CHAPTER XXVIII.

A SUCCESSION OF SURPRISES.

It was agreed to leave two of the miners to guard the camp and horses, and that the other eight should set out in search of Price and Bloody Ike. Little Buffalo Bill was to go with the scout; Avery and Hickok went in another direction; Nomad and Cayuse took up the search together, and Skibo and the third miner made up the fourth party.

It had been decided to thoroughly scout that portion of the mountains and if possible “put the kibosh” on the pair of rascals who were not only a menace to any community, but a pest when turned loose in the wilds, preying on man and beast, without mercy and in most dastardly manner.

The miners were delighted at discovering their other keg of powder and the bags of food stuff where Ike had dropped them. The cost of packing, food, tools, and powder into this wild territory was disheartening.

“What shall Ah do wiv dem human alligators, if Ah comes up to um in de mountings an’ dey ’fuses ter be brung in, Mars’ Billyum?”

“Use them as you did the bull at Cooley’s ranch--take them by the horns and twist their heads off,” interrupted Hickok.

“Bring them in, Skibo, if not alive some other way,” answered the scout quietly.

“Yah, yah! dat’s what Ah will, Mars’ Billyum; if Ah gets one o’ dem lily-white han’s ob mine onto um. Dat’s what Ah will, Mars’ Billyum.”

“Never mind the color of the hands, so long as they are honest,” said the scout.

“Them’s my sentiments,” piped Nomad.

As soon as it was light enough to see, the four parties were searching every nook, and in accordance with Buffalo Bill’s orders, were making as little noise and disturbance as possible. This was observed for the double purpose of hiding their movements from the men they were after, and to avoid attracting the attention of stray bands of Sioux, who might be in that territory.

The scout and young Corey made directly west into the heart of the hills. The boy was in the seventh heaven of the real thing in happiness. To have been selected as the companion in this man hunt, by the famous scout himself, was honor enough for one boy. That Buffalo Bill chose the lad because he wished to see that no harm came to him, did not occur to the boy.

The scout found the wiry legs and toil-hardened body of the boy could stand the hardships of mountain climbing as well as any man. Indeed, young Corey bounded from rock to rock with the agility of a monkey and was as sure of his footing and as fearless.

Unlike most boys, whose faces are shining with happiness and whose minds are overflowing with enthusiasm for the work in hand, young Corey was quiet and almost wordless except when a question was addressed to him by the scout.

Cody liked this trait--it was the inherent strong point in the character of a good scout.

It was a delightful day in the cool, breezy hills. The air was laden with life-building ozone, and fairly pungent in its light and bracing purity.

The scout, himself, felt the joyous effect of the day and companion. What whole-souled man can say that he does not enjoy the presence of a clean, pure-minded youth? And Buffalo Bill always loved strong, wholesome, brave, and honest boys. He thoroughly liked this manly chap and determined to see that he was returned safely to his parents and sisters.

They paused for lunch, where a little mountain stream eddied listlessly in a sandy-shored basin, in a rock-bound gulch. It was cool and shadowy there, with the odor of the pines and other evergreens which eked out a stunted existence on the almost bare rock.

The boy had produced a fishhook and line and caught a fine string of trout and grayling, and these were broiled over glowing coals, to be seasoned with salt and pepper from the scout’s pocket case.

Can a boy imagine anything more delightful than camping in the open with a man whose daring exploits are being read by the whole world?

Any boy might expect an adventure at any moment from the very love of adventure to get in Buffalo Bill’s way. And to young Corey it came with such suddenness as to almost take his breath away.

After eating, the scout stretched out in the sun to seek council with his pipe, and the boy could not resist the temptation to once more try the trout. “Perhaps I’ll get a few for supper,” he told the scout.

He had caught several trout and was trying to lure a big fellow from a gloomy retreat under the side of a rock, when the boy felt instinctively the presence of danger. He glanced up and his eyes were fascinated by what he saw.

Not fifteen feet away was a mountain lion, with eyes fixed upon him, and his whole sinuous body in motion, with the appearance of a cat about to spring upon a bird.

The boy’s rifle lay by the camp fire, but his revolver was in his belt, and his hand moved swiftly toward it. Then he remembered that Buffalo Bill had said they must make as little noise as possible.

He would not fire a shot, even to save his life, for had not Buffalo Bill, in substance, ordered otherwise?

He drew his sheath knife, gripped it firmly, strained every muscle to resist the shock that he knew was soon to come, and awaited the spring of the panther.

The animal rocked its body from side to side, worked its claws in and out as its feet caressed the rock, and its whiskers twitched in anticipation of the feast in prospect.

The boy saw the beast creep nearer and nearer, then move more rapidly and poise itself for a spring.

And then there was a sharp, whiplike report, and the animal leaped straight up into the air, to fall back writhing in death agony.

“Why didn’t you pull your gun, as you started to do?” asked the scout.

“I remembered that you didn’t want us to make a noise,” answered the boy.

Buffalo Bill extended his hand and said:

“You are a brave lad, and I admire your courage and nerve, but I want you to remember that all rules must give way before a menace to human life--either your own or that of another. Use your best judgment, always.”

Late in the afternoon the scout and boy had passed to the western slope of the range of hills and saw before them a valley, green and luxuriant, perhaps ten or twelve miles broad, and banked on the west by another range of mountains that looked high and forbidding.

They stood out upon the high, bare rock and admired the beautiful land before them, as yet almost unknown to civilization. Only the trapper and miner and a few venturesome herdsmen had sought this wild country.

About a mile out upon the plain was a small herd of cattle, and a solitary horseman watching them. Perhaps half a mile up the valley could be seen a rude hut, and about the door a woman and several small children.

Even as they looked, a party of horsemen appeared on the plain to the southward, coming out from a gash in the foothills. It took Buffalo Bill less than half a minute to decide that they were Indians and that they had seen the herd of the lone rancher and were bent on mischief.

The scout wondered if the herdsman would see them in time to take measures for the defense of himself and his family. The herd was probably as good as lost.

There were about ten of the red riders, and they rode straight for the cattle, boldly and without attempt to conceal their presence. They were scarcely three miles away.

Yes, the herder saw his prospective visitors and began hustling his stock toward the cabin, which sat at the base of a little round-topped hill where the creek made a sharp turn around it.

At first the scout was puzzled. He could not imagine what safety there would be to the herd in closer proximity to the building unless the settler hoped to shoot from behind his cabin walls and keep the reds away from the herd. But presently he made out a narrow passage between the hut and the creek which seemed to be an entrance to a natural amphitheatre on the river side of the hill.

It was an anxious time for the watching scout, for the Indians were gaining rapidly and the cattle would run here and there and pause to grasp a mouthful or two of grass.

Then, when they were nearer, the brave wife, in spite of the oncoming terror, whose yells could now be heard, ran out and assisted in rounding the stock into the little inclosure.

Before it was done the Indians were firing rapidly and bullets must have sprinkled closely about the plucky herdsman and his helpmeet.

The settler slipped from the saddle, sending his mount in with the stock, and while the woman darted into the cabin, he dropped upon one knee and took deliberate aim at the oncoming, yelling, shooting horsemen.

“Crack!” went the rifle, and one savage pitched from the saddle. The settler did not move and the riders came on, broken up somewhat by the dodging, riderless horse.

“Crack!” a horse and rider plunged into the grass.

“Crack!” another riderless horse, and then the red men wheeled and galloped the other way, to get beyond the range of that unwavering repeater.

But a fourth was lifted from the saddle before they were beyond range.

There the Indians paused to hold council. It had been a costly exploit for them. One brave was undoubtedly dead and so was a pony. Two red men who had been wounded were crawling away in the grass, and the one who rode the dead pony was evidently seriously hurt, for he lay quite still.

The settler stalked calmly back and forth in front of his little castle, and the wife now made her appearance in the doorway with children clinging to her. She passed her husband another rifle, and took the one he had to replenish the magazine.

Buffalo Bill admired the fortitude of these hardy frontier folk, but he told the boy that in the darkness when the settler could not see to make shots count, the Indians would charge on the little cabin, murder all the inmates, and drive off the stock. That was all the red men were waiting for now, the cover of darkness.

That the settler and his wife realized it was seen by the actions of the woman, who began carrying water into the cabin from the river and apparently storing it in barrels and tubs. She also labored unceasingly with heavy blocks of wood, which probably were to be used as a barricade. And lastly, she carried pailful after pailful of water to the thatched roof and soaked it down thoroughly.

The Indians watched the labors of the “white squaw,” and now and then sent forth derisive yells, but they kept well beyond reach of the rifle in the hands of the man who so calmly faced them. They knew, also, that the settler was well armed, for the woman now brought out several rifles and leaned them against the cabin in silent proclamation of their readiness for battle.

As the shadows lengthened in the little valley the woman once more gave the roof of the shanty a generous wetting down, removed everything movable to the interior, and the settler retired to the doorstep with a barricade of logs in front of him.

“I hope he will not attempt to remain there after dark,” said the scout to his boy companion.

“Why not?”

“Because the Indians can approach to within a few rods before he can see them and then one mad charge and all is over, before he can shoot twice.”

“He ought to go inside and barricade the door and shoot from where they can’t get at him, hadn’t he?” asked the boy.

“Yes.”

“Can’t we help them?”

“We’ll certainly try, as soon as it is dark enough so they cannot see our approach.”

“Good! I hoped we could, for I am afraid morning would find the cabin burned and the settlers all murdered.”

When it was quite dark the two “Bills” moved quietly nearer the little cabin by the mound, expecting every moment to hear the thunder of pounding hoofs and the yells of the savages as they bore down to overwhelm the little stronghold.

The scout obtained a position to suit his taste and then lay upon the ground to await the opening of hostilities. At the proper moment he and the boy would surprise the redskins by taking part in the circus.

Suddenly the expected signal yell came and the charge was on. Nearer and nearer the ponies thundered and then out from the stone chimney of the cabin shot a rocket that lighted up the scenery for rods around.

The Indians struggled with their ponies in amazement, but before they could pull up:

“Crack! bang!” came two shots almost as one, and two saddles were empty. The settler and his wife had both scored.

“Give ’em a parting shot, boy, to let ’em know the settler has friends,” said Buffalo Bill, as he sent a pony tumbling by the light of another rocket that soared upward from the chimney. The boy also dumped a horse and rider.

This must have surprised the settlers almost, if not fully as much, as it did the Indians, but a surprise was also coming for the scout and the boy themselves.

As the Indians fled in dismay little spurts of flame appeared in the grass as they darted by, and “bang! bang! bang! poppity bang!” rang shot after shot.

And then above the other tumult arose the voice of old Nomad:

“Thar! ye tarnation helgomonian heifercats! take thet atween yer teeth an’ take ther kinks out ov et! What yer kihootin’ round hyar for, anyways, disturbin’ honest critters, an’ keepin’ ther babies erwak?”

The scout laughed. It was apparent that front some commanding position in the mountains old Nomad and Cayuse had seen the danger of the settler and his family, and had hastened thither.