were I the kin of one so lovely I would indeed be happy.”

Pearl made no reply, for compliments she was unused to, and Kansas King continued:

“Will you guide me to your father, for I would speak with him upon a matter of interest to both of us?”

Without reply Pearl drew a small revolver from her belt and fired it three times in rapid succession, the ringing reports rattling like a volley of musketry along the cañon.

“Ha! Would you call aid?” cried Kansas King quickly, and his dark eyes flashed fire.

“I have simply called my father; he will soon be here, sir.”

Still maintaining her position of defense, Pearl now replied to the question addressed her by the outlaw chief, until the sound of running feet was heard. The next moment up dashed the hermit and White Slayer, their rifles ready in hand.

At the sight of Kansas King the two halted. Seeing that their action was hostile, the outlaw cried, speaking in the Sioux tongue:

“Hold, chiefs! I sought you here, and this girl was kind enough to call you to me.”

“Who are you?” cried the old hermit in English, his eyes glaring savagely upon the young man.

The latter answered bitterly:

“I am an outlaw; one branded with a curse; men call me Kansas King.”

“You are the outlaw chief, then? What brings you here into these hills?”

“Mutual interest to you and me.”

“I do not understand you,” the old man protested.

“I will explain; I am an outlaw, and you are perhaps worse, for you dare not show your face among your fellow men.”

“By the Heaven above, but you are bold to thus address me!” cried Gray Chief furiously.

“My worst foes never called me a coward,” said the young man. “But I came here not to parley about courage or character, but to discuss a more important matter. You are accursed for some crime, or you would never hide in these hills like a hunted wolf. I am an outlaw, a price is upon my head, and, figuratively speaking, a noose is around my neck.”

“Go on, sir,” said the old man.

“Well, of late the troops have made it rather lively for me, because I have made it lively for the bordermen and emigrant trains. So I am compelled to have a stronghold that I can retreat to and where none dare follow me.”

“And you come here! You are a robber by trade, and what guarantee have I that you will not murder us and plunder our homes?” said Gray Chief sneeringly.

“You have the guarantee of mutual protection, old man. Already frontiersmen are turning their eyes upon your hills, and even now two bands of miners and settlers have a foothold here, one of them fortified not five leagues from this spot.

“Now, listen to me,” he continued: “One of these bands is fortified in a position that it will be hard to drive them from, and that place I need for my stronghold. I want to be on friendly terms with you and these redskins, and am willing to divide profits with you and with White Slayer and his warriors, after each one of my raids upon the settlements.

“With my band in the Black Hills, and my men on friendly terms with White Slayer and his half a thousand warriors, no man will be fool enough to attempt to come here to settle, and there are not sufficient troops on the border to attempt to follow me here, when they know they will have two forces to fight.”

“You speak truly, young man,” said Gray Chief.

“Of course I do, chief. My plan is to capture the miners’ fort down the glen, and there establish myself at once. The booty and the scalps may all go to you and to the redskins. Then I will attack and carry Ramsey’s camp, and again the spoils go to you, except three persons.”

“And those are----”

“Captain Ramsey, his son, and daughter; them I claim.”

“And you wish me to aid you in taking these two points?”

“Yes; but whether you do or not, I shall carry them,” said the outlaw, with determination.

“Where are you now encamped?”

“Some twenty miles from here, in the lower hills.”

“How many men have you with you?”

“About a hundred.”

“Divide that by two, boy, and you’ll be nearer right,” said Gray Chief, with a sneer.

Kansas King looked at him defiantly.

“Attempt to drive us from these hills, and you’ll think us double the number I named,” he threatened.

“No threats, boy, for I do not like to hear them.”

“One hears many things not pleasant, chief,” was the retort. “But we must not quarrel. Will you become my ally?”

“That I must think over; to-morrow at this hour meet me here, and you shall know whether you can remain in these hills or must leave.”

“No treachery, mind you, old man!”

“I am no snake in the grass, boy; to-morrow, at this time, remember. I will to-night hold council with White Slayer and his chiefs.”

The outlaw bowed, kissed his hand gallantly to Pearl, sprang into his saddle, and dashed down the glen, while the hermit and White Slayer turned and walked up the gorge, leaving the girl standing in the spot where the meeting had taken place.