CHAPTER XXIV.

CAYUSE SENTENCED TO DIE.

Straight out upon the plain, Hickok, astride his own horse and leading Bear Paw, fled. He had little fear of being overtaken, and soon discovered that the Indians had missed his course entirely and were passing south of him. He decided to circle northward and go back to the mouth of the long gully, in the hope of learning something of his companions.

Nearing- the stream again, some distance above the Indian camp, the Laramie man was suddenly startled by a shrill whinny, and he instantly knew it to be the call of Navi to his friend Bear Paw.

Wild Bill jerked up the heads of his horses so suddenly that both desisted from the response which they were ready to give.

The Laramie man made haste to investigate, and so confident was he that no other pony could imitate the neigh of Navi that he took long chances of running into an ambuscade. Wild Bill was a man who was ever ready to take chances if anything was to be gained thereby. If there was but one in a thousand he would take that one--and Wild Bill’s “luck” was phenomenal.

The horses made straight for the copse where the scout and pards had hidden their animals. Hickok dismounted, and looked over the horses to discover who was paving the Indian camp a visit. Then he laughed to himself:

“So Cody came on an Indian pony, and without a saddle. Must be Price’s animal. Wonder what they have done with Price and Ike while the entire family of pards is away.”

Hickok now heard greater commotion toward the Sioux camp and saw bucks running with firebrands toward the fringe of cottonwood along the stream.

“Aha! I guess some of the pards have missed a step somewhere,” mused the scout. “Perhaps I had better drop down that way.”

To think was to act with Hickok. He left the horses with the others and hurried away, hoping to connect with his pards. He felt sure that if Buffalo Bill or any of his comrades had been discovered and were making a getaway that they would naturally follow the timber to the spot where they left their horses.

Hickok came to a little bluff that ran down sharply to the brook and was about to clamber along its base to the thicket beyond when he discovered that its summit was occupied by several mounted men.

The Laramie man paused. To pass over the open space might expose him to the full view of those above at any moment, should a torch suddenly flare above the thicket. Yet he had no doubt some of his pards were hiding in the brush and perhaps confronted by the same dilemma.

Hickok chuckled as a scheme presented itself.

“Perhaps those fellows think they are going to sit there, like a turtle on a log, till the harvest moon, but I doubt it,” he muttered.

He hurried back until he was on the other side of the bluff, and had the horsemen outlined against the light of the fires beyond; then he quickly but quietly climbed up behind the group, one of whom was shouting to those with the torches.

Hickok heard a white man speak and recognized the voice of Price. He had crept to within a scant rod of the heels of the ponies, whose heads were drooping after a long run.

Suddenly Hickok launched himself on hands and feet at the very heels of the ponies, emitting at the same time an uncanny cross between a bark and a growl and switching vigorously at the animals’ heels with a long withe he had brought for the purpose.

The effect was surprising to the riders, to say the least. They had no sooner heard the slight rustle behind them than they were startled by the mad snarling that might have been made by a half dozen catamounts and a grizzly or two thrown in. Then their ponies nearly leaped out from under them in a mad dash to get away.

The frightened mustangs dashed down the hill, plunged across the stream, and, before the surprised torch bearers could guess at what was happening, some of them were bowled over by the stampeded ponies.

In the midst of the hubbub, Wild Bill gave the signal of the pards from the top of the mound. Instantly he was answered by the scout from the ravine, and a minute later the pards had clasped hands and with Nomad were hurrying toward the hiding place of the horses.

When well beyond earshot of the redskins, Nomad turned on Wild Bill.

“See hyar, Hick, I don’t want you never ter dew northin’ like thet ergin. Ov all the caterwaulin’ lunkumsluices, an’ snarlin’ molwallopuses thet ever scared a Injun’s hair white, yer ther plumb wust. Why, when thet thar tarnal kihootin’ begun I thort er sidehill lounger, w’th feet ez big ez bundles o’ hay, hed bruk loose an’ wuz go’n ter gobble ther hull pot an’ kittle ov us. What d’ye mean by such kerryins on, anyhow, Hick?”

The scout and Hickok were laughing quietly at old Nomad’s badinage, and the trapper wound up with:

“I was so mightily scart thet I plumb fergut ter leave my address with ther feather pates. Cyant seem ter git over thet yowlin’ nohow.”

“Where is Cayuse?” asked Hickok, when they had come up to the horses.

“He’s er-callin’ on ther big Injuns,” answered Nomad.

“I think we had better wait here a while for Cayuse, and then if he doesn’t come we’ll take his pinto with us and leave the odd pony for him if he shows up here after we are gone.”

“Which way do you intend to move?” asked Hickok.

“I guess the long gully is about as satisfactory as any,” answered the scout.

“I think I can beat it, and right under the Indians’ noses,” said the Laramie man. He then described the place where he had passed the night before.

“Good grazing and convenient to water?” asked the scout.

“Never better.”

“I have another plan, then,” said the scout.

“Name it.”

“You and Nick take all the horses and repair to your castle and I will await Cayuse. I am anxious to know what is the object of all this chin music.”

At midnight Cayuse had not returned, and the scout once more approached the encampment, having some misgivings regarding Cayuse’s escape. He feared the daring boy had been overzealous in his work and had fallen into the hands of the red warriors. Cody realized that on such occasions as this a prisoner would receive short shrift at the hands of these red men on the way to war.

The scout wished to learn where Sitting Bull himself could be found. He did not expect to find the famous chief with this war party, but farther south; but hoped Cayuse would learn much from the conversation of the chiefs and the harangues of the silver tongues.

Were Sitting Bull present Buffalo Bill would not hesitate to walk boldly into camp. But the scout did not care to take a long journey to the presence of the chief in the company of the red men. He did not like their food or their manner of serving it.

Slowly and cautiously the scout worked nearer the fires, where the festivities were going on as if there had been no break. Confident in their numbers and knowing that no strong government force would be in that part of the country, they cared little for the annoyances of prying settlers who might come to seek revenge for the loss of stolen stock or the murder of a family.

Suddenly before the scout the tall form of an Indian appeared as if by magic.

The scout would have sprung upon the red man to check any outcry, but was halted by a whispered word:

“Long Hair?”

“Yes,” answered the scout.

“It is good--how?”

The Indian extended his hand and the plainsman grasped it.

“How!” he said, “White-man-runs-him?”

“Why does Pa-e-has-ka walk into the arms of the red foe?”

“To learn why the red man is a foe.” Buffalo Bill answered quickly.

“The red warriors gather because they have been robbed,” said the Crow trailer.

“But they are murdering and plundering innocent people who know nothing of treaty rights, as they go to join their chief.”

“Pa-e-has-ka knows that there are no dead Indians on the white man’s ground, but there are many dead white men on the Indian’s land.”

“Very true, because even when the red brother comes on the white man’s land to steal he is forgiven, but when the weak white man goes to the red man’s hills to dig gold or to the red man’s valleys to raise corn, he is slain.”

“Pa-e-has-ka knows the Indian agents keep good blankets and give us bad; they feed good meat to the white children and rotting bones to the red papoose.”

“And because a white rascal steals from the red men, the dusky warriors turn and slay innocent white squaws and little babes. White-man-runs-him, if the red warriors do not turn back and await a peaceful settlement of the dispute, it will mean the death of hundreds of both red and white men, and nothing will be gained. Who is in command of this party?”

“Rain-in-the-face.”

“Where is Sitting Bull?”

“Big Horn Cañon.”

“Is this force going south now to join Sitting Bull?”

“Not till the snows run into the rivers again.”

“What are the red warriors going to do till then?”

“Make the white man sorry he came to the red man’s country.”

“Can you lead me to the camp of Sitting Bull?”

“Not yet, Pa-e-has-ka--there are many white brothers to warn. Does Pa-e-has-ka remember the beautiful knife?”

The Indian pulled the shining pearl-handled blade from its sheath, and said:

“Since Pa-e-has-ka gave knife to his red brother, me swear to be friend to palefaces, always.”

“When will White-man-runs-him lead me to the tent of Sitting Bull?”

“When the moon hides its face again----”

The Indian was interrupted by a commotion among those about the fires. There was a scurry and much running about, followed by shouts and then hideous yells.

The Crow warrior listened and then said:

“Catch spy--mebby torture.”

The scout grasped the Indian.

“Find out for me,” he said earnestly and sternly, “if it is a Piute boy. If it is, it is Pa-e-has-ka’s loved pard, and he must be saved if Pa-e-has-ka has to give his own life.”

“Me come back,” said the Crow, and moved away swiftly.

Buffalo Bill awaited impatiently as the minutes lengthened into hours.

At last there was a slight rustle and White-man-runs-him appeared.

“All same so many prisoners,” he began, holding up three fingers. “So many palefaces”--holding up two fingers--“and so many Piute boy”--one finger.

“Palefaces have paper talk from Sitting Bull, no die yet. Piute die at stake when sun looks over hills.”