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.