Although the Indians had obtained only a short start of the border king and his men, the chase was a long and difficult one.
As the scouts and their Pawnee allies followed the trail, it became more and more evident that every expedient of redskin craft had been employed to hide it.
Even Buffalo Bill’s skill was often at fault, and sometimes for hours—once even for a whole day—the tracks were lost completely and only recovered after the most arduous search.
“Evil Heart is one of the best chiefs on the plains, both in fighting and in running away,” said Buffalo Bill to Wild Bill, as they were riding side by side on the fifth day of the chase. “But I think we shall get him this time, after all. The trail is freshening all the time.”
“Yes, that is so,” Wild Bill replied, “and, of course, you must have noticed one thing—that during the last few hours not a single effort has been made to hide it. That strikes me as being rather strange, for they have done all they could to conceal their tracks up to now.”
“Yes, I have noticed that,” said Buffalo Bill, knitting his brows in some perplexity, “and it has seemed peculiar to me.”
It was not long before this mystery, which so much puzzled the experienced scouts, deepened.
They had not ridden more than a mile when Buffalo Bill, who was in front, pulled up his mustang, with a cry of astonishment.
“Here is another trail!” he exclaimed to Nick Wharton and Wild Bill, who instantly pushed their horses up alongside of his.
It was a fact. Another body of Indians, who had evidently ridden across the prairie from the left at a tangent, had met with the Shawnees.
The tracks plainly showed that the new party outnumbered the first by more than four to one. The Shawnees had been held up, but there were no signs to indicate that a fight had taken place.
There had been a halt and a palaver, but evidently that was all.
The newcomers had not joined the Shawnees. Another trail showed that they had ridden off in a different direction, while the Shawnees had proceeded on their own course.
What had happened? This was a question which all the experience and ingenuity of the scouts failed to answer.
Was the second party composed of Shawnees? From the fact that no fight had taken place, there was some reason to suppose that this was the case; but, on the other hand, if they were Shawnees, why had they not joined the party under Evil Heart, the paramount chief of that tribe?
The scouts examined all the tracks with the greatest care, but they could not solve the riddle.
“Certainly there is more in this than meets the eye,” said the border king. “It is difficult to know what to do.”
“You mean that it is hard to decide which of the two parties to follow?” asked Mainwaring.
“Yes. It is just possible, you see, that the stronger party forced the weaker to give up the girls to them, under threat of attack in case they refused to do so. The chances are against that having happened, but still it is a possibility.”
“Could you not divide our party and follow both trails?”
“No. I am afraid that is out of the question. We have few enough men, in all conscience, to attack the Shawnees, and we could do nothing against the stronger party. If we divided our force we would be helpless against either when we caught up with them. We must take our choice which we will pursue.”
“I can’t speak as an authority,” said Mainwaring, “but, if I may offer an opinion, I would favor going after Evil Heart’s band. We know he has the girls—or, at least, that he had them; and the chances are that he would not give them up without a fight.”
“That is just my way of looking at the matter,” agreed Buffalo Bill. “But let us hear what the others have to say. It is such a dubious question that it ought to be decided by the general voice.”
The king of the scouts called Wild Bill, Nick Wharton, and several of the most experienced scouts and Pawnees around him.
With one exception, they were all in favor of keeping on after the original band they had been pursuing. The exception was an old Pawnee warrior named Dead Eye.
“Ugh!” this veteran grunted. “What for other Injuns ride after Evil Heart? What for they make him stop and hold palaver? They not do it for nothing. They took no scalps. What else they take? White squaws!”
Having delivered himself of this opinion, in opposition to all the others who had spoken, the old brave sat stolidly on his horse, as if the matter had no further concern for him. Indeed, it had not. He was quite willing to follow either party, for there would be a fine fight at the end of the chase and a rich harvest of scalps—both of which things would satisfy his savage nature.
Buffalo Bill looked at him undecidedly.
“How many summers is it since you followed your first war trail and took your first scalp, Dead Eye?” he asked.
Dead Eye made no reply in words, but he held up the fingers of both hands five times. He had been a full-fledged warrior for fifty years.
“And how many scalps have you taken?”
Dead Eye handed his tomahawk to Buffalo Bill without a word.
The border king examined it with curious interest. It was covered with small notches from the blade to the end of the helve. Each notch, of course, stood for a scalp taken.
“All braves!” grunted Dead Eye. “Me no kill women or children.”
Here was a man, thought Buffalo Bill, whose opinion was worth taking.
“We will go after the larger party,” he said.
But Dead Eye interposed.
“You no do that,” he said. “You have called council. All but me say go after Evil Heart. You must do that. How Dead Eye feel if other band no have girls and you follow it?”
Buffalo Bill could not but admit that this view of the matter was a just one. He ought to abide by the general voice of his advisers, even though Dead Eye’s brief arguments had impressed him so strongly.
He gave the word to follow the Shawnees at the best speed possible.
After a few hours the trail left the level prairie and wound up into a range of foothills which led up into frowning mountains beyond. The scouts now knew, from the exceeding freshness of the trail, that they were almost on the heels of their enemies and might expect to catch sight of them at any moment.
Suddenly, as they turned a corner of the broad but rough trail that led up into the hills, they were startled by a loud yell from Buffalo Bill, who, as usual, was riding in advance.
“There they are!” he shouted.
The Shawnees were not more than half a mile in advance. They were toiling slowly and painfully up the trail; for their horses were evidently much fatigued.
Although they largely outnumbered the scouts, they tried to get away without a fight; but Buffalo Bill’s party gained on them so rapidly that they soon saw the attempt was vain and gave it up.
As they turned and scattered out along the trail to take such cover as they could find, Buffalo Bill saw, to his chagrin and horror, that the two girls were not with them.
“You were right, Dead Eye!” he said remorsefully, to the old Pawnee. “I ought to have insisted on taking your advice against that of all the others, as I was inclined to do.”
“Ugh!” grunted the Indian. “Take scalps of Shawnees first—then go back and take scalps of others.”
This was obviously the only course now to be adopted. Buffalo Bill gave the word to charge, and the scouts swept up the trail at a gallop, recking nothing of the hot but ill-directed fire of the Shawnees.
The redskins had the advantage of position and numbers, but that was more than counterbalanced by the superior marksmanship of the scouts and the dash with which they made their assault.
Buffalo Bill’s men had the great advantage of being the attackers, and under his fine leadership they took full benefit of it.
Twice the number of Indians could hardly have withstood their furious charge. In a few minutes they were in the midst of the Shawnees, whose cover then availed them nothing.
Several of the braves, their guns having been emptied vainly, tried to get at close quarters and use their deadly tomahawks; but they were shot down before they could do so.
The fight was brief and bloody, but nearly the whole loss was sustained by the Shawnees.
In a few minutes those who had escaped the first onslaught turned to retreat up the trail. The retreat was soon turned to a rout, and the rout into a veritable stampede.
But, with their fagged ponies, the Indians could not escape the well-mounted scouts. They were ridden down, one after another, until only one man was left toiling far ahead on a spent horse up the mountain.
“I know him,” shouted Buffalo Bill, who had taken the leadership in the pursuit. “He is the chief, Evil Heart. Let no man but myself follow him. There is an old account to be settled between us, and I will settle it now, hand to hand, with this!”
The king of the scouts flourished a tomahawk which he had taken from one of the Shawnee braves whom he had slain.
In deference to their leader’s command, the other scouts held back, and Buffalo Bill on his fine mustang pursued the Shawnee chief at a gallop. But soon the track became so rough that he had to slacken his speed to a trot, and then to a walk.
The foothills had now been left behind, and the way wound steeply up into the mountains beyond.
From time to time Buffalo Bill lost sight of the man he was following, for the track, with a sheer cliff on one side, had many turnings. Yet he was confident that he would catch up with Evil Heart before long, for he had noted how tired the horse of the chief was.
Presently the trail became so rough and encumbered with bowlders that his own mustang could barely keep its footing, and he was thinking of dismounting and following on foot, when he came suddenly on the dead horse of the Indian.
It had stumbled over a rock and fallen, breaking its leg. Evil Heart had then promptly stabbed it to death with his knife and fled onward on foot.
Buffalo Bill had too much affection for his own animal to expose it to the same risk, so he dismounted, ordered the faithful animal to stand still and await his return, and then ran up the trail at a good speed.
Turning the next bend in the cliff he saw the Shawnee ahead of him, not more than five hundred yards away.
Yelling at the top of his voice, the border king challenged the redskin to turn and fight him hand to hand. He emphasized the command by waving the tomahawk which he carried in his hand.
Evil Heart looked round as the king of the scouts came swiftly toward him, gaining at every stride; and when Buffalo Bill came near enough he saw that sheer terror was written plainly on the redskin’s face.
To a man deeply imbued with Indian superstitions, as Evil Heart undoubtedly was, it may have seemed that death itself was following on his trail—so unremitting and relentless had been the pursuit.
Whether this was the case or not, it was plain that Evil Heart, renowned for many years as a famous warrior, had at last lost his nerve.
He faced Buffalo Bill and flung his tomahawk at him when he was within about forty yards. But his arm was palsied with fright, and the weapon did not go within a yard of the intended mark.
Then the Shawnee gave up hope entirely. There was a deep chasm on one side of the trail and the cliff on the other.
Yelling defiance to his paleface foe, Evil Heart leaped over the precipice. He preferred suicide to death at the hands of Buffalo Bill.
The border king ran to the edge of the cliff and peered over. He saw that there was a sheer
descent of more than five hundred feet, with no trees or shrubs to break a fall—nothing but a
smooth face of bare rock.
Far below, lying upon a heap of fallen bowlders, he could see, through his field glasses, the
body of the Shawnee chief.
There could be no doubt that he was dead. Every bone in his body must have been broken by that
fearful fall.
Cody promptly returned to his horse and rode back to the scene of the fight, where his companions
were awaiting him. He briefly told them of the fate of Evil Heart and ordered them to mount and
ride back on the trail. He wished to follow the other trail of the larger Indian party without
delay and do what he could to recover the girls.
“Wait a moment, Cody,” said Mainwaring, who had distinguished himself in the fight. “I’ve got
a prisoner here, and I want to know what you are going to do with him.”
“A prisoner!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill, in amazement. “How did you get a chance to take one in
such a fight as this, where quarter is neither asked nor given?”
“Here he is,” said Mainwaring, pointing to a young Shawnee, who was sitting upon the ground,
closely guarded by two Pawnees with tomahawks in their hands. “I guess he was a young brave just
out on his first trail. Anyway, he got scared when I had the drop on him. He threw down his
tomahawk and begged for mercy, and I hadn’t the heart to shoot him then.”
“A strange thing for an Indian to do,” remarked Buffalo Bill. “Well, it’s a nuisance. I don’
t see what we are going to do with him.”
“The Pawnees were keen to kill and scalp him,” said Mainwaring. “I had a good deal of trouble
in preventing them.”
“I dare say you had,” commented the border king grimly. “They don’t approve of such mercy.”
It was plain from the looks of the two Pawnees who were guarding the brave that they did not.
Their fingers clutched their tomahawks with a nervous grip, as though they yearned to send the
deadly weapons crashing into the skull of the captive.
The Shawnee looked up beseechingly into the face of the border king. He was evidently afraid to
die, and he knew that his fate rested in the hands of the renowned Long Hair.
“White Feather will tell the great chief about the paleface maidens if he will spare his life,”
he said. “He will tell how they were taken from Evil Heart and who took them.”
He spoke in his own tongue, which Buffalo Bill understood.
“That’s another matter,” replied the king of the scouts. “Let White Feather speak straight
words and tell me all I want to know, and he shall not only have his life, but he shall go free.
He is not a warrior we need fear.”
The Shawnee was too nervous for himself to resent or even notice the last cutting remark. He
plunged into his story eagerly.
It appeared that the Shawnees had fled from the wrecked wagon train because one of their scouts
had signaled the approach of a strong war party of Utes, far outnumbering their own. As the Utes,
like the Apaches, had their hands against almost all the other tribes, Evil Heart had feared to
meet them.
The Utes had not seen them, apparently, but they had done all they could to hide their trail,
without knowing that the white men were after them.
But, nevertheless, quite by accident, the war party of Utes had sighted them later on the prairie
and ridden up to them, compelling them to halt. This explained the mystery of the two converging
trails.
The Utes were under the command of a famous chief named Bear Killer, and they were out on the
warpath against the Snake Indians, having traveled far from their own lodges for that purpose.
Bear Killer and Evil Heart had held a palaver, the result of which was that the Ute chief had
demanded that the two white maidens should be handed over to him as the price of his letting the
Shawnees go on their way without a fight.
Evil Heart had been loath to grant this, but his braves had prevailed on him to do so, for the
Utes so far outnumbered them that a battle would have meant their almost certain extermination.
The Ute chief had ridden away with his followers, saying that he would hunt for the Snakes, and
after he had vanquished them he would return to his home far across the great mountains, and make
the eldest white maiden his squaw, while his brother, who was with his war party, would take the
other to his lodge.
This was valuable information, and Buffalo Bill did not grudge the captive his liberty as the
price of it.
Grateful at having saved his life, even at the price of showing cowardice, White Feather departed
on foot to seek the lodges of his people.
Buffalo Bill gave the word to ride as swiftly as possible back to the point where the Utes had
met the Shawnees.
When they got there the scouts scattered around and examined the tracks carefully in order to
estimate the strength of the Utes as nearly as they could.
The result was to show that it was a party of such strength as it seemed almost foolish to try to
tackle.
While they were busy in this work Wild Bill heard a low moan coming from a small clump of bushes
near by. He called Buffalo Bill to him, and together they hastened to the spot.
There they found a man lying on the prairie. He had been staked out on the ground, so that he
would perish of hunger and thirst.
Buffalo Bill cut him loose, helped him to his feet, revived him with a drink, and asked:
“How long have you been here?”
“About five hours, I reckon, pard.”
“Who did it?”
“Utes.”
“A large party?”
“No.”
“Any white girls in it?”
“No.”
“How many braves?”
“Ten.”
“That can’t be Bear Killer’s gang,” said Buffalo Bill, turning to Wild Bill.
“There are Utes all over the country,” said the rescued man. “Several bands. They are spread
all over, looking for the Snakes.”
“I know you now,” remarked Buffalo Bill, looking keenly at the man. “You are Steve Hathaway.
You used to be a government scout, but you turned outlaw.”
“That’s right, Buffalo Bill,” said Hathaway, who was an old man, hanging his head in shame. “
But I’ve got tired of the life and want to be an honest and decent man again. I joined the Death
Riders, but I couldn’t stand for their ways, so I left ’em at the risk of my life, an’ I was
trying to reach the settlements when the Utes caught me.”
“If you want to turn over a new leaf, I’ll do all I can to help you, Steve,” said the
chivalrous knight of the plains. “You used to be a good man in the old days. Now, listen:
“We are chasing the Utes to recover two white girls. If they are as numerous as you say we shall
want help. I am going to send a man to Fort McPherson to ask for a troop of cavalry. Will you go
and guide them to me? I will send two scouts back later on to meet you and help to direct you.”
“Sure, pard,” replied Steve. “There’s nothing I’d like to do better. If you will trust me I
won’t betray your trust. You have saved my life, and it is yours. I will go to Fort McPherson
and bring the troopers along, or die in the attempt.”
Hathaway stopped only to eat and drink a little, and then, being supplied with a horse, he rode
off to the fort.
When, after some hard riding, he reached there, he gave the commandant a letter with which
Buffalo Bill had intrusted him, explaining the nature of the situation.
“Order Captain Meinhold and Company B to go at once,” said the commandant to his adjutant.
“They are the boys for this kind of work. Tell Captain Meinhold to spare no effort to bring the
girls back. That is the first consideration. Even the punishment of the Indians is a secondary
matter.”
Captain Meinhold was on old Indian campaigner, and his lieutenant, a gallant young fellow named Lawson, although much younger in the service, took to the work naturally.
They were fortunate in having all the essentials of a good troop. They had good horses, well seen to and in fine order. Next, they had good men, well disciplined, who liked their officers, and consequently were ready to endure hardship and extra duty without murmuring.
No company, therefore, was better prepared than Company B of the Third Cavalry to make a good record whenever it had a chance.
Pushing on by night as well as by day, and taking only such time to rest and feed as was actually necessary, even Steve Hathaway himself—an old “Overlander” who was used to getting through at all costs, even if the stock went under in doing it—was satisfied with the progress made by the soldiers.
On the third day out from the fort they had news from Buffalo Bill, for the scouts he had promised to send back met them, and now the order to “hurry up” did not require to be repeated.
Feeling almost certain that an Indian fight was before them, the seasoned troopers were as keen as war horses who snuff the smoke of gunpowder. There was no hanging back on the part of any one of them.
Taking a route described to them so minutely by the scouts that Hathaway, with his experience, knew exactly where Buffalo Bill must be, they pushed on at the top of their speed. Steve told Captain Meinhold that they would see the tracks of Buffalo Bill and his party, if nothing more, inside of twenty hours.
“We must do that—or else stop to hunt,” replied the officer. “Our rations are all out.”
“Men who can’t go twenty hours without eating have got no business to come on the great plains at all,” responded the tough old scout, who was himself thoroughly familiar with all the hardships of Western life.
The course now lay directly over the almost boundless plains, with no water except some half-stagnant pools met with now and then in a buffalo wallow, and it was a weary journey for both men and horses. But toward night the blue of the hills once more greeted their eyes, and when at last the grateful evening air, cool and pleasant, came to them, the hills were in full view.
A short halt at sunset by some poor water and yet poorer grass gave the animals and men a brief rest, and then the forced march was resumed, not to be broken by any ordinary circumstances until the hills and good water were reached.
This occurred after a long night ride, just at dawn, and the two hunter scouts, riding ahead, had the good luck to come upon a herd of elk in the mouth of the pass which first opened up before them.
Three of the animals were shot down before they could get out of range, so that meat was plentiful for the soldiers when they made their morning halt. The grass was good, too, and both men and horses had a good chance to recuperate after their hard travel.
The two scouts, after a brief rest, taking from Steve Hathaway the course he meant to travel, started off to find Buffalo Bill and to carry to him the news that help was at hand.
Before they left, Captain Meinhold arranged a code of smoke signals with them which would aid his movements—signals that would tell him when and where Buffalo Bill and his men were found, and whether they were fighting.
A halt of about three hours gave both men and animals sufficient rest and feeding time to make them quite fit for another rapid journey.
It was now deemed best to skirt the base of the hills until the trail was found. Hathaway became more and more eager as they went on, for he felt confident that Buffalo Bill would have the prudence to wait, and, therefore, that they would soon join him and his own good faith be proved.
The man had lived a hard and criminal life, but he now saw a chance to redeem the past and he was eager to seize it.
About noon they came upon the trail where Buffalo Bill and his party had entered into the hills.
Captain Meinhold asked Steve how long it was since the king of the scouts had passed.
“The trail is cold,” was the reply. “The night dew has fallen on it. He must be a long way ahead, if he has not halted to wait for us. He is on a trail almost as fresh as his own—and the trail of a bigger crowd, many times over. If he and all with him are wiped out, it is his fault. He should have waited for us, for I told him I’d guide you straight to his trail, and I’ve done it.”
“Halt!” cried the captain, turning to his men. “There are smoke signals rising. They must be from the scouts who left us. Yes, it is so. Three quick smokes half a minute apart. That means that a fight is going on.
“But it is strange. There is no long, steady smoke lasting five minutes—the signal which I arranged with them to show that Buffalo Bill was there. They must surely have forgotten, or else misunderstood me. Ah, there is another smoke spiral—another and another—but they are farther off!”
“And they are not made by those two scouts or by their friends,” said Steve. “Those last puffs of smoke came from the vicinity of that devil’s hole they call Nick’s Cavern.”
“I don’t know the place. Who is there?” asked the officer.
“It is the favorite resort of the Death Riders—and a strong place. They are a gang of cutthroats and outlaws, sir—one of the worst in the West. I know them only too well! They have seen these signals, and the men probably think they are signs of their own comrades.
“They’ll be moving down to help them, too. Whatever gang are fighting over there will get help from them if they are fighting Buffalo Bill. They hate him so bitterly that they would gladly risk their lives on the chance of wiping him out.”
“Then we will move on. If there is a fight going on, the sooner we get into it, the better.”
And the captain at once put his command to a trot.
May and Gertrude had now been for three days in the power of the Ute chief, and so far, though closely watched and guarded, they had not been badly treated.
He seemed to have complete control over his braves, and as band after band joined him in answer to the signal smokes he sent up and the scouts he sent out, until he had gathered a large party, this was very remarkable. For discipline in an Indian tribe is as much to be expected as it is in a newly recruited regiment of volunteers, where every private feels as big as his captain, and sometimes bigger, having no responsibility to settle him down.
But how long this kind treatment would last the poor girls did not know, for the chief and his brother often spoke of them as their squaws to be, when the present war trail was at an end.
For now, with his force augmented, the Ute chief was keener than ever to hunt down his tribal enemies, the Snakes, and kill and scalp all of their war party.
When he got within sight of the plains, upon a trail that led nearly back to where he had emerged from them when he came upon his expedition, only one great mass of hills intervening, the eyes of Bear Killer flashed with a glad fire.
“Now the paleface girls shall see how the Ute warriors can fight!” he cried. “The Snakes are seeking us, and they shall find us soon enough.”
He pointed away to a plain at the foot of the hill slope where they were, and the girls saw that a large band of Indians were indeed there, apparently well mounted and armed.
The keen eyes of the chief had detected at the instant he saw them that they were not of his tribe, and he knew that the Snakes would be sure to keep the warpath until the quarrel was fought out. They would be just as keen for battle as he was himself.
“We are strong now, and we will make a big fight,” said Bear Killer. “We will not leave a single Snake dog alive to bark. The paleface girls shall see us fight. They shall see what brave men they will have for their husbands.”
Bear Killer now chose four braves, and gave them strict orders to guard the young girls and to allow no harm to come to them, but to keep them safe until the fight was over. He posted them on the side of the hill beneath a lofty cliff, down which a small stream wound its silvery way in crystal beauty.
From this place they could look in safety over all the plains below, and the coming fight would be decided before their eyes.
Perhaps there was, without his knowing it, a small vein of chivalry in the savage nature of Bear Killer—hence his desire to do battle and distinguish himself before the eyes of the beautiful girl whom he destined to share his lodge.
The girls, guarded by braves who did not understand English, or, at least, appeared not to do so, spoke to one another freely as the Utes in column began to descend the hills, deploying farther down as they were discovered by the Snakes.
“If our horses had been left we might escape now,” said May, whose mind was ever busy in studying how to get away from her captors.
The wily chief had had all the horses taken out of reach of both the captives and his enemies, excepting only those which he and his warriors rode as they went down to fight.
The battle soon commenced.
The Utes, forming a scattered line as they went nearer to where the Snakes were massed to receive them, closed but little more when within rifle shot; but adopted the usual plan of circling around at a gallop and picking off an enemy at every chance.
The Snakes soon met this maneuver by extending their lines and charging here and there till the mêlée became so universal that the girls—now anxious witnesses of the battle—could hardly tell one band from the other, or know which was victorious.
All they could see was bands of mounted Indians whirling here and there, striking and firing at one another in terrible confusion. Clouds of dust rose constantly as they rode over some dry and sterile piece of ground.
The braves who guarded them, in spite of the exciting nature of the fight, stood stolid and calm at the posts assigned to them in front of the girls, for the rear was a wall of solid rock. So far as the expression on their faces went, it seemed as if it mattered nothing to them how the fight went.
May would have questioned them if she could have done so, for she thought that their experienced eyes told them which side was so far victorious, but unfortunately she could not speak their language.
Suddenly one of the braves turned, and his face showed anxiety. He seemed to have heard something to alarm him, for his eyes ranged back to the rocks in their rear.
Almost at the same instant a sharp volley from unseen riflemen came rattling from the back, and the four braves were stretched out dead on the ground.
A band of white men, only six in number, with evil, repulsive faces, which indicated that they were ruffians of the worst type, came rushing forward from among the rocks at the point where the stream came trickling from above.
“Gals! White gals—and beauties, my boys!” shouted their leader, as he sprang forward.
“The trail is hot now!” cried Buffalo Bill, as the sight of the distant plains met his eyes once more and he saw the stones yet damp where the water had dripped from the Indians’ horses as they had crossed and emerged from a brook. “We’ll soon have the rascals before us, and then we’ll have the girls and teach the redskins a lesson they badly need. We’ll give them a hot time if we can do it without risking the girls’ lives.”
“There’s a hot time going on already. Look down there!” said Wild Bill, who was ahead and had halted on the crest of a steep descent.
He pointed to the valley, where all who were up to him could now see that a terrible Indian fight was going on.
“Good!” cried Buffalo Bill. “It’s dog eat dog. We’ll let them fight it out, and then we’ll settle with the winners.”
“But the girls? Where are they?” asked Mainwaring anxiously.
“Hidden away, most likely, while the fight is going on. They are not there, so far as I can see.”
He had been looking over the scene through his field glasses.
“If we had any men we could spare or risk I’d like to take a hand in that fight,” the border king remarked, after a few moments. “Those are Snakes who are fighting the Utes, and they’re getting the worst of it, too—but that’s not our lookout. The Utes have got the girls—that we know quite well—and they have most likely hidden them up here in the hills somewhere under guard.”
“Let us look for them!” said Mainwaring eagerly.
“Not till we see how the fight ends; then we can be ready to play our own hand,” replied Buffalo Bill quietly.
“Look back, pard, and tell me what that means!” exclaimed Wild Bill, whose eyes, ever wandering about, had caught sight of several columns of smoke rising away to the north.
“It’s a conundrum to me,” said the king of the scouts. “It may be Indians signaling or smoke made by those white ruffians, the Death Riders. Their chief hangout, Nick’s Cavern, is over in that direction!”
He turned again to watch the fight going on below.
“Those Snakes fight well, but they’ll be clean whipped,” he said, after a while. “The Utes are too many for them and they’re fighting better. There’ll be a big feast for the crows and the coyotes.”
“A good thing, too!” growled old Nick Wharton. “The fewer live Injuns on the plains the better.”
“Hello! Look up there! Ho, they’re gone!” suddenly cried Mainwaring, pointing to a cliff far over to the right of the party, fully two miles away.
“What’s gone? Your senses?” asked Buffalo Bill, noticing how wildly the young rancher gazed at the place where he himself could see nothing but bleak, bare rock.
“No, no—the girls! I saw them plainly over there on that rock; and it seemed as if a party of men was hurrying on with them!” said Mainwaring.
“I think you must have been mistaken, or some one else would have seen them, too,” replied Buffalo Bill. “They could hardly have got out of sight so soon, either, for you see there is neither tree nor bush on that rock.”
“I certainly did see them, and they disappeared so quickly that it looked as if they had sunk right down into the earth.”
“I’ve had just such visions,” said the border king, smiling. “And it was when I was in love, too.”
“It was no vision; it was real,” persisted Mainwaring.
“Well, after the fight is over down there we’ll see what we can find in the way of tracks up there,” said the king of the scouts.
Then, his face all aglow with pleasure, he cried:
“Here’s some news coming for us now! Here are the men we sent to meet the soldiers coming back!”
He spoke truly. The two scouts who had communicated with Steve Hathaway and the troops were hurrying toward him, having sent up smoke signals to hasten the soldiers forward.
Their report decided Buffalo Bill to remain where he was until the cavalry got up, but to satisfy Mainwaring he suggested that the latter should take a couple of fresh men and go over to the cliff to see whether he could find any tracks where he said he had seen the two girls.
Norfolk Ben, however, volunteered to go, and Mainwaring said he would take him and let the scouts remain.
As Buffalo Bill had no belief that there was really any one where Mainwaring said he had seen people he made no objection to this arrangement. He did not know that the young rancher was really rushing into deadly danger, or he would not have let him go out of his sight.
But his attention was soon drawn away from the fighting Indians and everything else by the sight of the carbines and sabers of cavalrymen glittering in the pass to the north, and he rode up to greet Captain Meinhold and Lieutenant Lawson, and to take Steve Hathaway by the hand and tell him that he had done nobly and well.
“I did my level best, mate,” replied Steve. “I had my life to pay for. Now that I’ve done it, I suppose I’ll be no more use to you.”
“Yes, Steve, you will. I’ll enroll you in my band of scouts of the Department of the Platte, if you wish, and you can ride and fight alongside of me if it suits you. If it doesn’t, I’ll do anything else I can to help you. All you’ve got to do is to say what you want, and you shall have it if I can get it for you.”
“Thank you, Bill. I know I’m not deserving of much in the way of kindness after the life I’ve led, but I’ll try to turn over a new leaf, and we’ll see how things work out as we go along. Has there been much of a fight down there?”
“I reckon there has, and it isn’t over yet. If they keep on for a while longer there won’t be much more of them left than there was of the Kilkenny cats after their scrap.”
“What are they?”
“Snakes and Utes. They’re both just crazy to fight each other, and always were since I’ve known anything about them. Captain Meinhold, you had better let your command rest and feed till it’s over down there, and then we can sail in and finish the job. I see the Utes are getting the upper hand, and it’s them I want to settle with. We’ve traced the two captives we want to rescue to their trail, and they’ll have to give them up or go under.”
The captain was only too glad to take the chance to rest his men and horses, and the necessary orders were at once given, while he and his lieutenant, through their field glasses, watched the fight which was still going on down below.
The Snakes were fast becoming disheartened, for their foes were not only nearly double their number, but better armed and better disciplined. The Utes fought as if they were directed with better generalship than the red man usually has to give.
As a matter of fact, Bear Killer had a great deal of military skill, and he was excelling himself now, for he was fighting under the eyes of the white girl whose love and admiration he wanted to win.
As the Snake braves fell or tried to retreat out of the battle the Utes redoubled their efforts, until in a short time the fight seemed to the gallant officers who were looking on little better than a massacre.
“It really seems to me that it would be a mercy for us to interfere now,” said Captain Meinhold, turning to Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill, who were watching the battle, like himself.
“A mercy to the Snakes, but not to ourselves, captain,” replied Buffalo Bill. “The Utes are very strong yet. Every one who falls strengthens us, and the Snakes, knowing they need expect no quarter, will account for a good many more of them yet before they all go under.”
“Yes; and the Utes are so hot now that they wouldn’t stop if they could, and they couldn’t if they would. They are like tigers who have tasted blood,” said Wild Bill. “They’d pitch into us in a minute unless they had a little time to cool off.”
“Well, we’ll have our horses ready,” said the captain. “One thing is quite certain—it can’t last much longer.”
He was right. The Snakes were almost all slain, and the few remaining ones were completely disheartened. They only kept up their resistance so that they might die with weapons in their hands.
“That warrior’s a great fighter!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill, as he saw a Snake Indian, evidently a chief, dismounted and fighting hand to hand with five or six of the enemy—only falling when struck from behind with a tomahawk after he had slain three of his foes.
It was the last of the leader of the Snakes, and soon after he fell the sole survivor of the Snake braves drove his own knife home to his heart rather than let a Ute do it.
Then the fierce yells of victory rose louder than ever from the throats of the victorious Utes.
But suddenly these were hushed.
For Bear Killer and his warriors—his brother had been slain in the battle—saw the troops drawn up in line on the hill, their arms and accouterments glittering in the noonday sun, and the scouts, under Buffalo Bill, on their flank.
It looked as if another battle was going to be fought, with fresh and well-armed soldiers against braves who were tired with a long and bloody fight, and most of them wounded in addition.
“Now’s the time to wipe them out, captain!” cried Wild Bill, eager to dash forward.
“I’d like to see whether we can’t get them to give up the girls without a fight first,” said Buffalo Bill. “If they saw that there was no chance they would be sure to kill them.”
“My orders are to save the captives, if I can,” said the captain. “That is the first consideration.”
“Then let me try a palaver with the Ute chief,” suggested Buffalo Bill.
“Certainly—try it first, by all means.”
Wild Bill and some of the other men looked disappointed at this decision, for their hearts had been set on a fight, and they thought they had the Indians at their mercy.
But when they saw Buffalo Bill borrow a spear from one of the Pawnee “friendlies” in his band of scouts and tie a white handkerchief on the end of it they realized that the matter was going to be settled by talking instead of by fighting, if it was possible.
The arrangements were soon made. Buffalo Bill, with the truce flag, dashed boldly down the hill, followed more slowly by Captain Meinhold and Wild Bill, the lieutenant holding the company ready to charge if a sign of treachery on the part of the Indians demanded it.
The Utes, at first astounded at this unexpected demonstration in their rear, were now seen to gather for consultation, and when Buffalo Bill was well down the hill toward them three of them were seen to ride out from the rest.
The first was Bear Killer himself, and a little to his rear, on his right and left, rode two Ute braves.
The one on his right carried a rather dirty-looking white flag.
Buffalo Bill planted the spear with his flag on it in the earth, and sat motionless on his horse close by, until the Ute brave, leaving his chief behind, dashed forward and planted their flag by the first.
Then, seeing that Buffalo Bill neither dismounted nor put down his weapons, the Ute chief rode forward armed and bloodstained from the recent battle.
Buffalo Bill opened the palaver.
“I have not come to smoke the peace pipe, but to talk,” he said. “If the talk of the Ute is good then we may smoke the peace pipe. If not, the soldiers and the scouts are ready for battle. They are many, and there will be more behind to come if they are not enough.”
“What has the paleface chief to say to Bear Killer, the chief of the Wasatch Utes?”
“The Wasatch? If you belong away over there in Utah what are you doing on this side of the great mountain?”
“That is the business of Bear Killer—not of the paleface. Bear Killer is like the wind; he goes wherever his spirit wills, and asks leave from no man. What is the talk of the paleface?”
“This chief will speak,” said Buffalo Bill, waving his hand toward Captain Meinhold, who came riding up with Wild Bill, thus making the conferring parties equal in numbers.
“Where are the two white captives—the girls who were in your possession?” asked the captain sternly.
The chief glanced off quickly toward the base of the cliff, where Mainwaring had declared he had seen the girls, and a look of pleasure lighted up his face, for he had supposed the whites had recaptured them already while the fight was going on.
“Why does the paleface chief ask?” he said, now ready to prevaricate or do anything else in order to gain time, for he believed that the four braves he had left in charge of the girls had been crafty enough to retreat with them.
“Because he has a right,” was the reply. “The father of these girls mourns for them at the fort of the white soldiers. And they must go back to him, safe and well, or not a red man here shall live to say he has seen them! I speak straight and plain. Where are they? I want them, and mean to have them.”
“Bear Killer is a great warrior. He is chief of the Wasatch. Many braves follow him——”
“Bear Killer, if that’s your name, will be a head less in height very soon if he does not give me a straight answer!” cried the captain angrily. “Where are the girls? Speak—or I pull up that flag and my troops will ride you down!”
“Bear Killer, before the battle, sent them away out of danger,” said the chief, again glancing toward the spot where they had been left.
“Alone?” asked Buffalo Bill, who had detected the look.
“No; with four braves to guard them from harm.”
“Wild Bill, ride to that cliff over there. Call half a dozen men to go with you as you pass,” said Buffalo Bill nervously. “Mainwaring said that he saw women there, and I didn’t believe him. He went with only Norfolk Ben in his company, and neither of them knows much about Indians. Go quickly, old fellow, for I feel uneasy.”
“You left the girls with four braves?” said the captain to the Ute chief. “Can you not call them in now?”
“If I do what will the paleface chief give for the girls whom Bear Killer took from the Shawnees? They are mine by a red man’s right. I took them from the red men—not from the palefaces.”
“I will give you cold steel and lead, and plenty of both, if you don’t give them up!” was the hot retort. “I shan’t waste any more time in talk. Talking is not my trade. I had rather fight.”
“The paleface has seen that the Utes can fight,” said Bear Killer proudly.
Then he glanced uneasily toward the hill whither Wild Bill and half a dozen scouts were galloping, as Buffalo Bill had directed.
“You will soon see—and feel—what my soldiers can do if these girls are not produced and given up!” said the captain. “I am in no mood for trifling. I have not ridden so far for nothing.”
Bear Killer saw with alarm that the cavalry, evidently impatient, were remounting their horses.
“We will talk,” he said. “We do not want to fight you palefaces. You have good guns that shoot a great many times, and we do not want to lose many braves for the sake of two women. You may take them.”
“Then send one of your braves back with orders to your people to stay where they are, and go up with us to get the girls. My people shall not move unless yours do.”
Bear Killer had a struggle with his pride before he could agree to this, but he knew very well what well-armed and mounted white troops could do, so he sent a warrior back, and leaving the truce flags flying between the parties, he rode on toward the cliff with the captain and Buffalo Bill.
Wild Bill and his men were there searching rapidly from rock to rock for signs which might lead to the discovery of the girls.
Four dead Indians, unscalped, lay upon the ground, pierced by rifle balls.
They were seen when Captain Meinhold, Buffalo Bill, and the Ute chief rode up.
“Who has killed these braves?” demanded Bear Killer angrily. “These were the guards I left with the girls.”
“Mainwaring and Norfolk Ben must have done it,” said Buffalo Bill, turning to the captain. “Were they not at our lines when you passed?”
He asked this last question of Wild Bill.
“No. The last seen of them was on that cliff, when they got your permission to ride over this way and search.”
“These men are cold,” said the captain. “They must have been dead a good while. They were killed before you came near the ground, Wild Bill.”
Bear Killer, whose looks showed his passionate indignation, burst out:
“The palefaces speak with double tongues! My braves have been killed with big bullets, such as the palefaces use, for lead does not cost them so much as it does the red man. They ask me for the girls after they have killed their guards and taken them.”
“It is not so,” replied the captain. “Your braves were not killed by our men, neither have any of us seen the girls.”
“It looks very dark. I cannot see my way clear,” said Bear Killer. “My braves are killed—and killed by white men, who do not take scalps. The women are gone. Who did it?”
Buffalo Bill, who had joined Wild Bill in the search, cried out:
“There have been men here who don’t belong to our crowd—white men, too! They wore moccasins, and all of my men wear boots—so do the soldiers of the captain. Those men came down the hill in the water and hid behind the rocks and shot the braves in the back. Their tracks tell the story.”
“Where, then, is Mr. Mainwaring and that man Norfolk Ben you spoke of?” asked the captain.
“They must be on the trail of the men who carried off the girls, for beyond here I see no track of the girls,” said Wild Bill.
“Go to the top of the hill, some of you, quick!” cried Buffalo Bill. “That is where Mainwaring said he had seen them. If only I had believed him then he should not have gone alone.”
Wild Bill and some of the other scouts, by different routes, hurried to reach the indicated spot. Those who followed the bed of the little stream were there first. Wild Bill was not among them, but he was not far behind the rest.
His report was quickly made. In one spot, where dry sand had blown into a gully, there were the tracks of the girls, of men in moccasins, and over these the small, slender boot marks made by Mainwaring and the broader track of Ben’s brogans.
Just beyond this strip of sand there was a sudden descent—a kind of channel between two cliffs—and then the tracks were lost, for it was hard, solid rock in every direction for a considerable distance.
“The girls have been taken by these white ruffians who killed their guards,” said Buffalo Bill, who went up himself and examined the tracks.
“They must be followed,” said Captain Meinhold. “But it is singular that Mr. Mainwaring and the man who went with him have not returned. Surely he would not be so rash as to follow on the trail alone.”
The captain had come up the ascent with Bear Killer.
“There is no trail here to find,” remarked Wild Bill. “If he has followed them he must either have seen them or else gone off on a blind chase.”
“We’ve got to find out. I wouldn’t have him hurt for anything!” cried Buffalo Bill. “Captain, you can settle the truce with the Ute chief, I reckon, while I try to hunt up Mainwaring and the girls.”
“There is nothing to settle,” said Bear Killer gravely. “I have had a big fight and have killed many men. I have lost a great many braves, too. My brother is among them. I do not want to lose any more. The palefaces can go their way in peace, and I will go mine in the same way if they will let me.”
“We have no war with you,” said Captain Meinhold. “Only when the red man raises the hatchet to strike at us do we strike back.”
“It is well. Bear Killer will go bury his dead, and then he will go back over the mountains to the Wasatch, for there will be great mourning in all his villages. But we have many scalps to carry back.”
The chief rode away, and then Captain Meinhold joined Buffalo Bill again.
The latter had just returned from an unavailing search for the trail of Mainwaring and the others, but Wild Bill and the other scouts were still looking for it.
“I’m afraid Mainwaring has met with bad luck, or we should have heard from him before now,” said the border king. “Brave and rash, he has hurried on, and perhaps been shot down by those villains who have now got the girls in their power. I dreaded to keep on looking, for I feared that I would come across his body.”
A shout from Wild Bill, who came hurrying back, told them he had news of some sort for them.
“I’ve found where they took their horses,” he said. “It was a pretty strong party, for some of them remained behind while the rest went forward and attacked the four Indians.”
“Have you seen any sign of Mainwaring?” asked Buffalo Bill eagerly.
“Yes; he and Norfolk Ben have been taken and carried along. Their tracks are plain where the horses were kept.”
“It is strange that they were not killed on the spot. But we must take the trail at once—that is if Captain Meinhold will do it.”
“Of course,” answered the brave officer. “I came to help you out of a scrape, if you were in one, and I and my men will see this business through.”
“Thank you, captain. Some day I hope to repay you. The safety of Mainwaring means more to me than I can say.”
“I never knew Buffalo Bill forget to pay a debt, either to a friend or an enemy,” said Wild Bill. “But we are losing time. Suppose I take the scouts and get along on the trail? I don’t believe there are more of those rascals than we can handle if we should chance to come up with them.”
“I’ll join you with the rest of our fellows, and then the captain and the troopers can come along at their leisure,” said Buffalo Bill.
“We had better all try to keep together,” suggested the captain. “They cannot have much start, and we surely can overtake them.”
“We’ll do it!” said Buffalo Bill, with grim determination; “or there’s one of us here who’ll break his neck trying! If young Mainwaring has been lost or killed I won’t be able to forgive myself easily for letting him go off in that way, with only Norfolk Ben to accompany him. I made a serious error in judgment in not crediting what he said about seeing the girls.”
This was a thing which the border king very seldom had occasion to confess, but, like most men who are not in the habit of making mistakes, he was perfectly ready to admit them when he did.
The captain now sent back orders for the troops to ride around to where the trail could be taken, and then went with Buffalo Bill to the point, guided by Wild Bill.
Sure enough there were tracks showing where a large band of horses had stood for some time, for the ground was all trodden up, and then on the thus softened ground the tracks of men could be seen.
Among these the keen eye of Buffalo Bill soon detected the boot marks made by Mainwaring, the brogan tracks of Ben, and in one place the small impressions left by the girls’ feet.
“We’re surely on their trail now,” he said, when he made this last discovery.
By the time all the horses had been brought up from the place where they had been left at the foot of the cliff the troop, with the rest of the scouts, were there.
Steve Hathaway came with them.
When he saw the tracks he shook his head.
“Boss,” he said to Buffalo Bill, “you might as well count your friend and Norfolk Ben dead and the girls safe in the hands of those fellows. Bill Harkness, the boss of the Death Riders, has been here. Do you see that track? That big track? His foot is the biggest in the gang.”
“I’ll soon have the measure of it,” said Buffalo Bill, springing from his horse.
“Be a little easy, mate, and listen to me, for I may help you more than you think of. These chaps are strong, and they can lay for you in a dozen places between here and Nick’s Tavern, where they quarter.”
“Let them lay, Steve,” said Buffalo Bill. “We’ll lay them out as soon as we get within range!”
“I can’t see him ride right into the jaws of death!” cried Steve Hathaway. “He saved me once, and I’ll save him now!”
And he rode on at a gallop to join Buffalo Bill at the head of the column.