CHAPTER XLVI.

THE CAPTURE OF THE THIEF.

As Toby Sam stole on, congratulating himself on his clever theft, he tripped suddenly over what seemed to be a grapevine in the path.

The supposed grapevine was a lariat, as he knew when a man sprang on him, caught him by the throat, jammed his head back against the ground, and commanded him to keep silent on pain of having his throat cut. The fingers of the man were like iron in their hold, and the command was made in a hoarse whisper.

The place was a mile or less from the cave, and the capture was made at a time when Toby Sam felt absolutely sure of getting away with the emeralds.

The cowardly rascal coughed and gurgled, and then lay back, quiet, staring-eyed, and weak from fear. Then he saw that this man had comrades, two of them, at least, who came up one on each side, and they looked at the prisoner.

“Got him, eh?” There was a chuckle. “Waugh! He’s thet pesky sneak, Toby Sam!”

It was Nick Nomad who spoke. Toby Sam recognized that, and knew he had fallen into the hands of Buffalo Bill’s party, which was as bad as, or worse, than falling into the hands of Black John.

“Speak above a whisper, and you’re a dead man!”

The fingers relaxed as the threat was made; and Toby Sam, clutching his aching throat, stared again at the men who had captured him.

“Search him, Gordon!”

Pawnee Bill “went through” the pockets of Toby Sam. “Ah!” he said, in a tone of surprise. “What’s this?” He had found the bag of emeralds.

Buffalo Bill’s last remaining wax match illuminated the contents of the bag, showing the nature of the find.

Then they began to question Toby Sam.

He tried to lie, at first; but the cold muzzle of Buffalo Bill’s revolver, thrust into his face, convinced him of the wisdom of telling the truth. Then he admitted the theft of the emeralds from Black John, and told where Black John was hiding with his prisoner.

“Hear that, Bruce?” said Buffalo Bill.

Another man--a young man--had crept forward, and was listening. He was shaking with excitement.

“You must lead us to the place,” he said. “Is she well, and unharmed?”

“I--I think she is; she was in there, and he was talkin’ with her, and was cussin’ her, when I came away.”

“Tell us just where this little cave is,” Buffalo Bill commanded.

Toby Sam told as well as he could.

“You’ll show us the way now. Bruce, hand me those cords! We’ll tie his hands, and if he starts to run we’ll shoot him.”

“I--I won’t run!” Toby Sam promised, his teeth chattering.

His hands were tied by Buffalo Bill and Clayton.

“Now lead on,” said Buffalo Bill; “and, remember, if you make any noise, or try to warn Black John, we’ll shoot you.”

Notwithstanding that they had captured Toby Sam and had him for a guide, Buffalo Bill and his pards did not go far.

The way was stony and rough, and they feared they could not get near the cave without attracting Black John’s attention. Because of the darkness Black John’s chances of getting out of the cave and away were considerable, if he became alarmed and tried to escape. While, if he fancied himself undiscovered and still safe, he would remain in the cave, and could be captured in the morning.

They discussed this phase of the matter, and lay down with their prisoner on the slope of the hill, when still some distance from the cave.

Before that they had heard a scream from the girl, which had rendered Clayton so frantic that Buffalo Bill’s utmost persuasions were needed to keep him from making a blind rush through the darkness. Had he done so he would have been shot, of course, by Black John, and perhaps the efforts of his friends would have been balked.

The hours that followed held nothing but mental torture for him. Nor were the scouts and his pards much less concerned for the security of the girl. They divined the situation: that the loss of the emeralds had been discovered, and that Black John was, as a consequence, in an unamiable and dangerous mood.

Black John, supposed to be keeping watch by the cave, was as silent as the men lying farther down on the bowldered slope. If he moved, or spoke, they had no knowledge of it; and the girl made no sound, after that scream which had reached them.

Bruce Clayton tormented himself with fears that she was dead--had been killed by Black John; or that Black John was even then out of the cave, and far on his way to some other point, and that Cody and his companions were guarding what was no better than an empty bird’s nest.

The morning came, after what seemed an interminable night; but the faint light of the early morning did not reveal Black John; and Bruce’s feverish fears intensified. But Buffalo Bill was not ready yet to make a move.

Only by combined luck and good work had he and his pards been able to follow Black John’s trail to the point where they had captured Toby Sam; and, after all that work, the scout was not willing to jeopardize anything by a premature movement.

Then something was seen to move on the slope.

It was Black John, rising from another night of watching.

Still Buffalo Bill and his pards maintained silence, waiting for the light to get better.

It was seen that Black John contemplated flight. He brought the girl out of the cave, tottering as she was with weakness; and they heard his harsh words to her.

“Let me shoot him, the scoundrel!” begged Clayton. “I can’t stand it any longer.”

Instead, Buffalo Bill lifted his voice. “Hello, there!” he called.

Black John wheeled as if on a pivot. He looked about, and saw no one.

“We’ve got you covered with our revolvers,” were the next words he heard. “If you don’t throw up your hands and surrender, down you go.”

Black John did not surrender; he gave a jump for the cave, pulling the girl backward by the hair, so that she fell in the very entrance, and was pulled in by him, out of sight.