CHAPTER XXII.

BUFFALO BILL’S MAD RIDE.

Horseshoe Ned, always an important personage in the eyes of many, was particularly so on the morning of his departure for the East with no less a person as a passenger than Silk Lasso Sam.

He had told over and over again the story of his last run out, and had brought with him as evidence of Miss Arden’s deadly shooting the outlaw, wounded in both arms, who had been placed under guard in the hospital.

Now he was to go out with Silk Lasso Sam and the three detectives. He had another passenger, whom he had no knowledge of, but the box-seat had been engaged for some one who was to go along.

The coach rattled up to its starting-place, the mail was put aboard and instructions given, and the three detectives stood ready to receive their prisoner.

Presently a squad of soldiers was seen approaching, and in their midst was the tall form of the outlaw chief. He walked upright with soldierly step, and looked about him as he halted at the stage-station with calm indifference.

A very large crowd had gathered to see him off, and, as the guard halted, they were anxious to get a look at his face.

The officer in charge, after coming to a halt, asked:

“Is Mr. Raymond, the detective, here?”

Henry Raymond stepped forward and said:

“I am Detective Henry Raymond, sir.”

“I have orders to surrender into your keeping this prisoner, known as Silk Lasso Sam.”

“I am ready to receive him, sir.”

“Then please sign this receipt.”

The officer drew from his belt a paper which the detective carefully read, and, stepping into the stage-office, signed.

“Thank you, sir,” said the officer. “The prisoner is now in your charge,” and, ordering the sergeant to march the guard back to the guard-house, he turned upon his heel and walked leisurely away, as though there was no more interest in the case for him.

The detective ordered the prisoner to enter the coach, assisting him, as both his hands and feet were manacled, the others followed, and Henry Raymond called out:

“All ready, driver.”

“I’m all ready, too, but I has orders to wait a few minutes.”

But a moment after Surgeon Powell hastily approached, and, leaping to the box-seat, said:

“Let her go, Ned.”

“The seat was for you, then, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Then she goes.”

The whip cracked and the team went rapidly away down the hill toward the stockade gate.

Soon after the stage rolled out of sight in the distance, and Horseshoe Ned, having given the idea to the uninitiated in stage-travel that he kept up that speed all the way, now drew the horses down to a slow pace for the long drive ahead.

Hardly had the coach disappeared when Buffalo Bill walked up to headquarters. The colonel, with a relieved look upon his face, was seated upon the piazza talking with Captain Caruth.

“Ah! Cody, any news?” asked the colonel.

“Not any, sir; but I came to ask leave to go on a trail for a few days.”

“Any definite point in view, Cody?”

“Well, no, colonel, only I thought I would like to follow Horseshoe Ned’s coach.”

“You have some motive for asking this, Cody?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Out with it.”

“The coach carried a very valuable freight, sir, in the person of Silk Lasso Sam.”

“Yes, and you think that he may escape?”

“Well, sir, it has been rumored about that he was to go by this coach, and it may be that an attempt at rescue might be made.”

“Impossible.”

“Why impossible, sir?”

“He is well guarded by three determined men, while Surgeon Powell and Horseshoe Ned are along, and I do not believe a force could be raised at short notice that would dare attack those five.”

“Still, sir, Silk Lasso Sam has many friends, and those who sought to curry favor with him might attempt a rescue.”

“There is something in this.”

“There is much in it, I should say, colonel, and if you wish I will take some troopers and escort the coach past the danger-line,” Captain Caruth said.

“It would be a hard ride for the troop to overtake the coach now, Captain Caruth, and Cody is ready, I see, for the trail, so he can go.”

“I will start at once, sir,” was the scout’s reply, and he saluted and walked rapidly back to his quarters.

Anticipating that the colonel would grant his request for him to follow the coach, Buffalo Bill had already prepared for his going, and had his horse awaiting him, the very best animal that he had, and he was never known to have an inferior one.

Ten minutes after his request was granted the scout was riding out of the stockade, and once out of sight of the fort, went on at a very rapid pace, for the coach had all of ten miles the start of him.

Buffalo Bill’s long life upon the border had made him watchful, cautious, nervy, and cunning. He had all the attributes of a great borderman, and he could bring into play his every talent and energy when it was needed.

He had a suspicion that constantly grew upon him that there might be a rescue of the prisoner attempted.

Did not Bonnie Belle know something, he wondered, of this intended requisition from the governor, and had she not prepared for the rescue when the opportunity offered?

Might she not meet the detectives on the way with their prisoner, and with unlimited money at her command gain by strategy and bribery what could not be done by force?

So argued the scout, and that was why he wished to go on the trail of the coach.

He rode rapidly until out of sight of the fort. Then he dismounted, gave his horse a drink of water at a stream, tightened his saddle-girths, and, looking at his watch, said:

“Just two hours since Ned left. That means, as he drives, all of twelve miles from this point. I should overtake him about Deep Dell Brook or a little beyond, only I do not wish to get close enough to be seen by them.”

Mounting, he put his horse into a swinging canter and held him to it for miles, when he reached the country where the hills grew steep and long.

Two hours after leaving the fort he halted for a short rest and said:

“The coach is about six miles ahead now, I take it, if Ned is on schedule time.”

Again he resumed his way and held on until he descended into Deep Dell Brook.

Just as he halted his horse for water, confident that the coach could not be very far from him then, his eyes fell upon the trail beyond.

There was something in it which caught his eye. It was a revolver. He spurred toward it, dismounted, and cried:

“It’s Frank Powell’s revolver!”

He looked about him and saw tracks of horses, blood-stains, footprints, and the evidence of a struggle. Instantly he leaped into his saddle, and his horse was sent flying on up the hill.

A mile ahead he caught sight of the coach, and it was driving rapidly. He had no time to lose in overtaking it, so, drawing his revolver, he fired several shots.

The sound reached the ears of Horseshoe Ned who glanced back, saw who it was, and, wheeling his team in a broad space of the trail, drove back to meet the scout with all speed.

He soon drew rein, and the scout dashed up and leaped from his horse.

“Ho, Ned, what is the matter?” called out Buffalo Bill.

“Matter enough, Bill, for the doc, the detectives, and the prisoner is gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?” angrily said the scout.

In answer Horseshoe Ned turned the back of his head and said:

“See there, Bill.”

“It’s a wound.”

“It’s something.”

“What has happened?”

“Durned ef I know, for I’m kinder dazed like.”

“Tell me what you can.”

“I will.”

“You were held up?”

“I don’t know,” and the driver passed his hand across his head and said:

“It pains me, Bill.”

“Come, Ned, get down from your box, for there is a brook here, and let me dress that wound. I have a needle and thread and can stitch it up for you, for it is an ugly-looking gash. Then tell me all you can remember.”

The driver obeyed without a word, allowed the scout to take the stitches in the wound without flinching and fixed his handkerchief over it, wet with arnica which Buffalo Bill always carried with him.

“It feels better now, Bill, thankee.”

“Oh, you’ll come round all right soon,” and the scout said no more, for he did not wish to hurry the driver and perhaps fret him in the condition in which he then was.

After a few moments of silence, Ned said:

“I think it was a rock, Bill.”

“What was?”

“That struck me.”

“Ah! and it was at Deep Dell Brook?”

“Yes, the horses were drinkin’ thar, and doc and me was talkin’, when suddenly came a blow that knocked me clear off the box, for I was down on the ground just out of the stream when I came round. The team was standing near me, just waitin’ like humans for me ter come round, and when I tried to git up I found I was uncommon dizzy.

“But I did git up at last, and then I see thet ther mail-bags was gone and I scrambled up to my box as best I could and come on. I don’t know no more about it than you does, Bill, save that thar is one of them detectives dead inside the coach, and he ’pears to hev been robbed, too, for I recommember thet he hed a watch and chain.”

Buffalo Bill sprang quickly to the coach door, threw it open, and there he beheld a dead man.

It was Henry Raymond. There was a bullet wound in his heart.

There was evidence that he had also been robbed, though in searching through the pockets of the man he found a bundle of papers of which he at once took possession.

He mounted to the top of the coach and saw there red stains and indications of a struggle. The grip-sack of Surgeon Powell and the baggage of the prisoner and the detective were also missing.

At last Buffalo Bill said, as though at a loss to know what to do:

“Ned?”

“Yes, Bill.”

“You are able to drive on to the station?”

“I am.”

“Then continue on your way, and report your having been held up on the road, and all that you can remember that occurred.”

“I will.”

“I must return to the fort at all speed, and I am going to take one of your horses, to enable me to give mine a rest, for I shall stake him out in the Deep Dell Brook Valley, for the trail is to be taken up from there. You can rig one horse in the lead, can you not?”

“Easy, to oblige you, Bill, for I sees that you is hot for scalps.”

“I am, so give me your best horse.”

“I’ll do it.”

“If I kill him I’ll replace him, but I can make good time to the fort, make my report, have my scouts and a troop follow, and ride a fresh horse back to Deep Dell Brook. There I will find my horse well rested, and, leaving the other animal for the scouts to pick up, I can get along on the trail of the outlaws who did this deed a long way before night, marking my way for those coming after me to follow rapidly.”

“You’ve got ter do some tall riding, Buffalo Bill.”

“All right, I’ll do it, for remember, my best pard, Frank Powell, is either dead or a prisoner.”

“That’s so. Take the roan mare, Bill. She’s an all-day animal, fast and willing.”

Buffalo Bill hastily threw the harness off of the roan mare, put his saddle and bridle on her, and, bidding Horseshoe Ned good-by, led his own horse down to a secluded spot upon Deep Dell Brook. There he staked him out, and, leaping into the saddle, sent the roan mare off like an arrow.

He had just twenty-five miles to go to reach the fort, and in two hours and a half he dashed through the stockade gate, and up to the colonel’s quarters, the gallant roan staggering under him, and with a groan dropping dead as the scout sprang from his saddle.

The colonel heard of his rapid coming, and met him on the piazza, where there were a number of officers and ladies, among the latter Clarice Carr and Nina de Sutro.

“Colonel Dunwoody, I have to report overtaking the coach a mile beyond Deep Dell Brook, sir, and found Horseshoe Ned half-dazed from a wound in his head, made, I believe, by a rock, and inside the stage the dead body of Detective Raymond, shot through the heart.

“He had been robbed, as also was the coach of the mail and the luggage it carried, while Surgeon Powell, the prisoner, and the other two detectives were missing.

“There was evidence of a severe struggle, sir, and so I took one of Ned’s horses and rode back, leaving mine to rest, while, as I came through the gate I ordered another horse which I will return on at once so as to take the trail before night.

“With your permission, sir, I would like to take a dozen of my men, and ask for Captain Caruth with a score of his troopers to follow me, for I will mark my trail well, sir.”

“Cody, you are worth a hundred men at any time, and I can now understand your riding your horse to death. There comes Texas Jack with another animal for you, so give him your orders and do you start back at once, while your scouts can follow, and Captain Caruth will take his entire troop. There must be no mistake about catching those fellows who have been guilty of this outrage.”

With a salute to the colonel Buffalo Bill turned to his fresh horse, Texas Jack having taken the saddle and bridle from the dead animal and placed them upon the one he had led up for his chief.

“Jack, get twelve of the men and provisions in plenty and follow me at once to Deep Dell Brook, where Captain Caruth and his troop are coming also.”

“We will be there, Bill,” was the answer of Texas Jack.

Dropping into the saddle, with a wave of his hand, Buffalo Bill dashed away like the wind.

“Deep Dell Brook in two hours at that pace, and another dead horse,” said Texas Jack as he saw his chief dash away like the wind, settling himself in his saddle as he started down the hill, as though it really was his intention to reach the scene of the tragedy in two hours or kill the horse he rode.

The scouts were ready fifteen minutes after the departure of Buffalo Bill, and within half an hour the troop of Captain Caruth rode out of quarters on their path.

The scouts, twelve dashing fellows under Texas Jack, had settled down to a quick trot, and were just disappearing from sight in the distance when Captain Caruth started off with his men.

It was an hour before sunset when the scouts reached the Deep Dell Brook. They threw themselves from their horses to give them a rest, and they set about looking for “signs.”

The first thing they discovered was the horse ridden by Buffalo Bill. The animal was standing dead-beat in the stream, his appearance indicating that Buffalo Bill had gotten there with ample time to be far on the trail of the outlaws by that time.

Then they discovered the signs of the struggle where the coach had been halted, and down the stream led the trail.

Not far below was a stick in the top of which was a slip of paper. Taking it, Texas Jack read in his chief’s well-known hand:

“There were mounted outlaws awaiting the coach at Deep Dell Brook. Their horses were staked out at the bend below here, and they had camped there all night.

“The tracks show nine horses were there, and I suppose that means as many men. With their prisoners, Surgeon Powell and the detectives, they can hardly travel very fast.

“I shall press rapidly on until dark, marking trail as I go so that you can follow with considerable speed.

“BILL.”

A courier was sent back by Texas Jack to the ford with this note, to give to Captain Caruth, and then the scout pressed on once more at a quick trot.

All along they saw where Buffalo Bill had marked the trail, and when at last night came on they were compelled to halt, but they were glad to know that Buffalo Bill had had all of two hours more of daylight than they had.

A scout was sent back to bring the troopers up to the camp.

“Well, Texas Jack, what do you think of the situation?” asked Captain Caruth, as he sat in his camp that night, having sent for the scout.

“Buffalo Bill had three hours of daylight at least, sir, when he reached the brook, as his horse showed that he came through at full speed. Then, sir, he had his own fresh horse to mount there, and the trail of the robbers he doubtless followed at a run to get as far as possible before nightfall.

“The robbers could not have gone half so fast, and were certainly not expecting pursuit to-day, which would cause them to go slow. They supposed they had killed Ned, and were not expecting Cody to be upon their trail.”

“Then the chances are, you think, that Buffalo Bill is not very far behind the band?” asked Captain Caruth.

“I do, sir, and we can start just when it is light enough to see, so that we can keep as close upon Cody’s heels as possible.”

“Now, what is your opinion as to where these outlaws came from?”

“I pass there, captain, for I supposed that all of the band of the outlaw chief, Silk Lasso Sam, were either dead or wiped out. But it seems I am wrong, sir.”

“Yes, for these were certainly men who were willing to come to the rescue of their chief.”

“Yes, sir, and I only hope that no other harm than being taken prisoner has befallen Surgeon Powell.”

“So do I.”

“Yet, Jack, I have such an abiding faith in Surgeon Powell’s capacity for taking care of himself that I do not believe that he was born to die with his boots on.”

“I hope he can take his time about it, sir, when his time comes, for no better man did I ever meet, nor do I care to know,” was the scout’s comment.

“If he has an enemy, Jack, it is an outlaw, an Indian, or a villain.”

“You are right, sir. But we had better get all the sleep we can, for we will be kept humping it to-morrow, if Buffalo Bill can find horses to ride.”

“Yes, he’s a rough and ready rider, and it would take a score of horses to break him down. Good night,” and, wrapping his blanket about him, the captain dropped off to sleep at once.

Texas Jack had said that all the men could rest, for he would keep watch, and he started off alone, leaving the whole camp in deep slumber.

He, too, had an iron frame, and lantern in hand he picked out the trail for a distance of some six or seven miles.

Then he returned to camp, on foot as he had gone, and, as it was yet an hour before dawn, aroused the men so that they could reach the place he had gone to before daylight, get breakfast, and be ready for the trail when able to see it.