Buffalo Bill's death message or, In the face of doom
Flynn came out of the bushes, roaring his wrath in no gentle tones.
Even the darky had leaped up, and was now rushing toward the prisoner.
Flynn drew his revolver, though he knew he dared not fire, lest the
report of its discharge should reach the cabins.
“Shtop, ye divil!” he commanded, but before he could reach the man, the
latter had flounced over into the river. Flynn reached for him, but he
was gone, for he sank from sight as soon as he touched the water.
“Now, the divil is to pay!” said Flynn, fingering his revolver and
staring at the spot where the man had disappeared. “He’ll be drowned,
I’m thinkin’, an’ ’twill sarve him right!”
“’Twas yo’ fault, Marse Flynn!” Cudjo asserted.
“Say that ag’in,” Flynn roared at him, “and I’ll shtick me fist down
yure black throat! ’Tis a lie, it is! Av he’s drowned, it’s his own
fault.”
But that the escaping prisoner was not drowned both saw a second or so
later; for he arose to the surface a few yards away, put up his hands,
and began to swim, heading across toward the shore opposite.
Flynn pointed the revolver at him, then lowered it, fearing to fire.
“Git the canoe!” he said. “Tumble lively, too! The divil has got his
hands loose, and he’s gittin’ away.”
He ran for the canoe and dragged it into the water; and, as the darky
moved too slowly to suit him, he sprang in alone.
Paddling away from the shore, he headed the canoe for the spot where he
had seen the man swimming; but he saw him no longer, for the desperate
fellow had dived, and was out of sight.
Flynn rowed round and round in a circle, muttering excited ejaculations,
but the man did not reappear.
“The divil’s drowned, begob!” he said, speaking so that the darky could
hear. “His fate were tied, aven if he had his hands free, and he wint
undher widout comin’ up ag’in.”
Nevertheless, he widened his circles, still looking for the man’s head
to pop out of the water. Then he heard a splash, and saw that the man
had risen near the other shore and was swimming for it with strong
strokes.
Flynn sent the canoe flying after him, but again the man dived, going
under like a fish. When the escaping prisoner rose again, in the willows
by the shore, the darkness favored him and Flynn could not see him.
Flynn paddled slowly past the willows, staring into them; but the
prisoner had only his head sticking above the water, and remained
undiscovered. For nearly an hour the Irishman kept the canoe going up
and down the shore, crisscrossing the stream, and searching with great
persistence. At the end of that time he gave up, and paddled back to the
island.
“He’s gone!” he said to Cudjo.
“Marse Flynn, I reckons de ’gator got him!” declared Cudjo solemnly.
Then both were startled by a report of revolvers coming from the
village.
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CHAPTER X.
DANGER AND DARING.
When Buffalo Bill departed from the island it was his intention to enter
the village and discover what he could. If observed while doing it, he
fancied that his chances of getting off safely would be increased by the
changes made in his attire and the disguise he had adopted.
Thanks to the darkness, he had no trouble in bringing his boat to a
landing without discovery at the foot of the rocky bluff just above the
first log cabin. He tied the boat there, then climbed the bluff and
walked boldly into the village.
Lights were burning in some of the cabins, and he saw here and there a
moving form, but the street and the spaces between the cabins were dark.
As the scout passed along he saw that a cabin close by the stream and
backed on one side by a high bluff was not only the largest in the
village, but was occupied, and that on one side was a sashless, open
window. He slipped up to this cabin, and, creeping along the dark wall,
gained the open window and looked in.
Several men were sitting there, talking and smoking. They were
red-shirted fellows, rough-faced and hard looking. The interior of the
room was bare of anything like luxuries. The men sat on stools and logs
of wood. There were two or three doors, in addition to the closed door
at the front.
Buffalo Bill fixed his eyes on one of the men, who had more of an air of
authority than the others.
“Red Reynard!” he said to himself. “He is here.”
The man referred to was younger and smarter looking than his companions.
He had his chair tipped against the wall, and he smoked a big brier-root
pipe.
“Frisco was lively enough,” he was saying. “Too bad we can’t all pull
our freight out of this and enjoy a little of the life they have down
there. When we’ve raked in a little more gold dust I think we can try
it.”
For a long time the scout stood by the window, listening and watching.
It was plain that Red Reynard had but recently returned from a trip to
Frisco, where he had gone with some gold dust, and had brought back a
few sorely desired luxuries, one of them being tobacco. All the men were
smoking as if the witching weed had not been scented by them for many
days.
As Buffalo Bill thus watched, one of the doors opened into this room,
and there appeared before his eyes a marvelously beautiful young woman.
The thing was so surprising that he fairly gasped. She carried a package
under one arm, and after greeting the men and glancing quickly round,
she went on toward the outer door.
“Say, there!” Red Reynard shouted at her, bringing the front legs of his
tipped chair to the floor with a thud. “Where you goin’?”
“Just to the other cabin,” she said timidly.
“What you got there?”
Her calmness deserted her, and she showed fright.
“Only my jacket,” she said, but her voice trembled.
“I’ll take a look at it!”
Red Reynard’s red face had flushed to a deeper hue, with suspicion that
seemed mixed with anger. He rose, stretching out his heavy red hand.
“It’s—just my jacket!” the girl protested, strong agitation now showing
in her face and manner.
“I’ll look at it!” he said roughly.
When he came toward her she uttered a suppressed cry, and ran to the
outer door, where she tried to go out. But she was too nervous to open
the door quickly, or it stuck, for before she could escape, Red Reynard
reached her.
“No tricks!” he cried, with an oath. Then he caught her and threw her
backward with a cruel jerk, and the package she had been carrying
dropped to the floor with a thump. It fell open, and some bags of gold
dust rolled out before the surprised eyes of the men.
Red Reynard’s face flushed with wrath.
“That was your game, was it? You sneaked the gold, and then was
intending to sneak yourself out of here. Not much you don’t!”
The girl screamed when he caught her by the hair with so rough a touch
that he seemed to be dragging it out by the roots. The men in the room
did not interfere. One or two of them were brutes enough to laugh.
To see an outlaw and brute like Red Reynard abuse a woman in that manner
made the scout’s blood boil. He did not know what relation she bore to
the outlaw, if any; yet it seemed she had planned to leave the house
without his knowledge, and that intention spoke volumes.
Buffalo Bill dropped his right hand to the revolver that lay in his coat
pocket, when he saw Red Reynard throw the woman to the floor. As the
scout put his hand on the weapon in his pocket, not having yet made up
his mind what to do, the door opened, and Klamath John appeared in it.
The girl was struggling to get on her feet, and Red Reynard had lifted
his heavy boot, as if to kick her.
“Get behind me,” said Klamath John, “and I’ll defend you!”
He caught her by the hand and fairly threw her against the wall, at the
same time whipping out a revolver and stepping in front of her.
Nothing could have been more surprising to the scout, for he had about
made up his mind that Klamath John had lost his life when he tried to
climb the rope that swung in the dripping mist over the mouth of the
tunnel. But here Klamath John was, appearing at an opportune moment to
defend the girl from the abuse of Red Reynard.
The daring and defiant manner of Klamath John astonished Red Reynard. He
stopped, and drew his knife.
“So you’ll interfere, will ye?” he snarled. “Then I’ll make a quick
finish of you!”
He stooped for an opening, with the naked knife held in his hand, and
Klamath John tried to throw up his revolver. The revolver caught in
Klamath John’s coat, slowing his movement.
The next moment Red Reynard would have been upon him, and probably would
have sunk the knife to his heart. But a shot came through the open
window, knocking the knife out of Red Reynard’s hand. Following the shot
came Buffalo Bill, who entered the room with a flying leap.
Red Reynard whirled around, startled and unnerved, his hand stinging
with pain. The other men had already left their stools and seized their
weapons. They stared at Buffalo Bill, who, standing by the window,
seemed the coolest man there, notwithstanding his spectacular entrance.
The girl might have gone out at this juncture, if Jim Benton, the
prisoner who had escaped from the island, had not appeared, blocking the
door. He was wrapped in a blanket that dripped water as he walked, and
he seemed to have just come out of the river.
“Down him!” he screamed, indicating the scout. “That man is Buffalo
Bill!”
The great scout seemed to stand even more erect, while his fine face
flashed defiance.
“Yes, I am Buffalo Bill!” he declared. “It’s a name I’m not ashamed to
own.”
With a swift motion he stripped off the disguising beard. Then his hands
came up with lightning quickness, each holding a cocked revolver. One of
them covered Red Reynard and the other swung around toward the group at
the other side of the room.
“I have you all covered,” he announced coolly. “Stand where you are!”
Instead of obeying, one of the rascals lifted his revolver, thinking to
use it.
The weapon in the scout’s right hand cracked, and the villain dropped
his arm with a howl, the revolver falling from his hand to the floor.
The scout’s bullet had broken the arm near the elbow.
“Hands up!” the scout commanded. “And stand where you are!”
Klamath John, who had staggered against the wall, seemed dazed by what
had happened. The girl was trying to reach the half-open door. Red
Reynard yelled to her to stop, and in the same breath yelled to his men
to shoot Buffalo Bill.
“Gimme a pistol, and I’ll down him!” roared Benton, and he picked his
chief’s revolver from the floor.
But as he rose with it in his hand, Buffalo Bill’s deadly weapon again
spoke, and Benton dropped back against the wall, badly wounded, a bullet
in his shoulder. Unfortunately, in his fall he blocked the door to some
extent.
Again the scout’s voice rang:
“Stand where you are! I don’t want to kill anybody, but necessity knows
no law. I’ll do it, if you crowd me. That girl wants to get out of this
room, and she shall go. I expect to follow her, and offer her aid, if I
can. And I’ll shoot the first man who interferes with her.”
The cool defiance of the great scout was astonishing. He seemed not to
know the meaning of fear, as he thus faced those desperadoes. Several of
them were squirming, and he saw that more than one was willing to take
even desperate chances. If they rushed him in a body, they might
overpower him, or kill him. They knew it, but feared his quick
revolvers. To further impress them, he shot off the neck of a whisky
bottle that stood on a slab table at the end of the room, near one of
them.
“You see that!” he said.
The revolver roared again, and the bullet cut through a small hole in
the wall.
“I can drive nails with these things!” he cried, as if boasting.