Buffalo Bill's death message or, In the face of doom
There was a nail by the door, used for a hanger of some kind. His
revolver cracked, and the nail disappeared. He swung the weapon farther
around, causing one of the men to duck his head, and the tin cup on the
wall flew, with a clatter, across the room, hurled by the bullet.
“This is easy work!” he said. “Do you want a bullet in your eye?”
His next bullet smashed the oil lamp that lighted the room. It was his
intention to put out the light without warning, in the hope that the
girl and he could escape in the darkness that followed.
“Through the door!” he yelled to her, as he went across the room with
quick bounds. Then he heard the girl scream, and he believed she ran
outside.
A man stood before him in the doorway whom he thought to be Klamath
John. The scout gave a push which sent this man reeling before him
through the opening.
The man was Red Reynard. He had recovered possession of his revolver,
and he now fired at the scout. But the bullet went wild.
Inside the house pandemonium reigned. The desperadoes were rushing
toward the door and the open window, yet were impeded by the darkness
and by frequent collisions.
Buffalo Bill took a snapshot at Red Reynard, which dropped the rascal in
his tracks; then he looked round for the girl, but failed to see her.
Two of the desperadoes came tumbling through the door to the outside.
Both were yelling.
Buffalo Bill ran along the side of the cabin, away from the river,
thinking the girl had gone in that direction, but he still failed to see
her. Nor did he see Klamath John, whose sudden appearance at the cabin
had been so startling and puzzling.
A rattle of revolver fire opened up, as the outlaws began to shoot at
imaginary forms by the river. And the scout discovered that men were
running toward the cabin from various directions.
Nevertheless, he lingered by the corner of the big cabin, and in his
anxiety for the girl he even called to her, though he did not know her
name.
His call attracted the attention of the men by the door, and some came
in his direction, forcing him to hurry along.
Soon he had half circled around the house, to find himself again by the
river, with the big bluff that seemed part of the cabin towering over
his head. The darkness was favorable here, and he dropped down close by
the bluff.
Men passed him at a quick run, and he heard them calling to each other
down by the edge of the water. Then he heard the thump of oars in a
boat. In the midst of this he was sure he caught the voice of Red
Reynard giving orders.
Two of the men came running back from the river, passing so close to the
scout that he might have touched them with his outstretched hand. They
did not discover him, but his position there was so exposed and perilous
he changed it, sliding away from the bluff, out through the darkness. He
did not try to get the boat which had brought him, as he believed it had
been found by the outlaws.
“Benton got away from Flynn and Cudjo,” was his thought. “And Klamath
John is still living! That will be news for them. He seems to be one of
Red Reynard’s men, yet he stood up for that girl handsomely, and I
respect him for that. I wonder what became of him, and what became of
the girl? If I stay here, though, trying to find out, I’ll run into a
bullet pretty soon, and that may end things for me.”
As he thus thought, he was slipping along the ground away from the cabin
and the bluff.
When he was far enough out to make it safe, he rose to his feet. Then,
after a few minutes of waiting and hesitation, he shaped his course for
the island.
This was now of paramount importance, for he believed that Cudjo and the
Irishman would be captured there by the desperadoes, guided by Benton,
if warning was not conveyed to them quickly.
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CHAPTER XI.
THE RETREAT.
Hurrying along at a pace that left the cabin rapidly behind, Buffalo
Bill soon was made aware that some one was in front of him. His thought
on making this discovery was that the desperadoes had got ahead of him
and were trying to cut him off. He stopped, and the noise ceased when he
came to a standstill.
Having stood without motion for several minutes the scout heard a
sliding sound.
“Ah! One of the scoundrels is trying to slip on me!” was his thought,
and he stared through the gloom, and finally saw a human form crawling
softly over the grass toward him.
When it was close up he dropped down on it. There was a smothered
exclamation, which he recognized as coming from Michael Flynn.
“This you, Flynn?” he said.
“I dunnaw who I am. L’ave me go! Who’s this that’s shpakin’?”
“Cody.” Buffalo Bill released the Irishman, who rolled over, puffing and
grunting.
A timid voice sounded in the darkness.
“Dat you, Marse Cody?”
“So you’re here, too, Cudjo? Flynn, I hope I haven’t hurt you. We’ve got
to be moving! Why did you leave the island?”
“’Twas the nagur’s fault that the prisoner got away, and thin we heard
the shootin’ and thought mebbe you was in nade. So, that’s why we come.
Begorra, I think you’ve cracked me windpipe! But it’s betther yez did it
than anither.”
The young Irishman sat up, breathing heavily. Cudjo slid into view out
of the gloom.
“Thank Heaven, Marse Cody, dat you’s livin’! When I heerd dem guns goin’
I ’lowed dat you was dead sho’ ’nough.”
“I got into a little scrimmage down there, which I’ll tell you about in
a minute. Just now we’d better hustle along. You are all right, Flynn?”
“I think me neck is cracked, but it’s shtill hangin’ togither. Wurra!
But ye’ve got fingers of iron! Yis, I’m ready to go an. It’s back to the
island, I suppose? The canoe is right off there undher the bank.”
“The island will be a dangerous place, since Benton got away, though he
is now wounded. He returned to the village. We’ll have to abandon most
of the goods on the island, I’m afraid. But I’ve got to risk something
to get my clothing. That disguising served me no good turn whatever.
Lead the way to the canoe, Flynn.”
They were soon in it and paddling quietly up the stream.
When they gained the island they were sure none of the desperadoes had
been there yet, for everything was undisturbed.
The scout threw his clothing into the canoe, and they tumbled into it
such things as they did not wish to lose, and then paddled across to the
mainland.
As they drew the canoe up under the bank there they heard some of the
outlaws coming up the stream in a boat. The boat landed on the island
and the occupants went ashore. It was plain they were under the
leadership of Jim Benton.
“Now!” whispered the scout. “We’ll get out of here while they’re
crashing round over there.”
So saying, he turned the nose of the canoe upstream, and they paddled on
close by the bank, screened by the darkness.
They pulled inshore a mile above. There they drew the canoe out of the
water, and tried to hide it securely under some willows. Then they took
what things they had brought and climbed ashore, where the scout changed
clothing.
Sitting in the darkness, Buffalo Bill told his story, which drew
wondering comments and exclamations from his hearers.
All sounds from the village and the island had died away, or were lost
in the distance.
“We must first find a place to cache these things,” said the scout, when
he had finished his story. “And we want a place in which we can hide.
There’s no good cover along the stream, so I suggest that we strike for
the high cliff wall. As we saw it to-day, it is not far from here; and
my binoculars showed many bushes and trees there.”
As they pushed on, they talked of Klamath John, whom they had thought
dead; of the girl whom the scout had seen, and of Red Reynard. When they
came close up to the wall which was their objective point, they heard
something moving there.
“Wan av the divils lukkin’ f’r us here!” whispered Flynn. “Begorra, he’s
thraveled fast!”
Cudjo’s eyes rolled in the direction of the sound.
“Marse Cody, dat sounds like de ’gator. Dem creeturs travels on lan’
sometimes.”
“Keep quiet a minute, while I see what it is.”
The scout put down his bundle and stole away. Soon they heard him laugh,
and then heard a quick trampling of heavy feet.
“I’ve got the ’gator, Cudjo!” he called softly. “Come on, now, I won’t
let it bite you.”
They discovered that he had captured a horse, that was saddled and
bridled and had apparently but lately escaped from its rider.
“This is a good find!” he said. “I shall return to that village on his
back. It will get me there quicker.”
Cody tied the horse with the lariat that was attached to the saddle, and
when he had done that he began to search for a secure hiding place. The
capture of the horse had determined him suddenly to return to the
cabins, leaving Flynn and Cudjo in hiding at this point.
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CHAPTER XII.
RED REYNARD’S PLANS.
Red Reynard, the Fox, did not lose his craftiness because of his rage.
He had been wounded, but not seriously; he had received a slight scalp
wound, which for the moment had dropped him like an ox in the shambles;
and his right hand and arm still tingled painfully. But he considered
himself as good as whole.
He had made a desperate effort to capture the daring scout, and in that
had failed. But the girl who had tried to escape had not succeeded, and
that was balm to his sore spirit. Now he gathered his desperadoes around
him in the big cabin, to counsel with them as to what could now be done.
“Where’s Benton?” he said, when he had looked them over.
A search outside revealed Jim Benton lying unconscious; so that the
possibility of securing further information from him was eliminated.
Klamath John had disappeared, and the talk of the outlaws showed they
supposed him to be with Buffalo Bill.
Red Reynard sat in the lamplight, boldly enough, for he believed the
scout was not near, and before him gathered his men, all desperate and
daring, as he was himself. Red Reynard was not a bad-looking man except
for a few things. He had a low brow and a heavy shock of hair. Beyond
that, his countenance seemed so open and frank it would have deceived
most men. Yet when his gray eyes were studied closely, they revealed the
cunning which had given him the name of the Fox.
“What’s to be done?” he said. “We’ve got to git that feller. One o’ you
go and fetch up the horses and have ’em ready.”
One of the men departed hastily.
“He called himself Buff’lo Bill, and I reckon he was, jedgin’ by the way
he could sling lead,” one of the men began. “And takin’ Buff’lo Bill
won’t be easy. How he got in hyer is what rattles me.”
“He’s in here,” said Red Reynard, “and that’s the important thing; we’re
going to see now that he don’t git out. Benton said he came down the
river. He must have got some notion that the river was safe, and so
tackled it. And he’s here! But if he came in by the river, he’ll never
git out.”
He pointed to two men.
“You, Bill and Jim, take yer guns and cut out for the lower openin’. If
he tries it there, pot him. But it’s my opinion he won’t try to git out.
He’s got some men with him, and he’s here for biz.”
“What can he do?” was asked.
“Well, he’s about killed Benton already. And Sutton’s got his arm broke
all into splinters. He can creep up on us and serve us the same, can’t
he, one at a time? He’s here for business. It’s his way. We’ve got to
git him, and them that’s with him.”
The two men selected to go to the lower opening rose from their seats,
slid through the door, and vanished. Obedience was one of the things