CHAPTER XIII.

IN HANGMAN’S GULCH.

The two prisoners fairly quaked under the angry response of “guilty” to the question of the judge, and Buffalo Bill quickly arose and signified his desire to speak. The judge rapped for silence and said:

“We will hear what the great scout has to say.”

“I would say, gentlemen, as a government officer, it is my wish to have full justice done these men. It is true that I caught them robbing a miner’s cabin, or attempting to do so; but, there are crimes far more heinous than that, and I beg that you will, in their case, give them as light a punishment, as possible, for I am sure they will heed the warning they have had.”

The words of the scout fell upon deaf ears, when he made an appeal for mercy. He might as well have attempted to stem the current of a river as stay that mad element of humanity, for all eyes turned from him to the judge, who said:

“You have heard the appeal of our distinguished friend for mercy, and we will be merciful. As these men have been unanimously pronounced guilty, our mercy will be not to long keep them in the agony of their approaching doom, and hence I do hereby sentence them to be taken within the hour to Hangman’s Gulch, and there to be hanged by the neck until all life shall leave them, for the good order of this community must and shall be preserved.”

Again a roar greeted these words, and once more rapping for silence the judge said:

“Officers, do your duty.”

The two guards stepped forward, and over the head of each prisoner placed a noose. Then the judge opened the Bible and read, just why Buffalo Bill did not know, the story of Daniel in the den of lions. This he followed with the Ten Commandments. Three hundred voices then sang the Doxology, and the judge arose, and, locking his arm in Buffalo Bill’s, led the way to Hangman’s Gulch.

The guards and their prisoners followed, the twelve men who were to draw the doomed men into mid-air, each grasping the rope of their respective victim.

A slow and solemn step was kept to Hangman’s Gulch, the many lanterns casting flickering shadows, as they marched along. At last the place was reached, already dotted with the graves of many men who had thus been tried and executed.

Into the dark weird place they filed, and soon approached the gallows where so many others had died.

The two prisoners were moaning, like men in physical pain, for they were cowards at heart. Then they began to plead for mercy. But as well might they have appealed to the cliffs about them as to that crowd, for while some there were doubtless merciful, they were too greatly in the minority to dare speak what they felt.

The ropes were thrown over the beam, which was greased, and, at a signal from the judge, the twelve men upon each line drew their victims up into mid-air, silencing their cries for mercy.

Then, back from Hangman’s Gulch surged the crowd, laughing and talking as they went over the affair, and it was generally agreed that Pocket City would be the better for the hanging.

The Vigilante captain felt that he had done his duty, so repaired to his store in a very self-satisfied humor, while Buffalo Bill accompanied him for a short time, and began, in a quiet way, to question him about Bonnie Belle.

All he could learn was the fact that not a man in Yellow Dust Valley was there to say one word against her, all holding her as above reproach. Nothing was known of her antecedents, and there was not the slightest suspicion that she was connected in any way with the road-agents under Silk Lasso Sam.

She had gone East upon some business of her own, the storekeeper said, and Deadshot Dean, the miner, had been her escort, and, not aware that the latter was a married man, Scott Kindon hinted that he believed there was a strong feeling of friendship between the two. This might result in marriage, and the “judge” hoped that it would, as the miner was a splendid fellow in his opinion.

Then, learning that the driver of the stage-coach was in Pocket City that night, Buffalo Bill sought him out. He found him at the Devil’s Den, having just won all the money at poker which his adversary had.

He greeted the scout pleasantly, said that he had come in a couple of hours before, and was glad to feel that the trail was free of outlaws.

“I wish to ask you, Pard Sandy, something about Bonnie Belle?” said Buffalo Bill.

At once Sandy was all attention.

“Waal, pard, what kin I tell yer?”

“You took her in your coach when she went East?”

“Sure.”

“And the miner?”

“Deadshot Dean?”

“Yes.”

“He went along, too.”

“Where did you leave them?”

“Waal, she left me at the trail junction.”

“And the miner?”

“He went on East on the regular coach.”

“And Bonnie Belle?”

“She took the upper branch trail via Omaha.”

“East?”

“Yes.”

This answer caused Buffalo Bill to ponder deeply.

Bonnie Belle surely started East. Why then did she leave Deadshot Dean at the Overland junction and take the upper trail which led her through Chicago? Why did she turn back unless she had received some word from the fort, where her brother was a prisoner?

Texas Jack, he recalled, had gone off on a special mission, which had not been reported to him. He would inquire if Texas Jack had been to Pocket City. So he asked Sandy if he had seen Texas Jack.

“Oh, yes.”

“Where?”

“He came to Pocket City, and then followed on after the coach.”

“Why?”

“He had a letter for Bonnie Belle.”

“From where?”

“The fort.”

“From whom?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he overtake the coach?”

“Yes.”

“Did he deliver the letter?”

“He did, pard.”

“And receive an answer?”

“Not a written one, pard.”

“A verbal answer?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what it was?”

“I heard her say, ‘Tell him simply that I will.’”

“Ah! and then?”

“Texas Jack went back on the trail, and I drove on with my passengers, Deadshot Dean leaving me by one trail at the junction and Bonnie Belle going by the upper trail.”

“And you did not hear of her passing back over the trail?”

“See here, Buffalo Bill, you is chief of scouts at Pioneer Post I knows well, and you has a right ter ask all questions of me, but I wants ter say if it’s ter get Bonnie Belle inter trouble, I’ll be a dumb man, sart’in, and don’t you fergit it.”

“Pard Sandy, that little woman has no better friend than I am, and I would protect, rather than do one act to cause her trouble; but I am on a secret trail, which I wish to see the end of, and you can help me by answering my questions and perhaps save much trouble, for I believe there is a plot on hand to rescue Silk Lasso Sam and his men by force, and you surely do not wish to see those devils again turned loose upon the trails more revengeful than ever?”

“I does not, and I thanks you for being square with me, Buffalo Bill. The fact is I did not _hear_ of Bonnie Belle’s going West ag’in, but I happen to know thet she did go, and that’s all I can tell you.”

“Well, I’ll ask no more, Sandy, to-night at least. Good night,” and Buffalo Bill remained in the Devil’s Den while the driver left it with his winnings in his pocket.

The scout was the cynosure of all eyes as he leisurely strolled about the gambling-saloon, going from table to table, risking a few dollars at faro, and winning, then being equally as lucky at roulette, rouge-et-noir, and dice-throwing, when he received a challenge from a miner to play him a game of cards.

“Oh, yes, I’ll play if you wish, though I had not intended to when I came in,” said the scout.

“Waal, I plays for big stakes, and don’t you forgit,” was the answer of the challenger.

Buffalo Bill took his measure in a steady look at him. He thought that his face was familiar, but he was not sure, for he could not recall where he had seen him before.

He was a man even larger than the scout, for he was more brawny, weighing over two hundred pounds and as hard as iron. His face was bearded, his hair worn long, and he carried no knife in his belt, but instead four revolvers, two in front and one on each hip, so that no matter where he dropped his hand it must fall upon the butt of a “gun.”

He wore no superfluous clothing, either, his miner’s shirt, corduroy pants, top-boots, and slouch-hat, pulled down over his eyes about making up his wardrobe.

The carrying of four revolvers had gained him the name of “Pistols,” and that he knew how to use them, too, several graves upon Sunset Hill gave testimony.

He was peacefully inclined when not drinking, but when under the influence of liquor his best friends avoided him religiously, and those who saw him challenge Buffalo Bill to play cards felt that the scout had made a mistake in accepting, for they discovered that Pistols was drinking, and that meant a row they were certain.

In answer to the remark of the man that he played for big stakes, Buffalo Bill asked in his quiet way:

“What do you call big stakes, pard?”

“What does I call big stakes?”

“Yes, that is the question I asked.”

“Waal, I call a game without a limit big money.”

“Are you able to stand a game without a limit?”

“Is I? Ask my pards if I can’t call yer at a thousand and pay if I loses.”

“Oh, a thousand is your limit, then?”

“Can you match me?”

“If I could not I would not play with you; but when you said without limit, I wished to know what you meant, as you can size my pile at a thousand. Now you know what I can do, so say whether you will play or back down?”

“Back down?” yelled the miner savagely.

“Yes,” was the perfectly calm response.

“I never backs down agin’ any odds.”

“Then play,” said Buffalo Bill, in the coolest manner possible.

The interest in the games going on in Devil’s Den very quickly were centered in the match between Buffalo Bill and Pistols.

“I’m out for scalps,” the miner had said, in a voice that was heard all over the saloon.

At this Buffalo Bill looked him squarely in the face and there was something in the look that controlled the man, and he said:

“I see now that you have been drinking. Had I suspected this I would not have played with you, for I never play with a drunken man. Behave yourself now, or quit before trouble follows.”

There was that in the words and look which mastered the man, for he made at first no reply; but then he said:

“What did I say to make you mad?”

“Nothing, for I am not angry; but you said you were out for scalps, and I wish you to understand that I take the same trail when there is need for it.”

The man appeared cowed, for he said:

“We don’t want trouble, Buffalo Bill, so shall I git a fresh pack of cards, and will yer take a drink?”

“Thank you, I do not care to drink, and you take my advice and let it alone. But get the cards.”

An angry gleam came into the eyes of Pistols. He made no reply, and walked to the bar after a fresh pack of cards.

“Shuffles, give me a fresh pack and some whisky, too,” he said.

“Here’s the cards, Pistols, but take my advice and don’t drink any more, for Buffalo Bill is a stranger here,” said Shuffles.

“Waal, he wants ter git better acquainted with ther folks. Whisky, I said, straight, strong, and blistering.”

Had Bonnie Belle been there he would have refused. But to do the best he could he took a half-empty bottle, hastily poured water into it, and set it before the man, hoping to have him get but half the quantity. The miner suspected, held it up to the lamp, and looked at it.

“Is this pale sherry, Shuffles?”

“It’s whisky.”

“You lies, for you have drowned it with water, so you kin hev it.”

Quick as a flash he dashed the stuff full into the face of poor Shuffles, who, blinded and maddened, drew his revolver and fired a shot at random. It was the last act of his life, for he dropped dead with a bullet in his brain, while Pistols called out:

“He put water into my whisky, pards, and then shot at me, so I kilt him. Thar he lies ahind the bar.”

To put water in whisky was a criminal offense which the miners of Yellow Dust Valley could not forgive or forget, and so Shuffles lost the sympathy of the crowd by his heinous act, while Pistols rose in their estimation for visiting just punishment upon one who would do such a thing.

“Now, Pard Studley, I wants some whisky,” and Pistols turned to the bartender nearest, who quickly placed a fresh bottle before him, while the miner took the other which had caused the trouble, and, dashing it against the wall at the rear of the bar, shivered it to atoms.

“Yer sha’n’t p’izen no one else with watered whisky,” he said.

Then, turning to those who had gathered about him, he said:

“J’ine me, folks, in a lettle beverage, for I’m bettin’ high it will be ther Simon-pure article. Does yer catch on?”

They “caught on” with alacrity, and with the upturned face of Shuffles, the eyes wide open staring into his own, Pistols poured his glass full to the brim and dashed it down his throat.

A hush had fallen upon the crowd during this scene, and a few of the timid ones, or, rather, those who wished to avoid being in a row, silently withdrew from the building.

There were several who felt that Buffalo Bill was making a sad mistake in having accepted the challenge of Pistols, while others knew that had he not done so, a row would have been precipitated at once, for he would certainly have insulted the scout then and there.

A few now hastened to tell Buffalo Bill, who had not risen from his seat, that Pistols had just killed Shuffles, and had then taken a tumblerful of whisky, so was in a dangerous mood.

“He didn’t have quite enough ter brace him fer trouble with you, pard, for he has heerd o’ you, as we all has, and that’s why he got more. He’s primed now, and will go off like a hair-trigger,” a miner said.

“Yaas, so jist go out and let him alone,” another added.

Buffalo Bill smiled serenely. It was a smile that some who saw it felt boded mischief. Then he said complacently:

“I never seek trouble, gentlemen, unless I am after a man I know needs running down, and duty compels me. I sought no trouble with your comrade, and merely accepted his challenge, so he can turn it into any game that suits his humor best.”

“Here he comes now,” cried a voice, and just then Pistols was seen approaching the table where Buffalo Bill sat, a cigar between his teeth.

With a lurch Pistols dropped into his chair and glared at Buffalo Bill.

“I has come back!” he said.

“So I see.”

“There’s ther pack o’ cards,” and he tossed them upon the table.

Buffalo Bill picked them up, glanced at them, and said:

“Yes, they are all right.”

“Did yer think I’d git any as wasn’t?”

“Not being acquainted with you I didn’t know.”

“Waal, we’ll git better acquainted, I’m thinking.”

“Perhaps.”

“Come, don’t git skeered, fer I ain’t goin’ ter shoot, only I hed ter kill a feller over that, just now, and I is loadin’ my gun ag’in.”

“You are very wise.”

“Yer see he insulted me.”

“I can hardly believe that possible.”

There were a number who heard this reply who appreciated its sarcasm. Pistols felt that there was a meaning in it he could not fathom, so he did not try, and said:

“Yes, he put water in my whisky.”

“Did he not know you?”

“Yaas, only he tried to play a underhand game on me. We has been mighty good friends, Shuffles and me, for he has twice saved my life, and he meant well toward me, I is sart’in, fearin’ I sh’u’d git too much, so he put water in my whisky, and I’d kill my brother fer a insult like that.”

“I can believe you; but may he not have been only wounded?”

“Yer don’t know me, pard, for I never wastes powder and lead, but shoots to kill. I is sorry my poor pard Shuffles committed suicide, for he should have know’d me well; but he’s out o’ misery now, and I’ll pay all ther expenses of ther funeral and give him a beautiful send-off on ther trail ter glory, an’ put up a stone over him with a inscription as a warnin’ to them who puts water in whisky, which I drinks ter git all o’ ther leetle devil out of it I kin. Does yer tumble?”

“Oh, yes; but do you still wish to play with me?”

“Does I?”

“Yes.”

“Why, pard, I is in fer a game o’ anything with you.”

“Then let us begin.”

The words were so quietly uttered, the look of the scout was so calm, that it checked the devil gaining the ascendency of the man for a minute.

“All right, pard, I is ready.”

The cards were shuffled, cut for the deal, and Buffalo Bill won. Then the game was begun.

All who watched the two men, and they were all who could crowd about them, saw that the scout was as cool as an icicle, showing not the slightest dread of what any one who was near felt sure must end in a deadly encounter between the two players.

Buffalo Bill serenely smoked his cigar, his face remaining impassive, and yet those who watched him closely saw that his eyes were rather upon his adversary than his cards.

The game was played more carefully by Pistols than those who saw him believed possible, for he was cautious in all he did and leered maliciously at Buffalo Bill when he gained a point. At last he seemed to brighten up and said:

“A hundred on my hand, Buffalo Bill.”

“Mine is worth twice that sum.”

“I’ll add that more to mine.”

“So will I,” was the quiet response.

“I calls yer.”

“Four aces,” and Buffalo Bill laid the cards upon the table.

“Durn yer,” said the miner without showing his hand, and the scout pocketed the money.

That Pistols felt his loss was evident to all, for his face grew darker and an uglier look came into his eyes.

“Well, how much is your hand worth, Mister Pistols?” asked the scout, when the climax of the second game came around.

“It’s worth a hundred,” and Pistols appeared confident, then.

“No more?”

“Well, what is your hand worth?”

“Just five hundred dollars, no more no less.”

The miner started. Could it be possible that the scout held a better hand than he did this time? No, it could not be. The lightning would not strike twice in the same spot.

“I jist says show up to ther tune of five hundred.”

Buffalo Bill put up the money he had just won, adding more to it, and said:

“There, match that with five hundred.”

The miner drew out a greasy buckskin bag and took out a roll of bills. He counted out very slowly five hundred dollars, and it could be seen that very little remained in the bag.

“Thar she goes, and yer needn’t squint at ther bag, fer thar is more whar thet come from. Now I’m thinkin’ your money is mine, so show yer hand.”

“Four aces,” said the scout, without the change of a muscle.

“Four aces!” roared the miner. “Four aces agin’ my four kings! How comes that?”

“You dealt, pard, and were more generous to me than to yourself,” and Buffalo Bill very quietly put the money in his pocket, while he said:

“I’ll play you another game to give you a chance to win back your money, or lose more, if you wish it.”

“There’s only one more game I’ll play with you, Buffalo Bill, and that’s with these,” and the miner quickly leveled his revolvers.