Buffalo Bill's death message or, In the face of doom
Butler. “As soon as I’m able I shall go on to the Hacienda of San Paz.
The letter in that dagger handle described the San Paz Hacienda, and
this note in Spanish, signed also by Leon Ruiz, directs his men to ride
there as soon as they have finished me.”
The Yankee’s face broke into a dry smile.
“Ef they dew that, I reckon yeou won’t be goin’ to this hacienda, unless
they kerry yer body there on their hosses.” His face sobered again. “But
ef yeou do go there, I’m guessin’ yeou’ll be runnin’ into whole heaps of
danger and trouble. If them men what aire trying to git ye here find
yeou raound that haciender they’ll try tew kill ye there. I allaow
’twon’t be healthy fer either of us in that vercinity, sense I laid aout
that Mexican and wounded the other one. They’d be wantin’ my hair abaout
as bad as they do yourn.”
“That’s true, too,” said the scout. “If those men happen to meet you
they’ll try to punish you for what you did. But you’re a man of courage.
I’ve seen that. And you can shoot a revolver.”
The Yankee grinned solemnly. “My courage was kinder of the shakin’
order, when I popped intew ’em frum that tree,” he admitted. “Ef it
hadn’t been a needcessity I’d never done it. But when a lot o’ heathen
Mexicans tries tew hang an American citerzen, then I’m under obligations
as an American tew chip in and help him all I kin. ’Twouldn’t be
becomin’ in an American not to.
“And,” he added, “I learnt haow to shoot a pistol when I was constable
up in aour taown, a good many years ago, and I ain’t furgot it. I used
to practice pistol shootin’ reg’lar, aout behind the woodhouse, in them
days. Zenas Dane was a leetle better shot than me, but sometimes I even
beat Zenas. I’ve noticed that when a man learns anything, whether it’s
pistol shootin’ er something else, he never fergits it intirely. But my
hand was shakin’ a putty considdable when I pulled daown on them
Mexicans. Otherwise, I allaow I’d ’a’ got the third man, tew.”
“As I said, I’m going to ride to San Paz Hacienda, as soon as I feel
strong enough to undertake the journey. If you will accompany me, I
shall be glad to have you do so,” replied Cody. “If your niece and Emily
Fernald are held prisoners down here anywhere, we might possibly get
some information there; no one can tell. Of course, it seems the merest
chance.”
“I’ll go ’long with yeou,” said the Yankee, his face brightening. “One
place is as good as another, so long’s I don’t know no more than I dew
now. Yeou’ll cut aout before dark?”
“Perhaps so.”
Thus they talked, discussing their plans and their situation.
Buffalo Bill began to feel much better, and was trying to get some
sleep, when the Yankee aroused him.
“I swan tew man, somebuddy’s comin’ this way!” he whispered.
Buffalo Bill was wide awake and alert instantly. Then he discovered that
some of the men the Yankee called Mexicans were already in the little
pocket and were making a search through it.
“Gosh all hemlock!” whispered the Yankee excitedly. “They struck them
hosses, and naow they’ll find us! It’s fight, I cal’late.”
So saying, he drew his revolver.
“Don’t fire, don’t be hasty!” Buffalo Bill caught his arm. “Just slide
back here behind these bushes; there’s a hole that will hide us.”
“They’ll trap us in there!” said Enos, but he obeyed the scout,
nevertheless, and slid back into the hole.
The Mexicans had found the two horses, and they were talking of their
discovery in such high whispers that the words reached the men in
concealment.
“What they sayin’?” the Yankee demanded.
“They think that we’re near, or the horses wouldn’t be where they are.”
“Good guessin’! There’ll be some fightin’, ef they nose us aout.”
He lay flat behind the bushes, clutching his revolver, his breath coming
heavily.
The hole in which he and the scout sprawled was dark, and bushes were
thick around it.
“They may find our tracks, if they’re experienced men,” whispered the
scout. “If they do we’re in for trouble.”
“Let it come!” said the Yankee, his eyes beginning to blaze. “We’ll
fight the hull of ’em.”
They heard the Mexicans beating about in the bushes, and caught sight of
one of them as he walked through the lower ground, not a dozen yards
off.
Closer and closer drew the searchers.
Suddenly the bushes in front of the hole were shaken. Then they were
drawn aside, and a dark face peered in. The face paled to a sickly
tallow color when the man saw that he was looking into the muzzle of a
revolver. Before he could draw back, the scout had caught him by the
leg, thrown him down, and jerked him back into the hole, and, with the
scout’s revolver muzzle pressed against his breast, he feared to cry
out.
“Too much curiosity often gets men into trouble,” Buffalo Bill said in
Spanish. “Cry out, and you’re a dead man!”
The threat was sufficient; the man made no sound, but lay trembling,
with a piteous appeal for mercy in his face.
“How many men are out there?” the scout whispered.
“More than a dozen, señor.”
“They think we are in here?”
“Si, señor.”
“Watch him,” said the scout, speaking in Spanish for the man’s benefit,
“and if he so much as moves, shoot him dead.”
Cody repeated it to the Yankee in English.
“By gosh! I’d jes’ like to send a bullet rippin’ through him!” the
Yankee whispered. To show that he meant “business,” he sat on the
Mexican’s arm, and pressed the muzzle of the big revolver against the
prisoner’s breast. “Ef yeou so much as wink an eye yeou git this
bullet!” he threatened.
Buffalo Bill crawled along and tried to see out.
The other men were not far off.
After hunting round and round a while they began to call to their
missing comrade.
“Nuncio!” they yelled.
“What has become of that villain Nuncio?” one of them was heard to ask a
little later.
“Hast looked behind those bushes, Perez?” said another.
Perez was heard coming up the slope. He parted the bushes, saw the face
and the revolver of Buffalo Bill, and, with a cry, threw himself
backward before the scout could catch him. His yell as he rolled down
warned his comrades; the next minute he was telling them of his
discovery.
A crackling fire of revolvers followed instantly, and the bullets came
through the bushes. Nuncio uttered a groan. One of them had struck him
in the breast.
“Down!” said the scout to the Yankee.
“Come out of there, you American dogs!” was the shouted command from
below.
Buffalo Bill answered, in Spanish, without exposing himself:
“We have captured your friend Nuncio, and have him here, and we are
using him as our shield. Already you have wounded him. If you fire on us
again you are likely to kill him. We will not surrender, and if you try
to take us it will but result in the death of your friend.”
The men were heard to retreat, and then there sounded, farther off, the
hum of their voices. One of them came back and shouted:
“We do not believe you. If you have Nuncio, let him speak.”
Buffalo Bill pointed his revolver at the head of the suffering man.
“Answer them!” he commanded. “Tell them they shot you, without harming
us, and that if they fire again they’re likely to kill you.”
Nuncio answered, coughing out the words, for he was in great distress.
“If you love me, do not fire again!” he begged. “Already I am badly
wounded.”
Again the hum of voices was heard.
“Surrender, for you cannot escape,” said the spokesman. “We have you
corralled. We will treat you well, if you surrender without giving us
trouble.”
“We do not trust you,” said Buffalo Bill, “and we refuse to surrender;
and, if you crowd us, we will kill your friend.”
“We will starve you out!” was shouted back. “You cannot get away, and we
will starve you out.”
---------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER XXXVII.
AT THE SAN PAZ HACIENDA.
The day had passed and night had come. Buffalo Bill and the Yankee were
still cooped up in their hiding place.
Throughout the long hours of the afternoon the men who had them hemmed
in had called to them from time to time, demanding their surrender.
Always they had given the same answer, or its substance.
Several times, in reply to the demands of his friends, and coerced by
the scout’s threats, Nuncio had spoken. Always he had begged his friends
not to fire again, and they had so far obeyed. But Nuncio was past
speaking now, though as yet the watchers below did not know it; his
death was but a matter of a short time.
Buffalo Bill had questioned him about the San Paz Hacienda, but the
fellow knew nothing, or, at least, claimed that he did not. And he
claimed, likewise, that he knew nothing of the present whereabouts of
Leon Ruiz. The scout was not sure, however, but the rascal lied on these
points. His manner in giving answers was not satisfactory. But now he
was not able to speak or to understand.
“We’ve got to get out of this, Spalding,” said the scout, when darkness
had come. “We can climb the cliff behind us. We can reach it by
burrowing under those bushes off at the right.”
“They’ll shoot us while we’re doin’ it!”
“We must take the risk. You saw the path which I think we’d better try.
It’s steep, but we can do it.”
The scout was his old courageous self again. In spite of the excitement
of the afternoon, the rest in that little notch had restored his
strength.
“I dew hate to lose them hosses!” said Spalding, with genuine regret.
“That will be the second pair of hosses we’ve had to give up this day.
And hosses like them aire wuth two hundred apiece in any hoss market. I
call that a burnin’ shame. And them bridles and saddles is wuth a heap,
tew.”
“There’s no help for it.”
“What will we do with this pore critter?”
“His friends will find him, though perhaps he will be dead when they do.
But we have the satisfaction of knowing it was not our lead that brought
about his end.”
Buffalo Bill crawled over to the bushes he had indicated, and began to
creep through them in the direction of the cliff he had marked in the
afternoon. The Yankee came slowly after him.
Their departure from the notch was not discovered at once by the
Mexicans below. But when they began to climb the cliff, which was steep
and very difficult in the darkness, the Yankee slipped and came near
falling. He was supported by the scout until he could regain his
footing. The noise reached the ears of the watchers, who began to call
and shout. Then a sputter of revolvers came from them, and the bullets
raked and scraped over the face of the cliff.
“Come on!” Buffalo Bill whispered. “Don’t shoot back. They don’t know
just where we are, and they can’t see us.”
“They’re shootin’ paowerful straight, though,” the Yankee grumbled. “One
of their dummed bullets cut through my hat, and I’ll bet it’s ruined.
Cost me three dollars in Los Angeles, that hat did. I don’t like tew
have it cut up in that way. Hats cost money, by gum!”
“Keep still, and now come right after me. Hold tight. I’ll help you now
and then, at the worst places.”
They climbed on.
The revolvers were still popping, and around and about them the bullets
whistled and scraped. But that shot through the Yankee’s hat was as near
as any of them came to the fugitives.
When they were still higher on the cliff they heard the Mexicans calling
to Nuncio.
“They’ll go up and look fer him, I reckon, and then they’ll foller us!”
said the Yankee.
“Likely. But the darkness is all in our favor, remember.”
“I’m hungrier’n all git aout!” the Yankee grumbled, when they gained the
top of the cliff. “What’s yer plans naow?”
“We start now for San Paz Hacienda.”
They had not only reached the top of the cliff, but the rocky land lay
now rather level before them. Even in the darkness so keen was the