CHAPTER XVI. THE BANDITS OF THE OVERLAND TRAIL.

It was Buffalo Bill’s choice to live just then, so he drew rein. He knew from whom the command came, too, just as well as he knew that resistance would be useless.

“Up with your hands, or die! Come, take your choice, Buffalo Bill!”

The threatening words were repeated, as Buffalo Bill had simply reined the horses to a halt and still grasped the lines. He saw at a glance that bandits had sprung to the heads of his leaders, while he was covered by the revolver in the hand of Boyd Bennett himself. With no change of expression the scout said:

“As you seem to hold trumps in this game, Bennett, up go my hands.”

He gave the reins a turn around the lantern, and Buffalo Bill coolly raised his hands above his head to the apparent relief of the outlaws at the horses’ heads, for they seemed to have feared that, after all, he might resist. They knew that, if he had chosen to die fighting, some of them would have bitten the dust first.

“You have acted wisely, Buffalo Bill, and I am glad to see that even you can be cowed when you’re in a tight place,” laughed Boyd Bennett.

“We won’t discuss that part of the proposition,” said Cody coolly. “I’m anxious to get on, so don’t detain me with philosophical remarks.”

“Ah--indeed! In a hurry, are you?”

“I am, Bennett; in a mighty hurry.”

“Well, wait a bit. Go slowly. You’ve got something on that stage I want--though I didn’t expect to see you driving it.”

“No?”

“But you make as good a driver as any--and you give up just as easy,” and Boyd Bennett laughed again.

“Well, what is it you want?”

“The gold-box you carry.”

“You’ve got me, old man,” said Buffalo Bill easily. “Guess again.”

“Don’t play with me, Cody, or I’ll have your life.”

“What’s the use of shooting me if you’re not going to make anything out of it?” demanded the scout calmly.

“I am determined to have that paymaster’s chest.”

“Oh, sho! _that’s_ your game, is it?”

“It is.”

“And you think I’ve got it?”

“I _know_ it’s on this stage-coach.”

“Come, now, what’ll you bet?” drawled Cody easily.

“What are you waiting for, Cody?” demanded the outlaw angrily. “I know you’ve got it. Shell out!”

“You know a lot, Bennett.”

“I know the gold is there.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“I am not. I had a friend who saw it put on board. You’ve got it, and I intend to possess it.”

“Go ahead and possess,” drawled the scout.

“Don’t you trifle with me, Cody! I know you wouldn’t have been put up to drive this old hearse if the soldiers’ money was not aboard.”

“Say! you know a whole lot, Bennett. D’ye mind if I smoke?”

“Keep your hands up!” roared Bennett; “or I’ll puncture you!”

“Thanks! You needn’t be so gruff about it. Didn’t know tobacco smoke was so offensive to you.”

“Hand down that box before I count three, or you’re a dead man!” commanded the robber with deadly significance.

“You keep well posted, Bennett; but you’re behind time on this run.”

“What do you mean?” asked the startled road-agent, beginning to suspect that Buffalo Bill’s ease of manner masked some high card in the game.

“The coach has already been robbed.”

“You lie!”

Buffalo Bill’s brows met in a sudden frown.

“You’ve got the drop on me, Bennett, or you’d never question my word aloud.”

“You _do_ lie.”

“Open the coach door and look for yourself.”

“Not for Joe! I’m no spring chicken, Cody,” laughed the outlaw. “Set a trap for us, have you? Men! fire through that coach--low down.”

Half a dozen or more rifles blazed away. The bullets shattered the sashes of the coach doors and went through and through the vehicle.

“Scared at nothing, are you?” taunted Buffalo Bill. “If I’d come up behind you on a dark night and hollered ‘Boo!’ I suppose you’d all run.”

“Men! if he moves, kill him!” commanded the exasperated Bennett, and he stepped forward and flung open the coach door.

Even Boyd Bennett started at what he beheld there.

“The devil! what does this mean, Cody?”

“Injuns.”

“How did you escape?”

“Wasn’t with the coach.”

“And the treasure-box?”

“Look for yourself.”

“The Indians got it?”

“Whether they did or did not, you lose the game, Bennett,” said Buffalo Bill, laughing with an appearance of heartiness which he did not feel.

“I don’t believe they got it!” cried Bennett, in rage.

“Well, you can run along and ask ’em. They’re not over a dozen miles away, I reckon.”

The countenance of Boyd Bennett grew black with passion, and for a moment he was silent, while into his eyes crept an expression of devilish intent. Then he spoke, and his words hissed from a throat hot with passion:

“Buffalo Bill, you have sealed your doom by this act!”

“Say! I’ve heard talk like that before, Bennett.”

“Mine are no idle words.”

“Well, go on with the dance,” quoth the scout coolly.

“Here!” commanded the bandit chief, “two of you men get up on the box and bind him.”

He was obeyed at once, as far as the climbing to the box went, although the fellows approached the scout gingerly enough. Buffalo Bill sat smiling, with his hands still raised above his head. Suddenly, as the men were about to seize him, and their bodies in some measure intervened between his own and the rifles and pistol pointed at the scout, the latter seized both with iron grip.

Giving his war-whoop, the scout leaped up, hurled one of the road-agents to the ground, and with the other in his arms leaped from the box of the coach. As they alighted, Buffalo Bill drew a revolver, and was throwing it forward to fire at the outlaw chief, when the weapon was knocked from his hand by a blow from behind, and several of the bandits threw themselves upon him.

“For your lives, do not kill him!” shouted Bennett, springing forward to join in the fight for the mastery of the scout.

Borne down by the weight of numbers, Buffalo Bill was unable to break from his foes, and he was soon securely bound, hand and foot. Then the bandits turned to their chief for further orders. The expression of fiendish cruelty upon Bennett’s face showed that he had formed some diabolical plot to avenge himself upon his old-time foe. He believed that Buffalo Bill had thwarted him in his desire to get the government money; and, anyway, there was an old score between them, and Bennett proposed to square the account to date!

“Now drag him up to that box again,” ordered the bandit leader, and with some effort they accomplished it.

“Lash him there!” was the next command, and the scout was securely tied to the seat.

“Now throw the reins loosely over the foot-board!”

This order was likewise obeyed, Buffalo Bill the while looking calmly on, evidently anticipating the crime his enemy intended, yet uttering no word. He would not plead for his life of the miserable cur who now had him in his power.

Having executed their work, by lashing Buffalo Bill with lariats firmly to the box seat and his feet to the foot-board, the outlaws turned to their cruel captain for further orders. It was at this moment that Buffalo Bill took occasion to speak; but his voice was calm and his manner unshaken:

“Hold on, Bennett, before you go too far!”

The bandits’ chief turned with a wicked smile, and asked:

“With what do you threaten me, Bill Cody?”

“The worst fate that ever met mortal man, if you dare commit the deed you have in view,” was the bold reply.

“Dead men tell no tales!”

“Ah, but they do! It is only the fool that says ‘It is all over!’ when his enemy is dead by his hand. It is not over. It has only begun! My fate will become known; a hundred border men will not rest till they learn who committed this deed; and then a thousand men will not rest till vengeance is satisfied!”

“Bah! Your friends might be bad men to meet, I’ve no doubt--if they could prove anything.”

“They’ll prove enough. Your fate will be worse than mine, Boyd Bennett.”

“You seem to be cock-sure of what I’m going to treat you to?” said Bennett.

“I am.”

“Well, what is it?”

“You propose to lead the horses to yonder fork of the trail, turn them loose, and start them down Breakneck Hill.”

“Right! Right, by thunder!” roared the road-agent, slapping his thigh and laughing. “You are a mighty good guesser, Buffalo Bill. That is exactly what I shall do.”