Buffalo Bill's death message or, In the face of doom
is now held in Old Mexico, the brigands intending, perhaps, to demand
ransom for him by and by, when they feel that it is safe to do so. Still
another account says that he and some others were traveling by stage
from Rincon to San Paz, and that the stage was lost in the quicksands
while crossing Perditas River. Which of these, or whether any of them,
can be believed, I do not know. What is really known is, that he has
dropped out of sight in a mysterious manner, and it may be that all
these stories were set afloat merely to cover up his real fate.
“The facts so far as known have been submitted to the United States
department of state, and were communicated to the army officer in
command of the military division of the Southwest. Upon Major Fernald’s
advice, I have to-day been detailed to look into the matter and make a
report; with further instructions to aid this Moorish crown prince, if I
find he is in distress.
“There you have my story, Señor Ruiz, and the explanation of why I am
here.”
The Spaniard had listened with an intensity that made his black eyes
shine.
“It is a surprising account,” he admitted.
“I might not have told it,” said the scout, “but for your declaration of
Moorish descent. Because of that, it occurred to me that the story might
interest you.”
“It interests me very much, señor. It is marvelous, romantic, like one
of the ancient tales of Spanish brigandage.” He smoothed his thin
mustache with his jeweled right hand. “But is it reliable?”
“I think so; my government thinks so. Otherwise, I should not have been
dispatched to look into it.”
“Very true,” said Ruiz, smiling incredulously. “It has the sound of a
fairy story.”
The scout regarded him attentively.
“Of course, you have heard nothing of this, yourself?”
“I? Not until this moment.”
“It struck me as strange and peculiar that while looking for this lost
Moor, I should find, at the first hacienda I came upon, a man who is of
Moorish descent. It seemed really a remarkable coincidence.”
“Very true, señor. It does seem so. What was the name of this lost crown
prince?”
“Raoul Mogador.” Buffalo Bill took a letter from his pocket, as if to
refresh his memory. “Yes, Raoul Mogador. My memory does not always hold
names of that kind as well as I should like. But that is it. His father
is the present king, I understand, and at his death this young Moor will
become king. I suppose the country over which this king rules isn’t much
bigger than a pocket handkerchief; but to be king, even of a small
country, is no doubt considered a very high honor by those who are
fortunate enough to come into the line of succession. And, of course,
the people of this little pocket-handkerchief kingdom are very much
concerned about the strange disappearance of the man they expect will
some day rule over them. Hence, they have asked our government to
discover what has become of him.”
“Very interesting, I admit,” said Ruiz, “but, indeed, I have heard
nothing at all of this, until you told me. Pray, is there any way in
which I might offer my aid?”
“I can think of nothing, so long as you have heard nothing. I must push
on to-night.”
“And your destination?” said Ruiz, his voice showing the interest he
could not conceal.
“I shall cross the desert below here to San Paz, and shall look there
for some clew. It is nearer than this to the point where, those
conflicting reports say, he vanished. Perhaps I can strike some one who
can set me on the right track to get my information.”
“Permit me to wish you success,” said Ruiz, but his tone was not
sincere. “And when you return,” he added, “I trust you will again accept
my poor hospitality here, and tell me of your adventures in search of
the Moorish prince. Strange that a prince should be lost in this
republic! Princes are out of place here. Perhaps that is why he became
lost!
“Permit me to step out and see how our supper is coming on,” he said,
rising. “I have not the most reliable servants in the world, señor, I am
sorry to say. They must be watched, or things go wrong continually. I
will return in a little while.”
From a shelf he took cigarettes and matches, and placed them on the
small table near which the scout sat.
“Your pardon for not thinking of these, señor, but you can enjoy a smoke
and the society of your own pleasant thoughts while I am away.
“Adios!” he said, turning about in the doorway, and bowing. Then he
vanished into the wide hall, and was gone.
---------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER XXX.
THE GOLDEN DAGGER.
“Cunning as a Spaniard and treacherous as a Moor!” thought Buffalo Bill,
selecting one of the cigarettes and lighting it, after having made sure
by taste and smell that it was not doctored. He looked at the door where
Leon Ruiz had disappeared. “I wonder how much he knows, if anything?
That will be hard to find out. To judge by his looks, he is more Moor
than Spaniard. What a curious room! A good place for a prison. These
walls are wonderfully thick, and if the windows and door were properly
barred, a fellow would have a hard time getting out.”
Sitting there, he recalled the verbal instructions of the colonel, who
had asked him to undertake this difficult and dangerous commission.
Colonel Garland had written to Major Fernald and to Cody, giving full
instructions:
“At the old Porfiero Hacienda you will find a man who has
but lately come there and taken possession, making his
appearance from no one knows where. He is said to be a
Spaniard, and claims the estate as his by inheritance. So
far as I know, his claim may be true. I want you to see him,
and have a talk with him. You will be able to judge
something by what he says and does when you tell him that
you are looking for Prince Mogador. He may know nothing, and
he may know a great deal. As to that, you will have to be
the judge, and you can be trusted to find out as much as any
other man could. I am sending you because I trust so
implicitly in your wisdom and discretion.”
Buffalo Bill smoked his cigarette quietly as he thought over Colonel
Garland’s instructions.
“I have tried to sound the fellow,” was his thought, “yet the result has
put me very much at sea. I shall have to talk with him further and watch
him closely. I know my story surprised him, and it seemed to startle
him. Why should it startle him, if he knows nothing? And how does it
chance that he came to this place at about the time the prince
disappeared?”
Ruiz was gone so long that the scout rose and began to walk around the
room, inspecting the pictures of saints and the curtains and tapestry.
As he did so, he came to a set of hanging shelves in a corner.
At first glance, the shelves seemed to contain only ore specimens,
apparently gathered in the surrounding hills. There were greenish
specimens of copper ore, pyrites, glittering quartz, and one from a
turquoise mine showing the turquoise in its matrix of stone. Buffalo
Bill had seen many similar specimens, and was not interested. But as he
lifted a large slab of green copper ore, there was displayed beneath it
a queer dagger, which at once caught his eye.
The dagger was large and ponderous, with a handle that seemed to be
gold. It was apparently of Moorish make, and the gold handle was covered
with fine and intricate figures and scrollwork.
Buffalo Bill lifted it to the light of the window and looked at it with
marked interest.
“A strange-looking dagger,” was his thought. “I never saw one like it.
It must be rare and valuable.”
He passed his thumb along the keen edges of the double blade, and felt
of the sharp point.
“A nasty weapon in a fight, if handled by a fanatical Moor. I judge it
is Moorish.”
He placed the dagger where he had found it, and, standing by the window,
became lost in thought.
It struck him as strange that in this house he should find that dagger
of Moorish make. Yet, when he recalled that Leon Ruiz had said he was of
Moorish descent, it did not seem so strange, after all. No doubt, Ruiz
had come legitimately into possession of it, the dagger had been handed
down from some Moorish ancestor. Ruiz had declared the family legends
held that one of his ancestors had been a Moorish king.
Turning these things over in his mind, Buffalo Bill began to conclude
that it was very natural, after all, to find that dagger in Ruiz’s
house.
“I suppose he didn’t think to show it to me when he was talking of his
Moorish descent. He may have many Moorish relics. I suppose he has. In
this matter I must not let my imagination run away with sober judgment.”
He was still standing by the window, pondering, when he heard a light
step. He had observed that the sun had gone down and that night was at
hand.
When he turned from the window, expecting to see Ruiz in the doorway, he
beheld another man, whose dress proclaimed him to be a Mexican, although
there was something of the bandit type in his appearance, in the slashed
trousers, the short Mexican jacket, and the crimson waist sash, with
knife sticking in it. The face looked more Spanish than Mexican, and
what was intended to be a smile curling the thin-mustached lip was
rather a sneer of cruelty and cunning.
Even more than Leon Ruiz, the scout distrusted this man at once.
“Señor Ruiz has been called away,” said the man, speaking with a
peculiar accent, that had been noticeable also in the speech of Ruiz.
“One of the herdsmen was thrown by his horse and has suffered a broken
leg. Señor Ruiz has gone to attend him. But he bade me serve you in his
place, and I have the pleasure to announce that supper is awaiting you.
Permit me to introduce myself as Ramon Periguez, the major-domo here. If
you will kindly follow me, señor.”
He turned back into the hall, and the scout followed him, after a moment
of hesitation.
While passing through the hall into the dining room, Buffalo Bill looked
from the doorway and saw only the usual quiet of the place.
The scout and the major-domo were the only two persons at the supper
table. They were waited on by a light-footed servant, dressed in white,
who came and went about as if he were an automaton speaking never a word
except when directly addressed. The scout noticed that he spoke English
very badly. His face was as dark as the face of Leon Ruiz.
“Señor Ruiz was telling me something of the interesting story you
bring,” said the major-domo, while the servant was pouring the wine. “I
trust I may be permitted to hear it from your own lips. It is a
remarkable thing, that a Moroccan prince should even be in this country,
not to speak of his getting lost, or disappearing, in that absurd way.
He ought to have felt quite at home in this sand-and-dust region.”
Buffalo Bill noted that he took the glasses from the hand of the
servant, instead of permitting the servant to place them on the table.
“You will have an interesting search for this remarkable crown prince, I
doubt not!”
His hand shook a little as he pushed toward Buffalo Bill one of the
glasses, and the keen-eyed scout saw a wine-colored powder escape from
his fingers into the glass.
The thing was done so deftly, and the powder dissolved so quickly, that
Buffalo Bill was almost ready to believe his eyes had fooled him.
Yet he knew now that he faced a dangerous foe, and he believed that a
lie had been told him to account for the absence of Leon Ruiz. His wits
were aroused instantly, and strengthened for a conflict.
The story of the young prince he told again, not because he now believed
that this man, Ramon Periguez, cared to hear it, but to occupy the time
and give him a chance to watch Periguez.