The Indians gazed silently at the corpse of their white ally, and not one of them showed the slightest sign of grief or indignation at his death.
Buffalo Bill had only done what many of them would have liked to do if they had possessed the courage and skill.
The border king wrenched his dripping tomahawk from the skull of his fallen enemy, and, holding it tightly in his right hand, boldly faced the assembly of chiefs, with a questioning glance in his eyes that seemed to say:
“Now, what are you going to do about it?”
Nick Wharton stood by his side, with his hand on his six-shooter, ready to fight to the death.
The bold aspect of the two scouts profoundly impressed the redskins, and not a thought of revenge crossed their minds.
Even if the renegade had been more popular than he was, their code of honor would not have allowed them to attack the victor in an ordeal by single combat without giving him a fair chance for his life.
“Go in peace, Long Hair,” said an old Crow chief, stepping forward and saluting him. “You are indeed a great warrior, and I would that you were one of my tribe. I hope that some day I may meet you in the front rank of battle, or, if that cannot be, in the happy hunting grounds of the Great Manitou.”
With a majestic wave of his hand, the chieftain motioned three of his followers toward him, and ordered them to escort Buffalo Bill and Nick Wharton past the sentries and see them safely to their horses.
Then the redskin, who was imbued with all the chivalry of his race, drew from his waist belt a pipe, filled it with tobacco, and said to Buffalo Bill:
“As soon as you are gone, oh, Long Hair, I will light this pipe, and not until I have smoked it and the flame dies out need you fear that we will mount our horses and pursue. Is not that all you ask?”
Buffalo Bill bent his head in token of assent, and muttered to Nick Wharton:
“Will you say that Indians are no better than varmints now, old pard? Could anything be fairer than that?”
“I guess he is a white man whose skin went red by mistake,” growled old Nick.
As the two scouts strode away from the camp fire, accompanied by their Indian escort, Buffalo Bill glanced back and saw the Crow chief lift a burning stick from the fire and light his pipe.
He immediately increased his pace, for he wanted to get as long a start as possible before the calumet of peace burned out.
In a few minutes they reached the spot where Wild Bill was holding the three horses. He was naturally surprised at the appearance of the Indians with his friends, but a warning cry from Cody prevented him from firing, although he had immediately whipped his rifle up to his shoulder.
Buffalo Bill explained the situation in a few hurried words, and then the three scouts lost no time in mounting their horses and putting as much distance between themselves and the camp of the redskins as they could before the truce pipe was smoked out.
“I don’t believe they will trouble to pursue us,” said Buffalo Bill, as they sped along over the prairie at a tearing gallop. “That old chief is a pretty smart fellow, and he will know very well that there is no chance of catching us, after the start we have got. Our only danger, as I figure it, is that we may stumble across another war party, or some of their scouts, before we reach Fort Hays.”
They rode along for a couple of hours, occasionally glancing behind to see if they were followed; but they saw nothing to indicate danger.
Suddenly, as they emerged from a brush-covered ravine, Buffalo Bill held up his hand in warning.
His comrades reined up their horses and listened intently.
They had not remained silent more than a few seconds before they heard an almost noiseless pad of hoofs on the turf of the prairie.
The scouts knew that Indian ponies were always unshod, and they realized in a moment that another fight was ahead of them. Rifle in hand, they waited for the enemy.
The darkness was so intense that they could hardly see ten yards ahead of them. Suddenly, out of the gloom, half a dozen mounted figures emerged.
The scouts saw at a glance that they were Indians, even if they had not known, as they did the next moment, by the startled war whoop that broke from the lips of the redskins.
Buffalo Bill galloped toward them, revolver in hand, and before the redskins fully understood their peril he had shot down two of them and broken through the party.
Wild Bill and Nick Wharton followed close behind him, and in their passage they each sent an Indian to join his forefathers in the happy hunting grounds.
The two remaining redskins hastily fired their rifles at random, and fled into the darkness at top speed.
Wild Bill was eager to pursue them, but the border king reminded him of the necessity of reaching Fort Hays, and the scouts resumed their adventurous journey.
Shortly before dawn they reached the fort and were sharply challenged by one of the sentries.
News of the Indian rising had been carried thither, and a vigilant watch was being maintained.
Buffalo Bill cried out that they were friends, and in a few moments they stood within the gates of the fort and in the presence of the commandant, who was hastily summoned from his bed, where he had lain down to take a couple of hours’ sleep after a night of anxious watching.
The news of the victory over the Indians at Fort Larned caused great rejoicing, and the daring feat of the three scouts in riding through a territory infested with Indians made the commandant exhaust his vocabulary of compliments.
“Do you think the Indians will accept battle with the combined garrison of the two forts?” asked the commandant.
“I doubt it,” replied Buffalo Bill. “They have lost a good many men, and they will not care to fight in the open until they get reënforcements. Unless you move swiftly and make a junction with the troops from Fort Larned, they will escape to the hills and scatter, until fresh war parties can be brought up from the villages of the three tribes. Meanwhile the most important thing that I and my two companions can do is to ride down to New Mexico and help Red Cloud to prevent the Navahos from joining the confederacy. If they do so, other tribes may join it, too, and the whole frontier would be ablaze. That must be prevented, at any cost.”
The commandant agreed, and, after a brief rest at the fort, Buffalo Bill and his two friends started on their long ride down to New Mexico, taking with them spare horses and provisions, as they did not wish to waste time by hunting on the way.
Several days later the three men were compelled to part when they were approaching the border of the Navaho country.
Nick Wharton was not able to resist the temptation of following some panther tracks which he found near the spot where they camped one afternoon. He followed the trail into the thick woods, and the panther sprang upon his shoulders before he was aware of its presence. He killed it with his bowie knife, after a terrible struggle; but he was so badly mauled that he had to be taken by his friends to the house of a rancher near by.
Wild Bill agreed to stay and look after him here, while Buffalo Bill went on alone to visit his friend Red Cloud, the chief of the Navahos.
It was a late New Mexican afternoon. Red Cloud, was out alone on a hunt, and had just pitched his camp.
He was a tall, finely built, athletic young fellow, thoroughly trained in all the craft and skill of the Indian.
None of his fellow braves could throw a tomahawk with more unerring aim; none could shoot straighter, either with the rifle or with the bow.
Red Cloud lighted a fire of dry twigs, and set to work to fry some deer meat—the result of his successful hunting on the previous evening. He had crept down to the pool where the deer were wont to drink, and, keeping well to windward of them, had shot a couple before the rest of the herd took flight.
The stream beside which he had camped ran through wooded country, and from time to time Red Cloud’s piercing black eyes roved around the trees in his immediate vicinity, for he was too well trained to let an enemy, whether man or beast, creep upon him unawares.
Nevertheless, as he took his fried steak from the fire and became absorbed in eating it, with the keen appetite of a youthful hunter, he narrowly escaped being caught.
Suddenly his quick ear heard the sound of the snapping of a twig, and, turning round hastily, he saw an immense grizzly bear—by far the biggest he had ever met—approaching swiftly toward him through the trees.
The animal was running on all fours, with the peculiar, humped-up gait of the grizzly; but, despite its ungainliness, it was wonderfully quick. It had scented the meat and the man, and was evidently determined to have both of them.
Red Cloud had fought grizzlies before, and knew full well that they were about the most dangerous enemies a man could encounter. He seized his bow, and sent an arrow whizzing into the flesh of the bear, just below the shoulder.
The animal gave a howl of rage and pain, but came on as if nothing more had happened to him than the mere pricking of a pin.
The Indian hastily launched another arrow, without any better effect, and then threw down his bow and seized the rifle which lay on the ground near by his camp fire. By this time the grizzly was not more than twenty yards away. Red Cloud fired one shot, which wounded the beast, but only served to further enrage it without doing any mortal injury.
Then the man turned on his heel and fled to the nearest tree, hoping to dodge the beast around its trunk and find a chance of getting in a death shot.
But the grizzly was already at his heels, and, as he sprinted to the tree, he could feel the hot breath of the angry bear upon his back.
He gained the shelter only a yard or two ahead of his enemy, and the bear, carried on by the momentum of his speed, went about ten yards beyond the trunk, giving the Indian a second or two in which to catch his breath and bring his gun to his shoulder.
The animal turned with incredible swiftness and charged again. But Red Cloud had dodged to the other side of the trunk, and met him with a bullet squarely in the breast.
Before he could fire another shot with his repeater, the grizzly was upon him, rearing upon its haunches.
The beast presented a terrible sight, that might well have inspired terror even in the heart of a brave man like the young Indian hunter.
It was covered with blood from head to foot from its wounds. Its mouth was wide open, exposing its long, cruel teeth and a terrible snarl; and its forepaws, with their frightful claws extended, were raised to tear the man to fragments.
Before Red Cloud could press the trigger again the rifle was dashed from his hands by a terrific blow of one of the bear’s paws. Next moment he was clasped in the beast’s merciless hug and borne to the ground.
He abandoned all hope of life, but, with the game instinct of a well-trained Indian, he managed to draw his hunting knife and deal the beast several deep wounds in its side.
Roaring with pain, the grizzly released him for a moment, just as a shot rang out from behind a near-by tree.
Hit through the head, the animal turned, with a vicious snarl, to meet its new enemy. It took a few rapid bounds in the direction from which the shot had come, and then rolled over on its side—stone-dead. It had struggled for life and revenge with desperate tenacity, but a bullet through the brain had settled it at last.
Buffalo Bill, with a smoking rifle in his hand, stepped out from behind a tree and walked toward the prostrate Indian, glancing at the body of the bear as he passed it, to make sure that it was really dead.
As he approached, the young Indian lifted himself slowly and painfully upon his elbow, and said:
“Brother, I thank you.”
Then, as he tried to rise to his feet, he was overcome by the loss of blood from the many wounds inflicted upon him by the claws of the bear, and he sank back unconscious.
Buffalo Bill promptly attended to his injuries, bandaging the wounds and stopping the flow of blood as cleverly as any surgeon could have done.
This accomplished, he forced some brandy and water from his flask between the Indian’s teeth, and gradually brought him back to consciousness.
“Let my brother rest quietly, so that his wounds will not reopen,” said Buffalo Bill, as Red Cloud opened his eyes and gazed gratefully at him. The Indian, trained in a severe school of discipline, did as he was bidden. Buffalo Bill would not allow him even to talk until his faintness had passed away.
The border king threw fresh twigs on the fire and made some strong broth, which Red Cloud drank eagerly.
The Indian, who had been watching him in grave silence, presently said:
“My brother has saved my life for the second time, and Red Cloud is grateful. But my brother is on a journey, and he must not delay himself upon my account. Let him place my rifle by my side and some meat near by, and Red Cloud will wait until he is strong enough to return to the tents of his people.”
“No, Red Cloud, you need not think I am going to leave you like this. You are not in a fit condition to travel. We will camp together until you can ride to your village.
“Indeed, it was you that I was coming to see. I have traveled all the way from Kansas to talk with you and your braves, and tell you the words of the Great White Father. Some of the tribes to the north have risen against him and dug up the tomahawk to smite the palefaces, but they have themselves been smitten, and they will be sorely punished.”
In a few brief but rapid sentences Buffalo Bill told the young Navaho chief about what had happened at Fort Larned.
Red Cloud replied that he had personally every desire to live on good terms with the white men, and so had most of his tribe, but there were some trouble makers among the young braves who were always talking war. However, nothing was likely to be done in the matter until his return to the village, then he would call a war council and give Buffalo Bill an opportunity of explaining the matter to the whole tribe.
Buffalo Bill and Red Cloud lived together, by the side of the stream, for several days. The border king constructed a hut of wattled branches, in which he put the Indian. There he tended him until his injuries were healed.
It was some time, however, before he was able to totter out into the sunlight again.
At nighttime the king of the scouts kept guard over his friend until long after dawn, for he knew that in his weak state the Navaho would easily fall a prey to any prowling animal or marauding enemy.
The scout took his rest during the day, lying by the side of his patient, who could wake him at the least sign of danger.
He was sleeping thus one afternoon, when he was awakened by his shoulder being violently shaken. He opened his eyes and reached for his gun in a moment.
Red Cloud, who was evidently in a state of great excitement, although he repressed outward signs of it with Indian stoicism, pointed to an arrow that was still quivering in the wall of their little shelter above his head.
“The Cave Dwellers! The Cave Dwellers!” he cried, and he pointed toward a clump of trees about fifty yards from their hut.
Glancing thither, Buffalo Bill saw two squat, deformed, misshapen creatures who looked more like big apes than men. They were almost black in color, and their arms and legs were bowed like those of a gorilla. As he watched them they danced to and fro and gave vent to several hideous yells, making the most hideous grimaces at the same time.
Buffalo Bill had heard of these strange creatures before, but he had never imagined they could look so demoniac and inhuman. After a few seconds one of the savages leaped forward, fitted an arrow to the bow which he carried in his left hand, and was about to pull the string.
Before he could do so Buffalo Bill drew a quick bead on him and shot him dead.
The other Indian gave a wail of dismay, looked at his slain companion for a moment in a dazed way, and then promptly took to his heels and fled through the trees. The border king did not attempt to pursue him, for he thought it possible that some other of his comrades might be lurking about, and it would therefore be dangerous to leave his patient.
“It was a lucky shot, brother,” said Red Cloud. “The arrows of the Cave Dwellers are almost always poisoned, and the slightest scratch with one of them is likely to kill a man. If the first arrow they fired had struck me, I should now be roaming the happy hunting grounds of the Great Manitou.”
“Who are they, and why did they attack us?” asked Buffalo Bill, after he had satisfied himself that the savage he had shot was really dead.
“They are the Cave Dwellers,” replied the Indian, “and they attacked us because they have a mortal feud with my tribe, and especially with myself. It is a long story, brother, but it were well that you should know it.”
“Let me get rid of the body first,” remarked Buffalo Bill. “If I leave it here, the coyotes and buzzards will come around pretty soon and trouble us. See! they are beginning to circle already.”
He pointed overhead, where several vultures were circling in whirls that approached constantly nearer to the ground.
With his strong, broad-bladed bowie knife, the scout hollowed out a grave a few feet deep in the loose, sandy earth, and placed the body of the dead savage in it. Over the shoveled-in earth he rolled a number of heavy stones, so that the coyotes would be unable to dig up the body.
Having thus given his slain enemy decent sepulture, the border king returned to the hut and prepared a meal for himself and his patient. As they sat smoking their pipes, after they had finished the repast, he asked Red Cloud for the story of his feud with the Cave Dwellers.
Red Cloud thought a moment, and then began:
“They are the old people, these Cave Dwellers—the oldest people in all this country. They are older than the Moquis, or the Piutes, or the Navahos, or the Apaches. They were here from the beginning of time, but when the other tribes came into the country they were driven to take refuge in great caves far up on the sides of the mountains, where hardly a goat can climb.
“There has always been enmity between them and the other tribes, and though they often dwell for long months up in their caves and do not trouble us, yet the hatchet is never buried. These Cave Dwellers are more like beasts than men, and they are fond of eating the flesh of their enemies, when they can capture them and carry them up the secret paths that lead to their caves.
“But it is not alone in the caves of the mountains that they live. They have also subterranean caverns running far into the bowels of the earth, and they also dwell in tents on the plains at some seasons of the year, when they come out of their caves to hunt and steal the cattle and ponies of the other tribes.”
“And how did you manage to incur their special enmity, Red Cloud?” asked Buffalo Bill.
“Three years ago, my tribe dwelt peacefully in our country, under the strong and good rule of our great chief, Spotted Snake. The neighboring tribes feared and respected us, and we had beaten the Cave Dwellers into submission. We had buried the hatchet with the white man, and we were left alone in our hunting grounds without interference. It was a happy time for the tribe.
“But Spotted Snake died, and his son, Scared Coyote, was a weakling. He ruled over the tribe like a woman, scarcely ever leaving his wigwam, and never risking his skin in the perils of the chase.
“Gradually the tribes which his father had kept so well in check began to encroach upon our territory, and the Cave Dwellers especially caused us great trouble, stealing our ponies and raiding our crops. Scared Coyote never resented this insult, for his heart was as weak as water within him.
“Our main camp was pitched at that time by the side of the Giant Spring.
“Does my brother know it? It is a spring that bubbles up from the earth and makes a big pond, coming from a subterranean river that flows many miles under the ground of the open prairie.”
“Yes, I have seen it,” answered Buffalo Bill.
“Then my brother will be able to understand my story. In those days I was just beginning to win my name as a scout and brave among my tribe, and I was always eager to do some great deed.
“My arm was big with muscle and sinew, and I could shoot an arrow farther than most of the braves; but I was yet counted as a boy by many of them.
“I learned one day that the Cave Dwellers had ridden into our country and established a camp there in great numbers. I crawled to the place by night and listened secretly as they talked around their fire. I learned that they were preparing a great surprise for us. Our tents were to be surrounded by them, and the Navahos would be destroyed forever, so that they could enter into possession of our hunting grounds and no longer be obliged to live in their desolate caves.
“I hastened back to camp with this startling intelligence, and asked to see Scared Coyote, who, as usual, was in his wigwam with his squaws.
“‘Tell the dog of a boy,’ was his message in reply, ‘that the chief will see him to-morrow, because he is too busy now mixing his paints with which he adorns himself.’
“I told the messenger that my mission was most important, and that the fate of the tribe depended on my seeing him.
“I waited over an hour for the reply to the second message, and then Scared Coyote—who was jealous of the prowess I had gained in hunting—sent out another messenger to say that he was a man who did not change his mind. He had said that he would not see me until to-morrow, and therefore he would not see me, whatever I might have to say. With the pride of an ignorant, foolish youth, he added that the word of a great chief was not lightly given and could not be lightly taken back.
“‘Tell Scared Coyote,’ I said, with my heart hot with anger within me, ‘that his word is the word of an infant in swathing clothes. Even a chicken just hatched by his mother hen would have the sense to flee from danger, but he will stay here and die. Then let him die!’
“I turned on my heel and walked to the tents of the other braves, on whom I knew I could depend, and whom I knew were disgusted, like myself, with their young chief.
“I told them what I had learned, and we held a war council.
“We decided that we would shift our tents secretly in the night and leave Scared Coyote alone while he was asleep. Everybody heartily detested him, and therefore the plan was agreed to by all. We threatened to throw the squaws into the Giant Spring if they told the chief of our plans. We resolved to wait our chance of raiding the Cave Dwellers at a convenient season, for they greatly outnumbered us, many of our tribe being away on a distant hunting expedition.
“We struck our tents silently at the dead of night. The stamping of the horses was muffled by tying their feet in the long prairie grass. Any other Indian would have heard us, none the less; but Scared Coyote did not sleep with one eye open, like the rest of his people. He slept the heavy sleep of a prairie dog in his burrow.
“As we rode away over the prairie, and looked back to see the chief’s tent standing alone, we laughed at the thought of how surprised he would be when the sun arose and showed him that his tribe had left him.
“But there was a greater surprise even than this one in store for Scared Coyote. By a wonderful happening, the Cave Dwellers decided to make their attack on us the very same night that we rode away, although when I heard them talking around their fire they were going to postpone it till the following night, in the hope that some of their tribe would join them.
“They had moved down upon our camp in the night at the same time we were moving off in another direction; and when Scared Coyote awoke he found himself surrounded by the dreaded savages.
“One of the Cave Dwellers, whom we took prisoner afterward by a daring feat, of which I shall tell you, informed us that Scared Coyote swooned away like a woman when he saw them.
“How we laughed when we heard of the traitor’s death—for was he not a traitor to skulk in his wigwam with the women instead of looking after the welfare of his tribe?”
Red Cloud looked at Buffalo Bill inquiringly.
“Yes, he was certainly a skulker and a traitor,” the border king agreed. “I do not know that you did right to leave him, but I can understand how enraged you and your fellow braves must have been.”
“The Cave Dwellers, in overwhelming numbers, moved after us, and we were obliged to move farther away,” continued Red Cloud. “At last the braves who had been out hunting joined us, and then our enemies retreated and camped near the Giant Spring.”
“But you have not told me what happened to Scared Coyote,” remarked Buffalo Bill, interrupting the story.
“Oh, they threw him into the Giant Spring, with his paints tied around his neck, for he behaved in so womanly a manner that they got a greater contempt for him than we had, and they would not give him a warrior’s death.
“Though we had abandoned the place which had for so long been our headquarters, we had no idea of giving up the struggle,” Red Cloud continued. “We knew that the Cave Dwellers still greatly outnumbered us, but we nevertheless meant to attack them. At a grand council of war I was chosen chief, in place of Scared Coyote; for, although I was such a young man, I had distinguished myself by saving the tribe from certain annihilation.
“I thought long and hard what I should do, and presently I hit upon a good plan, although it was one fraught with great danger.
“Five hundred yards above the Giant Spring, on the north, there is a great hole covered over with brushwood and prairie grass. A narrow furrow in the ground, also covered by grass and brush, leads to this hole, the furrow extending along the prairie for nearly a mile.
“I thought that we would creep along this furrow and hide in the hole, and then surprise the hostile tribe when they struck their camp and marched northward, as I would contrive they should do by sending some of my men to make a feint of attacking them from that direction.
“I expected that by this ambush I would have them at my mercy, for they would be surprised beyond measure to see us spring up from the ground to attack them practically within the limits of their camp.
“But on reconnoitering the place, after we had crept along the furrow, I met with a great surprise. The hole at the bottom was filled only by a thin crust of earth, which broke when I pushed the end of my bow into it. I found that the hole actually went down into the subterranean river which led to the Giant Spring.
“Instantly a new and better plan occurred to me. Why not drop into the water and be swept along to the spring, and thence emerge into the center of the enemy’s camp, and attack the Cave Dwellers as they slept in their tents? The sentries would not be able to see us, for they were posted on the outskirts of the camp, and we should emerge from the center.
“As we looked down through the hole we could see that the water was surging by with tremendous force, and several of the braves who were with me said that my plan was sheer folly. They thought that any man who dropped through that hole would meet instant death. None of them would agree to the plan, and we returned to our camp.
“The next night I crept back to the place, with one of my best men, and got him to lower me down into the hole by some buffalo thongs tied tightly together and looped under my armpits.
“I was overjoyed to find that the river ran swiftly through a wide, high-vaulted passage. It was almost a cavern, and there was no danger of a man having his head knocked off or being battered to pieces as he was swept along, as the braves had predicted.
“We went back to the camp and told the braves what we had found, and they immediately agreed to follow my lead. I selected thirty of the best among them, and just before dawn we had assembled at the hole again.
“Our plan was to let ourselves drop well into the river, descending to some depth; for we did not know how low the rocks might be at the other end of the passage, where we would have to emerge. It would not do, therefore, to float down on the surface of the river; and this fact made our enterprise ten times more difficult and dangerous than it would otherwise have been.
“We agreed to wait for one another on the sides of the Giant Spring, hidden among the water lilies and other plants that grew there; and then, when all had arrived through the tunnel, we would rise up with a yell and attack our sleeping enemies.
“This yell was to be the signal for the rest of our braves, lurking around the camp, to rush in and help us to utterly annihilate the Cave Dwellers. Finding enemies in their very midst, and thinking themselves surrounded on all sides, I felt sure they would be too demoralized to be able to make any real resistance.
“As I was the chief it naturally fell to me to lead the way. I slipped down the buffalo thongs until I was within eight feet of the water. Then I let go, dropping my hands to my sides, and went down into the river feet first.
“The water was as cold as the snow of the mountains, and it seemed to me that I would never cease going downward into icy depths. The moment after I struck the surface of the stream I felt as if I had been seized by some giant wrestler, in whose hands I was a mere baby.
“My arms were pulled from my sides by the surging, swiftly flowing waters, and it seemed to me as if somebody was pulling my limbs apart with terrible force. I held my breath until I thought I would be obliged to take in some of the water, and at one moment my lungs felt as if they were being torn asunder. There was a loud roaring in my ears, and I thought my head would split open.
“Fortunately, just at the moment when my senses were leaving me, I came up to the surface, and my hands instinctively grasped some reeds. I took a long breath, and looked up, and there were the stars looking down at me from the sky. I had come safely through the tunnel and reached the side of the Giant Spring. As I looked to one side I saw a number of tents, from some of which smoke was ascending.
“I was in the midst of the enemy’s camp, and my position was one of great danger. I kept my head well down among the reeds, and waited impatiently for my comrades. It seemed as if they would never come. I waited for what seemed like an hour, but probably it was only a minute or two, at the most, and then, one after another, I saw heads bobbing up around me, first on one side and then on the other.
“One of the braves, as he came up, gave a loud gasp for breath, and then went down, never to appear again. I regretted his loss, but only one man lost out of thirty in such an enterprise was better than I had ever expected.
“We got together silently on the bank, and then, drawing our tomahawks, rushed upon the silent tents with a mighty war cry. We were instantly answered by loud whoops from our friends on the outskirts of the camp, and in a few moments we had the Cave Dwellers at our mercy.
“We captured several of their chiefs and head men as they were sleeping in their tents, and many others we slew. It was the most complete victory that my tribe has ever achieved, and it reduced the Cave Dwellers to complete submission. A few of them managed to escape and get back to their inaccessible caves, but never again did they make a concerted raid upon our territory.
“Nevertheless, they cherish a bitter animosity against the Navahos, and especially against me. One of the chiefs whom we took prisoner managed to escape, after learning that I was the man who had dealt such a heavy blow to his people. Evidently he told them about it, for two or three times since then a few of the Cave Dwellers have tried their best to take my scalp.
“This attack that you saw, my brother, was not by any means the first one they have made upon me. I guard myself against them as well as I can, but I expect that some day I shall fall a victim to their poisoned arrows or be carried away a prisoner to one of their caves, and there be devoured by them in one of their hideous feasts.”
Red Cloud said these last words calmly, with all the stoical philosophy of an Indian, and then folded his buffalo robe about him and sank into profound thought, gazing into the dying embers of the camp fire.
The young warrior was not a man to worry over even the worst that might happen. The matter was in the hands of the Great Manitou, and when his time came he would die as bravely as he had lived.
In a few days Red Cloud was sufficiently recovered to travel, and Buffalo Bill was glad of the opportunity to carry out his mission at last.
The Indian and the scout mounted their horses, which were very fresh and mettlesome after their long rest in camp, and each man secretly admired the great skill and horsemanship which the other showed.
“You are a great rider, Red Cloud,” said Buffalo Bill, after he had watched his blood brother for a few moments, sitting his horse like a bronzed statue as it reared and bucked and cavorted in all directions.
A gratified smile shone on the Indian’s face, and he replied:
“Would my brother care to try to mount this horse? No other man but myself has ever ridden him. Once he kicked a brave to death who tried to ride him.”
“I don’t mind trying,” said the border king, who had never yet met the horse that he could not subdue.
He leaped from his own mustang as he spoke, but Red Cloud kept his place in the saddle.
“No, my brother,” he exclaimed. “I did but jest. I might as well take my tomahawk and bury it in your head as let you mount this beast. He would surely kill you, for he is very savage to all but myself.”
By this time Buffalo Bill’s blood was up, and he was determined to mount the Indian’s mettlesome animal.
“Here is a fair offer, Red Cloud,” he exclaimed. “If your wounds are quite well, will you try to mount my mustang and ride him? He is not fierce, but he will certainly shake you off gently to the ground if I give him the word to do so. And if you cannot keep your seat on him you must let me try to mount your beast.”
The Indian’s spirit was aroused by this challenge. He eagerly accepted it, feeling confident that he would be able to sit the mustang without any difficulty. Like his white companion, he was used to conquering any animal he met.
He dismounted and approached the mustang, which cocked up its ears suspiciously and looked inquiringly at his master.
Buffalo Bill said: “Steady, old girl!” The mare kept as quiet as a lamb while the Indian mounted her, and allowed him to ride her gently up and down.
“Ugh! Do you call her troublesome?” the redskin exclaimed. “I never rode a gentler horse.”
Buffalo Bill smiled and gave a low, peculiar whistle. Instantly the mare stopped her quiet gait and began to rear and buck violently.
The Indian clung to the saddle with great skill and resolution, but the animal suddenly stopped its plunging and rolled gently on the ground, shaking him off and depositing him gently in the long grass of the prairie.
He got up, with a shamefaced look, and waved his hand toward his own pony.
“Mount her if you wish my brother,” he said. “But I pray you be careful, for her rage is sometimes terrible. I would much prefer that you did not try.”
Buffalo Bill went fearlessly up to the animal, caught it by the bridle, and vaulted into the saddle. Instantly the pony started on a wild gallop, and before it had gone twenty yards stopped suddenly in the middle of its stride and reared up almost erect on its hind legs.
The border king leaned forward, patted its head soothingly, and whispered in its ear. The animal became quiet in a moment, brought its forefeet to the ground, and trotted along peacefully, with Buffalo Bill bending forward and soothing it all the time.
In less than two minutes he had got it under complete control, and brought it back at a gentle canter to Red Cloud, who had watched the scene with the most intense astonishment.
“Are you a medicine man, oh, brother?” he exclaimed, in amazement. “You must have some spell that you cast over horses, for I never saw anything like this in all my days.”
“There is no spell needed,” said the border king lightly. “I have a way of letting animals know that I am their friend, and so I never have any trouble with them. This is particularly the case with dogs and horses. I never yet met one that I could not get along with.”
The two men then mounted their own steeds and rode toward Red Cloud’s village, which they entered at evening on the following day.
The chief was welcomed with loud cries of delight by the women and children, and with deep grunts of satisfaction by the less demonstrative braves, whom he had led to victory against their enemies on so many occasions.
He had gone away from the village on his hunting trip for only a day or two, and they had been much alarmed by his long absence, especially as one of the braves who had been out scouting had returned to report the discovery of Cave Dwellers’ footprints in the direction which Red Cloud had taken.
A great feast was held that night, and Red Cloud sang the praises of the border king as a great white chief who had twice saved his life and had sworn blood brotherhood with him.
Naturally the redskins welcomed him warmly, and the chiefs and old men smoked the pipe of peace with him, and swore that he would always be to them as their brother, because he had restored to them their beloved chief.
Under such circumstances as these, Cody’s mission was naturally rendered easy for him. At a council of the tribe he told of the crushing defeat which had been inflicted on the Crows, Cheyennes, and Sioux at Fort Larned, and he appealed to the Navahos to keep the peace and try to induce the other tribes in the Southwest to do the same.
There was hardly any dispute about the matter. Only two or three of the younger and more hot-headed braves spoke in favor of war, and they were speedily overruled. Solemn pledges were given that the peace with the palefaces would be kept, and when at last the time came for Buffalo Bill to leave the village and rejoin his friends, he did so with a feeling of deep satisfaction at the complete success he had achieved in his diplomatic task.
“Do not go back on horseback, my brother,” said Red Cloud to him, when the king of the scouts announced that he must make his preparations for departure. “Go by the river. It is much easier, and it will land you within a few miles of the ranch where your friends are waiting for you. One of my braves can take your horse for you to that place, and he can bring back the canoe which you will use.”
Buffalo Bill agreed to this arrangement willingly. Although he traveled so much on horseback, he was not averse to other means of transportation, now and then.
Red Cloud loaned him a fine birch-bark canoe, and the greater part of the population of the village came down to the river bank to see him off, parting from him with expressions of the deepest regret.
“Take care you don’t fall in with the Nez Perces, my brother,” was Red Cloud’s final warning. “They are a cruel and treacherous tribe, and Yellow Plume, their chief, has no love for white men.”
“I know that,” Buffalo Bill replied. “I have met Yellow Plume twice, and once I had a very narrow escape from falling into his clutches.”
With a parting wave of his hand, the king of the scouts plied the paddle vigorously and sent his frail bark into the center of the stream. In a few moments, he had passed round the bend of the river, and was out of sight of the Navahos.
The journey to the ranch was not a long one, but it was considerably increased by the windings of the stream. The banks were clad thickly with timber and brushwood, and the bushes in many places grew right down into the water.
Buffalo Bill had been traveling for about five hours when he saw a canoe suddenly shoot out into the middle of the river from under the cover of some of these bushes. In it were seated two Indians.
They yelled at him threateningly, and ordered him to halt.
The border king saw at a glance that they belonged to the Nez Perces tribe, and that their motives were obviously hostile.
As he came near to them, he put down his paddle and took up his rifle. At the same moment one of the Indians fitted an arrow to his bow and drew it up to his head.
Before he could discharge the shaft, Buffalo Bill tumbled him over into the water with a bullet through his breast.
The other Nez Perce gave a yell of alarm and paddled swiftly for the shelter of the bank. Before he could reach it, however, he, too, fell a victim to the deadly rifle of the king of the scouts. Cody had no wish that the man should escape and bring a horde of his companions down upon him.
Putting down his rifle, Buffalo Bill paddled on. He soon got into broken water, which suggested that he was approaching some rapids.
The strength and roughness of the stream rapidly increased, and just as the scout was thinking that it would soon be advisable to paddle in to the bank and make a portage with the canoe, a new and serious danger confronted him. Just behind him, over toward the left, he heard a chorus of loud and angry yells.
Recognizing the war cry of the Nez Perces, he looked over his shoulder, and saw a large canoe shoot out from the cover of some low-growing bushes. It was filled by six stalwart Indians, and their powerful arms made the craft shoot toward Buffalo Bill’s canoe at terrific speed.
The border king paddled as hard as he could, but escape in that way was out of the question.
The Indians did not seem to want to kill him. They were intent upon making him a prisoner.
With every stroke of the paddle, it became more and more apparent that some dangerous rapids were being neared. But neither Buffalo Bill nor his pursuers, in the excitement of the chase, took much heed of that fact.
Cody thought of stopping and fighting it out, but the Indians were so close that he knew he could only kill two or three of them before the rest settled with him. Therefore, when they had almost drawn alongside, he cast a swift glance around and decided that his only chance was to take to the water and swim to the other bank, where he might find cover and escape.
As he looked round he saw that the man in the bow of the Indians’ canoe was none other than Yellow Plume, the chief of the Nez Perces; and he determined that he would take any risk rather than fall into his hands as a prisoner.
Suddenly, to the intense amazement of the redskins, Buffalo Bill flung down his paddle and slipped over the side of the canoe farthest from them.
With a yell of hate, Yellow Plume leaped to his feet and, bending his bow, let drive full at the scout. But with the quickness of thought Buffalo Bill dived ere the shaft could reach him, and, drawing his bowie, slashed fiercely at the bottom of the savages’ frail craft as it swept past him.
Still keeping under water, he swam to the bank and pulled himself up under cover of a weeping willow that grew right down into the stream.
Peering through the branches, he saw that the Nez Perces had come to grief. Their canoe had speedily filled with water and sunk.
As he watched he saw Yellow Plume swirled violently by the swift current against a rock, which cracked his skull as if it were an eggshell. Two of the other savages, unable to struggle against the rapids into which they had now entered, were speedily drowned; but the remaining three, taking advantage of an eddy in the current, managed to swim to the opposite bank.
Buffalo Bill continued his journey on foot, and at last reached his destination. He was warmly welcomed by the rancher, an old man who had known him for many years in several parts of the West and who had a great reputation as an Indian fighter. His name was Hank Jones. He was much pleased when he heard the news of Buffalo Bill’s dealing with the Navahos, for he lived near the border of their country and was naturally delighted to know that they were likely to keep the hatchet buried.
“Have you had any trouble with the Cave Dwellers?” the king of the scouts asked, as they sat smoking after dinner.
The old man said that he had not had any for the last year or so, but that they were in the habit of stealing his cattle before the Navahos broke their power in the manner Red Cloud had described. The border had now been at peace for some time, and the settlers were consequently enjoying a period of unusual prosperity.
“Gol-durned dull, I should call it,” said Nick Wharton, who had now fully recovered from his injuries. “What in thunder do you do to pass the time?”
His host explained that there was plenty of good hunting in the neighborhood, and he hoped to show them some before they left his ranch.
“Grizzlies and mountain lions is pretty well in thar way,” growled old Nick, “but a man hunt for mine, that’s the greatest sport of all.”
Next morning, Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill went out for a ride together, and stopped for a glass of milk at the log cabin of a settler about ten miles off. As the man was handing it to them, his glance fell upon a couple of Indians who were coming toward them at full gallop.
“Injuns!” he said, and he ran inside to fetch his gun.
Buffalo Bill looked carefully at the men as they rode up, and saw that they were Navahos. They were not dressed in their war paint, and when they came near enough he recognized their features as those of two of Red Cloud’s best braves.
The old man reappeared, rifle in hand, and was about to level the weapon at the redskins, when the border king stopped him and exchanged greetings with the Indians.
“What is the matter, Eagle Eye?” he asked the leader of the two braves.
The Indian was much excited. Instead of wasting time beating about the bush and exchanging empty compliments, after the manner of his people, he went straight to the point at once.
“Red Cloud has been captured by the Cave Dwellers, and carried off to one of their inaccessible caves in the mountains,” he said. “We fear that they are saving him to offer up as a sacrifice at their great feast of Toshak, five nights hence, and that then they will devour his flesh, and so disgrace our tribe and the bones of our ancestors forever.”
Buffalo Bill recoiled in horror at this news, for he had grown to like the young Indian extremely, on account of his high courage and manly qualities.
“How did this happen?” he asked. “Where were your braves, that they allowed their chief to be captured?”
“Blame us not, oh great white chief,” said Eagle Eye, “although in truth I sometimes blame myself. Yet I could not help it.
“Red Cloud went by night to visit the graves of his father and uncle and pray to the Great Manitou to give him wisdom and strength to rule properly over the tribe. It was his custom to do this once every moon.
“Knowing that the Cave Dwellers had sought his life many times, I begged him to let me accompany him to the graves and watch over his safety while he prayed. But he would not permit it. He strictly commanded me not to follow him, saying that he must be alone with the spirit of his father.
“When day dawned he had not returned to the village, and I began to grow alarmed. After an hour had passed I went to the burying place with six other braves. Red Cloud had disappeared, but two dead Cave Dwellers lay on the ground near his father’s grave.
“There had been a fierce struggle, as the marks on the ground plainly showed; but the Cave Dwellers were more than twenty to one, and at last they had overpowered him and carried him away to one of their caves.
“Following swiftly on their trail, we found this message, which he had managed to write and drop on the path when they were not watching him closely.”
Eagle Eye handed to the border king a fragment of white cloth, evidently torn from the Navaho chief’s shirt, on which was written, in Indian hieroglyphics with the man’s own blood, the following brief but appealing message:
“Tell my brother, Long Hair.”
Buffalo Bill’s heart burned within him with rage against the Cave Dwellers as he read these words, and he registered a mental vow to do all that a man could do to save his blood brother from their clutches.
“We could not catch the Cave Dwellers before they reached their mountains and ascended to their lofty retreats,” said Eagle Eye, continuing his story. “It was hopeless to try to follow them there, for they had many sentries posted on rocky ledges on the hillside. These sentries shook their spears at us and shouted their defiance.
“We would have ascended, but we could find no path by which to climb. Every time we followed one, we found it terminated in a sheer wall of rock or a precipice.
“At last I pretended to withdraw, with my men, but really lay concealed in the brushwood near the foot of the mountain until one of the Cave Dwellers came down, thinking we had gone. We captured him, and forced him to tell us what they were going to do with Red Cloud. He said they were keeping him for a sacrifice at their cannibal feast of Toshak.
“I sent two of my braves to bring the rest of the tribe to the spot, left the others on watch near the mountains, with the prisoner, and then followed you as hard as we could ride to give you Red Cloud’s message.
“I have heard much of your great deeds, oh Long Hair, and I thought that if anybody could rescue Red Cloud it would be you, who are his blood brother. But, indeed, it seems hopeless, for we are not birds that we can fly to the abode of the Cave Dwellers.”
“If they can climb up, we can,” said Buffalo Bill, with his usual brave confidence. “There must be a path, and we must find it.”
During this conversation they had been riding back to the ranch at a sharp canter, and they soon reached it. While food and drink were being served to the two Indians by the orders of the hospitable rancher, the border king told Nick Wharton and his host that he would have to postpone the hunting trip they had arranged, and go instead to the rescue of his blood brother.
“Have as good a time as you can while I’m away, Nick,” he said, “but don’t shoot everything in sight. Leave a little hunting for me to do when I get back.”
“Shuck my hide, Buffler!” exclaimed the old scout, in aggrieved tones, “but did you sagashuate that I was goin’ ter let yer go off by yer lonesome among those Injuns? I’m comin’ along, too, and if we don’t find some way ter flutter up that gol-durned mountain, call me a blamed tenderfoot.”
Ten minutes later Buffalo Bill, accompanied by Wild Bill and Nick Wharton, rode with the Indians to join the Navaho braves who had assembled at the foot of the Cave Dwellers’ mountain to rescue their chief.
When evening came the little party was still far from its destination. As twilight stole over the prairie Buffalo Bill called a halt for supper, and the Indians set to work to build a fire.
When they had done this one of them took his earthen pot, which he always carried at the bow of his saddle and went to a stream near by for water.
He was back in a few moments, and ran up to Buffalo Bill and said:
“Come! Bring gun, grizzly coming up!”
The border king was on his feet in an instant, and he followed the Indian to a little thicket of trees down by the side of the stream.
Peering through the fast-growing darkness, he made out a great gray form advancing toward him. When within about twenty yards, it scented danger and stopped with an angry howl.
Buffalo Bill leveled his rifle and fired, but the bear, although mortally wounded, charged forward. When it was within a few paces of the scout, it exposed its flank in turning toward the Indian; and thus gave the border king an opportunity to finish it with a bullet through the heart.
“Good! That’s the first grizzly I ever killed with only a couple of bullets,” said Buffalo Bill to himself, as the other men ran up, alarmed by the sound of the shots.
The Indians lost no time in skinning the animal. A portion of the flesh was carried to the fire, cut up into strips, and at once cooked. As soon as the meal was finished, the rest of the meat was cut up and divided among the party, who then mounted and rode on, the two Indians again leading the way.
Next day they reached the mountain where the Cave Dwellers lived, and found that the Navahos, to the number of over two hundred, had pitched their camp in front of it. But they had been able to do nothing toward the rescue of their chief, for the face of the mountain was a perpendicular cliff, at the foot of which a stream flowed.
Buffalo Bill crossed the stream and rode forward to reconnoiter the position, accompanied by several of the Indians. They had not gone more than a hundred yards along the foot of the cliff when a great stone came bounding down from above, striking the ground a few yards in front of Buffalo Bill’s horse and breaking into fragments.
At the same moment a shrill yell was heard from the cliff above, and, looking up, they saw a number of the Cave Dwellers on a ledge two hundred feet above them, with their bows bent threateningly.
“Back, all of you!” shouted Buffalo Bill. “Their arrows may be poisoned.”
Seeing that the party retreated quickly, the savages did not shoot.
When they had got out of range, Buffalo Bill called a council of war, but found that nobody had any useful suggestions to offer. Then he mounted his horse and rode along the bank of the river farthest from the Cave Dwellers to get a good view of the cliff. He saw that there were three or four openings in the solid rock on the level of the ledge on which the Indians were posted.
He was astonished to notice that above these openings the cliff, which was in this place quite perpendicular, was covered with many strange sculptured figures, some of which still retained the color with which they had been painted in times long past.
Evidently the Cave Dwellers had not always been the degraded savages they were at present, or, more probably, a higher race had formerly occupied the caves and made these sculptures.
“Now, Eagle Eye,” said the border king, as the Navaho brave came up to his side and watched the cliff with him, “we have to see how this place can be climbed.”
The Navaho shook his head sorrowfully.
“I’m afraid it is impossible, Long Hair,” he replied in his own tongue. “You see that there is a zigzag path cut in the face of the cliff up to that ledge. In some places, as you can see, the rock is cut away altogether and the path is broken. They must have ladders to cross these breaks, and no doubt they would draw them up at once if they were attacked. You see that the lower ones have already been pulled up.
“Likely enough, sentries are posted at each of those breaks whenever they are threatened with an attack. Besides, we must remember that our first aim is not to attack, but to rescue Red Cloud. If they thought there was any risk of our getting up, they would almost certainly kill him without waiting for the feast of Toshak.”
“I understand all that, Eagle Eye,” replied Buffalo Bill, “and I have no idea that we could make our way up by that zigzag path. The question is, could the cliff be climbed elsewhere? The other end of the ledge would be the best point to get up at, for any watch that they might be keeping would certainly be where the steps of this path come down to the ground.”
Eagle Eye looked doubtful.
“Unless a man could fly, Long Hair, there would be no way of getting up there.”
“I don’t know about that,” the border king responded, carefully scanning the cliff. “Wait till I have had a good look at it.”
For a long while he gazed intently at the cliff, observing even the most trifling projections, the tiny ledges that ran here and there along its face.
“It would be a difficult job and a dangerous one,” he muttered presently, “but I am not sure that it cannot be done. At any rate, I shall try. When I was a boy one of my favorite sports was cliff climbing, and there was nobody who could beat me at it, Eagle Eye.
“Do you see, just in the middle of that ledge, where the large square entrance to the principal cave is, that the cliff bulges outward? That is lucky, for if there are any sentries on the steps of the zigzag path, they will not be able to see round that point. If they could, I would not have much chance of getting up, for it will be a bright, moonlight night.
“When I get to the ledge, if I do get there, I will lower down a rope. You can fasten the lariats of your braves together to make that rope; they will hold the weight of a dozen men easily. The lightest and most active of the warriors must come up first, and when two or three of them have mounted the ledge we can haul the rest of them up easily.
“Now you can leave me and see that the rope is made ready, and tell your braves what I propose. I shall be here for half an hour at the least. I must see exactly the way to climb and calculate the number of feet along each of those little ledges to the point where I can reach the big one above. I must have the whole thing well in my mind before I start to climb.”
The Indian shook his head doubtfully and departed. He had little faith in the feasibility of the scheme, and he thought it was nothing short of madness to attempt it.
Such was the opinion of the rest of the tribe when he told them what the white man proposed.
Buffalo Bill, however, had a look of confidence on his face when he rejoined them.
“I’m more convinced than ever that it can be done,” he said, after the evening meal of bear’s meat had been eaten. He filled his pipe and began to smoke quietly.
Wild Bill and Nick Wharton remonstrated with him and told him that his scheme was pure folly, and he would simply throw his life away. When they found that they could not turn him from his purpose, they both begged him to let them climb the cliff in his stead, but he would not hear of it.
“You are a brave man, Long Hair,” said Eagle Eye, “but no man can do what you are talking of, and you will simply sacrifice yourself for nothing.”
“I will wager my horse against yours that I will succeed,” replied Buffalo Bill.
The Navaho gravely nodded and took the bet. Indians of all tribes are much given to wagering, and the horse which Buffalo Bill was riding was a far better one than his own. Eagle Eye regarded the matter in the light of a legacy, rather than a gamble.
In order to lull the Cave Dwellers into a feeling of security, the border king ordered that the camp be struck, and the whole party rode away as if they had given up the enterprise as hopeless.
When they got out of sight a halt was called, and Buffalo Bill gave instructions for the operation of the night.
“We will cross the river on the horses a mile above the caves,” he said. “We must use the animals, or we shall not be able to keep our rifles and revolvers dry. We will tear up a couple of blankets and twist the cloth round the barrel of the guns so that if they knock against the rocks, as we climb up, they will not make a noise and put our enemies on their guard.”
The border king then chose the lightest of the Indians to follow him up the rope of lariats after the ascent had been made. Another lightweight was to be the third, Wild Bill was to follow, and then those on the ledge were to pull up Nick Wharton, Eagle Eye, and the rest. The lariats were securely knotted together, and the knots tied over again with strips of hide to prevent their slipping.
The Indians obeyed all of Buffalo Bill’s orders without a word, but it was evident from their manner that they had not the slightest hope that his daring attempt would prove successful. Even Nick Wharton, who usually had the utmost confidence in his friend and leader, shook his head dubiously and said to Wild Bill:
“He is an all-fired wonder, is Buffler, but I sagashuate he hev stepped up agin’ a bigger contraption than he kin manage this time.”
About an hour after sunset they started, riding slowly and scouting carefully to see that none of the Cave Dwellers was on the watch. It was two days after full moon, and they had therefore as many hours to reach the foot of the cliff before it rose.
An hour was more than sufficient to travel the distance. They therefore rested for a time, after darkness set in, before they started. Then they swam the river on horseback, and made their way noiselessly along, keeping at some distance from the river bank, until they reached the place where the cliff rose perpendicularly.
They pressed on, keeping close to the base of the rocks, until they arrived at the place which Buffalo Bill had decided upon as the easiest at which to make the ascent. Then they lay down among the bowlders at the foot of the wall of rock, and remained there until the moon rose, for it was impossible to attempt such a difficult and dangerous climb in the darkness.
While they waited they discussed the best way of getting the lariat rope up, for it was obvious that whether it was carried in a coil over the shoulder or wound around the body it would hamper the movements of the climber.
At last Buffalo Bill solved the problem by putting a ball of twine in his pocket and saying that he would throw it down from the ledge when he got up, so that the lariat could be tied to it and then pulled up.
“Good luck, pard!” said Wild Bill, as the border king prepared to start, and both he and Nick Wharton gripped their friend by the hand, while Eagle Eye laid his hand on his shoulder, saying: “Ugh, heap brave!”
The ascent was comparatively easy for a short distance. Then Buffalo Bill came to the first of the ledges he had noticed.
It was only about ten inches wide, but, keeping his face to the rocky wall, and using his hands to grip the most trifling irregularities in the smooth surface, or to get a hold in small crevices, he managed to make his way along until he arrived at a bulge in the wall which seemed to effectually bar further progress.
Buffalo Bill drew his bowie knife, bent forward, and cut a hole in the rock just large enough to rest his feet in. Thus, gaining a step forward, he cut another foothold, and so went on until he had got round the projecting rock at a frightful risk, and gained a secure footing on the next ledge.
But this ledge narrowed rapidly as he passed around it. He was now at one of the points which had appeared to him to be the most difficult, for, as he had looked up from the ground in the afternoon, the ledge seemed almost to cease, while the next one above it was also so narrow that he doubted whether he could obtain standing room upon it.
The scout now made his way along on tiptoe, in imminent peril of falling down the face of the cliff with every step.
In some places the ledge was not more than three inches wide.
After he had gone about thirty feet it widened, and the next forty or fifty feet upward were comparatively easy, for the rock sloped to some extent inward, and there were many fissures in which he could get a tight grip with his strong fingers.
Then came several difficult places, but he was now thoroughly confident, and he attacked the rocky wall with the utmost daring. At last he reached his goal and drew himself up on to the broad ledge that led to the caves.
None of the Cave Dwellers were in sight, and he flung himself down on the ground and rested for a few minutes, for he was utterly exhausted by his difficult climb, which not one man in a hundred thousand could have accomplished safely.
As soon as he felt refreshed by his brief rest he took the ball of twine from his pocket and flung one end, weighted by a bullet, over the side of the cliff. He knew that he had allowed ample length, and he drew it in until he felt a slight strain, followed by three jerks—the prearranged signal.
His friends below had hold of the string. Two more jerks told him that they had fastened the lariat rope to it, and in a couple of minutes he had the rope in his hands.
The scout found a big rock jutting out of the ground in the path, and he tied the rope firmly around it, and then shook the rope to show that he was ready for the first Indian to ascend.
Two pulls upon the lariat told him that the man had been tied on, and he began at once to haul. He found the weight much less than he expected. Not only was the Navaho a short and wiry man, but he used his hands and feet with such good effect that in about five minutes he stood beside Buffalo Bill.
“You can haul up the next man, while I go forward and reconnoiter the cave,” said the border king.
The Indian nodded, and immediately signaled with the rope for the next man to be tied on.
Buffalo Bill meanwhile stepped forward cautiously along the ledge until he came to the wide entrance of the principal cave. As he approached it, a short figure rose up from behind a rock. It was one of the Cave Dwellers keeping vigilant watch.
Before the man could utter a yell, Buffalo Bill had gripped him tightly by the throat, so that he could only gurgle feebly. Yet he managed to draw his tomahawk and raise it above his head to dash out the brains of the king of scouts.
Taking his right hand from the man’s throat, which he still held tightly gripped with the left, Buffalo Bill caught his wrist and wrenched away the weapon. He struck the Cave Dweller a heavy blow on the head with the flat of the blade, which knocked him senseless.
The border king then stepped swiftly into the cave. He could see several recumbent forms lying on the ground, and from the back of the cave there came a confused hum of voices. The light of the moon shone full into the entrance, and the place was almost as light as day.
The intruder had not taken more than a few paces when he stumbled against a body lying in the shadow. The man arose and bent forward into the moonlight, uttering a low cry of surprise.
Buffalo Bill raised the tomahawk, but before he could use it he saw that the man was none other than his blood brother, Red Cloud, the Navaho chieftain.
Without a word Red Cloud extended his hands, and Buffalo Bill saw that they were bound together by a rawhide rope. He drew his bowie knife and cut the bonds, and then handed the Indian the tomahawk which he had taken from the sentry at the mouth of the cave.
Red Cloud rose to his feet and eagerly gripped the weapon. “I expected you, my brother,” he said simply.
The cry which the Indian had given when Buffalo Bill stumbled against him had aroused one of the Cave Dwellers sleeping near by. He was, as it appeared afterward, the chief of the tribe, and he raised his body on his elbow and glanced around suspiciously.
His eyes fell upon Buffalo Bill and Red Cloud, and he instantly leaped to his feet, with a frightful yell of rage and warning.
In a moment the cavern was alive with the forms of the Cave Dwellers, wakened from their sleep, while those who had been talking at the back also ran forward. All this had happened in a much shorter space of time than the telling takes. The rest of the attacking party had not yet come up, and the blood brothers were in the most deadly peril.
The chief of the Cave Dwellers rushed forward, and in a moment was locked in a death grapple with the border king on the ledge at the mouth of the cave. As the rest of the band came forward, Red Cloud advanced a pace or two to meet them.
Buffalo Bill and the chief of the Cave Dwellers struggled on the edge of the precipice, locked in a deadly embrace; while the brave Navaho, tomahawk in hand, kept the other Indians at bay.
Although he was a man of small stature, the savage chief possessed the strength and ferocity of a giant ape. He strove to throw Buffalo Bill over the cliff, and in his rage he cared not whether he went over with him.
To and fro they swayed, and it seemed as if they must go down to death together, locked in one another’s arms. But with a mighty effort Buffalo Bill overpowered the savage, raised him from the ground, and flung him sheer over the cliff, making a quick turn on his heel as he did so, in order to avoid being carried over himself by the impetus of the falling body.
He had got rid of his dangerous adversary none too soon, for the Cave Dwellers were attacking Red Cloud with great ferocity and would have overpowered him in another moment, although he was making fine play with his tomahawk and had stretched two of the savages dead at his feet.
Buffalo Bill drew his six-shooter and speedily dropped three of the foremost Cave Dwellers. But the rest pressed on to the attack, and the blood brothers had to battle for their lives more desperately than either of them had ever done before, accustomed though they were to wild adventures.
“The last shot, Red Cloud!” gasped Buffalo Bill, after a few moments of rapid firing, as he thrust his second six-shooter into his belt and drew his bowie knife.
The Cave Dwellers, demoralized by the rapidity and accuracy of his aim, had retreated a few paces; but they were getting together again for another rush. The doom of the blood brothers seemed to be sealed.
But just as the Indians rushed forward Wild Bill, Eagle Eye, Nick Wharton, and a couple of Navaho braves charged to the rescue round the ledge and into the cave. They met the Cave Dwellers with a volley of shots and drove them back into the recesses of the cavern.
Realizing that their only chance of life was to cut their way out through their enemies, the savages soon rallied to the attack, and several minutes’ hard fighting followed. But Buffalo Bill’s party managed to hold the entrance until reënforcements came up, for Eagle Eye had left a couple of braves at the rope to draw up the rest.
It was a fight to the death. The Cave Dwellers refused quarter, and in the end only three or four of them managed to escape down the zigzag path.
Red Cloud and his warriors took many scalps that night, and there was much rejoicing in the Navaho village on their return, for they had not lost more than half a dozen braves in the fight and had utterly annihilated their troublesome neighbors.
Buffalo Bill had escaped from one of the fiercest fights in his experience without a scratch, and Wild Bill and Nick Wharton were also unwounded.