CHAPTER XIX. DANFORTH’S HAND IS STAYED AGAIN.

It was decided, however, that the entire troop would return with the stage-coach to the scene of the original hold-up. Although Bennett had been driven off so successfully by the bluecoats, Buffalo Bill feared that he might meet up with the scalping party that had killed the paymaster and his guard, and take his gang over to this spot to search for the pay-chest that he was so sure his old enemy, the scout, had hidden.

“We might have the luck to catch him on the ground. If not, we’ll pick up his trail as soon as we see a part of your men off with the coach and the treasure,” said Cody.

The four horses drew the empty stage up the hill with little difficulty, and, surrounded by the troop of cavalry, it rattled back along the trail to the gruesome spot where Cody had first seen it. There Danforth set his men afoot, and at several points of vantage, to watch the road and the valley behind the ridge, while he and the scout went down into the swamp for the treasure-chest.

They had one of the troopers follow them at a distance of a few rods. Their numbers were so few, and they were so scattered, that Danforth took every precaution against being ambushed. The day was waning, and they were obliged to hurry if they would fish out the chest and then pick up the trail of the outlaw gang before night. And Danforth was quite as eager as the scout to do this last.

When they got into the wood which masked the swampy ground they alarmed a big caribou, which started slowly in the very direction they were taking.

“That doesn’t look much as though there were either reds or whites lurking near,” muttered Cody.

“By Jove, Bill! I want a shot at that fellow,” exclaimed Danforth eagerly.

“He’s not going fast. Perhaps you can bring him down.”

“I’m going to try. There, he’s stopped to feed again. He’s a cheeky old cuss.”

“What you want him for? Your party is well provisioned.”

“The colonel will be glad of a haunch of caribou venison. He’s fond of it, and the flesh is good now.”

“All right, Dick. Take my gun. It’s better than yours.”

The eager young lieutenant seized the weapon and began creeping through the brush in the direction of the caribou’s flight. Cody came behind, not much interested in the game, having his mind more fixed upon the overtaking of Boyd Bennett. The hunt promised to be a brief one, however.

Fortunately the running buck had not diverted far from the straightaway course to the hiding-place of the treasure-box; otherwise Cody might have more strenuously objected. In a few minutes the two men came to a glade well dotted with trees, yet free for the most part of brush so that they could see some distance.

“Wait! isn’t that him, Bill?” whispered the young lieutenant.

“Your eyesight is good, Dick. Where?” asked the scout.

“Yonder. Beyond that low brush-clump.”

“Ah!”

“That’s sure him, Bill. Yes, sir! he’s facing this way. You can see his black breast and fore legs. Down, Bill! don’t show yourself,” whispered Danforth eagerly.

“Wait a moment. Better be sure, Dick,” muttered the scout, stooping and peering under the sharp of his hand toward the spot indicated.

“Gad! he’ll get away. Let me plug him.”

The light was so uncertain that, old and keen-eyed hunter that he was, Cody was not at all sure it was the caribou they saw.

“Don’t make a mistake, Dick,” he murmured.

“What mistake? The mistake of letting the critter git away?” cried the young man, exasperated.

“Many a man has been shot from overeagerness in the chase,” said the scout warningly.

“Why, that’s no man!”

“A big buck standing head on in the brush like this one, looks just like a man in black clothes--don’t you see?”

“It _does_ look like a man,” admitted Danforth. “I’ll remember that, Bill. But we know well enough that _this_ is a caribou.”

“Do we?”

“Of course! Confound you, Bill----”

Suddenly a sharp whistle issued from the scout’s lips. Dick Danforth swore out loud and jerked his gun to his shoulder. But the scout grabbed his arm.

“There’s your buck, Dick!” the older man exclaimed.

In a flash the figure beyond the glade moved and came into better view for an instant. It was not a deer at all, but a man--a gigantic figure, dressed in some rough black garment, and he was in view of the two friends for but a few seconds. Then he darted behind a tree.

“It’s a bear!” gasped Danforth. “I might have plugged him, anyway.”

“Get out! That’s no bear. It’s a man.”

“One of that gang?” whispered Danforth, suddenly more cautious.

“I--don’t--know----”

“Better have let me shot him, anyway,” grumbled the lieutenant.

“You bloodthirsty young savage! Be still.”

Suddenly the figure beyond the glade rushed from behind the tree and glided swiftly away through the timber. As he went he uttered a most eery scream, his voice floating back to them as he disappeared in the rapidly darkening forest.

“Well! what do you think of that?” gasped Danforth.

“Why, the man must be crazy!” exclaimed the scout. “That wasn’t Bennett or any of his crowd.”

“Nor a redskin.”

“Of course, it wasn’t a red. And a madman----”

“I’ve got it!” exclaimed the lieutenant suddenly. “That was the Mad Hunter.”

“Pshaw! do you believe there is such a person?”

“One of our old sergeants says he met him, and that the madman took a pot-shot at him,” declared the lieutenant.

“Well. I’ve heard of him myself.”

“And that chap was a big man, all right.”

“A giant.”

“And as crazy as a bedbug,” added Danforth decidedly.

“Don’t know how crazy they are; but this chap certainly acted as though he was a good subject for restraint. Ugh! did you ever hear such a yell?”

“I know you stopped me from making a very pretty shot, Bill,” laughed the youngster. “That’s the second time. The next time I’ll be tempted to turn my gun on you, old man.”

Cody became grave again the instant he was reminded of how Danforth had come near to shooting White Antelope, but he made no rejoinder. They hurried back to the edge of the swamp, and, leaving the cavalryman to watch, the scout and the lieutenant soon found the root to which Cody had tied the lariat, and, with some little difficulty, dragged the submerged box into view. There was a handle upon each end, and between them the two friends carried the chest back to the stage-coach. They loaded it aboard, one of the troopers tied his horse behind and took the reins, and four rode before and behind the coach as guard. Just as dusk fell the paymaster’s chest resumed its journey to Fort Advance, with the dead bodies of its former unfortunate guardians.