DEVOTED T0 BORDER LIFE

Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress tn the year 1007, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress,
Washington, D. C., by STREET & SMITH, 79-59 Seventh Avenue, New York, N.Y.

No. 33% _—__NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 7, 1907. Price, Five Cents

 

 

 

 

atin

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‘Watch yer eye, Buffler,’’ cried Nick Nomad to Buffalo Bill, «an’ we'll git the pizen critter
between us!’’

 
 

 
 

 

 

 

DEVOTED 10 BORDER LIFE

 

 

dssued Weekly. By subscription $2.s0per year. Fntered according to Act of Congress in the year 1907, tn the Office of the Librarian of Congress,
Washington, D. C., by STREET & SMITH, 79-So Seventh Avenue, New York, N. ¥.

[=s" Beware of Wild West imitations of the Buffalo Bill Stories. They are about fictitious characters. The Buffalo
Bill weekly is the only weekly containing the adventures of Buffalo Bill, (Col. W. F. Cody), who is known all

over the world as the king of scouts.

 

No. 338.

NEW YORK, November 32, 1907.

Price Five Cents.

 

 

By the author of “BUFFALO BILL.”

NY

 

CHAP TER: 1:
UNEXPECTED TROUBLE.

From ther sound,
thar among

‘Waugh! Listen ter thet, Buffler.
some human critter must be in distress, over
them rocks.”

Buffalo Bill, at these words from his trapper pard,
pulled in his dusty horse and bent his head in a listening
attitude. They were several days out of Santa I’é, and
their trail had led them through a bleak wil iderness, no-
where more uninyviting than it was at that particular

oint.

4 Barren, sandstone buttes rose all around them. A sort

pass led through the rough country, and the scout
and ‘Old Nick Nomad were making their way slowly
among the boulders that strewed the bottom of the pass.

The sound Old Nomad‘had heard had come from
somewhere on the right. While Buffalo Bill halted and
listened, he heard it, too—a sort of groaning call for
hel

Op s a man, Nick,” said the scout, “and a white man,
at that. We couldn’t leave even an Indian to perish
an this desolate country, say nothing of one of our own
kind.”

“T ain’t in love with ther kentry, Buffler,” returned
the trapper. “It’s diff’rent from ther Niobrara kentry,

an’ ther Black Hills, an’ ther huntin’-grounds T been used

ter. Even ther pizen Injuns is diffrent. But that ain’t
no reason we hadn’t ort ter help a white man ef he hap-
pens ter be in trouble.”

The scout had turned his horse in the direction from
which the groaning call came, and the trapper followed.

“The Indians are all peaceable in this part of the coun-
try, Nick,” said Buffalo Bill. “They're of another sort
from the Sioux, and the Pawnees, and the Comanches.”

The scout was urging his tired horse to the utmost.
He lifted his voice to acquaint the man, whoever he was,
that help was on the way. A feeble cry for the rescuers
to “hurry” drifted back, and Buffalo Bill and Old
Nomad redoubled their efforts to reach the scene of the
man’s trouble.

The sounds of distress seemed to come from behind
a large boulder that jutted out from the end of a small
spur at the side of the pass. As the two horsemen drew
nearer the boulder they heard a prolonged hiss.

“Waugh!” grunted Nomad. “’Pears like thar was a
rattler some’r’s clost. Et must be a whopper, shore, ter
make a noise like thet—a reg’lar gran’daddy of er rat-
tier”

The scout did not Sue but continued to forge on-
ward, mightily puzzled.. At last he turned the point of
the spur and saw a sight that filled him with astonishment,

 
2 THE BURFRA

Old Nomad spurred to his pard’s side, and both sat their
1orses for a space and stared.

There was a sort of niche gouged from the opposite
wall of the spur. In this miche sat a sandy-haired, sal-
low-faced man with his knees hunched up.under his chin.
His hands were clasped rigidly about his shins, and he
was staring, as by a weird fascination, over his knees.
There was a long trifle, a “‘muzzle-loader,’”’ at the man’s
side, and two revolvers and a knife were thrust through
his belt. He was making no effort to use any of these
weapons, however. In fact, he seemed in a kind of half-
trance, able to realize his danger and to use his voice in
a half-hearted way, but paralyzed beyond the power of
resistance.

In front of the man was the biggest rattlesnake Bui-
falo Bill had ever seen. Had any one told the scout that
there was a rattlesnake of that size anywhere in ex-
istence, the story would not have been believed.

The serpent was as thick as a man’s leg, and on the
whipping tail, which was plainly in sight, there must have
been thirty rattles: The sinuous body of the huge reptile
was partly coiled. From the center of the coil three
feet of it were lifted in an arch, the ugly head hanging
down in front of the man’s face, swaying back and forth,
diamond eyes glittering and forked tongue playing light-
ninglike through the fangs.

It was a hideous spectacle, and it was small wonder
that the two horsemen were held spellbound for a mo-
ment. The man, his stony eyes fixed on the serpent’s,
appeared able to do nothing but stare over his knees at
the dancing- head,

“Use yer gun, pilgrim!” whooped Old Nomad. “What's
ther matter with yer? Goin’ ter sleep?”

The man, never removing his eyes from the rattle-
snake’s, merely opened his lips to frame another faint
call for help. Buffalo Bill, taking his rifle from the
saddle-horn, spurred a few steps onward in order to reach

cae from which he could, shoot#without injury to the
man,-

“The rattler is nee the man, Nick,”
called.

“Ber durn with ther pesky varmint!” growled Nomad.
“Charm ther head off’n et with er bullet, Buffer. Never
heerd tell er sich a pizen Me rattler afore in all my born
‘days. ‘Reg’lar freak; fust ancestor of all ther rattlers
thet ever was spawned, an’. Pl bet my moccasins. Cut et
in two with er piece er lead, Buffler.”

The scout, reaching the point from which he wished
to shoot, lifted the rifle to his shoulder and took careful
aim at the sway ing head.

At the roar of the rifle the huge rattler uncoiled it-
self convulsively, reared aloft until it seemed to stand
straight up on its rattles, then dropped backward in sinu-
ous loops. The bullet had smashed its head, and it floun-
dered and jumped like a beheaded chicken.

Jumping down from his horse, Old Nomad rushed in
with his knife and cut and slashed until the long, repul-
sive form was nothing but a quivering mass.

“Et won't die till sundown, noways, Buffler,” said he,
hacking off the rattles, “but I reckon et ain’t in shape
ter bite no one afore then.”

The scout had started for the man. The latter had
flung himself backward in the niche, and was lying
sprawled out and groaning feebly.

“Wasn’t bit?” queried the scout, kneeling at the man’s
side,

the scout

LO Bilk

‘rattles.

STORIES.

The man did not seem to hear the question. Staring j
at the scout in a bewildered way, he merely groaned for ]
help. 7

“Plumb locoed!” muttered Old Nomad. “Ee was 1

skeered purty nigh ter death, I reckon, an’ he ain’t got 7
Thet’ll bring J

over. et yit. Give ‘im a shake, Buffler.
am to.” 2

The scout shook the man by the shoulders, and it did
seem to have a reviving effect. The man sat up, drew a
flask out of his pocket, and took a long drink. This move
completed his recovery.

“Whar’s ther snake?” he asked.

“Hyer’s a piece of et,” answered Nomad, shaking the
“Ther rest 0’ et’s right in front O° ye.’

“Hoppin’ horned toads, but it sure si’ me a fright!”
muttered ‘the man. “It didn’t do nothin’ but fix them
glitterin’ eyes onter me, an’ I hope I may dance in Tophet
if Lcould do a blam thing but sot whar I was like a bump
on a log an’ stare.”

"How | ong was the snake in front of you?’

“Five y’ars,” said the man solemnly; “all of five y’ ars,
it seemed like, ‘though I reckon it wasn’t raley more n
five minits. Snakes is queer, but rattlers don’t bob
around in front of a man very long afore they strike.
My name’s Cass Hickson,” he finished. “What labels
do you-uns tote?’

Buffalo Bill introduced himself and his pard. Cass —
Hickson did not seem to be overjoyed at the meeting,”
although he must have felt a little gratitude toward his
rescuers.

“Heerd tell o’ ye, Buff’lo Bill,’ he remarked, “an’ I’ve
heerd tell o’ Nick Nomad, too. Been fightin’ the Sioux,
up north, ain’t ye?”

The others nodded.

‘Well, you-uns hev sartinly done the right thing by
me. You had to kill the snake, or I’d ’a’ got laid out,
but——— Well, I don’t like the looks o’ things, speakin’
full an’ free as between men an’ feller sports.”

-The man got up and peered around as though fearing
to see something, or some one. Both his manner and his
words filled the scout and his trapper pard -with sur-
prise.

“Got er hoss, hevn’t ye?” asked Old Nomad.

“Hoss ain’t fur off,” answered Hickson. “Turned ‘im
loose ter graze while I sot hyar an’ sunned myself. Thet’s
when ther sacred snake tumbled in on me.’

“Sacred snake?” echoed the scout, looking at Nomad
as though he feared Hickson had lost grip of his mental
powers.

“Thet’s what I said, pilgrim,” went on Hickson. ‘“Thet
big rattler was ther sacred snake o’ ther Moquis, over
to Acoma. Ther snake got erway, an.——”

Hickson was interrupted by a chorus of wild yells. |
At the same instant a score of mounted Indians came @
tearing around the spur. .

Old Nomad started for his horse to get his rifle, and

Buffalo Bill made as though he would draw his re- |
volvers.

“Keep yer harids off yer shootin’-irons,” warned Cass /
Hickson. “I know these hyer boys a heap. They'll be
cut up cos the sacred snake is killed,.but I don’t reckon |
they'll do us any harm arter I explain. *T won't .do no 4
good ter fight em, anyway. Jest leave things ter me,
neighbors.”

Acoma was the place for which Buffalo Bill and Nick}
Nomad were bound, and their errand was one of peace §

 
ott
AeT

iC

np

THE BUFFALO

from the White Father, at Washington, to a friendly

tribe.

“Stand right whar ye air,” cautioned Hickson, ‘‘an’
see if they tosses us ther smoke-bags.”

The Indians scowled savagely as they viewed the re-
mains of the big rattlesnake. For a while they jabbered
together, then advanced slowly toward the three white
men.

“If they tosses some smoke-bags,” Hickson was ex-
plaining, “‘ye’ll find terbacker an’ corn-husk in’em. We'll
roll a cigarette apiece an’ smoke. Thet means thet the
Moquis won’t tech our ha’r, an’ thet we'll be safe.”

“They ain’t fixin’ ter toss nothin’,” growled Old No-
mad, with a hungry eye on his distant rifle.

“We can’t fight these fellows, anyway, pard,” said the
scout. “If they’re from Acoma, they’re the fellows we
have come to see. When they find out who we are, I
reckon everything will be-all right.”

“Et shore looks anythin’ but all right now, Buffler,”
muttered the old man, keeping careful watch of the
angry reds.

The peace-pipe of the Moquis is a corn-husk cigarette.
No tobacco or corn-husk appeared. Slowly but reso-
lutely the Moquis drew a cordon about the three white
men.

“Looks like a case of up-sticks,”’ muttered Cass Hick-
son. “They’re mad at me in pertic’ler, I reckon: least-

“ways, we didn’t part very good amigos when I left

Acoma. If ole Hoskanini was only here I reckon he’d
put a crimp in the game these boys are thinkin’ o’ play-
in’ 99

One of the Meivis who appeared to be the leader of
the band, pushed out from the rest. The king of scouts

stepped toward him.

CHAPTER II.
HOSKANINI.

Théleader of the Moquis jumped from his horse. The
language of the tribe was unknown to the scout, but the
leader had learned a little English.

“Maybeso you kill um ch’ah-rah-réh-deh?” said the
Moqui leader, with a fierce look into the scout’s face.

“He means the rattler,’ spoke up Hickson.

The scout answered in English, at the same time try-
ing the “hand-talk” of the North.

“The snake was about to kill the white man”-—-Buffalo
Bill pointed to Hickson—“and I shot it.”

“Him sacred snake,” scowled the Indian; “him got
away from estufa. Heap bad luck kill um sacred snake.”

“Waugh!” grunted Old Nomad. “Et shore looks like
et was heap bad:luck fer us, Buffler. Ther idee 0’ makin’

“sich: er fuss over a pizen rattler! Wuh!’ The old

trapper’s disgust was intense. :
“The white man’s life is worth more than a snake,”
palavered the scout, still with English words and Indian
hand-talk.
The leader looked toward Cass Hickson and snorted.
“Hosteen peso-la-ki no good as ch’ah-rah-réh-deh!’
“That’s what they .call me,” put in Hickson, again.
“ ‘Hosteen peso-la-ki’—which is the same as sayin’ ‘White
Silver-Hunter.’ I been lookin’ fer the Peso-la-ki silver-
mine, an’ that’s what’s got these Moquis down on me.”
From Hickson’s actions, and the actions of the In-
dians, Buffalo Bill had made up his mind that the silver-

BILL STORIES. 3

hunter had been doing something to get the Moquis down
on him. Probably Hickson had been doing some under-
hand work with the red men in his hunt for the precious
metal. Yet, be that as it might, Hickson’s face was not
one to inspire confidence,

The killing of the sacred snake was to be regretted
if it had brought the scout and his old pard under the
hostility of the tribe. Apart from that, however, Buffalo
Bill did not intend to let the Moquis couple him and
Nick Nomad with Hickson.

“IT come,” said he, straightening his graceful figure
and pushing the broad-brimmed sombrero back from his
handsome face, “from the Great Father, at Washington.
He wishes to know how his children, the Moquis, are
doing, for their welfare means much to him.”

It required a good deal of talk, both with the lips and
the hand, to drive home this information so that the
Moquis would understand it. They were surprised, and
incredulous.

“They won't b’leeve ye, Buff’lo Bill,” grinned Hick-
son. ‘Killin’ thet snake has set em agin’ the lot o’ us.”

The warriors began talking among themselves. Neither
the scout nor Nomad could understand what they were
saying, but their actions were sufficiently hostile. Hick-
son kept one ear cocked in the direction of the red men.

“Some of ’em says,” he remarked, “thet we ought to
be killed on account 0’ the snake; an’ there are others,
ag’in, thet think I’m the only one thet ought to be done
fer. All the rest is fer marchin’ us to Acoma, so’st the
hull tribe kin settle the case in council. Ye see, Buff'lo,
these fellers ain’t ther reg’lar gang. These are only
what they call Cum-pa-huit-la-wen. They guard the
sacred estufa from which thet big rattler escaped. They
was follerin’ the trail o’ ther escaped rattler, an’ thet’s
how they come to find us. Thet was a medicine-chief
ye was talkin’ with an’ not the boss of the tribe. Hoska-
nini is the cacique, an’ he’s the only friend I got in the
hull outfit.”

The wrangling among the estufa guards continued to
grow. Hickson gave over talking in order to listen, and
as he listened his face slowly assumed an expression of
consternation and wild alarm.

“Git ready!” he muttered. “I reckon we'll hev to fight
if we save our ha’r.”

At the last word, he stooped down to recover his
tifle from where it was lying. One of the Moquis was
too quick for him, however, and snatched the weapon.
away.

“Waugh!” muttered Old Nomad, whipping out his re-
volvers. “All on account er one pizen rattler, Buffler.
Up in ther Black Hills kentry ye kin set yer heel on ther
head of er rattler any day, an’ ye won’t run no risk er
gittin’ scalped fer it.” :

Even yet Buffalo Bill did not draw a weapon. He
was there as an agent of the government, on a mission
of peace, and he did not want to resort to force if it could
possibly be avoided.

“White men must die,” called the medicine-chief, as
silence once more fell over the ranks of his followers.
“Evil spirits will kill off the Moquis to pay for the
slaying of the sacred serpent unless the white men die!”

“Would the Moquis raise a weapon against the Great
Father’s friend?” demanded Buffalo Bill sternly. “Would
the Moquis have the white soldiers come here and take
revenge? Let the Moquis think well before they start
the battle.”

Sete teeatiemmenimmmo romana sree

 
 

  

“The Moquis have counciled,” said the medicine-chief,
with dignity, ‘and the white men must die!”

Buffalo Bill saw that a fight was imminent—a one-
sided clash with three whites on the one hand and twenty
fairly well-armed Moquis on the other. The issue of
such a combat was almost a foregone conclusion unless
something was done to shift the odds.

The scout, while making his last appeal, had been
turning this point over in his mind. The moment the
medicine-chief had ceased speaking, Buffalo Bill darted
at him like a thunderbolt, grabbed him about the throat,
and held the startled savage in front of him. With his
tight hand the scout pressed the point of a revolver
against the chief’s ribs.

The red men, after an instant of amazed inaction, set
up a savage clamor.

“Tell them, Hickson,” cried the daring scout, “that if
they raisé a weapon against us whites the life of their
medicine-chief shall pay the forfeit.”

Hickson roared out a translation of the scout’s words,
and the savage clamor instantly died away. ‘The situa-
tion had an ugly look, and there is no telling where it
would have ended had a Moqui horseman not com
dashing at full speed around the end of the spur. .He
shook his raised hand as he came galloping to the scene.

“There’s Hoskanini!’ jubilated Hickson; “we’re all
right now. Hoskanini’s the boy ter handle this hyer
propersition.’’

Hoskanini, gray as a badger, lean as a coyote, drove in
among the red men like a thunderbolt. There was no
doubt at all about Hoskanini’s temper being aroused—
but it was*against his own people, not against the whites.

“He'll take care o’ the reds, neighbors,” grinned
Hickson. “I offered Hoskanini two thousand silver dol-
lars ter show me the way to ther Peso-la-ki, an’ the
rest o’ the gang turned him down an’ wouldn’t let him
do it. He’s been mad ever since, an’ now he’s takin’ it
out o’ the warriors.”

Hoskanini was dealing blows right and left as he
came, lashing and whacking and howling fiercely. The
estufa men’ were cowed on the instant, and slung sul-
lenly back from the irate chief.

Buffalo Bill thought it safe to release the medicine-
chief, and threw him off. Old Nomad stepped to his
pard’s side, and shoulder to shoulder, with drawn re-

_volvers, the pair stood and awaited the next move.
Hickson, having more confidence in the outcome, thrust
his revolvers back in his belt, folded his arms, and leaned
against the wall of rock behind him.

Hoskanini and the medicine-chief had many words to-
gether. The cacique was in a towering passion, while
the medicine-chief, as was quite plain from the way he
pointed to the dead snake, was trying to excuse himself.
Hoskanini would not accept any explanations. With a
gesture toward the medicine-chief’s horse, he pointed
i oe toward the westward and southward. But the

leader of the estufa guard would not accept the com- |

mand to leave. He snapped out something, and there
was a clamor as the rest of the guard backed him up.

Hoskanini glared, but it was quite clear to him he
was not going to have his own way entirely.

“Waugh!” chuckled Old Nomad. ‘“Hoskanini is a
reg’lar hot tamale, but I reckon he knows how fur it’s
safe ter go. He don’t seem ter think such a heap o’
thet snake as them other reds.”

se

THE BURPBRALO BULL STORIES.

‘He’s my friend, neighbors,’ spoke up Hickson com-
placently, “an’ he’s goin’ ter help you on account o’ me.’

The old trapper didn’t like the patronizing tone of
Hickson’s voice.

“Waal,” said Nomad, ‘we wouldn’t hev got inter this
hyar hole ef we'd let ther sarpint alone. Don’t overlook
thet, Hickson.”

At this point Hoskanini drew near Buffalo Bull.

“You kill um snake, huh?” said he, with a foxlike
erin.

“The snake would have killed that man there,” said
the scout, pointing, “if I had not killed it.”

“Heap bad,’ grinned Hoskanini; “snake heap big
medicine. No find um odder snake so heap big. You
save um Hosteen peso-la-ki. Umph! Me take care Mo-
quis no kill you.”

Then, from somewhere about him, Hoskanini took a
small gourd, plugged with a piece of rawhide. He threw
the gourd at the scout’s feet.

“"Tain’t good manners fer a Moqui ter hand ye smo-
kin’-material,”’ said Hickson; “‘he’s got.ter throw it.”

Buffalo Bill picked up the gourd, took out the plug,
and removed a corn-husk and a pinch of tobacco. Hos-
kanini motioned the scout to pass the gourd to Old
Nomad. When the trapper had helped himself, he had
to send the gourd along to Hickson. Presently all three

were puffing away the little smokes, and Hoskanini_.

gravely took back the gourd, manufactured a cigarro for
himself, and made the medicine-chief manufacture an-
other.

“We're jest as safe now,’- remarked Hickson, “‘as
though we was in Santa Fé. Do whatever Hoskanini
wants, neighbors, an’ ye won't hev no cause ter com-
plain.”

Buffalo Bill had no confidence at all in Cass Hick-
son, but he did feel that the formal smoke they were
having was a guarantee of friendliness. It was a brief
smoke, only a few whiffs exhausting the corn-husk and
tobacco. When Hoskanini had tossed away the remains
of his cigarette, he once more turned to Buffalo. Bill.

   
  

 

 

 

 

“Maybeso you let Injuns take your boom-boom guns?” ’

said he. “Then you ride with Injuns to pueblo.”

Old Nomad looked at his pard questioningly.

“Ef we give up our guns,” said he, “an’ they want ter
do any tin-horn bizness, they got us plumb ter rights.
Don’t like ter let go my hardware, Buffler; they got our
rifles, as et is.”

The scout’s ready compliance with Hoskanini’s re-
quest, however, led Nomad himself to yield. A warrior
went after Hickson’s horse, which was some little dis-
tance away, and the three disarmed white men were
convoyed out from among the rocks and over the -blis-
tering desert to the mesa on whose top was the ancient
Moqui pueblo of Acoma,

somerset sarah

CHAPTER HI.
ACOMA,

A long, hot ride brought the white men and the In-
dians to the steep side of the mesa, on whose summit
was the pueblo. The ride was made in silence. Buffalo
Bill did not announce to Hoskanini the real purpose of
his visit to the Moquis, preferring to leave that for the
talk which would surely take place in the estufa soon
aiter the arrival there. The way to the top of the mesa

ee

 

 

   
  
  

    
    

Ah.

ie

d

iS

 

 

THE BUFPALO

was little more than a goat-path, but the hardy, sure-
footed Moqui ponies started up it unerringly.

The path wound this way and that, at an angle across
the clifflkke mesa side. Before they had mounted far,
Cass Hickson uttered an exclamation and drew his horse

a halt.

“There’s thet blame’ coyote dog of mine,” said he,
pointing off across the level plain to a moving speck
on the sand. ‘Never seen such a critter fer trailin’. No
blindin’ my trail so that animile can’t foller. Watch ’im!”

The Indians behind and the Indians ahead all halted
and followed Hickson’s pointing finger with their keen

eyes. The approaching speck re esolved itself ‘into the
figure of a lean and hungry-looking dog, almost a coyote
in appearance. With nose to the ground and long, red
tongue protruding, the dog was fairly flying toward the
mesa. As he gained the foot of the path, the last Moqui
in the line dropped a buckskin thong over his head.

The dog, taken unawares, leaped backward with a
snarl. In doing so, he merely pulled taut the noose o
the thong, and choked himself. Hickson laughed bru-
tally as the dog, reared backward on his hind legs, Hee
himself furiously to one side and the ae gasping
and snapping. Then Hickson called out something to
the Moqui, who gave an affirmative grunt.

“T told him,” said Hickson to Buffalo Bill, “that he
could have the dog. \Injuns is allers a take a
dog. That un come ter me out o’ the hills, two or thi
months ago. Been follerin’ me like a shadder—wants
me fer a master, I reckon.”

As the scout looked at Hickson’s brutal and treacher-
ous face he wondered how any living animal, even a
coyote dog, could want such a man for a master. The
more the scout saw of Cass Hickson the more he dis-
trusted him. But the man seemed perfectly familiar with
the Moquis, and the scout was anxious to learn more
about the Peso-la-ki, or silver-mine.

“Where is this silver-mine located, Hickson?’ he asked,
as they continued mounting toward the summit of the
hnresa.

“The Injuns know,” replied Hickson, ‘an’ they hev
known fer hundreds o’ y’ars, but they ain’t tellin’ the
whites. Hoskanini would hev told me, ef the tribe
would ’a’ let him, cos I’d promised him two thousand
atta dollars fer the information. That’s why I come
ter Acoma the last time. The tribe had a council in the
estufa, an’ Hoskanini was turned down, an’ the reds led
me to the foot o’ the mesa, p’inted me nor’east, an’ told
me ter keep movin’. Thet was yisterday, an’ I’d been
ter Acoma a couple 0’ weeks dickerin’ with Hoskanini. I
didn’t like it much; an’ I kin tell ye one thing’—here Cass
‘Hickson’s eyes glittered resolutely—‘“an’ that is that
I’m a-goin’ ter find that mine one way ef I can’t an-
other.”

“Better leave the mine alone, Hickson,” counseled Buf-
falo Bill. “Ii you don’t, you’re liable to lose your scalp.”’

“Not me,” answered the silver-hunter scornfully. “The
Peso-la-ki is the richest silver-mine in the country, an’
I got a way ter land it.”

“How big is this town we're going to?” queried the
scout, changing the topic.

“Bout seven hundred people, all told,” answered
Hickson. “It has six three-story houses, an’ more clans
than ye’ll find in all Scotland. There’s the Sun Peo-
ple, the Earth People, the Antelope People, the Mole
People, the Deer People, an’ so on, all livin’ right hyer in

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BILE

   

STORIES 5

Acoma. Hoskanini is one 0’ the Eagle clan, an’ aes
only a few Eagles in ther camp. Hoskanini married <
girl o’ ther Wolf clan—Moquis can’t marry in their own
clan—an’ the Eagles an’ the Wolves aire about all the
reds that Tl stand by Hoskanini. They ain’t more’n a
handful o’ ther hull onan :

“Reg’lar pizen way er doin’,” grunted Old Nomad, “an’
them sacred rattlers is ther wust o’ it.”

“Crawlin’ taranchlers!” exclaimed Hickson. “Sacred
rattlers is the least o’ it when ye come ter know these hyer
Mogquis. “Vell o git erquainted with ’em some, I reckon,
while ye're hyer.’’

At this. point the long line of horsemen crossed to the
top of the mesa and came upon a flat crest of five or six
acres extent. The three-story houses were strange af-
fairs to bordermen who had been used to the teepees
of other redskins. Each house was a terrace-built struc-
ture, consisting of three gigantic steps. There were no
doors in the side walls. Rough ladders led up to each
step, and if one wanted to enter the first story of
house he had to go down through a trap-door in the top
of the step.

The houses were built of stone, with clay for mortar,
and were whitewashed with gypsum. The effect of the
pueblo was far from unpleasine. The bu uldings were

erected about a square enclosure, in the center of which
was the round, one-story estufa, measuring about forty

feet in diameter.

The terraces of the houses were thronged with people,
warriors, squaws, and children, all looking down on the
white men with a good deal of curiosity. A vast num-
ber of mongrel dogs ran about the plaza, snapping and
ae and trying to pick a fight with the coyote dog

ecently captured by one of the estufa guards.

Ata gesture from Hoskanini, Buffalo Bill, Old Nomad,
and Hickson dismounted. Warriors came and led their
horses away, and the cacique conducted the whites to his
own hogan, which was in the second story of one of the
houses. .

To reach the hogan, Hoskanini’s guests were obliged
to climb two ladders, and then descend another, through
a trap. The place was a stuffy hole, lighted by narrow
windows, filled with plates of gypsum.

Hoskanini had only one wife, but he had several chil-
dren, young men and young women. One of the young
women was grinding corn at a metat. She was pretty,
and had been given the Spanish name of Faquita. She
was barefooted, wore a long white cotton garment
reaching from her neck to her heels, and about her throat
were necklaces of shell and turquoise.

The oddest thing about the Moqui women, however,
was the way they dressed their hair. Their black, glossy
strands were done up in “buttons” that stuck out on each
side of the head, back of the ear. The “buttons” were
supposed to represent squash-blossoms. The way these
“buttons” were arranged told an observer at a glance
whether the wearer was married or unmarried. —

Faquita was unmarried. Buffalo Bill noticed a swift
glance of recognition between her and Hickson—a glance
he did not think much of, at the time, but which he
came to think a good deal about later.

Hickson went over, stood beside the metat, and talked
with the girl for a few moments. Hoskanini had gone
into another room. Before Hoskanini got back, Hickson
came to the place where Buffalo Bill
were sitting.

and Old Non a

     
 

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LPS

   
  

“I’m a Piute,” said he, in a startled whisper, “if I
don’t think we're up against it. The rest of the clans
are stirred up ag’inst the Wolves an’ the Eagles on ac-
count o’ that silver-mine business. If the rest o’ the
clans can have their way, the props’ll be knocked out
from under Hoskanini,‘an’ there'll be a sacred bark dance
—me furnishin’ the bark. These hyar Moquis call a
scalp the sacred bark. I’m tickled a heap. But thet
ain't all.”

“Waugh!” breathed the trapper, his eyes glistening.
“This is shore gittin’ some interestin’. Mebby, Hickson,
you won't furnish all this hyar ‘sacred bark’ thet’s goin’
ter be used in ther dance.”

“That's the idee thet struck me,’ went on Hickson.
“You-uns'll be taken to the estufa at sundown, an’ there'll
be a palaver. Mebby they'll decide ter lift yer ha’r, an’
mebby they won't. But there ain’t no sorter doubt about
me, the way the reds figger it. But ’m doin’ some fig-
gerin’ myself,” he added, with a cunning look, “an’ there’s
a hull lot o’ doubt. I’m arter ther Peso-la-ki—an’ I’m
goin ter find it.”

“Take my advice,’ said Buffalo Bill gruffly, “and leave
the Peso-la-ki alone.’

“Thet ain’t my caliber, nohow. I’m after ther Peso-
la-ki, an’ I’m goin’ to hev it. What’s more, I don’t in-
tend ter let these Moquis git ter crowhoppin’ around me
with their scalpin’-knives.”’

“Kain’'t we slide out along thet goat-path we follered
in comin’ up hyar?” queried Old Nomad.

“It’s five hundred feet down ter the level plain,” re-
plied Hickson, “an’ thet goat-path is ther only way ter
descend—onless ye want ter sprout wings, an’ jump.
More’n two dozen reds aire watchin’ ther top o’ ther
path.”

“An’ were right in ther middle o’ seven hundred
Moquis ?”

“Thet’s ther size o’ it.”

“Waugh! Ireckon, Buffler, we'll go ter ther estufa an’
try ter bullyrag ther outfit inter lettin’ us keep our sacred
bark. Ef they git ter foolin’ with er couple o’ gov’ment
agents they're li’ble ter git their fingers burned. We'll tell
‘em so.”

At that moment Hoskanini returned from the other
room. He wore a troubled look, in spite of the reassur-
ing grin that split his aged face. j

“Mebbyso we eat, huh?” said he. “Then we go to the
estuifa, all but Hosteen peso-la-ki. He stay here. ; Head
shaman he say that, an’ Hoskanini he do what head
shaman say.”

There was a good meal furnished by the cacique, con-
sisting principally of corn-cakes and deer meat. When it
was over with, some of the estufa guard came down the
ladder into the cacique’s hogan, and one of them tapped
Buffalo Bill and Old Nomad on the shoulder, at the same
time motioning upward toward the trap.

“We go now to estufa,” said the cacique.

His face was even more deeply troubled, and the re-
assuring grin had entirely vanished. Besides this, the
faces of the warriors comprising the guard were ominous
of dark things to come.

The sun was dropping below the western rim of the .

desert as Buffalo Bill and Old Nomad climbed to the
second terrace of the pueblo and stood on the huge shelf.

“Seven hundred Moquis eround us, Buffler,” muttered

Old Nomad grimly, “our guns gone an’ no way ter git
off’n ther mesa short er flyin’.

Wish’t we hadn’t killed

 

THE. BUFFALO

 

Pie SrORIES.

   

thet sacred rattlesnake, but had let ther reptyle git its
fangs inter Cass Hickson. He’s pizen, ter my thinkin’,
an’ thet crawlin’ varmint was wuth a hull lot more’n what
he is”

Buffalo Bill was of this way of thinking himself. There
was a dangerous prospect ahead of him and his trapper

pard, but the mind of the king of scouts was actively at.

work on the problem.

Slowly they descended the ladders leading to the plaza,
and were taken to the estufa, the red men crowding
‘around to prevent any attempt at escape on the part of
their captives. A deep and foreboding silence hovered
about the mesa.

CHAP LER TV:

HPLC KS ON ESCAPES,

The estufa, as already stated, was a round, low build-
ing, in the middle of the plaza. Like the other structures,
it had no doors in its sides, but was reached by ladders
from ground to roof and from the roof by another ladder
down through a trap-door to the interior,

There were certain things one had to do on entering
the estufa.
approach the trap-door from the west side, back down

the ladder, turn to his right when at the bottom, and make ~“*}~

a complete circuit of the room, a foot from the wall, be-
fore he takes his seat in the semicircle around the sacred
are:

Buffalo Bill and Old Nomad were guided through these
maneuvers by Hoskanini. The trapper spouted: wrath-
fully over such foolishness, but the perilous situation of
himself and the scout soon took all his attention.

The interior of the estufa was lighted by a sacred
fire glowing on an altar which was erected in the center
of the big room. Buffalo Bill looked around curiously.
The walls of the room were bare, save for a few antlers
and rude paintings of the sacred animals.

The Antelope men had charge of the estufa; they |

were the priests and the guards. Stripped to-the waist,
the upper halves of their bodies were streaked with white
paint. Kilts of white cotton were fastened about their
loins, and foxskins hung down behind from their belts.
Twenty of the Antelope priests were seated in a cres-
cent about the sacred fire when the two white men were
brought below. While the white men were being led
around the estufa the priests chanted, moving their
streaked bodies forward and back in the lurid glare from
the altar. It was an odd spectacle, and one well-calcu-
lated to try the nerves.
“Waugh!” grunted Old Nomad.
cil-lodge like this hyar afore.

“Never seen a coun-
Ain’t a very invitin’ place,

Ree ace
Buffler. Don’t wonder ther sacred rattler wanted ter git

erway, ef he was kept in hyar.”

The white men were seated about the middle of the
semicircle, with Hoskanini between them. A long reed,
from which the pith had been taken, was crammed with
tobacco. The head shaman, while the chant was pro-
gressing, got up solemnly and lighted the reed at the
sacred fire. He sat down again, took a puff, then passed
the reed to the man on his left. Buffalo Bill and Old
Nomad were the only ones in the estufa who were not
allowed to whiff the vapor. The reed was passed over

the scout to Hoskanini, and by him to another warrior |

over the head of the trapper.

   
 

 

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-my children,

okin’ with ther reds, Buffler,’ said No-
corn-husk. smoke we had with Hoskanini,
at ther place we killed ther rattler, didn’t amount ter
much as medicine. Ther sacred bark, on top er this ole
head er mine, is feelin’ some worried.”

The smoking and chanting over with, the chief eee
got up and spoke for a good while. He jumped b
and forth as he talked, struck with an imaginary ktitfe,
shot with an imaginary gun, glared, and finally pointed
to a hole in the roof of the estufa, near the wall.

“Thet hole must be whar ie big rattler got out, Bui-
fier, remarked’: Old Nomad. 0S Hes couldn't we grab a
blanket, throw et over then: sacred fi ire, an’. git out er thet
hole? Et’s dark outside, by now, an’ mebbyso we could
give ther hull pueblo ther slip.”

“Wait, old pard,” returned the.scout. “I’ve got some-
thing to tell them, in a little while. When they find out
we're from the government, on a special mission, I
reckon they’ll leave our sacred. bark alone.”

“Ye told ther head medicine-man thet, Buffler.”

“He didn’t believe it.”

“Waugh! Chances aire he won’t b’leeve et now. ° I’ll
shore be skeered 0’ rattlers from now on. Next time
I sees a pizen crawler, I'll walk eround et, I shore will.”

When the chief shaman sat down, Hoskanini arose:
Hoskanini wasn’t much of an orator. When he warmed
up. with his subject, he seemed to choke on it. To the
scout and the trapper, it looked as though he had stopped
arguing and begun to swear. He finished by doubling
up his fist and shooting it full at the head medicine-man.
One of the other priests grabbed the arm of the irate
cacique before his fist could reach the mark.

The chief shaman leaned toward Buffalo Bill in the
leaping firelight and beckoned him to rise. \ The scout
got up.

“You kill um ch’ah-rah-rah-deh?
manded.

“VYeve told him thet forty’-leven times, Buffler,”
snorted Old Nomad. “Mebby he wants ye ter sing et.”

“Yes,” answered Buffalo Bill, looking at the shaman.
“The snake would have killed Hosteen peso-la-ki » it
had not been killed. From where we come ther
no sacred snakes. When a rattlesnake strikes, we aim
to strike first.”

He drew himself up to his full height, threw back his
broad shoulders, removed his sombrero, and brushed
back his long hair. Asa spectacle of manly strength and
courage, the scout was superb. Old Nomad’s eyes glis-
tened proudly as they surveyed him. The Moquis them-
selves must have been impressed.

“T am Pa-has-ka, the Long Hair,” went on the scout,
with dignity. “I have fot 1eht the Apaches, the ancient
foes of the Moquis, and in this way I have been a friend
“and a brother to the Moquis. I serve the White Father,
at Washington. The White Father said to me: ‘Pa-
has-ka, take your brother, the Bear-Slayer, and ao visit
the Moquis. Find out for me if their
hearts are good; smoke the peace-pipe with them, find out
what they need, and ‘tell me, so that I may supply their
wants.’

“So, my brothers, Pa-has-ka and his brother, the Bear-
Slayer, have-come among you. And what have you
done? You have disarmed them, and you have brought
them to the estufa to smoke a talk and find out whether
they shall live or die for slaying the sacred: rattlesnake.
I shall say no more than this: Kill us, and the white

5

“We ain’t sm
mad. ‘Thet

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the head shaman de-

are

soldi

| come like the scorching breath of the desert ;

ers wil
Acoma shall I be no more, and the Moquis shall
away.. I have said.”

The scout seated himself. A silence fell. It was quite
evident his words had made an impression. Perhaps the
impression might have resulted in a good effect had
not Hoskanini leaped to his feet and begun ramping and
ranting, striking and kicking at the . Antelope priests, and
in other ways bringing discredit upon the white pris-
oners and himself.

Hoskanini was still throwing himself around the estufa,
choking, spluttering, and probably ee when an ex-

cited head a »peare ed in the tra ap-door. A wild alarm was
shouted. What the alarm was, of course the prisoners
could not tell, but it caused the wildest consternation.
The effect on Hoskanini was remarkable.

His fierce rage ceased in a flash. Both his hands flew
to his head, and he staggered. Meanwhile the medicine-
chief was -talking swiitly and rapa bringing some-
thing like order among the priests. All but six of the
Antelope men rushed away, the chief shaman leading in
the rush up the ladder,

When all were gone but the two captives and the six
priests, Hoskanini dropped_ his hands There was a
glare in his eyes like that of a wolf driven to bay. He
stepped over to Buffalo Bill,

“Hosteen peso-la-ki heap
through his grinding teeth.
la-ki P”’

“No,” answered Buffalo Bill. ‘“Pa-has-ka and, Bear-
Slayer are not the friends of Hosteen peso-la-ki.”

“Hosteen peso-la-ki has run away with Faquita, prin-
cess of the Moquis,” went on Hoskanini.. “Faquita will
take the Hosteen to the Peso-la-ki. But,’ and here the
cacique picked up a prayer- abies: from the base of the
altar and waved it about his head, “the young men of
the Moquis, led by old Hoskanini, will overtake the run-
aways, and the Hosteen shall die. The Antelope men say
that Pa-has-ka and Bear-Slayer also. shall die, but not
until sunrise. Many things may happen before sun-
rise. Remain here. ue your guards until Hoskanini
comes back. All may yet be well.”

THe chief pa eoed to the ladder and crawled to the
top of the estufa. They could hear his unsteady. feet
carry him across the roof and down one of the ladders
leading to the ground.

A little later there came a patter of hoofs, approaching
and dying away in the distance. The pueblo was in tur-
moil, and it was plain that the excitement was intense.

wither

bad,” said the cacique,
“You friends Hosteen peso-

CHAPTER V.

THE DASH FROM THE ESTUFA.

“Thet Cass Hickson is shore pizen!” averred Old
Nomad. “I’d a heap ruther hev saved ther snake from
Hickson, than hev saved. Hickson from ther’ snake, like
we done.”

“You can’t blame the man for wanting to get away
and save his scalp,” returned Buffalo Bill,

“Shore not! But ther varmint hadn’t no bizness takin’
this hyar princess away with ‘im. Hoskanini was Hick-
son’s friend, an’ Hickson rewards ther chief fer his
friendship by runnin’ off with ther ole man’s gal. Snap-
pin’ catermounts! -Et’s shore mighty low-down, Buf-
fler.”’

   

 
  

     

THE BUFFALO

     

“We could excuse Hickson, even for that, if he took
the girl to help him get away. But he didn’t. He took
her to show him where this silver-mine, the Peso-la-ki,
is located. Hickson said he had a way to locate that

mine, and that he was going to make use of it.. We've
ao ourselves into a bushel of trouble on account of that
scoundrel.”

“IT wonder however ther measly skunk got cl’ar?
Shore he couldn’t work through ther trick by goin’ down
ther path, when ther path is bein’ watched. How d’ye
think he done et, Buffler ?”

“Trust a woman’s wit to get around a dodge like that.
Faquita must have picked the means for the escape, and
then helped in thes getaway.”

“Thet ain’t helpin’ of us none, anyways, Buffler. We've
‘got till sunup ter enjoy life. Bein’ agents of ther gov’-
ment ain't doin’ us no good.”

“Remember what Hoskanini said, Nick,” returned the
scout. “A good many things can happen between now
and sunrise. Hoskanini don’t intend that we shall be
snuffed out for the killing of a rattlesnake. We'll hear
from him, you can depend on it.’

The six “Antelope men, who had been left as guards
for the prisoners, took.down the ladder leading ‘to the
roof, laid it along the floor, and three of them stretched
out on it, knives in their hands.

“Waugh!” exclaimed Old Noma . “They ain’t in-
tendin’ ter give us er chanst ter reach ther roof.”

“it, wouldn’t do us any good to ae the roof, any-
how,’ murmured the scout reflectively. “The chances are
the estufa is surrounded by guards.”

At this point one of the Antelope men drew near, laid
a finger on his lips in token of silence, and then made
gestures indicating that the two whites were to lie down
near the altar and sleep.

“Thet’s an invite ter take a snooze, Buffler,” said the
Tapper, stretching out on the earthen floor as directed.
“Ye kin bet yore moccasins, howsumever, thet I’m goin’
ter sleep with one eye open.”

‘That's a good idea, pard,”
lying down.

Perhaps an hour passed. From time to time one of
the Antelope men replenished the sacred fire. The others,
to all appearances, went to sleep on the floor.

silence fell over the estufa. If Old Nomad were
sleeping with “one eye open,’ he was wonderfully quiet
about it.

Buffalo Bill did not sleep, although he feigned slum-
ber. His head was well in the shadow cast by the altar,
and the ring of firelight was two or three feet beyond
him. Through his half-closed eyes he was able to keep
watch of all six of the Antelope men, and especially did
watch the priest who came at intervals to replenish

the fire.

Another hour passed. At the end of that time the
scout saw the warrior who was attending to the fire start
to his knees and begin creeping stealthily toward the
hase of the altar. The man had a knife in his teeth, and
it was clear he was bent upon mischief. Evidently he
was not content to wait until sunrise before peeling the
“sacred bark” from the heads of the white men.

The scout, watching like a weazel, continued to lie
without movement. The Antelope man crept toward him,
foot by foot, noiselessly as a gliding serpent.
ally the bloodthirsty redskin would pause an
creep onward once more. At last i rea

answered the scout, also

Occasion-

 
 
 

 

   

BIEL STORIES.

   
 

side, rising erect on his knees at the scout’s right shoul-
der. Slowly the Antelope man lifted the knife.

Before the blade could fall, the scout’s right. fist shot
upward, dealing the Moqui a sledge-hammer blow on
the chin. A groan was wrenched from the priest’ s lips—
a low groan, but no other sound. The scout’s left hand
Lege the right, and the Indian fell over backward

d lay silently on the earth floor of the estufa.

| ee others, who had been watching their comrade and
pretending to be asleep, sprang up “and darted toward
Buffalo Bill. By then the scout was likewise on his feet.
Watching keenly the whirl of the gleaming knives, he
dodged hack and forth, striking out with his flintlike
fists as he did so,

The redskins were no match for the white man’s
prowess. ~They crumpled like reeds under the tremen-
dous blows.

“Waugh!” cried Old Nomad, sta
ter pay, Buffer?”

eae of the guards are down and out,” panted the
scout. “Ii we can take care of the other three we'll
a try to get clear of the estufa.”
apper gro ied a eee he had been asleep
rong Tte
re lad ee ee lying on it had
S t sine postures and were peering about them
to discover what was wrong. A blow and a kick from
Old Nomad sent one of them sprawling from the ladder.
Picking up the end of the ladder, the trapper hoisted it
by main strength, hurling the other two priests against
each other and dropping them on the floor in a scrambling ;
heap.

Buffalo Bill sprang upon them, calling, as he did so:

“Up with the ladder, Nick! We'll make a rush for
the as io

“Keno, Buffler!”’ answered the old man.

The scout got the point of a knife through his sleeve,
but that was the extent of the damage he suffered. He
knocked the redskins one against the other, and flung
both against the stone wall of the estufa.

‘All “ready, Buffer !” jubilated Nomad.
in place,’

Climb it!” called Buffalo Bill, “Tl follow.”

The trapper shot up the ladder with the scout a close
second. None of the priests had been seriously hurt, and
four of the six were ready for fight when the white
men executed their upward rush. If the Antelope men
had had firearms, there would probably have been a dif-
ferent story to tell, but they were armed only with knives.

When the scout scrambled out on the roof of the
estufa, two of the priests had jumped on the lower end
of the ladder. Grabbing the upper end of the ladder, the
cee and his pard shook it fiercely and hauled it up-

ward. Ohne of the priests fell off. The other hung to the
ie rung, but it would have been better for him had-*
he dropped off with the other priest. '

While the scout held the ladder, Old Nomad struck
the fellow a heavy blow and sent him back into the
estufa.

“Now,”
the roof,
building.
Buffalo
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panted the scout, bunts the ladder down on
“we'll have to make a break for the nearest

Follow me, Nick!”

Bill raced across the roof. There was 2
night, and the top of the mesa was lighted
The fugitives were able to see distinctly just

hey had to contend with.

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As the scout had supposed, the building was. sur-
rounded by other guards. These outside guards, aroused
by the sounds coming from within the structure, were
swarming up the ladders. None of them had-as yet
reached the roof.

The scout, rushing for the roof’s edge, paused an in-
stant and took the descent at a leap. Old Nomad fell
scrambling beside him. ,

A wild alarm swept through the pueblo. Dogs barked
and people yelled. ‘The entire plaza was filling with darl
forms, running back and forth excitedly.

~“Seven' hundred agin’ us, Buffler,’ said Old Nomad
breathlessly, “more ’r less. I’d give an eye ef we had
our guns.” .

“We'll have to trust to our heels, pard,”’ flung back
the scout. “It’s pretty near a hopeless case, but we’ll do

our best,”

They dashed across the plaza, the scout selecting a
course least blocked by the startled Moquis. Whenever
one of the Indians got in his path, the scout flung him
aside and dashed on. Old Nomad followed the same line
of action. In this way they managed to gain the wall
of one of the houses.

Jumping for a ladder, Buffalo BIll climbed quickly.
On the first terrace he waited for the trapper to join him.
The old man was not das so active in the flight as was
the scout. Some of the Moquis in the plaza had time

~to recover their wits and give pursuit. A few arrows

began to fly, but, for the most part, they whirled harm-
lessly into the night.

Grabbing Old Nomad by the arm, Buffalo Bill hauled
him to the first terrace and flung the ladder, which was
half-full of climbing Moquis, backward and off the edge
of the “step.”

The Moquis on the ladder’dropped in a struggling
heap. But other Moquis were climbing other ladders,
and the fugitives had no time for pause.

“Hurry, Nick!” cried the scout, dashing for a ladder
leading to the next terrace.

This terrace was gained as the other had been, and an-
other ladder full of Indians got a bad fall when the
second ladder was hurled from the edge of the second
terrace,

“Whar we teu fer?” panted Old Nomad.

“We'll go as high as we can,’ answered the scout,
“and then do what seems best.”

Buffalo Bill caught hold of Old Nomad’s arm, and

they started across the second terrace, intent on gaining .

the top of the community house. Then, as 30 often
occurs, the unexpected happened.

An unseen trap, under their feet, suddenly gave way.
‘Fhey flung out ‘their hands wildly to clutch at some-
thing to stay their fall, but their groping fingers caught
nothing more substantial than the silting moonbeams.
~ Down they went into blank darkness, down, down, un-
til they were brought up short on the hard floor below.

CHAPTER. VE
A TASK FOR THE PRISONERS.

Buffalo Bill remembered the drop into darkness, and
he remembered colliding with the hard floor; but, after
that, a hiatus intervened. When he came to himself the
sacred fire was leaping in his eyes, and “he was again
lying on the floor of the estufa. His hands were bound

9

at his back with thongs, and his feet were secured at the
ankles.

Old Nomad was lying beside him, likewise bound, but
chuckling in his beard.

“What's the matter with you, Nick?’ inquired the
scout.

“Jest er larfin’ ter myself, Buffler,” answered the grim
old Tey “Ain't hurt much, aire ye?”

Struck on my head when we took that fall through
the | roof, Nothing serious, I reckon, but it stunned
ine |

“Waugh! I lit on top o’ ye, which is ther reason |
come off without no bruises ter speak of. Wonder
wae a er been row ef it hadn’t been fer thet thar
hole in the roof? Any idee, Buffler?”

“We seule t have been much worse off, Nick, no mat-
ter where we were

“Fust time on ree-cord, Bufiler, a pair 0’ whites ever
went up agin ist ther Injuns 0’ this pueblo an’ come so
nigh winnin’ out. Ef ther Moquis had er built their town
on er flat stretch er ground, like ordinary Injuns, us
fellers would shore hev made a giterway. Et’s ther pizen
notions these yar reds hev thet’s playin’ hob with us.
Mebbyso, Buffler; ye notice they’ve doubled ther num-
ber o’ gyards thet’s kee epin’ track o’ us. Got er dozen
now. ‘Ther ’riginal six aire some bunged up. Plenty
fun this grass, Buffler, ef ye don’t want ter think er what
may happen eround sunup. Don’t reckon ther Moquis
ever tried ter hang onter a couple o’ hornets like us
afore.”

The “’riginal six” did look considerably the worse
for wear. Their faces were covered with lumps and
contusions, and while they sat around nursing their in-
theres they glared angrily at the white men.

Not only hev they doubled ther gyard,’”’ went on No-
mad, still chuckling, “but they’ ve likewise got ropes on
us. I reckon they think we’re heap bad medicine.

At this point a peculiar sound was heard from a dis-
tance, well beyond the confines of the estufa. As it
grew louder it resolved itself into a chant—a wailing
monotone. The chant was taken up on all sides, from
the other side of the estufa wall and, apparently, from
the neighboring houses. Mingling with the chant came
the slow tramp of horses’. hoofs.

“What d’ye opine thet is, Buffler?” queried Old No-
mad, pricking up his ears.

“Sounds to me as though Hos kanini and the warriors
had got back,” replied Buffalo Bill, “and the song they
are singing at much of victory in it.”

“Mebby ther pizen white tin horn killed ther Moqui
princess, er somethin’.”’

“He wouldn't do that—at least, not until the ee
princess had shown him where to find the Peso-la-k
Since Hickson and the girl got away I don’t Believe
there has been time for them to reach the silver-mine.’’

From the sound of the hoof-beats and the chant, the
returning warriors appeared to be encircling the out-
side of the Oe Presently the hoof-beats ceased, and
there came a scrambling of many people on the ladders.
Feet patfered on the. top of the estufa, and then two
warriors came down the inside ladder bearing a dusky,
silent form.

The dozen Antelope men in the estufa thereupon took
up the mourniui chant. Three slain warriors were
brought down, in all, and among those who came with
them was Hoskanini. The cacique’s arm was bound

     
  

ia ese

ar arenes

;
i

 

   
      

    
    

to
with a reddened cloth, and ‘was aes in a sling from
his*neck. “His face wore a us look. While the
warriors. were: circling the interior of the estufa with the
three slain: braves, Hoskanini walked to where Buffalo
Bill and: Old Nomad were yin ag, stood between them,
and looked n, the sacred fire playing gruesomely over
his leathery face.

“How you come tied lik e that ?”’
his voice shri illy above the chant.

“One of the ¢uards tried to kill me with a knife,” an-
swered Buffalo “Bill. “There was a fight, and I and my
pard succeeded in getting away rom the estufa. We got
upon one of the houses at the edge of the plaza and fell

 

he demanded, lifting

through a door we could not see. “Then we were cap-
tured, brought -back here, and tied.’
The scout did not know whether Hoskanini would be

able to understand this or not.
was, he could not accompany his words with the hand-
<, Hoskanini’s fierce little eyes eae d.

Stoo oping, with his uninjured hand he rolled the scout
over and cut the ee Then he passed to Nomad
repe cated the operatio

“¥ere: ther bier redskin I ever see, Hoskanini,’
preted Old Nomad, sitting up and rubbing his numbed
hands.

Two of the guards who had been bruised during the
recent clash stopped their chanting long enough to harry
tp to the chief and remonstrate ‘vigorously. The head
shaman likewise expostulated. But it did them no iad.
Hoskanini gave them a tongue-lashing, and they slunk
back to their Scatome ss

“Did Hosteen peso-la-ki escape with

and

the princess?”

asked Buffalo Bill, supplementing the question with ges-
tures.
Hoskanini gid something which must have been a

Moqui swear-word. “Hosteen got away,’ he added,

ding.
“T)id he kill the three warriors and
went

on the scout.
hasien,) fi
S.

SCOW
T
|

wound Hoska-
pint i
answered Hoskanini, holding up three fin-
“Tosteen meet um bad white men, so many.
Much gun, auch shoot. Hosteen and white men get
away with Faquita, after kill free warrior and wound
Hoskanini. Me been good friend Hosteen, but no friend
_Hosteen any more. Him got bad heart. Make kill, make
steal Faquita, all same eet Peso-la-ki. Me take um Hos-
teen’s bark!”

Making a vow of the last savage words, Hoskanini
picked’ up’ a prayer-feather from the base of the altar,
becathed some Moqui words on it and shook it above his
head.

ke did Hosteen get away with the Moqui princess ?”’

ursued the scout.

"“Raguita get um horse, get um guns for Hosteen,”’

snapped the cacique, “take um by secret way from house
to trail, Moqui ‘braves no see um till um almost get to
bottom of mesa. We chase. Hosteen meet um white
men and fight um Injun off.”

Sor

Hoskanini, with his bandaged arm and his ferocious
face, tramped back and forth across the estuia floor.

His head was bowed in thought. Suddenly he darted

away and began talking rapidly with the chief shaman.
at he said seemed to meet with the shaman’s ap-
oval Pet once ‘at. least the eee and the

pact appeared in perfect accord.

“Allers thort thet pizen Hickson might hev some tough

Bound as the ee soner

eround some’r’s in this hyar part Oo ther

ease ett
whites tayittk

kentry,” said Old Nomad to Buffalo Bill. “Scum like
ther Hosteen don’t gin’rally hang eround alone... Ill bet
thet outfit is-er buneh er tin horns an’ outlaws.”

“No doubt of it, Nick,” answered the scout. ‘““Hoska-

nini wants to do the right thing by us, that’s plain.
He's'a pretty shrew . ee in spite of his temper. Any
other chief might suspect that we were a part of Hos-
teen’s gang.”

“Ve don’t look ther part, Buffer. An Injun with half
an eye could see a These hyar Moquis erlow we're
what we claim ter be, but killin’ thet sacred rattler sorter
put us on ther blacklist Ye kin bank on thet. What
d’ye reckon Hoskanini an’ ther ole Medicine Terror hev
got up between ‘em? They're as friendly, all ter oncet,
as er es er chipm nunks.”

“We'll know what t they re thinking about in a minute,”
returned the scout. ‘They’re coming this way.”

Hoskanini and the chief shaman apt sproached and stood
in front of ae Bill and O Jid Nomad.

“You kill um sacred snake,’ said Hoskanini. “Heap
bad. Meno tik fe um snake like ¢ shaman, but shaman boss
of estufa, an’ shaman say you die when sun rise for kill
the sacred snake. Me say no, Pa-has-ka and Bear-Slayer
no die... Me say mebbyso Pa-has-ka Bly Bear-Slayer go
get back lost princess of Moquis, save Peso-la-ki for

njun. Shaman he say all right. Mebby so Pa-has-ka

>

and Bear-Slayer bring back lost princess, no die for -~

snake.”
“Waugh!’ muttered Old Nomad. “So that’s ther
game, is et? We got ter git back ther lost princess in

order ter save our ‘Darky an

without hosses an’ with on’y
‘em a few things, Buffler.”

Buffalo Bill was thinking deeply.
gleam came to his eyes.

“You give Pa-has-ka
he asked.

Hoskanini nodded.

“You give Pa-has-ka and Bear-Slayer their guns
knives ?”

WN ay ae *

Another nod.
Hoskanini.

“We do not want any braves,” said E

lo not want any braves,” said Buffalo Bill.

go alone.”

T recko

bare hands. Wuh! Teil

Suddenly a swift
horses ?”’

and Bear-Slayer their

and
6¢/ id Ley 5 At 3. 4
And we give um twenty braves,” added

“We

“Four men, heap bad. You only two.”

“We can take care of the four men, Hoskanini.”

“Mebbyso you not come back?” hinted the chief
warily.

_ “We will come back. The word of Pa-has-ka is gold.
Pa-has-ka is the friend of the Great White Father.”
Hoskanini explained to the The

shaman. shaman

opposed the scheme violently. Hoskanini clenched’ his
fist. The shaman saw the move; drew back quickly, and
ceased to object. et
“Buffalo Bill,” the scout went on, “will find the lost
princess of the M oquis, and bring her back, Pa-has-k

a

>

and se will return Faquita to her people, and
: f

667

 

toskanini ine
dou ble tongue. He w

does not talk with the
Pa-has-ka and Bear-

 

Slayer will come to Hoskani ini’s hogat n, and have food.

Their’ horses and guns and knives will be brought

there.” TH
“Let also the Hosteen’s coyote dog be brought to the

hogan with the horses, the guns, and the knives,” said

on we got ter do et,

    
  
  

 

  
 

        
“scout.

, coyote dog.

‘return in time for the shooting.

Buffalo Bill’ “And let the dog be strongly held with
a buckskin thong.”
“It shall be so,” said the cacique.
Old Nomad gave a grunt of surprise and satisfaction.
“Waugh, Buffler! Et shore takes ye ter think o’

things. I never had no notion o’ usin’ thet coyote dorg

ter trail Hickson. Et’s a play ter win, ef thar ever was
33

one,

“It’s the only play we can make, pard,” returned the
“IT thought of that dog in a minute, when Hos-
kanini told us what we were to do.”

Following the cacique, the two white men climbed to
the top of the estufa. Between the terraced houses to
the east the sun was shooting over the rim of the desert
like a globe of fire.

“Sunup,” said Old Nomad mechanically, “an’ thar ain’t
nary sign, yit, of our losin’ our ‘bark.’”

CHAPTER: VII.
TRAILING THE RUNAWAYS.

Both the cacique and the chief shaman did some keen
thinking while the scout and his trapper pard were at
breakfast in the cacique’s hogan.

_The chief shaman’s thoughts ran a little in this wise:

_» The Peso-la-ki had been in the possession of the Moquis

ever since the Spaniards had been driven from the coun-
try. The Good Spirits, otherwise called the Trues, had
given the mine to his red children. Hoskanini, in his mis-
taken friendship for the Hosteen, had tried to persuade
the tribe to sell the mine, but all the clans save the Eagles
and the Wolves had opposed it, and Hoskanini had been
beaten. For this, Hoskanini must now .be glad, inas-
much as his friendship for the Hosteen had changed to
deadly enmity. But—and here was the point that gave
the shaman no end of trouble—if Faquita took the Hos-
teen and his three ruffianly comrades to the Peso-la-ki,
and Pa-has-ka and Bear-Slayer followed, recovered the
princess and put the four bad whites out of business, what
was to prevent Pa-has-ka and Bear-Slayer from taking
the mine for themselves?

This notion gave the shaman a bad half-hour. He
only recovered his equanimity when he thought how, if
Pa-has-ka and Bear-Slayer annéxed the mine, the Mo-
quis could make short work of them. It was good to
have Pa-has-ka and Bear-Slayer fight the Moquis’ bat-
tles, and get victory from the place where the Moquis
had found defeat.

Hoskanini likewme thought of some of these things.
If Faquita led the Hosteen to the Peso-la-ki, then Hos-
kanini could follow the trail as well as the Hosteen’s
But if Faquita, by any chance, had not
led the Hosteen to the’ silver-mine, then Hoskanini would
be very foolish to lead Pa-has-ka and Bear-Slayer there.
It was better to let them go with the coyote dog. If the
coyote dog led them to the mine, then it was something
that could not be helped.

One thing to* be said-for the red man is that he is
truthful. The instance has been known where an In-
dian, convicted of a crime and sentenced to be shot, has
been allowed to go free for a time on his promise to
And the Indian has re-
turned.

Like the Crows, the Moquis and Navajos have usually

“a

THE BUFFALO

BILE STORIES. , 11

been the friends of the whites. The Moquis, too, are self-
supporting. There are no annuities for them, no regu-
lar distribution of supplies. A Moqui does not leave all
the work for his squaw. Hoskanini’s tribe, therefore,
accepted the word of Pa-has-ka that he and Bear-Slayer
would come back.

After the meal, when Buffalo Bill and Old Nomad
climbed out of the hogan and descended to the plaza,
they found their horses. waiting for them. Hung from
each saddle was a rifle, and revolvers and knives were
ready in the hands of the warriors who had brought the
horses. The coyote dog, crouching and snarling at the
town curs, was held in a twenty-foot leash. Buckskin
bags of provender were tied at the saddle-cantles.

“Before three sleeps, Hoskanini,”’ said Buffalo Bill,
“you and your people shall hear of our success.”

“Tt is well,’ said the old cacique. ‘‘Pa-has-ka and his
friend are great warriors. Pa-has-ka shall have my
daughter for his squaw in case he brings her back, and
brings back the Hosteen so I may take the bark.”

This last promise did not appeal to Buffalo Bill, for he
had no intention, if he could help it, of allowing Hos-
kanini to take Hickson’s scalp. The two pards mounted,
took their revolvers and thrust them in their belts, and
spurred off along the plaza. The scout had tied the
dog’s rope to his saddle-horn. The dog laid back on the
rope, and the only way t6 get him along was to drag
him. All the Moqui people in the pueblo seemed to be
out to watch the venturesome whites take their depar-
ture. They clustered about the terraces of their dwell-
ings and thronged the edge of the mesa near the top of
the goat-path.

It took half an hour for the two horsemen to reach
the foot of the mesa. About every five minutes the trap-

‘per had to dismount and untangle the coyote dog from —
some of the rocks that lined the path. The dog would ~

fling himself one way or the other, and the scout would
be brought to a standstill with the lead-rope wrapped
around a boulder.

At the foot of the path the horsemen watered their
horses at the spring which supplied the pueblo with water.
The dog was in a mutinous mood, and, when the scout
and his pard were ready to take the trail, the animal
made no attempt to pick up the scent. Pulling back on
the rope until he was nearly strangled, the dog would
merely snap and glare at the trapper, who was trying to
get him started. — ;

“Waugh!” growled the disgusted Nomad. “Best thing

ter do with ther critter, Buffler, is ter put a bullet through —

ets head. Et shore ain’t no good ter itself ner ter any-
bady else.”

“The dog’s our only hope, Nick,” returned the scout.

A yell from the mesa claimed the attention of the two
pards at that moment. Looking up, they saw Hoskanini
standing on the brink of the cliff, waving his hand to-
ward the northwest.

“Whyever is he doin’ thet, Buffler?” asked the puzzled
trapper.

“He sees the trouble we’re having with the dog,” the
scout. answered, “‘and is giving us the general direction.
We'll tow the dog along until he makes up his mind to
lead us,”

Nomad got back on his horse and he and Buffalo Bill
slowly rounded the base of the mesa. When they had
reached a point on the northwest, they left the great wall
of the uplift behind them, and had little difficulty in pick-

   
     
     
   
   
     
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
    
   
    
    
   
  
   
 

   
 

ennai oon

ne

a oo

Guiseseee ae
eae

a eae

 

ee ES ee

      

 

  

  
 

 

 

 

12 THE BUFFALO

 

ing up the tracks left by the Moquis in their night pur-
suit.

“Clear sailin’, Buffler,” said Nomad.
need thet coyote dorg at all.”

“The trail won't be as plain as this after we reach
the place where the Moquis had their fight with Hickson
and his gang last night,” said the scout. “From there on,
unless I’m greatly mistaken, Hickson will leave a blind
trail.”

“Ef he goes ter this hyar silver-mine he must know
the Moquis’ll hev a-purty good idee of his course,
Buffler. So whyever should he try ter blind!the trail?”

“He may not go to the Peso-la-ki at once. But, even
if he did, he’d certainly blind the trail to puzzle the In-
dians.”

“More’n likely ye’re right. Ye’ve fergotten more
erbout Injuns an’ tough whites than I ever knowed.”

“Not exactly, Nick,” smiled the scout. “I may be
wrong and you may be right. We can tell more about
that later.”

They jogged onward in silence for a space, still drag-
ging their unwilling assistant at the end of the twenty
feet of rope.

“Anyways,” commented Old Nomad, “et shore feels
good ter git saddle-leather between my knees ag’in, an’
ter sense ther feet o’ my shootin’-irons. Queer dicker
we're up aginst, Buffler. You at’ me never bucked agin’
anythin’ like this hyar afore. Hyar we come on er mis-
sion er peace an’ good-will from ther gov’ment, an’ jump
inter ther hottest kind er trouble right at ther start-off.
You an’ me kain’t be peaceable when we try. Honest,
now !’

“We're demonstrating our good-will toward the Mo-
quis by undertaking this piece of work,” said the scout.

“Say nothith. 0,
grimly.

' “That part of it’s mostly bluff, I think. When it came
to the pinch, I don’t believe the Moquis would go against
the government.”

“I ain’t much of er idee regardin’ ther fightin’ quali-
ties o’ ther Moquis, Buffer. Ef they was shore enough
fighters they'd never hev tucked this hyar job off onter
us.”

“Hoskanini is shrewd, Nick, don’t forget that for a
minute. He’s trying us out, and taking chances of our
finding and looting that mine just to make sure whether
we're a square shake or a fake. If we fail, he probably
knows where to go to find Cass Hickson.”

“Waal, mebbyso ye’ve, got ther right end o’ ther stick,
3uffler, but—— Waugh! Looket ther pizen dorg! He’s
woke up at last.” :

This appeared to be the case. Giving over his tactics
of pulling back and hali-strangling himself, the coyote
dog suddenly leaped ahead and tugged at the leash from
the other way. With nose to the ground he strained for-
ward, keeping the leash taut between his neck and Buffalo
Bill’s saddle-horn.

An hour’s swift riding brought the scout and his
trapper pard to a small rocky uplift where the Moquis
and the white desperadoes must have had their battle
the night before.

‘“Mebby we won't

near the rocks, and an Indian knife was found lying in
the sand.

From there on, just as the scout had supposed would
pe the case, the white ruffians had effectually blinded

tate tyne PTR a platen oni bl OR a a 410
their trail, rained trailers thoug

 
 

a the two pards’ were

=F “>

 

savin’ our ha’r,” added the other |

The ground was trampled with hoofs

 

BILL: STORIES.

 

yet without the coyote dog it would have been impossi-
ble for them to keep on the right track.

Not once did the dog waver in his course nor lose the
scent. Half-wild as he was, he retained the keen instinct
of his wilder kind. The leash was always taut between
his throat and the pommel, no matter how rapidly Buffalo
Bill spurred onward.

One hour, two hours, three hours the riders pressed
forward. Their mounts were panting with the pace and
the heat, and the pards were wondering if it would be
advisable to continue much farther without the assurance
of discovering water somewhere ahead.

“Hickson and his men will have to strike water,” rea-
soned the scout. “If we keep on their trail we shall cer-
tainly come to it.”

“But s’posin’ ther dorg ain’t on Hickson’s trail, But-
fler?’’ queried the trapper.

“T’m banking that he is.”

“Ef thet’s yore idee, then we'll keep pushin’ en inter
ther sand an’ ther cactus.”

Buffalo Bill had sighted another mesa on the horizon’s
rim. The dog was leading them directly toward it.

This island of rock in the desert sea became by degrees
more and more distinct. Its sides were high and pre-
sented an uncomptomisingly sheer wall. Nothing could
be seen on the mesa’s crest, although the scout scanned
it sharply as they drew close.

“Thar’s whar we're goin’ ter end up, Buffler,” said
Nomad.

Close to the foot of the mesa the hoof-prints of horses
could be distinguished in the flinty soil.

“Leave your horses with me, Nick,’ said the scout,
“and skirmish ahead along the trail a little and see what
you can discover. We want to take Hickson and his
pards by surprise, and not let them spring an ambush
on us.”

“Kerect,” said the old man.

Slipping clear of the saddle he proceeded cautiously
forward, weaving in and out of the indentations at the
mesa’s base. Presently he had rounded an angle and
lost himself to sight.

Buffalo Bill made the horses secure in the shadow of
the high wall. Barely had he accomplished this when
the distant crack of a firearm reached his ears, It came
from the direction in which Old Nomad had proceeded.
The echoes of the shot were still ringing among the
rocks when they were taken up by a startled yell,

By the time the yell rattled out of the distance, Buffal

0
Bill was half-way to the place where the shooting had:

occurred.

 

CHAPTER VIII.

ENCHANTMENT—OR WHAT?

Buffalo Bill dodged around a spur of rocks and came”

upon Old Nomad in fierce hand-to-hand fight with a
grizzly-bearded, long-haired hulk of a man in ragged
buckskins. The fellow, from what the scout could see of
him in the mix-up, looked like a desert tramp—one of
the outlaw waifs who haunt the Great American Sahara
and prey upon every one, irrespective of race or color.
The scout started forward to be of what service he
could, but before he could come near enough to take a
part in the struggle, the sinewy old trapper flopped his
antagonist upon the back and planted a knee on his

breast,

 

 

 

 

 

          

  
  
 

    
  
  
     

sg Da

  
Vw

Fs ow

ws

ee Ee Oe ee See

 

TAME BUPRALO

“He’s mine, Duffler,” panted Old Nomad. “He shore
gi’ me er surprise ae a popped away at me from ther
rocks, but I reckon I turned ther tables on him when |
went arter him with my hands afore he could fire twicet.
Unbuckle thet ca ‘tridge-belt from his waist an’ we'll git
these hyer pile-drivers o’ his fast at his back.’

The desperado swore fiercely and struggled with all
his might, but the scout and the trapper “handled him
easily. Presently the man was helpless, his hands secure
in the grip of the belt and his booted feet bound together
with a big cotton handkerchief twisted into a rope.

_ Who are you! ?”’ demanded the scout curtly.

“None 0’ yer bizness,” was the sullen rejoinder.

“What did you fire at my pard for?”

“Kase I wanted ter kill him.”

“Why did you wish to kill him? Had he hae your”

nee hadn't no right ter come snoopin’ eround this
hyer mesa,’

“Waugh!” struck in Old Nomad savagely. “Reckon ye
own purty much all out-doors, don’t ye? Got a water-
hole handy anywhar’s eround hyar} My

The man glared, but did not reply.

“Where is Cass Hickson?” demanded the scout sternly.

The prisoner started. Evidently the question took him
by surprise,

“Don’t know any sich feller,’

“Where’s your horse?’

* he answered.

went on the scout, looking

around.

“Ain’t got no hoss.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Jest now I’m hung up by a couple 0’ swabs as hain’t
got no bizness layin’ hands on me.”

“Waugh!” butted in Old Nomad again, “but he’s ther
limit, Buffler. He don’t know er heap, an’ what he does
know he kin lie about. I reckon he does know whar
thar’s water, howsumever, an’ thet’s what consarns me at
ther present speakin’. My throat’s dryer’n gunpowder,
an’.-I don’t reckon ther hosses ’u’d shy at er water-hole.
Shall I twist his neck till he tells whar thar’s water?”

“Wait.a minute, Nick,” answered Buffalo Bill. “Now,
my man,’ he went on to the prisoner, “we know you
came here with Cass Hickson and two other men, that
you came with a Moqui girl, the daughter of Chief Hos-
kanini, and that you're hunting for the Peso-la-ki. You
had a fight with the Moquis last night, and dodged away
from them. Certainly you did not come here unless you
knew you would find water. You just heard what my
pard said about forcing you to tell us where we can find
water. The rest of your information you can keep to

yourself for the present, but this one thing you’ve got

to tell us now. Will you tell us peaceably, or shall we

use force?”
The reply was a defiant oath. The scout stepped back
and motioned to Old Nomad. There was but one way of

fi, dealing with the ruffian. Water must be secured.

The trapper set about his work briskly, watched by
the prisoner out of the corners of his narrow eyes.
First, the trapper removed his belt, and spilled the car-
tr idges out of it, so that it might be more flexible. His
revolver-holsters, too, were pulled off.

Nomad then knelt at the desperado’s side, passed the
strip of leather about his neck and ran the end through
the buckle.

“It’s likely, ye pizen whelp,”’ growled Nomad, “thet
water’ll mean life er death ter me an’ Buffler. ‘Thar’ll be
no foolin’ erbout this hyar. You tell us, er yell never live

 

BILD Sa PORIES 13
fer tel anybody. Savvy tl ret ?
speak, lift yore rig ‘ht : shoulder.
Nomad pulled at the end of the strap. The leather
slipped through the open buckle and slowly but relent-
ica compressed the hairy throat of the ruffian.

The man stood it well—for a time. His breath
wheezed through his lips, his face reddened, purpled with
the stricture of the blood vessels, and his eyes dilated.

Then he partly lifted his shoulder.

“Thort ye’d see this hyar thing like we done,”
Nomad promptly releasing the ‘strap.

For a moment the man ‘inhaled deeply. |

“Consarn ye fer Injun torturers!’ were his first
breathless words. ‘‘Thar’s a canteen back er them rocks.
sut I don’t know whar thar’s any more water.”

Nomad leaped for the rocks which the prisoner had
indicated by a nod of the head, and presently leaped back
again with a flannel-covered canteen.

“T reckon we won out, Buffler!” exulted Nomad.
“Take er drink, pard,”’ and he uncorked the canteen and
handed it to the scout.

The scout assuaged his thirst and handed the canteen
back. The trapper drank long and deep. The effect on
both was magical.

“Now. ef we on’y had some o’ thet fer ther hosses!”
murmured Nomad. “Ye’re purty small, pilgrim,’ he
added, punching the prisoner with the toe of his boot.
“Me an’ Buffler, hyar, saved ther wuthless life o’ Cass
Hickson an’ got ourselves inter no end 0’ trouble a-doin’
of it, an’ hyar you wouldn’t give us er sip out o’ yer can-
teen till we'd shut off yer breath a bit. Some people aire
sartinly too mean ter live. What’ll we do with ther on-
nery whelp, Buffler?”

“We'll question him further, in a few minutes, Nick,”
replied the ‘scout, “and we'll continue to use the strap as
a persuader. He may not need it, however. We'll go
after the horses and leave him here to think it over until
we get back.”

Nomad picked up his belt, strung the holsters on it,
put back the cartridges in their loops, replaced the revol-
vers and buckled the strap about his waist.

“Ef we're goin’ fer ther hosses, Buffler,” said he, “we
kin use ther dog’s rope. I’d ruther use thet on ther cur
than a good, honest ca’tridge-belt.”

The ruffian scowled after the two pards as they van-
ished around the rock spur.

“T’ve met a lot er mean men, Buffler,” remarked No-
mad, “but thet speciment takes ther persimmon.”

“The question is,’ returned the scout, “why was he left
there by Hickson and the other two? Where are his
horse and the horses belonging to Hickson and the rest?
And what’s become of Hickson and the princess of the
Moquis? These are things it is necessary for us to know,
say. nothing about the location of that water-hole. The
prisoner has got to tell us all these things, and o

The scout came to an abrupt halt. He and Nomad
were close to the place where the horses and the coyote
dog had been left—in fact, they were looking directly at
the spot—but the animals had ‘disappeared!

Buffalo Bill turned a blank look at his trapper pard.

“What's ter pay, Buffler?” the latter queried.

“I left the horses here, and they’re gone!”

Old Nomad went up in the air.

“Hickson an’ them other two roughs heve come erlong
an’ run ther animiles off !” he declared.

“No,” answered the mystified scout, examining the

said Old

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where the horses had stood, “no men have been
sere.”

“Then ther critters got loose an’ wandered off, Buf-
fler,” Nomad continued, coming close and taking a look
at the ground on his own account.

“Here is our trail to the place,” said the scout, “over-
laying the trail of the other horses. But there are no
back-tracks!’

Sometimes men have concealed their presence by bind-
ing horseshoes and even horse-hoofs to the bottoms of
their feet, thus showing an animal’s track instead of a
man’s. But there could be nothing of that sort here. If
the horses had been led away, there would certainly have
to be back-tracks,

The scout followed the old trail for fifty feet out from
the mesa wall. There was absolutely no sign that the
horses had been led back over the course, and no sign
that they had been led to the right or left of it.

A place was found where the coyote dog had lain down
in his tether, but his paw-marks—faintly showing in the
sand—did not lead toward the open.

The astounded scout shaded his eyes with his hand and
looked along the side of the mesa. Nota trace of the
missing animals was to be seen. The perfectly level na-
ture of the country, save where the sheer walls of the
mesa arose from it, made it impossible for the animals to
have been anywhere within several miles without being
seen.

“Sacred medicine-bags!” cried Old Nomad, giving a
sudden start and looking up at the high walls of the
mesa. “Ain’t this hyar what they call ther ‘Enchanted
Mesa Bufler??:.

' “There are a good many ‘enchanted mesas,’ Nick,” said
the scout. “This may be one of them, for all I know.”

“Waugh! Buffler, et’s the one. Hosses was shore be-
witched—thet’s what become o’ them.”

“Nonsense! The prisoner we have, around toward the
other side of the mesa, can shed some light on this mys-
terious disappearance, and I’ll gamble my spurs on it.”

Buffalo Bill started back toward the spot where the
prisoner had been left. Old Nomad followed, and the
scout heard him muttering as he came:

“T no cumtusx this et all. Wonder ef the killin’ o’ thet
sacred rattler put er hoodoo over us?”

The situation was altogether too serious for joking,
but Buffalo Bill smiled a little at the way his trapper pard
was inclined to heap all responsibility upon the back of
the sacred rattlesnake.

Then, the next minute, the smile faded from the scout's
face. He had reached the place where the prisoner had
been left, but, like the horses and the coyote dog. the
man had vanished, leaving no trail behind.

A wild yell came from behind the scout. He whirled
just in time to see Old Nomad drop limply over against
the rocks, his face a picture of horrified astonishment,
his glassy eyes riveted on the spot where the prisoner
had been lying.

“We got ther ha’nts, Buffer!” gurgled Old Nomad.
“Thet thar sarpint hes shore nailed er hoodoo on ter us.
‘Twar sartinly a bad day fer We, Us an’ Comp’ny when
we met up with Cass Hickson. No hosses, no water.
This hyar desert, I reckon, is goin’ ter be ther end o’
you an’ me,”

THE BUFFALO BILL

  

SLORTES:
CHAPTER IX:
FACE TO FACE WITH DEATH.

“T knowed er feller oncet, Buffler,” went on Old No-
mad, with an awesome air, “es was on good terms with
er gang er evil sperrits which he called ther whiskizoos.
He used ter see ’°em eround him, but no one else could.
Sometimes they looked like leetle boys in red caps, an’
sometimes they was hop-toads with gold feet an’ brass
collars, an’ sometimes they was these hyar sacred rattlers
like ther one we killed er while back. Waugh! Must
er been oriul fer thet feller, seein’ all them things, seein’
all them things jest by hisself an’ no one else able ter git
an eye onter “em. -Et was ther whiskizoos thet run off
ther hosses an’ ther coyote dog, Buffler; an’ et was them
as toted ther pris’ner inter ther Unknown i

“Nick,” interrupted Buffalo Bill, “[’m mighty surprised
to hear you talk that way. There’s a rational explana-
tion for everything that happens, and consequently there
must be one for the disappearance of the horses and the
prisoner.”

“Whiskizoos,” mumbled Old Nomad doggedly, with a
wild look around. “They takes diff’rent shapes, Buffler.
Ye know what I’m bettin’? I’m bettin’ thet coyote dorg
wasn't no dorg at all, but jes’ a whiskizoo thet took dorg
shape so’st he could git er crack at us on account o’ thet
sacred rattler.”

 

“You're wild, Nick; plumb locoed. Here we are, how-

ever, hung up without food or water. So far as |
know, the nearest food and water to be had is back at
Acoma, and we never could walk there.”

‘We'd starve on ther way, Buffler. Wisht ther whiski-
zoos, afore they stole the hosses, would hev left them
buckskin sacks 0’ grub behind; an’ I wisht, before they
toted off ther pris’ner, they’d hev left thet water canteen.
Thet would hev helped ter keep body an’ soul tergether
until ther whiskizoos come arter us.”

“We'll walk around the foot of the mesa, Nick,” said
the scout, who wasn’t believing a whole lot in the whiski-
zoos and was a little put out with the old man on their
account. “We may pick up some clue that will lead us to
the horses.”

“Never will, Buffler,’ averred Nomad solemnly, “but
thar ain’t no harm in tryin’,”

Thereupon they started. The mesa wall, as the scout
judged, was between five hundred and seven hundred feet
high, perpendicular in some places and overhanging in
others. Nowhere did it appear scalable. Blocks of sand-
stone lay at the foot of the wall, heaped into small spurs.
The scout and his pard had to go around these spurs in
order to follow the wall. :

The hour was a little after noon, and the hottest part
of the sweltering day. Up to the moment the two pards
began circling the foot of the mesa they had been in the

shadow of it, and the shade had tempered the heat. As”

they started around the wall, however, they came into
the fiery rays of the sun, and the sudden increase of the
heat almost took their breath.

“This hyar is wuss’n bein’ burnt at ther stake, Buf-
fler,” declared Old Nomad, drawing one sleeve across his
dripping face. “Who'd ever hev thort ther sun could be
so hot?” Nomad went limp, just then, and lopped over
against the rocks for a moment’s rest, The moment he
touched the rocks he sprang from them with a startled
“Wow !”

“What's the matter, Nick?” inquired Buffalo Bill.

   
   
    
    
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
    
   
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
   
   
  
    
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
 
 
  
   
     
    
   
  
  
  
    
    

 

  
     

 

out
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“Ther wall o’ ther clift is wuss’n a red- hot stove. I
could fry bacon by hangin’ et up thar.”
“The wall has gathered the sun’s heat, so, of course,

it’s hot. One of us must keep -on around the mesa wall,

however. If -you don’t. think you.can stand the trip,
Nick, you go ‘back into the shade and wait until I get
around.”

“Did I ever fail ter foller whar ye led, Bufflerr” re-
turned the old’man with injured dignity.

“Never.”

“Ner I ain’t goin’ ter fail now. Keep er joggin’ an’
I'll manage ter keep ye in sight. Ef ther Peso-la-ki
b’longed ter me, this minit, ’d trade ther hull bizness
fer a drink er water. Waugh, but I’m dry. Dry from
my whiskers cl’ar down ter my spurs,”

The scout, resuming the lead, proceeded on into the
scorching heat. The mesa appeared to be an irregular
circle in form. The extent of its diameter or circum-
ference the scout could not know, but it seemed as
though he and Nomad would have to walk at least a
mile in the stifling heat before they could again come
into the shade.

As the scout proceeded, he searched the gleaming
desert with his eyes, and examined the sand under his
feet. He could not discover a trace of any living thing.

The dazzling light began to blind him. A little later
he felt a compression at his chest, as though a heavy
weight were resting on it. At about the same time the
sandstone boulders at the foot of the mesa wall began
to dance and swim before his eyes.

With a muttered exclamation, he put both hands to
his head and threw himself down.

“A touch of the sun,” he thought, “and small wonder,
considering this furnace-like air.”

He recovered somewhat, presently, and looked around
for Old Nomad. The trapper was reclining on the sand,
his body uplifted on one elbow. With his hat-brim
pulled down to shade his eyes, he was staring fixedly into
the desert.

ah hat ails you, Nick?’ called the scout.

“Look at them thar tadpoles doin’ hee sun-dance !”
cried the trapper hoarsely. ‘‘Watch ’em squirm! Never
see nothin’ like et, in all my born days. Whoop-ya! go
et, ye varmints! Say, Buffler, wharever ye find tadpoles
yell shore find water. Jes’ shoo them dancin’ tadpoles
away, will ye, an’ bring me er drink. I’d like erbout a
gallon, fer a starter.”

A thrill shot through the scout’s nerves. His old pard’s
reason was succumbing to the awful heat, and the lack of
water. That was the first symptom; the next would be

‘raving delirium, and the next would be—death.

Struggling to his feet, Buffalo Bill staggered to the
old man’s side.

“Rouse up, Nick!’ cried the scout huskily. “There
aren’t any tadpoles over there, nor anything———”

“Right ye aire, Buffler,” panted Nomad. ‘They ain’t
tadpoles, they’re pieces o’ snakes, forty-7leven diffrent
pieces, an’ they’re all doin’ ther sun-dance. Hoop-a-la!
Allymand left! Fust four for’ard an’ back! Right
sashay! Promenade all!” Old Nomad staggered to his
feet and pulled from his pocket the rattles of the sacred
snake. “Promenade ALL, I said!” he whooped, and
flung the rattles far out into the desert. “Jine ther rest
o’ ther snake, you,” he babbled. Then he tumbled down
in the sand again with a wild, uncanny laugh. “Et’s a

 

THE BUPEALO

   
   

BILL STORIES. ! aS

rattlin’ good dance, now!” he mumbled, still staring out
across the open. .

“Nick!” murmured the scout, bending down. His own
head was whirling so he could scarcely see the man on
the ground. “This won't do, old pard. Get up, and let
me help you on around the mesa and into the shade
again.’

The old man looked up, with fear and amazement in
his face.

“Buffler,” he whispered, “them things ain't pieces er
snake; they’re—they’re whiskizoos!”

The trapper fell back and lay silently on the sand.

a Bei ate it 1 dont: get him out of this,’ thought the
scout. “Ill have to get him into the hate: a TV’ll have
to carry him,”

He stooped lower and, after one or two attempts, suc-
ceeded in lifting Old Nomad’s head and shoulders. With
tremendous effort he dragged him fifteen or twenty feet,
then dropped him and dropped on the scorching sand be-
side him.

“This will never do,” thought the scout, fighting for
life in almost the last ditch,

He rose to his knees, and swayed drunkenly as he held
his head upright. He was looking into a scene that filled
him with wonder and hope. A eel stretch of woods,
carpeted with aa lay before him, and through the
woods gureled a ribbon of water.

For an instant the scout’s dizzy brain was deceived.
The next instant he knew the scene for a mirage, a tor-
turing cheat, and dashed his hands fiercely across his
eyes.

The woods and the stream vanished. What he saw. now
was only the desert, shimmering with heat-waves.

Something struck soddenly on the sand at. his side.
Where it came from, the scout did not know. In his
present distraught condition he was not curious. What it
was he found out by groping for the object with his
hands.

A canteen! He picked it up, uncorked it with shaking
fingers and allowed the fluid to trickle down the parched
throat of his old pard. Then, after doing his duty by his
comrade, he raised the canteen to his own lips.

He revived. Vigor and realization returned to him.
Rising to his feet, he lifted his eyes to the top of the
mesa, but could see no one.

CHAPTER X.
THE ROPE.

The draft of water revived Old Nomad almost as
quickly as it had revived Buffalo Bill.

The trapper sat up, blinking in the sun-glare.

““*Pears like I been’out.er my head a leetle, Buffer,”
said he. “This hyer heat is some fierce. What ye got
thar? A canteen? Jumpin’ wildcats! Whar’d et come
from?”

“T don’t know where it came from, Nick.”

The trapper gave the scout a queer look.

“Ain't out o’ yer head yerself, aire ye?’ he asked.

No

“Then whyever don’t ye know whar et come from?”

“You had petered out, Nick, and my. senses were fast
going, when that canteen dropped in the sand beside me.
Our lives hung upon it, old pard. It came from aloft

 

Listes enintinnneessit linia tee ethan tatel At fale th

    
 

 
   
   

16 THE BUFPALO
. somewhere, and it came in the nick of time-——that’s all I
know about it.”

““Whiskizoos,” remarked Nomad sententiously. ‘““They
tantalize fellers like thet, sometimes; teasin’ "em on so’st
ter make ther finish harder when et finally comes.”

“Our finish hasn’t come, and isn’t coming,” said the
scout. “Get up, Nick, and we'll go on around the mesa
and into the shade.”

With plenty of water to fall back on, the rest of that
journey through the sun was not particularly trying.
The two pards came into the shade at about the place
where Buffalo Bill had left the horses, when he had
heard the revolver-shot.

“We've made the round of the mesa, Nick,’ said the
scout, “and haven’t found out anything about the ani-
mals. It’s a mighty big mystery what’s become of them.”

Old Nomad shook his head gruesomely.

“We'll never git back ter Acoma in no three sleeps,

Buffler,” he remarked,

“Yes, we will,” averred the scout confidently.

“What're we goin’ ter do?”

“Well, we know that Hickson and his gang are here,
somewhere. We know, too, that, in some way, they’re
responsible for the disappearance of the horses. That
being the case, we'll keep on hunting until we find Hick-
son.’

“Got any idee Hickson is up on top o’ ther mesa?”
‘Some one must be up there. Otherwise, how did that
canteen come down to us?”

“Waugh! Hickson never throwed ther canteen down.”

"Faquita may have done it.”’

Yd Nomad shook his head. He had his own ideas
ae the “whiskizoos.”

“We'll keep on to where we left that prisoner of ours,”
pursued the scout. ““There’s a way out of this predica-
ment, and it’s up to us to find it.”

They started, rounded a small spur and halted in
astonishment. Before them, against the face of the mesa
wall, dangled a rope.

Old Nomad flopped down in the sand and bunched up
his knees under his chin.

“Wouldn't thet rattle yer spurs, Buffler?” he muttered.
“A rope! Ill sw’ar et wasn’t. thar when I went skirmish-
in/-On ¢ ahead, time we captered thet feller with ther poodle
face; an’ I’ll sw’ar et wasn’t thar when you an’ me come
back ter look fer ther hosses, an traveled t’other way
ergin ter look fer ther pris’ner.”’

“No, said the scout, “that rope has been dropped
while we were coming around the mesa.”

“Ther question is, who drapped et?”

“It must have been the same person that threw us the
canteen.”

‘“Meanin’ Faquita, Buffler ?”

ay don't think we have any other friends on top of the
mesa.’

“Thet thar rope don’t come from tier top o’ ther mesa.
It ’u’d hev ter be seven er eight hundred feet long t er
reach ther top. This rope don’ t come from half- -way ha

Buffalo Bill cast his eyes searchingly aloft. Old No-
mad was right. The rope wasn’t more than a hundred
feet long, and consisted of four spliced riatas. It trailed
over the edge of what seemed to be a projecting ledge.

Owing to the location of the ledge there was no seeing
over it, or discovering what was on its top.

Half- -way between the ledge and the foot of the wall, a
projecting stratum of stone crossed the wall’s face at an

 

 

Biel

 

STORIES

   

 

 

angle. There were also other projections, which might
be used as temporary footholds in climbing upward to the
ledge, but on the projecting stratum it seemed possible
for one to pause and take considerable rest.

Buffalo Bill went to the rope and tried it with his
weight. It held firmly.

Thinkin’ er goin’ up, Buffler?’ asked Nomad.

“The rope was thrown down, | think, for that pur-
pose. What else could it have been dropped for?”

“Reckon ye’re right, Buffler. .’'m only wonderin’ how
much better off we "d be roostin’ on thet thar ledge.”

“We don’t need to roost there. If we find there’s noth-
ing worth while when we reach h the ledge, we can slide
down the rope again. But I’m sure there'll be something
up there that will be worth the climb.”

“However do ye figger et, Buffler ?”

“Some one must have been there to throw the rope
and make it fast.”

“Thet’s right, too.
fust.”’

Buffalo Bill had meant to make the essay himself, but

I’m ther lightest an [ll climb up

his trapper pard sprang for oe rope and began climbing.

before he could interfere. For a man of his years, Old
Nomad was wiry and catlike. As he hand-over-handed
his way up the rope, he walked up the wall from one
slight projection to another. Buffalo Bill stared upward
with a#good deal of anxiety. It was with a feeling of

intense relief that he saw the trapper swing to the angular -

Le fifty feet above, and seat himself comfortably.

So fur so a Buffler,” puffed the trapper. “When
A started up, 1 didn’t know but Hickson was- at t’other
endo’ ther rope layin’ ter cut it-an’ drap one-er us on
ther rocks. Reckon we got er friend at t’other end in-
stid er an enemy.” ;

“What sort of a place.is that you’re sitting on, Nick?”
called the scout.

“Purty sizeable, Buffler. Kinder steep, an’ et angles
off into a bunch o’ loose rocks, whar I kain’t see. Et’s
on’y a cut on ther clift’s face, howsumever; good ter set
on, but not much good for a trail. Waal, hyer I go fer
a look at ther end o’ ther rope.”

The trapper arose fearlessly, gripped the rope and
swing Out over space. Up and up he went, and finally
gained the end of his venturesome climb.

Here he rested, as he had done on the shelf, his feet
dangling over the cliffside.

“What do you find, Nick?”

“Heap more’n I thort,” called down Nomad. “Ain’t no
one hyer, though, as I kin see. Thar’s a chanst fer dis-
kiveries, howsumever.”

Then I'll come up and join you.”

VE reckon ¢t's safe enough, pard. Anyways, ye kin

count on me ter watch this end o’ ther road.”

The scout pulled up his belt a notch, laid hold of the
tope and began to climb. It was a hard struggle, but
iron nerve, steel muscles and sinuous agility won to the
Ges There the scout stopped to rest. :

‘Ye're a fernomenon, Buffler,” called. Old Nomad,
from his perch aloft. “Tt didn’ t take ye more’n half ther
time ter git thet fur as it did me. From whar I set I kin
almost see ther Black Hills. I reckon you kain’t see
much further’n ther Platte from down thar.”

The trapper chuckled over the joke. Buffalo Bill was
glad to observe that his pard was getting more like him-
self. The baneful effect of the slaughtered rattlesnake
appeared to be fading.

shouted the scout.

 

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But the trapper’s: merry mood vanished suddenly.
Buffalo Bill, looking upward, saw his face change into
one-of consternation.

“Mounting lion, Buffler!” yelled Old Nomad. “Climb!
Git outer ther way! Quick!”

The scout started to his feet, thrilled by the alarm
of the trapper. Casting his eyes along the narrow ledge,
he saw, moving toward him, crouching until its belly
dragged the rocks, the form of a large mountain lion.

To follow Old Nomad’s advice and climb to safety on
the ledge above before the animal could spring was out
of the question. The scout, being nearer, could see to
better advantage than could his pard, from above. The
mountain lion had crept from the nest of rocks and,
when the scout’s attention was called to its noiseless
approach, it was nearly on the point of springing.

The scout saw the gleaming eyes, noted the lashing of
the tufted tail, saw even the flexing of the muscles under
the brute’s glossy hide. While he saw all this, his quick
mind was at work.

The ledge was frightfully narrow for a combat, yet the
narrow. limits might prove the scout’s salvation. He
whipped off his coat and folded it over his left arm,
crooking the arm in front of his face to guard against
the animal’s claws and fangs. He was vaguely aware
that the rope was twitching, and surmised that Old No-
nad was slipping down to be of what aid he might.

Simultaneously with the mountain lion’s spring, a yell
came from above.

“Watch yer eye, Buffler,”’ cried Nick Nomad to Buffalo
Bill, “an’ we'll git ther pizen critter between us!’

The mountain lion was in the air as these words
were shouted, and the scout, his sharp eyes alive to every
detail of the perilous situation, hugged the rough wall
behind him.

There was a screech, the sound of a sharp impact of
body striking body, a sound of rending cloth, a moment’s
hanging together of brute and man, and then the moun-
tain lion dropped from the ledge and fell, twisting and
turning, to the rocks below.

So much force had Buffalo Bill been required to use in
loosening the claws and fangs of the mountain lion, that
he likewise lost his balance. Headlong he plunged to-
ward the abyss that yawned beside the ledge. The rope
dangled near. With a last hope he reached for it, and,
at the. very instant he reached, Nick Nomad, who was
still hanging to it, swung it into his grasp.

The rope was caught by the scout, his fall stayed, and
he dropped back on the ledge.

 

CHAPTER XI.
MYSTERIOUS TREACHERY.

That was a close call—as close a call, perhaps, as Buf-
falo Bill had ever had. Nomad, excited and unstrung,
gained the ledge and sat beside his pard.

“Buffler,” said he, “thar’s some kind er luck takin’ keer
o ye. Bullets kain’t tech ye, an’ mounting lions kaint
kill ye, an’ et ain’t on ther keerds thet ye’re ter break yer
neck tumblin’ from er clift. Ye’re charmed by some-
thin’, I reckon.” !

‘WWhiskizoos,” laughed the scout, slipping into his torn
coat as he sat on the ledge. “It was a slim chance, but
the narrowness of the ledge saved me. I counted on

at ance anchcneptnectltven—rior=e hens inti oetnberttpineitsa atte Atty ait kth sme hehnertnsastpie tretinoin

THE BUFFALO BILL STORIES. Ga

that. If the lion had got a foothold when I cast him off,
a struggle would have followed in which we might both —

have dropped over. But the lion, when I tore from his
grip, dropped into the air.” :

They both looked downward. At the foot of the wall
the brute was writing in a death-agony.

“IT wondered ye didn’t use yer revolver,’ said the

trapper. :

“There wasn’t time, and the chances are a revolver-sho
wouldn’t have killed, at once. I preferred to use my hands
for fighting the brute off.”

“Which shows how important et is to have sense at a
time when sense is needed,” commented the old man. ‘“‘As
fer me, Buffler——”

What the trapper had on the end of his tongue never
appeared. Something flashed past the two on the ledge
writhing snakelike before their amazed eyes, and falling
upon the body of the mountain lion.

“Ther rope!” whispered Old Nomad huskily, gripping —

his pard with a tense hand. ;

“The rope!’ returned the scout, looking upward to-
ward the ledge from which the rope had been suspended.

“Some pizen varmint has cut ther rope on us!’ shouted
the trapper, in a spasm of rage. “Whar is he? Why
don’t ther treacherous whelp show his face, up thar?”

Nomad had a revolver in his hand, and his eyes, like
the scout’s, were fastened on the edge of the projecting
rock above. No one could be seen there.

“Who did et?’ went on the furious old trapper.
“Hello, thar, you!’”’ he shouted at the silent rock over-
head.

No answer came back, only the echoes of Nomad’s
voice bounding and rebounding into mysterious silence.

“No use, old pard,’” said the scout quietly. “It must
have been Hickson, or one of his gang.”

“But why was ther rope put thar in ther fust place,
Buffer ?”

“Tt was the Moqui princess did that.”

“An’ ye think she done et unbeknownst ter Hickson ?”

“That is the only way I can explain it.”

“Then Hickson found et out an’ cut ther rope?”

“There is nothing else for us to believe. But it’s all
guesswork. Why should Faquita want to befriend us

with the canteen and the rope, if she is hand in glove with

Hickson and his gang?”

“Pass ther ante, pard.. Ets queer, ther hull og
from ther time we met Hickson an’ killed ther sacred
snake up ter this hyar blessed minit. An’ we ain’t done
with ther queer didoes yit. Speakin’ o’ thet canteen, how-
sumever, makes me thirsty. Did ye save thet durin’ yer
squabble with ther catermount ?”

The scout handed over the canteen, which he had

hitched to his belt-before starting up the rope. Nomad
took a long pull at it, and the scout drank as the canteen
came from his pard’s hands.

“Waal, hyar we are,” fretted Old Nomad, “too fur up
ter drap, an’ too fur down ter climb ter ther top. Reckon
we kin starve ter death jes’ as easy on this strip o’ rock
as down on ther level plain. An’ when life gits too hard
ter bear, we kin roll off ther edge and fall down on ther
catermount an’ ther rope. Waugh! Pleasant outlook fer
Buffler an’ Pard Nick.”

“We're hung up here, all right,’ said Buffalo Bill,
thoughtfully, “but we’re not beaten, by a long shot.”

“Ye'll never git licked, Buffler, so long as thar’s air
flickerin’ inter yer lungs.”

  

 

   

Lc atest este tate Dietinatern ch mice etiam nnn titmentetendtteetormstinh patience wtnesanscrasciigh AMM
eccrine operate Thy er

 

 

18 THE BUFFALO

    

“That’s the way to look at the affairs of life, Nick.
You're old enough to understand that.”
~“T-ain’t-so’' old but thet I kin take lessons from. ye,
Buffler, every day ye kin find in ther almanac. I'd like
yore idees, jes’ now, erbout two fellers balancin’ them-
selves over space, with nowhar ter fall but off, as ther
pote has et, an’ nowhar ter set but on. Efi we got er
chanst, I’d shore be pleased ter Varn ther number.”

“What did you find on the ledge, up there, Nick?”
asked the scout.

“Found er hole in ther clift back er ther ledge.”’

“A hole, eh? That’s interesting.”

“Tnterestin’, Buffler, but not important. We couldn't
reach thet thar hole without wings.”

“That hole,’ ruminated the scout, “certainly leads into
the interior of the mesa.”

“So I reckoned, Buffler, but I give up my time ter
watchin’ you, an’ didn’t try no explorin’. Ef we was up
thar tergether, an’ went ter lookin’ eround, more’n likely
we'd find somethin’ surprisin’. But we ain't up thar.
We're hyar, an’ hyar I reckon we fixes ter stay.”

“No,” said Buffalo Bill, with significant emphasis.

Nomad ran his fingers perplexedly through his long
hair. on

“What's ther ante, anyways, Buffler?’’. he queried.
“Ye’ve shore got me guessin’.”

“Well, Nick, I guess there’s no doubt about my having
a clash with a catamount on this ledge, is there?”

“Thetis plain enough,”

“How did the catamount reach the ledge?’

The old man drew in his breath and a slow light of
understanding crossed his weather-beaten face.

“Waugh! Pm er ijut. Never knowed nothin’ an’
never will. -Shore ther catermount was hyar, an’ shore
et must hev had some way er gittin’ hyar. Et couldn’t
hev clumb ther face er ther clift, ner et couldn’t hev
slid down from up top. Besides thet, et was sartinly a
purty healthy catermount, an’ looked like et had been
livin’ well.”

“T see you catch the idea,’ went on Buffalo Bill. “The
catamount came from that nest of rocks, up the ledge.
We don’t have to be on that rock overhead to begin our
exploring, but can commence right here.”

“Keno, Buffler.”

“You're on the side nearest the rocks, and as I can’t
get around you, you'd better lead off. The footing is
none too good, though, so we'd both better take off our
boots.”’

“Ther shelf ain’t more’n three inches wide in some
places between hyar an’ them rocks,’ remarked Old
‘Nomad, balancing himself carefully while he removed his
boots. “Hyar I go, Buffler,’ he added, a moment later,
as he got up, holding the boots in his right hand by the
straps.

He could not take the boots in his left hand, as they
would throw him too far from the cliff and might pre-
cipitate a fall.

It was a risky route, with death staring grimly into
the faces of the two at every step of the way. Almost
inch by inch the old man.proceeded, and at the narrowest
point he had to shift his left holster around the belt to
his back.

“Reckon er catermount could find good footin’ hyar,
by toein’ in some’at,’’ Nomad called back, “‘but a feller
with feet like mine is hangin’ over space altogether too
much fer comfort.”

BILL STORIES.

They were half an hour gaining the nest of rocks.

-At some time or other, those rocks had broken away

from the upper part of the cliff and found lodgment on

the ledge. In falling, they had left an opening into the

very heart of the heap.. That opening, as Buffalo Bill
figured the matter, was to prove their salvation or their
defeat. :

Halting at the rock-pile to put on his boots, Old No-
mad immediately afterward began crawling into the hole.
The opening was not very large, but it was worn smooth
by the coming and going of the catamount.

“Tt gits bigger as ye git inside, Buffler,” came Nomad’s
muffled voice.

By that time he was half into the hole.

“When you get in a little farther, Nick,’ said the
scout, ‘‘strike a match and tell me what you can see.”’

“Et’s openin’ up like ther mammoth cave,” Nomad
went on, as his boots disappeared. “Kinder down hill,
an’ slipprier’n a greased pole. I'll strike er match an’
take er look eround.”

Peering into the hole, the scout heard the sound of a
scratching match. The light flickered, revealing a sort
of cavern, Nomad sitting up, head and shoulders down
the descent.

‘What do you see ahead of you, Nick?” asked the
scout,

“A chunk er darkness, Buffler. An’ et ain’t ahead o’
me—et’s down below. , Wisht we had thet rope, kase
I’m erfeared thet .

At that instant Nomad shot away into the gloom. A
long yell trailed out behind him, and the apprehensive
scout saw the gleam of the match fade into a mere point
of light and disappear.

 

 

CHAPTER XII.
THE INTERIOR OF THE MESA,

Buffalo Bill, startled at the way his pard had been
snatched into the blank gloom, shouted at the top of his
voice. The call did not receive an answer.

What had become of Nick?

Crawling carefully into the hole, the scout took a
loose stone from near the cavern’s mouth and tossed it
down the descent. It did not bound, but glided off with a
low murmuring that quickly diminished and died out.

“Nick struck the slide,” thought the scout, “and it is
up to me to do the same thing. There is nothing else
tor it.) | can't oo pack.’

He tried to lower himself gradually, but the descent

was like glass and there seemed to be nothing to hold .

to. Suddenly he started—not slowly, but shooting down-
ward into space. He was only a few moments making
the descent, and felt himself bearing upward. Gradually,

on this upward slope, his momentum ceased and he came » »*¥

to a stop.

“Nick!” he called.

“Waugh!” came a voice. “Thet you, Buffler ?”

“Yes, Where are you?”

For answer, a form carromed down from somewhere
above and the scout and his old pard came together with
a jolt.

“Jever see sich er pizen place as what this is?” queried
the disgusted old trapper. ‘Jes’ when ye think ye’re safe
ye begin ter slide. Down one slope, an’ up another.

- Whar aire we now, Buffler?”’

   

   
   
   

a ee eet en ae

 

 

“At the foot of both slopes, pard. Leastways, we're
both at a standstill, and we wouldn’t be able to stop if we
weren't at the bottom.”

“Thort I was gone when I started ter scoot, Buffler.
Kain’t begin ter describe ther feelin’ I had when I began
racin into ther mesa. An’ you follered! Waugh}. 1
didn’t think ye’d take ther chanst when ye saw what hap-
pened ter me.”

“I had to take the chance, old pard. It wouldn’t have
done me any good to crawl back on the ledge.”

Their voices boomed resonantly in the subterranean
regions, proving conclusively that they were in a cavern
of considerable dimensions.

“Ther ole mesa must be holler,” said Nomad. “Who'd
hev b’leeved et? Wonder ef thar’s any way out on top?”

“There must be same way out at the bottom, anyhow.
Hickson and the rest could never have got in here if
there hadn’t been.”

The scout drew upon his supply of matches for a light.
In the feeble glow, each saw what a narrow escape he
had had from destruction. They were on top of a ridge.
The top of the ridge was flat, and somewhat cup-shaped.
Where the two pards had come to a halt in their sliding,
an easy slope led away into the darkness on the left.
But the slope was narrow. The slides to right and left
of it had precipitous sides, dropping sheer into black-

“Wuh!” muttered Nomad. “Ef we’d ever flopped over
ther edge er ther chute, Buffler, we’d ’a’ never knowed
what struck us. Thet catermount, I reckon, on’y used
thet hole in ther rocks fer a breathin’-place. He must
hev gone up an’ down a good many times ter w’ar ther
incline so smooth. I’m guessin’ how he ever got’ up
that ae ail”

“T don’t believe that slide was worn smooth by cata-
mounts, or any other wild animals,’ said the scout.

“What then, Buffler °”

“Give it up, Nick.. Perhaps we'll find out before we get
out of this place.”

‘“What’s ther next move? I don’t know what ter do
no more’n a fool. Kinder all tangled up in my bearin’s.
Et needed this kind of er experience, I reckon, ter top
off ther queer doin’s we’ve been mixed up in sence killin’
ther sacred snake. I’d like mighty well ter hev a snack

ACE Gat”

“And I’d like it mighty well if we had a lantern, or a
candle. It won’t be long before we run out of matches in
this hole in the ground. But there’s only one way we
can go from here, Nick, and that’s down the slope.”

“THeave ahead, Buffler, an’ I’ll jog erlong clost at yer
heels.”

They descended the slope leading from the inclines.
The rock was worn out several inches, proving to the
scout that many feet must have gone that way since the

THE BUPEAEO

      
    

 

BILL -SPORIES. - LUO

discovery was made that there were subterranean pas- _
sages in the mesa. As the scout proceeded on into the ©
gloom, he was filled with wonder at this latest discovery
of his and Nomad’s.

The descent from the inclines was not a long one. At
the bottom of it they came to a place where the worn trail.
divided, one fork continuing on at a level and the other
leading upward by a flight of rude steps cut in the tock.

“Which way now, Nick?” asked Buffalo Bill.

“Six er one an’ half a dozen er the other, pard,” re-
plied Nomad. ‘“Mebby ef we go up ther steps we'll come
out on top o’ ther mesa. Ef them buckskin bags o’ chuck
aire in thet direction, then I’m fer climbin’.”

“Climb it isf’ assented the scout, and they mounted.

For a long time they continued steadily upward.

“Seems like we’ve clim er mile,” grumbled Old Nomad.
“Climbin’ is shore hard on a man with er empty stum-
mick,”

“T see light ahead, Nick,” said the stout. “A few steps
more and we'll be on top of the hill.”

The light above was daylight. It steadily increased un-
til, at the head of the long flight, the two pards came out
on a ledge. To a small boulder near the place where
they left the stairway was tied a section of rope. The
rope was no more than six feet long, and stretched to-
ward the brink of the ledge.

“Howlin? hyeners!’”’ gasped the astonished trapper.
“This hyer’s my second visit ter this place, Buffler!
Thet’s ther upper end o’ ther rope we was climbin’ a
spell ago.”

“Right you are, Nick!’ exclaimed Buffalo Bill, “Here
is where Faquita tied the rope and lowered it to us, and
here is where Hickson, or some of his men, cut it while
we were on the shelf below.”

“Clear as mud, Buffler. Ther more I l’arn ther less I
understand. What was ther pizen place used fer?”

“That’s hard to tell, yet. It looks to me, though, as
if it might have been inhabited by the Moquis, once.”

“Fine place fer a hang-out. Outlaws ’u’d like this er
heap. Ther on’y objection I got is thet et’s a long ways
ter ther winders 0’ ther house. See how easy we'd hev
had et, Buffler, ef we could hev shinned up ther rope ter
this hyar place. Et would hev saved us thet slide, an’
we could hev walked down inter ther mesa like er couple
o’ gents goin’ down-stairs in er Omaha ho-tel. Thar
ain’t no grub hyar, howsumever.”

“We'll have to retrace our course, Nick, and take the
other fork of the trail.”

The scout passed into the opening and went down the
steps without a light, wishing to save his matches. With
care the descent could be safely made in the darkness.
There was no talking while they were going down the
stone steps. Both had to be wary, and they needed their
breath for other things.

  
     

Se

SERRE SS nis

 

20 THE BUFFALO
When they came close to the bottom of the flig
heard sounds, as of some one proceeding cautiously
along the level trail below. The scout whirled. caught
Old Nomad’s arm and breathed a quick “Hist!”
' Nomad took the hint and grew mute. He also had
heard the sounds below, and felt the urgency of investi-
gating before they went any farther,

ht they

The sounds below likewise ceased. Then, while the
pards waited and listened, a gruff voice came up to them:
“Thet you, Cass.?”
“Sure,” answered the scout gruffly.

‘it’s me, Pearson. Whar ye been? Kazam an’ me
hey been huntin’ all over this hyer infernal place fer
ye. Clickett got away from us some’r’s, an’ he has all
the candles. It ain’t safe ter go pluggin’ eround these
diggin’s in ther dark, never knowin’ what yell run up
ag’inst. We got ther gal, all right.”

“Whar is she, Pearson?”

The scout endeavored to imitate Hickson’s voice as
well as he could.

“Back erways with Kazam, We heerd ye stumblin’
down them steps, an’ didn’t know but et mout be Buffler
Bill an’ thet pard 0’ his’n,”

“You seen anythin’ o’ Buffler Bill?” returned the scout.

“Ain't been able ter see nothin’ sence Clickett left us.
I jest told ye, Cass, he went off with all ther candles.
Yan an’ him hes all ther supply o’ candles an’ matches.
Why don’t ye light up?”

“It ain’t healthy, Pearson. How’d ye ketch ther gal ef
ye didn’t hev no light?”
“She tried ter dodge past us on a narrer part o’ ther
trail.”

“Bring ther gal hyer, Pearson, to the® foot o’ ther
steps.”

“All right. Jest er minit, Cass,”
Pearson was heard retreating into the darkness,

“Waugh!” jubilated Old Nomad, under his breath.
“You shore take ther prize, Buffler, fer slick deals. I
call this hyar work o’ your’n oncommon clever.”

“I fooled Pearson,” the scout whispered back. “Now
to get to the bottom of the steps and strike a blow for
the Moquis. Something has come up so that the whites
and the princess are not getting along very well together.
We'll take care of Pearson and Kazam, and rescue the
girl. The chances are that she knows all about these
secret passages.”

Still slowly and carefully they descended the steps until
they reached the grooved foot-path in the rocks at the
bottom, Footsteps and voices could be heard ap-
proaching,

“Light a candle, Cass!” yelled the voice of Pearson.

“Can’t do it, Pearson. Clickett hes got all ther can-
dles.”

BILL STORIES.

“Wait er minit,’ came another voice, evidently that of
Kazam, and there was suspicion in it. “Is thet you,
Hickson ?”’

“Shore it is!” growled Buffalo Bill.
think ?” .

“Give us ther secret word, then. Yer voice has changed
a heap, seems ter me.”

“Peso-la-ki,” answered the scout, taking a chance on
the “secret word.”

All the while the scout was speaking he was pushing
steadily toward Pearson and Kazam,

“Thet ain’t ther word!” whooped Kazam. “It’s Buffler
Bill, Pearson. Git back with thet gal—git back!”

Kazam’s command was snapped off with the crash of
a revolver, which, in that confined space, sounded like the
roar of a cannon. Where the bullet went the scout did:

not know; the mere fact that it wént wild was all that
concerned him.

“Don’t shoot, Nick!” cried Buffalo Bill, leaping along
the worn foot-path.

To shoot at the ruffians who had the Moqui princess
would be to expose the girl to risk—which was something
to be avoided. | -

Buffalo Bill’s headlong rush brought him into violent
collision with a man who was hurrying to get out of
his way. The two grappled and went down on the rocks.

“Save one of ’em fer me, Buffler!”” yelled the trapper,
and the next moment he fell scrambling over the scout
and the man with whom he was struggling.

At about the same moment running feet were heard

approaching along the trail, and a couple of candles
gleamed in the distance.

“Who did ye

 

CHAPTER XIII.
FAQUITA,

One of the men got away, fleeing toward those who
were coming with the candles. The other struggled to
his feet under the weight of the scout, Revolver-shots
came from the direction of the candles, and the man, with
a wild cry and a shout of “I’m hit! Ye’ve done fer

?

me,” slumped to the rocks.

Had the outlaw not been in front of the scout, the
bullet that took his life would have taken Buffalo Bill’s,

“Faquita!” cried the scout.

In answer, a soft hand crept toward him out of the
darkness.

“I’m a friend, amigo!” said Buffalo Bill. “Sabe?”

“Si,” answered a soft voice. “I talk um English, all
same like my fader.” |

The scout was glad to hear this, but he did not care to
have the girl exposed to the bullets that were flying
about them, Placing himself in front of her, he began

    
      
      
   
  
    
 
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
    
  
  
    
  
 
    
   
  
 
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
    
 
   
   

 
 

sy

  
  

See
VO:

his

  
 

  

  
  

 

  

| the trapper, chagrined.

' the dark.

Tre

F using his revolvers, with the lighted candles as a mark.
| Nomad was also busy in the same way.

“Thar ain’t no one holdin’ ther candles, Buffler,” said
“We've snuffed both of ’em,
with nary a yip from any o’ Hickson’s gang.”

“Take ther, cut-off!” yelled the voice of Hickson, from
“We kin pick ‘em off from thar, in spite o’
the darkness.”

“What sort of er move is thet?” grunted Nomad.
reckon, Buffler, them fellers knows more erbout this
hyar place than what we do.”

667
i

“You come with Faquita,” whispered the girl. “I
lead you to place where you be safe.”

She took the scout’s arm in a firm clasp.

“Here, Nomad,” said the scout, and caught his pard’s
hand,

“Tell her we’re needin’ grub,” said the trapper. “Hev
her take us some’r’s whar we kin git er hand-out, Buf-
Hem”

The girl did not answer, but pushed hurriedly on into
the opaque gloom, She seemed to lay her course by pure
intuition, turning and twisting about, but always giving

| the white men firm footing wherever she led.

At last she paused, releasing her hold on the scout’s
arm,

“You Moquis’ friend,” said she, “you come from Great
White Father. Me take you here, you no tell what you
see. You promise?’

“Yes,” answered the scout.

The girl bent and seemed to be working at something.

“What is it?” asked the scout.

“Help um Faquita move rock,’ came the answer.

The scout bent beside her, his groping hands finally
resting on a small boulder beside the girl’s. Their united
strength was sufficient, and the boulder was heaved aside.
Nothing was revealed in the darkness. The scout
started to strike a match, but as the light began to flicker
the girl caught the match out of his hand and smothered
the tiny blaze in her palm.

“No make um light,’ said she. “You find um hole
where rock was. Make crawl through um hole.”

The scout went down on his knees and crawled until
he reached a place where he could stand upright. Nomad
grunted after him.

“Et would be a heap more pleasant, Buffler, ef we
knowed whar we was goin’,” said the trapper.

“The girl isa friend, Nick, and we can trust her to
see us through,” returned the scout.

“You plenty safe now, Buff’lo Bill,’ came the soft
voice of Faquita. “Make sit on floor. Me get um food.”

Faquita moved away somewhere while the scout and
his pard sank down on a flat stone floor.

“Thar was on’y four in Hickson’s gang,” said the trap-
per. “Seems like we might hev done ’em up right thar.”

   

BUPPFALO

 

   

 

BILL > PORIES, Zi

“Tf it hadn’t been for the dark, and for the fact that
the girl was with us,” returned the scout, “I’d certainly
have pushed the affair to a finish. But we have prom-
ised to return Faquita to her people, and we must not
run the risk of having her injured.”

“Ye know best, o’ course, Buffler, but thet was ther
fust time we ever run from double our number 0’ whites
er reds.”

At this point Faquita returned. She had some cold
corn-cakes and some meat,

“Fat,” she said laconically, pressing the food into the
hands of the whites, “then we make um palaver.”’

“Thet gal is sartinly wuth her weight in gold,’ mum-
bled Old Nomad, his mouth full of corn and meat. “This
hyar is ther fust rale pleasant moment I’ve had sence thet
sacred rattler was chopped up.”

The meal was quickly finished and was topped off
with a draft from the canteen. Notwithstanding his
slide down the incline, and the brisk struggle on the stone
trail, the scout had managed to hang on to the water-
supply.

“Now, Faquita,” said Buffalo Bill, as he flung the
empty canteen to one side, “we’re ready for that palaver.
You did wrong to run away from Acoma with the Hos-
teen.”

“Me know,” answered the girl humbly.

“You brought the Hosteen here?”

“Me bring um here.” The voice was still repentant.
“Me no think the Hosteen make fight with my people,”
the girl went on, flashing with anger. “Me no think the
Hosteen get more whites. We come to Mesa Encantada.
Hosteen no think me speak English. All time we speak
Moqui. Me hear Hosteen tell bad whites that when they
find: Peso-la-ki, then they kill um Faquita. Me try kill
Hostéen with knife. Then me run away, try find mesa
shaman.

“Me see um Pa-has-ka on other side mesa. Pa-has-ka
and Bear-Slayer heap tired. Me throw um canteen.”

“We thort ye done thet, Faquita,” spoke up Old No-
mad. “Ye’re a reg’lar brick, leetle gal. Thet thar can-
teen saved ther lives o’ Buffler an’ me.”

“Then,” went on the girl, “me go to other side mesa,
take um ropes brought by white men, and put down side
of cliff. Me want Pa-has-ka and Bear-Slayer come help
me. Meno find mesa shaman, ’fraid Hosteen and white
men kill me.”

“We found the rope, Faquita,” said the scout, “and
climbed part way up. While we were on a shelf of rock,
some one cut the rope.”

“Him Hosteen. Me see um. How you keep from get-
tin’ killed?”

“We crawled along the shelf to a catamount’s hole, and
then slid into the mesa.”

- Faquita clapped her hands and laughed.

       
   
  
    

 

F
i
‘y
at
ad
4

  
   
    
 
 

   
   

   
  
   
 

-a scheming scoundrel.

tHE BUFFALO

“Heap good! Heap fine!”? she exclaimed. “When me
fix um rope, and see Hosteen cut it away, me come down-
stairs, go along trail, get caught by two Hosteen’s men.
Me think all gone, that Faquita sure never get back to
Acoma, Then you come, save Faquita. Faquita heap
glad, Hoskanini say many gracias. Pa-has-ka and Bear-
Slayer heap brave.”

“I reckon thet explains et, Buffler, although et’s some
hard ter foller her pidgin talk,’ remarked Nomad.

“It proves that our estimate of the Hosteen was en-
tirely correct, Nomad,” said Buffalo Bill. ‘The fellow is
He lured Faquita away from
Acoma; she helped him save his worthless scalp, and
brought him here to the mesa to show him the Peso-la-ki.
Then Hickson and his ruffians would have killed the girl
out of hand in order to get her out of the way.”

“Hangin’s too good fer sich pizen varmints,” muttered
Old Nomad.

“No show um Hosteeri Peso-la-ki,” spoke up Faquita
quickly, picking out some of the words the scout had ad-
dressed to his pard.

“They don’t know where it is?” queried the scout.

“They know Peso-la-ki here in Mesa Encantada, but
me no show um where.”

“What sort of a place is this, Faquita?”

“Him Moqui old-time pueblo. Faquita’s people live
here from long, long time. No live: here any more, live
at Acoma. Only mesa shaman live here now.”

“That's about what I thought,” remarked the scout, to
his old pard. “This place must have been a retreat for
the Moquis in ancient times when they were harried by
the Apaches and the Comanches, and by the Spaniards.
Now that the Spaniards have been driven out of the coun-
try, and the Apaches and the Comanches are shut up on
reservations, the Moquis can live in a more suitable
place.”

Buffalo Bill turned to the girl.

“Is there a way to get on top of the mesa, Faquita ?”
he asked.

“Him shaman place,’ she answered; “no one go top
of mesa but shaman.”

“Do you know anything about our horses? We had
them at the foot of the mesa, but they disappeared.”

“Hosteen brought um horses into mesa.”

“Waugh!” exclaimed Nomad. “While we was tramp-
in’ eround ther mesa, lookin’ fer tracks, ther: animiles
was inside hyar, all ther time. Never thort o’ thet, But-
fier,’

“No,” laughed the scout, “all we thought of was whis-
kizoos.”

“Drap et, pard! I reckon I was teched with ther sun
when I torked erbout ther whiskizoos.”’

At that moment a dim radiance appeared far off in the
gloom, growing brighter and brighter.

“O-ay!” whispered Faquita, starting up. ‘Here come

 

BILL. STORIES,

mesa shaman. Me. palaver with mesa shaman. You
stay.”

“More funny bizness, I reckon,’ mused Old Nomad.
“I ain’t goin’ ter be surprised at anythin’ no more. Ef
this hyar mesa shaman hes got horns an’ a forked tail, et
won't gi’ me no jolt at all.”

As the light increased, a tall form grew slowly out of
the radiance, resolving itself into a white-streaked priest
dressed as were the estufa guards. The priest carried a
torch which he waved around his head as he advanced. At
his heels came a dog, a coyote dog—none other than the
animal which had been following Cass Hickson.

“Thunder !”” muttered the trapper. “Ef thet’s really
Hickson’s dorg, Buffler, then ther shaman must know
whar our hosses aire.”

But the scout did not seem to hear.
about him in wenderment.

The light brought out the confines of the chamber into
which Faquita had brought them. It was a huge grotto,
its roof and walls festooned with long, glittering stalac-
tites. The rays of the torch, caught up by the shimmer-
ing pendants, were reflected in gorgeous hues, so that the
entire cavern was all aglitter.

Old Nomad gave a muttered exclamation and rubbed
his eyes.

“Looks like er scene from ther ‘Black Crook,’ which T
saw oncet when I went ter Omaha sellin’ hides,” he re-
marked. “What aire them hangin’ things, Buffler? Aire
they anythin’ like them hangin’ p’ints I’ve seen in ther

He was staring

_ Black Hills cave?”

“No,” answered the scout, “those pendants are silver,
almost pure. Nick, this, this very place we are in, is the
Peso-la-ki!”’

CHAPTER XIV.
THE MESA SHAMAN.

The bewildering beauty of the grotto held the attention
of the scout and his trapper pard for some time, When
they finally gave their attention to Faquita and the sha-
man they saw that the girl was on her knees before the
priest. The priest was shouting at her in the Moqui
tongue, his voice high and angry.

“Ther old boy seems ter be hevin’ a tantrum, Buffer,”
murmured Old Nomad, pulling one of his revolvers and
holding it in his hand. “Ef he goes ter strike ther prin-
cess, he’s shore goin’ ter hear from Betsy Jane,” and the
trapper thumped the muzzle of the revolver upon his
knee,

“Don’t shoot the priest; whatever you do,” warned the
scout. “That would get the Moquis down on us for
good,”

“I ain’t goin’ ter let ther ole tin horn lay vi’lent hands
on er gal thet’s done so much fer us. ’Tain’t right, Buf-
ok

ge NO RP Ba EI IR ag ise haat
Tos is w f Da peete es

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BUFFALO

“Wait, and let’s:see what happens.-
telling the shaman about bringing. the Hosteen to the
mesa, or else she’s telling about bringing us into the Peso-
la-ki. It may be she is telling him both, in order to get
the whole of it over with at once.”

“He ain’t very amiable, Buffler, whatever she’s tellin’
him. Let’s move up an’ ial in er word ourselves, 1
won't be accountable fer what I do ef he raises his fist
ag’in thet gal.”

Buffalo Bill thought this suggestion a good one, As
he and the trapper got up and stepped toward the shaman
and the girl, the coyote dog, remembering old times, let
off a snarl and crouched down with bristling hair. The
shaman, attracted by the actions of the dog, whirled and
faced the two white men.

If it was the shaman’s business to keep intruders out
of the Peso-la-ki, he realized that he had failed. He said
something in a harsh tone to the girl, and she got

ef

Teet.

 

9

to. het

“The mesa shaman he live at Mesa Encantada alone,”
said the girl. “Him mad for Faquita bring white men
here, but Faquita say you Pa-has-ka, from Great Father,
and no friend of Hosteen. Shaman say “you no friend
of Hosteen, all right. He make prove whether you friend

aac or not. You no friend, heap good. You friend,

heap bad,”
ae the shaman speak English, Faquita?” asked the
scout,

“Him speak but the Moqui.”

“Tell him that we had a fight with Hosteen and his
men, and that one of Hosteen’s men was killed.”

‘Me tell um. He say he make prove whether you got
good heart for Moquis.”

“Tell him we are ready to give the f, Faquita.”

fell him we are ready to give the proot, raquita.

Faquita turned and spoke rapidly. The priest’s stern
face softened a little. He spoke again, then turned and
hurried off with the torch in the way he had come.
said Faquita.
” queried Nomad.

39

“Shaman say we wait here,’
“What’s he gone fer, Faquita?
“Faquita no can tell. Shaman know.

“Does thet feller stay hyar all ther time?”

Acoma people bring shaman

fire going and watch

“Him got house on mesa.
corn and meat. He keep sacred
Peso-la-ki.”

“How was noes going to get the Peso-la-ki away
from the shaman?’

“FHlosteen say he kill shaman, make Faquita squaw.
Hosteen heap bad heart. Me tell um shaman.”

” remarked the trap-

He

“No wonder ther shaman was mad,
per. “I reckon he ain’t plumb shore o’ his scalp yit.
Want us ter help save ther Peso-la-ki.”

When she

a Des
scout and

’ The shaman was gone but a few minutes.
returned he brought the rifles belonging to the

his pard. The sight of the weapons in the priest’s hands

 

BIEL;

Either the girl is

STORIES. 23

surprised the white men. They-had been left with the
horses that had so mysteriously disappeared.

“Ask ithe shaman where he got the boom-boom ens
Faquita,”’ said the scout.

The girl put the question and viandiaten the answer.

“He say he get guns from white men’s horses.”

“Where are the horses ?”’

“Shaman he know,” translated the girl. “Shaman say
white men prove their hearts are good, they get horses
back, Shaman saw horses where Hosteen left them.
Shaman take horses to safe place when Hosteen no see.
You sabe?”

The scout nodded. “What are we to do to prove that
our hearts are good toward the Moquis?” he asked.

In putting this question he tried it in the hand-talk of
the Indian, The shaman’s face lighted up. He handed
the guns to the white men and beckoned them to follow
him. |

He led the way down the wonderful grotto and through
the hole in the wall, by means of which Faquita had
ushered the white men into the Peso-la-ki. The torch
made traveling easy, for the shaman went ahead with
it. On the outer side of the hole a halt was made while
the boulder was rolled back into place.

Then came a journey along intricate passages, the walls
of which showed plainly the action of water in gouging
out that network of burrows which the handicraft of the
Moqui, stone-cutters had wrought into a temple and a
pueblo.

How long had it been since the level plain of the Great
American Desert had been covered with water? The
scout asked himseif this, and his mind, in attempting to
answer, went back to remotest antiquity. The Enchanted
Mesa, hollowed out with aisles and cross-passages, must
have been as old as the sierras skirting the desert’s bor-
der.

That the Moquis had inhabited the mesa for hundreds
of years was proved by the deeply worn trails. Bare feet
could not eat into stone short of a period to be counted
in centuries.

“Ef we was ter come anywhar nigh Hickson an’ his
men,” catne the voice of Nomad, roughly awakening the
scout from his dreams of the past, “I’m thinkin’ thet torch
would make good targets o’ all o’ us. What d’ye think,
Buffler ?”

“Did you hear, Faquita?’ Buffalo Bill asked.

“S?,” the girl answered. “Shaman know. He cunning,
all same like fox.”

The shaman certainly did seem to know what he was
about, for that swift journey onward through the network
of passages, with their ascents and descents, their nu-
merous curves and sharp turns, was made without any
interference from skulking outlaws.

After a time the scout and the trapper came to. a place
antly recognized. It was the fork in the

which they inst

  

 

   
 

 

  
  
 

 

24 : THE BURRFALO

deeply worn trail, where one branch ran onward at a
level and the other ascended in a flight of steps. The
shaman started up the stairs,

“Goin’ back ter ther winder,’ remarked the trapper.
“What d’ye reckon he’s got up thar thet he wants us ter
see, Buffler?”

“That’s too many for me, Nick,” said the scout. “‘All
I know is that we’re going to prove our hearts are good
toward the Moquis.”

The ascent was swiftly made, and the shaman set his
foot on the torch before leading the white men out on the
ledge into the moonlight. The shaman went first, creep-
ing like a catamount and peering over the edge. Faquita
remained behind, but the white men crawled to the
priest’s side and gazed downward.

Tt will be remembered that this ledge was over a spot
not far distant from where Old Nomad had been shot at
and had made a prisoner of the white ruffian who had
done the shooting. Directly below the ledge a slab of
sandstone had been pushed away, revealing a hole into
the interior of the mesa. This hole showed the manner
in which the prisoner had been spirited away by his com-
trades from within the mesa, and one of the mysteries
was settled.

On the sand below the ledge were two white men. One
was Cass Hickson. It was night, but so brilliant were
moon and stars that every object appeared almost as dis-
tinct as by day.

There was a bandage around Hickson’s head, and
the man with him was sitting at his side and supporting
him. It was plain that the Hosteen was badly hurt.

“I reckon thet happened durin’ our fight fer ther gal,
Buffler,” said Nomad, in a whisper.

While they watched, a third man came around the ~

side of the mesa with four horses. The scout recognized
one of the animals as the mount Hickson had used when
taken to Acoma with him—Buffalo Bill—and the trapper.
The odd horse must have belonged to the rascal who had
been killed at the foot of the stone stairway.

The shaman, having looked long and carefully, drew
back from the edge of the boulder and pulled the scout
and the trapper with him. The shaman talked with his
hands, and also with his lips, addressing the gestures to
the scout’ and the words to the girl.

“Shaman say you kill um whites,” translated Faquita,
although translation was hardly necessary, since ,both
Buffalo Bill and Nick Nomad understood from the hand-
talk what was wanted. ‘Whites know secret of Mesa
Encantada,” continued the girl, “and must not leave alive.
Do this, and shaman say he will find your hearts good
toward the Moquis.”

The scout and the trapper stared at ah other.

“T ain’t er-goin’ ter shoot down a wounded man in cold
blood,” snorted the trapper, “even ef he ain’t fit ter live.
An’ doin’ et like we was in ambush, makes et all ther

 

' son’s ‘bark’ without any trouble.

 

  

Biee SBPORTES.

wuss, Thar aire some things a white man kin do, Buf-
fler, an’ some things thet natur’ won’t let him.”

“T feel exactly in the same way, Nick,” said Buffalo
Bill. “A fair and open fight, man to man, is one thing,
but sniping a wounded man from the rocks is another.”

The scout, creeping back to the edge, continued to look
down at the three men. Two of them were tying Cass
Hickson into his saddle. His body was sickeningly limp,
and it was perfectly evident there was but little life left
in him,

A moment-later Buffalo Bill saw a movement from two
sides along the foot of the mesa. Two files of mounted
Moquis were coming around the foot of the uplift, sneak-
ing upon the white men like so many prowling wolves.

“Look out, below, there!” shouted the scout. ‘“The reds
are. coming!”

This kindly warning, given by the scout, because the
unwitting men below, although scoundrels, were white,
brought a bullet.
boulder and glanced off harmlessly.

The next moment there came a bedlam of hair-raising
yells, and the enraged Moquis swept from both sides upon
the ruffians who had attempted to raid the Peso-la-ki.

 

CHAPTER XV.
THE LAST OF HOSTEEN PESO-LA-KI,

The shaman, hearing the loud cries of the Moquis,
jumped to the ledge and looked over. At once he pulled
a gourd rattle from somewhere about his person and be-
gan a chant supposed to bring victory to the Moquis, ac-
companying the words with the rattle of the gourd.

All four on the ledge watched the fight. The excite-
ment of Faquita was intense, and she began screaming a
song of her own.

The battle was short, and with true savage ferocity
the Moquis beat down their outnumbered foes and took
the “sacred bark” according to immemorial custom. It
was a fitting fate, no doubt, for men like Hickson and
the depraved scoundrels with him, yet it was hard for the
scout and the trapper to see three of their own kind
stricken down and scalped before their eyes.

“T reckon thet finishes ther job, Buffler,” remarked Old
Nomad grimly, turning away from the brink. ‘Hoska-
nini has.only one good arm, but he managed ter git Hick-
Was yer watchin’ him?”

HO GSa

~“Whatever did them Moquis trail erlong arter us fer?
We wasn’t ter git back fer a couple o’ sleeps more. This
hyer is half o’ ther fust sleep.”

The moonlight, beating upon that face of the: mesa
with almost the brightness of day, gave a weird effect to
the one-sided fight which had just been finished. It was
a scene which Buffalo Bill knew he should long remem-
ber.

 

The missile struck the edge of the

    
   
  

TO QS ce pew

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ey

  
  
  
  
 

    
 

 

 

   

     

“Tt is hard to tell what brought the Moquis here,” said
Buffalo Bill, clearly ‘puzzled. “Perhaps they have come
to make sure that we don’t run off with the Peso-la-ki
after rescuing the princess. So far as finding the lost
girl is concerned, we have done that part of it.”

The shaman, having won the victory for his people by
his chanting and gourd rattling, was in a very com-
panionable mood. He grinned at Faquita, and by that
grin the girl knew she had been forgiven. He also talked
for some moments, and Faquita turned to translate his
remarks.

“Shaman say he knows Pa-has-ka’s and Bear-Slayer’s
hearts are good, even if they did not kill Hosteen peso-
la-ki, Shaman say, too, that Pa-has-ka and Bear-Slayeér
may go out from the mesa and join the Moquis, for it is
not permitted any but chiefs and shaman to enter the
mesa. The white braves must not learn the way to the
_ plain, so they must be blinded with cloths.”

“School’s out, Buffler,” said Nomad, “an’ I reckon
were dismissed. I don’t want ter leave without our
hosses, howsumever.”

“Ask the shaman if we are to have our horses, Fa-
quita,’. said the scout.

The girl put the question to the priest, who was re-
lighting the torch.

“Shaman he say Si,’ said Faquita.

Having got the torch to going, the priest led the way
back down the long flight of steps. At the foot of them
he handed the torch to Faquita while he bound a fold of
woolen cloth over the scout’s eyes, and over the trap-
per’s. ) -

: ae know whar ther Peso-la-ki is, Buffler,” whispered
| Old Nomad, “an’ ef ther ole silver-keeper hasn’t got er
| white heart-it’ll be plumb easy fer him ter push us over
| one o’ these hyar underground clifts.”

“Faquita is along,” said the scout, “and she has already
| taken too much trouble on our account to let the shaman
| work a game of that kind.”

Each of the white men carried his rifle, and the sha-
| man led one and Faquita the other. There followed more
twistings and turnings, and then a passing out into the
open, where the two pards felt the cool night air blowing
Mm in their faces.

| Then, presto! the hoodwinks were whipped away, and
| the mesa shaman had disappeared. The bastions of the
' mesa reared frowning and high behind the scout and the
trapper, and there was absolutely no sign of entrance or
| exit in the wall.

| “However did they do et, Buffler?” queried Old
Nomad.

“There’s a hole here somewhere, and a big one,” re-
turned Buffalo Bill, “big enough to admit a horse. It
Bwas in this place, Nick, that our mounts disappeared.”
| “Thet makes me think we heven’t got our animiles.
/Waugh! Ef ther shaman don’t intend ter give ‘em
fin :

.THE BUFFALO BILL STORIES.

“But he does, old pard. Here they come.”

Hoskanini, at that moment, came riding around a spur ©
toward the white men. Behind him came the victorious -
watriors, the two foremost leading the scout’s and the
trapper’s horses.

Hoskanini was in excellent spirits. Faquita was stand-
ing between Buffalo Bill and Nomad, and the cacique,
when he drew his horse to a stop, greeted the girl in a
kindly voice before speaking to the white men.

The girl, at this tacit expression of forgivenes on her
father’s part, plucked up heart wonderfully. It was
something, indeed, to do as Faquita had done and have
the account sponged at once from the family and tribal
slate. The slaying of the Hosteen and his companions no
doubt helped on this summary reconciliation between the
cacique and the princess.

“Buenos, amigos!” cried Hoskanini, tossing his tobac-
co-gourd on the ground.

“Buenos,’ answered the scout.

Cigarros were made and smoked. The white men’s
horses were led forward, and also Faquita’s. All three
mounted.

“Hoskanini,” said Buffalo Bill, “did not wait for Pa-
has-ka and Bear-Slayer to recover the lost princess and
bring her back to Acoma. Hoskanini rode after us with
his warriors.”

“Hoskanini was worried,” the cacique answered. “Hos-
kanini believed in his white amigos, but feared for his
daughter. Hoskanini also wanted the sacred bark of
the Hosteen, and the white people do not take the bark.
So Hoskanini came.”

The scout wondered whether the cacique, or any of his
warriors, had heard the alarm which had been thrown to
the white men from the ledge at the time of the Moquis’
attack.. Apparently this had not been heard by any save
Hickson and his men and those on the ledge. The sha-
man, not understanding English, believed that the shout
given by Buffalo Bill was no more than a taunt, since it
had been answered by a bullet. If Faquita knew differ-
ently, she held her peace.

The horses, wherever they had been, must have been
well cared for. They appeared fresh, and keen for the
trail.

“Tf the white brothers are ready to return to Acoma,”
said Hoskanini, “they may ride back with us. ’Tis well

to cross the desert by night. Mebbyso you like um rest?”

“T’ve had rest enough,” said Old Nomad, “but I want
ter skin ther hide off’n thet catermount.”

He and Buffalo Bill spurred on around the mesa until
they reached the place where the catamount had fallen.
The catamount, Nomad discovered, had already been
flayed, and the spliced riatas had likewise been appro-
priated.
Hoskanini, on learning what was wanted, called upon

  
 

    

20 ‘THE BUFFALO

_ the brave who had taken the hide to return it. An hour
or two later, Buffalo Bill, Old Nomad and Faquita rode
away toward Acoma with the Moquis warriors.

 

CHAPTER XVI.
THE DANCE OF THE “SACRED BARK.”

For a victorious war-party of Moquis to return to the
home pueblo with scalps is a mighty serious matter. In
the case of this affair at Mesa Encantada, twenty-eight
days of purification were enjoined upon the warriors.

Twelve miles from Acoma the band halted and pitched
camp. Half of their number, which happened to be fil-
teen, rode on to the pueblo. These warriors could have
no intercourse with their families whatever, but, were
compelled to go immediately to the estufa and spend
fourteen. days there, while the shamen performed the
rites of purification. These purified warriors then re-
turned to the camp where the rest of the war-party had
been left, and the other fifteen came in for two weeks in
the estufa  @

At the end of the fourteen days those in the camp
marched toward Acoma and were met half-way by their
brothers from the estufa. The reunited party thereupon
entered the pueblo singing songs of war, and carrying
their scalps first to the cacique and then to the estufa.

After that there was more fasting and self-purification.
Those who had touched a scalp had to fast twelve days,
and those who had not, had to fast eight days. Then,
after these weeks of Pernayetion, there came the “dance
of the sacred bark.”

Buffalo Bill and Old Nomad did not remain is the
ceremonies. They were not Moquis, and they had not
touched a scalp, so they stood in no need of purification,
in the Moqui sense.

The scout and his pard had rode into the pueblo with
the cacique and Faquita. The cacique, being a privileged
character, did not have to repair to the estufa, or remain
in the camp, twelve miles out. |

Once more he took his white amigos to his hogan and
made them welcome to the best about the place. Over
their cigarros the scout, the trapper, and the old cacique
had many talks relative to questions brought up by events
set forth in this chronicle.

‘Hoskanini could not talk about the Hosteen without
falling back upon some choice Moqui swear-words.

“When did you meet the Hosteen first, Hoskanini?”
asked the scout, during one of their smoke-talks.

“So many moons,” and the cacique held up six fingers.
“Some of my people found the Hosteen on the desert
with bullet-holes in him. He was brought to the pueblo
and nursed back to: health.”

Hoskanini’s frightful work with the English tongue
had prompted the scout to tell him to piece out his utter-

ance with the Spanish and’ with the hand-talk. The re-

BIL STORIES.

 

“Moqui tongue,

the run of the estufa; and, when it got. away through

   

  
   

sult -was a composite language which expressed the

cacique’s ideas well enough, but was too complicated to

be expressed in writing. Its equivalent only can be
given.

“That was when he became acquainted with Faquita?”
went on the scout.

“St. Faquita has been promised to one of the Sun
People, and the Hosteen stole her away to help him es-
cape; and to show him the Peso-la-ki. Hosteen knew
there was one shaman on guard at the Peso-la-ki, and he
took three bad whites with him to capture the place.
Against one shaman,” enunciated the cacique, with a
quiet grin.

“After the killing of the sacred snake,” proceeded the
cacique, “the men of the estufa clamored for the Hos-
teen’s life. I was the Hosteen’s friend, then, and I would
not listen. While we were in the council, you-recall, word
came that the Hosteen and Faquita had fled together.
Faquita got the Hosteen’s horse and guns, and a horse
for herself, and they. went away by a burrow leading
down under the Wolves’ pueblo and out to the trail..

“Faquita began to distrust the Hosteen when he was — |
met by the three bad whites; and when the four fought: ~§

the Moquis, and sent her father home with a wounded
arm and with three dead warriors, the girl ate her heart.

She has always been a good girl, and only the crafty

tongue of the Hosteen could have persuaded her to go
away.

“The Hosteen did not know that Faquita could talk
English, She had always conversed with him in the
So, in the mesa, when Faquita heard
the Hosteen planning to put her out of the way when the
Peso-la-ki was secured, her anger flamed and she tried,
with a. knife, to end the Hosteen’s trail of treachery then

‘and there.

“But you have heard of this. The Hosteen is now
dead, and after the dance of the sacred bark his scalp
shall hang in my hogan. If Faquita feels any regrets for
the Hosteen’s fate, she may go look at the Hosteen’s
scalp.”

And the stern old warrior rolled another cigarro and
grinned at the thought.

‘They were on the terrace of the pueblo—the scout, the
trapper and the cacique—lolling idly in the shade and
watching the tireless women coming and going up the
goat-path with their water-jars.

Old Nomad, dozing during most of the talk, or only
rousing up to take a whiff at his cigarro, finally yawned,
stretched himself, and turned to the cacique.

“Say, chief,” said he, “is it ther way o’ yore people ter
keep sacred rattlers in their estufas?”

“Bear-Slayer has said,”
winked solemnly.
the chief shaman had made a pet of that big one.

returned the cacique, and

It had

“T don’t like rattlesnakes. myself, but |

   

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of the pueblo,’

that hole in the roof, the whole mesa was in turmoil, It
was a heap fine snake.”

“Waal, et was ther fust time I ever come clost ter
losin’ my ha’r fer a rattler.”
“The Moquis,” went on the old cacique, with another

wink, “were not so mad with you for killing the snake as

for something else.” .

“What was thet, chief?’ queried the surprised Nomad.

“The Moquis were mad because you had killed the
sacred snake to save the Hosteen. They hated the Hos-
teen because he wanted to buy the Peso-la-ki, and the
Moquis have had the Peso-la-ki ever since the Trues
made them a people.”

“From what I saw of the Peso-la-ki, Hoskanini,” put
in Buffalo Bill, “it is a phenomenally rich mine.”

“Pa-has-ka must forget what he saw within the mesa,’
said the cacique.

“When Pa-has-ka leaves Acoma he will forget. But
to sell the Peso-la-ki for two thousand dollars Mexican
would be like giving a mountain of silver for a handful.
Hoskanini was not wise.”

“Hoskanini is wiser than you think. Of what use is a
mountain of silver in the skies where it can not be
reached and enjoyed? A handful to spend is better.”

“Can’t the Moquis mine the silver?”

The cacique shook his head.

“What do the Moquis do with it?”

The cacique shook his head again.

“Of what good is it, then?”

“No good. That is why a handful is better—a handful
with which to buy wagons and harness for the good of
the people.”

“Nothing.”

“Why can’t your people use the silver: ” persisted the
scout, deeply interested in this unexpected turn of the
subject.

“The shamen have made a temple at the Peso-la-ki,
and no Moqui dare profane the Hole of his fathers by
digging in it for metal.”

The.doughty old chief snarled as he spoke, and mut-
tered a few Moqui words more expressive than polite. |

“The Wolf clan and the Eagle clan are the best clans
’ went on the cacique. “They see ahead.
They understand that buried silver is-of no use, for it
neither buys nor pays for the things the people need.
The other clans think more of their temple than they
do of their worldly welfare. So we could not sell the
Peso-la-ki to the Hosteen, and the Hosteen tried to
steal it. Because of that, the Hosteen was cast out of
Acoma, the sacred snake was killed, Pa-has-ka and Bear-
Slayer were put in peril, my daughter for a time was lost
to me, and, in the end, more white men profaned the Ante-
lope temple than was ever known before. Four of the

white men have been killed; but the other two the Moquis
trust, because they are from the Great Father at Washing-
ton, who loves his Moqui children.”

JHE BUBPALO

 

BILL STORIES. 3

 

Just there the cacique had a thought and stirred un-
easily.

“What will Pa-has-ka say to the White Father about
the slaying of the Hosteen and the bad whites?” the
cacique went on anxiously.

“Pa-has-ka will say nothing,” replied the scout. “The
white men were full of evil, and they merited what came
to them.”

“Heap good!” exclaimed the cacique, with a grunt of
satisfaction. “Never before, Pa-has-ka, have the Moquis
taken the sacred bark from the head of a white. They
have taken from the Utes, the Piutes, and the Apaches,
but never before from the whites. Hoskanini was wor-
ried,”

“Does Hoskanini know who the whites were who tried
to help the Hosteen steal the Peso-la-ki >?”

“Kazam, him one; Clickett, him another; and Pearson,
him the last that fight with the Hosteen for the Peso-la-
Ki)

The scout was surprised at the ready way in which
the cacique referred to the white ruffians.

“Did Hoskanini know the men?” he asked.

“Hoskanini hear from white soldier who came to
Acoma many moons ago. The white soldier say that
Kazam b’long with army, shoot a man and run away.
The white soldier say that Pearson kill and rob much, all
same Wells-Fargo, You. sabe! And Clickett him es-
cape from white man’s prison in Stillwater.’

“How did the officer come to tell you this, Hoskanini?’”

“Officer he come right away after the Hosteen been
here first time. Kazam, Pearson, and Clickett come to see
the Hosteen when him sick. Cacique find out names, ask
white soldier. Him bad lot, heap bad lot.’

“If what you say is true, Hoskanini, you have done the
country a big service by cleaning out a bad gang.”

a9,

“Bumby, mebbyso, Hoskanini take um white scalps to
officer, tell “bout who wore um. Mebbyso, but don’t
know. First time Moquis take white scalps.”

Two days after this long talk with the old cacique, Buf-
falo Bill and Old Nomad mounted their horses and
started down the goat-trail on their long journey to
Santa Fe.

The Wolves and the Eagles came out to the plaza to
wish them well. But it was noticeable that none of the ©
Sun People, or Mole People, or Antelope People, or any
of the other clans took part in the farewell demonstra-

‘tion. On the contrary, all but the Wolves and the oe

were sullen and unfriendly.

“Waugh!” eoried the trapper. “Some o’ ther ogg
think er heap o’ us, an the biggest part o’ them aire glad
ter see ther last 0’ us.”

“It looks that way, Nick, that’s a fact,” rejoined the
scout. “But our mission here has been a success, never-
theless.”

When they halted to water their horses at the spring

   

  
 

 

28 | THE BUFFALO

_Faquita was filling a tinaja. As she lifted the jar to her
head and passed between the two horsemen on her way to
the goat-path, she murmured:

“Have care, Pa-has-ka! The bad Moquis may fol-
low.”

That was all she said, and she took long chances in
saying that, for many girls of other clans than hers were
near the spring with their water-jars.

 

CHAPTER XVII.

CONCLUSION.

Whether premeditated, or otherwise, the “bad’’ Moquis
showed their hands. near the very spot where the scout
and the trapper had killed the sacred snake and. saved
the life of Cass Hickson.

The sing of an arrow reached the ears of the travelers,
and an agate-pointed shaft kissed the air so close to Old
Nomad’s face that he felt the breath of it.

“Thar et goes ag’in!” yelled the trapper. “Seems like
some 0 them thar Injuns aire bound ter take a fall out
o us ther minit we git out o’ sight o’ Hoskanini. - Next
time we come on an errand o’ peace an’ good-will ter
ther Moquis, Buffler, we better bring a Gatling gun er-
long with us.”

To say that the scout was disappdirited would state the
case too mildly. He had hoped that their. disagreements
with the Moquis had all been settled, that an under-
standing had been arrived at, and that he and Old Nomad
could get away without using their guns against the peo-
ple of Hoskanini. But this seemed out of the question.

The first arrow was followed by a veritable shower.
Buffalo Bill got one through the slack of his coat, an-
other glanced on his saddle-horn, and a third made his
horse snort and spring forward: The wound was not
serious, but it frightened the animal and almost rendered
it unmanageable.

The trapper turned in his saddle with his rifle at his
shoulder. |

“Drop it, Nick!” cried the scout. ‘Take a single life
and our mission among the Moquis has been a failure.”

“What ye goin’ ter do, Buffler?’? demanded the old
man. “Let ther whelps make pin-cushions out er us?
Them arrers aire comin’ too close fer comfort.”

“Follow me!” cried the scout.

With that he swerved his snorting horse squarely
around, used his spurs and rushed directly toward the
spot from which the arrows were coming. This daring
move was followed up by Old Nomad, who would have
scorned to hang back wherever his pard led.

The Moquis were not looking for such a maneuver.
When the scout and'the trapper bore down on them they
pulled in their horses in astonishment. No more arrows
were shot from their bows. In the lead of the Indians
was the chief shaman who had made things so uncom-

BILL STORIES.

 

fortable for the white men in the estufa. To right and
left of him rode the six who had been somewhat bat-:
tered and bruised at the time the two pards made their
dash from the sacred building.

Buffalo Bill never drew rein until he brought his horse
alongside the animal ridden by the chief shaman.

“Cover this man with your revolvers, Nick!” called

the scout sternly, pointing to the shaman.

‘“Thet’s me, Buffler!?’ whooped Old Nomad. “Make
yer play, whatever et is, an’ we'll kerry et through, no

matter how many reds thar aire in ther gang,”

The old trapper leveled his revolvers at the chief sha-
man, who writhed apprehensively on the bare back of his
horse,
Then the scout made a hand-talk. He told the Moquis
that, if they did not at once return to Acoma and leave
him and his pard to proceed in peace, the life of the
chief shaman would be taken. He then turned to the
shaman and ordered him to ride on with them as a

. hostage.

The very audacity of the scout’s move won the day.
The Mogquis, fearing for the life of their medicine-man,

did not dare disobey the eloquent hand-talk of the scout.

They were still watching the three horsemen when they
rode out of sight over a distant hill.

For all of ten miles the scout and Old Nomad forced
the chief shaman to accompany them. ‘Then, making
sure that the rest of the Moquis had been leit far behind,
the scout told Nomad to put up his revolvers.

With the hand-talk again, Buffalo Bill warned the chief
shaman to ‘be good, to pay more attention to the. wishes
of Hoskanini, who knew more in a minute than he did
in a year, and then sent the bewildered medicine-man
packing. When he received his orders to go, the shaman
did not wait an instant to debate the matter, but put out
for Acoma like a scared coyote.

“Whoop-yah!” yelped Old Nomad, as the shaman
kicked up the dust. “Thet was shore ther gamest play
o this hyar hull Moqui bizness, Buffler. We've seen ther
last o’ them reds.” !

‘Ll hope so, patd,’ said: Butialo Bill. (ht awonld: ot
have done for us to open on them with our guns. When
a man is sent on a peaceful errand he has got to be care-
Eyl.” :

“I’m hopin’ we don’t go on any more of ’em, Buffler.
We couldn’t hev had more excitement ef we'd come
among ther Moquis. with a chip on our shoulder, darin’
of ’em ter knock et off. I wouldn’t trade jobs with old
Hoskanini ef he’d throw in the Peso-la-ki.”

“Nor I, either,” said Buffalo Bill. ‘“He’s the only real
man in Acoma.”

THE, END,

Next week’s issue, No. 339, is entitled “Buffalo Bill
in the Desert. of Deqth; or, he Secret of the Jasper
Joss.”

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NEW YORK, November 2, 1907.

 

 

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AROUND THE CAMP FIRE.

AN ADVENTURE WITH A GRIZZLY.

The first mate of the Ocean Pride, a clipper-built ship,
and one of the fastest sailing-vessels that ever plied between
Liverpool and San Francisco, was the most daredevil fellow
that ever drew breath.

I was third mate on the cruise she made round the Horn

’89. It was one of the best passages ever made, [I be-
lieve, and so fair and favorable was the weather that life
grew monotonous.

One day we found the mate had taken up a new pastime.
He had stationed the cook, a darky, about seventy-five feet
away, and was amusing himself by practising with a lasso.

Long before we rounded the Horn he had become so
skilful that he could coil that rope around the darky’s neck
with every cast.

When he had become so proficient he confided to us that
life was becoming so tiresome that he must have an ex-
citing adventure of some sort when we reached port, and it
was his determination to learn what part of the mountain
was infested with grizzly bears, and to capture one with
nothing but a lasso as a weapon.

We laughed at him and tried td dissuade him, for he was
a good fellow and well liked; but our concern for his safety,
as it became apparent, only strengthened him in his purpose.

We had been in port about ten days, and very busy, and

|’ the promise of an exciting adventure had quite slipped our

minds. But not so the mate.

He came on deck one morning with a new lasso, pur-
chased in the city, and said that he was off to the mountains
for three days, and asked if any were going along.

The second mate and myself agreed to accompany him,
and as he took no weapon but a revolver, other. than the
lasso, we resolved to form the armed equipment of the ex-
pedition. We carried each a rifle and a revolver, and plenty
of ammunition, though neither of us was anything of a shot.
We soon got into the wilderness, for after a few hours’

THE BUFFALO BILL STORIES.

       

29,

journey beyond the city and up the mountain it seemed as

though one must be thousands of miles from civilization.

We rode all day without anything occurring, and, though
we blazed away with our rifles at jark, rabbit, and squirrel,
and other small game, we did not hit anything.

It was a novel experience to us, camping out in the moun-
tain, and we took turns at watching at night and keeping the
fire up. There were several mountain lions prowling about,
making the night hideous with their howls. They came so
close to us that we saw their green eyeballs, like orbs of
fire, gleaming in the blackness beyond.

The mate was a pretty good shot, and he brought down
one of these huge beasts with a single ball sent right be-
tween the eyes. And, what’s more, he went off into the
blackness with the rifle in one hand and a great flaming
pine-knot torch in the other to look for the beast.

We soon heard him calling to us to come and give him
a lift. It took our united efforts to pull the beast within
range of the camp-fire.

The next morning, after an early breakfast, we set out
again. We had not been in the saddle two hours before we
came upon the prey the mate sought. It was one of the
largest specimens of the grizzly bear that has ever been
known, I should think.

I was glad I was well mounted, I tell you; so was my
companion, and we reined up a goodly distance away. The
mate looked a bit amazed at first, but recovered himself
instantly, and putting the spurs to his horse, while preparing
the lasso, he dashed toward the beast, determined to carry
out his threat to take the bear with a lasso.

In the most unconcerned manner imaginable that bear
squatted on its haunches and waited. Riding up within
eighty or ninety feet of the bear, the mate whirled that
lasso about his head and sent the noose curling through the
air, and it settled about the bear’s neck at the very first
cast.

Instead of taking fright and running away, that bear just
sat upright, and commenced making an examination of the
rope. He felt it with his paws, turned his head from side
to side, and in every way showed his surprise at what had
occurred.

Meantime, the mate turned his, horse’s head and applied
the rowels vigorously to the horse’s side, fully expecting
that the bear would be tumbled over and put hors de combat
with the tightening of the noose.

The horse dashed off under the application of the spurs,
but was brought. up dead at the end of his tether, and, though
he kicked and pranced and struggled for all he was worth,
he could not advance a step. The strain, however, began
to choke the bear a bit and make him angry. He gave the
rope a slap or two, but, seeing that this did no good, he
put his great paws out and wound it round them in some
way and began pulling at that rope hand over hand—or,
rather, paw over paw. Then I realized in an instant, with

a sensation that made my flesh creep, that the bear was
more than a match for horse and rider, and was slowly pull-
ing them in.

The mate evidently realized this very soon after I did,
and he applied whip and spur with redoubled effort. The
bear had pulled in about twenty-five yards of rope, I should

  
30 | THE BUFFALO

think, and the space was quickly growing less, when it oc-
curred to me that we were idle when we should be trying
to render assistance. We approached as near as we thought
we dare, and sent several bullets flying at that grizzly; but

we did not know the vital part to aim at, and, if any of our —

bullets lodged, it must have been in such a way as merely to
make the bear more ferocious.
He tugged more viciously at the rope and, his eyes glaring,

and teeth showing, and mouth frothing, while he emitted the _

most terrific, deep-toned roars, made the scene a fright-
ful one. a

The man and horse were within fifty feet, I should think,
of the bear; and I doubt whether the mate would have
escaped if he had leaped from its back and tried a run for
his life; but just at this time a fortunate accident happened.
One of the bullets which we were blazing away at the bear
must have struck the rope. The strands were cut more
than half-way through, and the awful strain on the rope
snapped the remaining strands, and horse and rider went
dashing away. And not a moment too soon, for the grizzly
was ready for a dash on all fours at the very instant the
rope broke.

Did we get away safely? Assuredly we did. But not
without that hide. The mate bore down on us and took a
rifle. Then began one of the grandest fights I ever saw.

“That grizzly never seemed to pay any attention to us, but
just chased the mate as though he was determined to have
a supper out of him or die in the attempt. Well, he died.
Round and round the mate went, now reining up and with
deliberate aim planting a bullet somewhere beneath that hide;
then putting spurs to his horse, for the bear would be al-
most upon him. It took six shots from the mate—we won't
count those we tried to put in—before that bear dropped.
But finally he stopped suddenly, stood still for a minute or
more, then rolled over sideways, and moved no more.

We went back to the Ocean Pride with two of the finest
ptizes a sportsman could wish for—a mountain lion and a
grizzly skin.

It was a daredevil bit of work, and nearly cost him his
life, but, I tell you, they look fine on the floor of our cabins,
for the mate is captain now and I’m first mate.

* 6X * *

PICTURESQUE ROUND-UP SEEING ITS LAST
DAYS.

That most picturesque feature of cattle-raising on the
Western plains, the great ‘round-up,’ will soon be among
the things of the past. The railroads are .stretching their
long lines through the very heart of the range country, and
in place of the terminal station at which thousands of cattle
were gathered from the surrounding country to be shipped
to Eastern markets there will be many stations at con-
venient distances and within easy reach of the diminishing
herds that still crop fatness from the buffalo grass.

The range “round-up” was always a thrilling sight. Cattle
by tens of thousands were sought out from the hills and
valleys by scores of range riders, those bearing brands to be
cut out in herds by themselves, the fat cattle packed into
hundreds of cars to be sent on their long, horrible journey to
the slaughter pens.

There were many days of hard work for the cowboys, fol-

BIEL, STORIES.

lowed by many other days and’nights of drinking and carous-

ing, which lasted until the last train started on its Eastern’

way. Then the range riders, cowboys and helpers mounted
their ponies and struck out for their various ranges, to spend
months of hard and lonely work looking after the herds yet
to come.

Grass-fat cattle are soft and lose flesh more quickly than
grain-fed animals, and the long drive from the range to the
round-up station, the terror and crowding as the cowboys
dashed among them, the yells and- prodding with iron-piked
poles as they were packed into the cars, quickly reduced their
flesh.

The long journey, sometimes as much as a thousand miles,
with infrequent rests and insufficient food and water, caused
further loss of weight, and these cattle often arrived at
market sad and sorry specimens to be converted into beef.

The great range is rapidly passing, and in its place is
coming the fenced pasture of the small farm. This change
is gradual, but rapid.

Cattle will be sent to market in better flesh, and ship-
ments will be more evenly distributed. Thousands of range
cattle are now sent to the corn States every year to be fat-
tened for market, but with the development and settlement of
the great range country the grass-fed steer will soon be a
curiosity in the large stock yards.

Be oe i ie

CATCHING EELS.

There are several methods of catching eels. Large bas-
kets or pots are used, in which small fish and flowers of
the elder tree are placed. The eels are caught in their
passage down to the sea. Worms, loach, gudgeon, minnows,
and the entrails of fish, flesh, or fowl are bait for eels.
Bobbing is also practised by stringing worms on worsted
thread and attaching them to a bell-shaped piece of lead,
sufficiently large to readily sink. The lead and worsted, with
the worms, are secured to a pole twelve or fourteen feet
long. The eel may be felt to bite. The teeth become en-
tangled in the worsted, and the eel is easily taken from the
water and transferred to a basket ready for its reception.

ee OR
MEXICAN WILD HOG SMALL BUT FIERCE.

Ranchmen in the vicinity of Colqutta, Texas, use the jave-
line, or Mexican wild hog, as a watch-dog. The javeline
is far superior to the ordinary dog when it comes to guard-
ing the home and premises to which it has become attached.
It is easily domesticated if taken when it is a pig. There is
hardly a Mexican household in this section that does not have
a pet javeline, which serves many useful purposes.

The javeline of the Southwest has very few characteristics
of the hog. Beyond the fact that it closely resembles the
hog in appearance, it might well be classed as an entirely
different species of animal.

In point of fearlessness it surpasses any other animal that
roams the chaparral of the Southwest. It is one of the few
wild animals that does not hesitate to attack man. Itis feared
by every deer-hunter who visits this region. Innumerable
instances are known of hunters having been forced to seek
refuge in trees to avoid being torn to pieces by enraged
javelines. They are so ferocious in their wild state ‘that

*

 

Ww
fi
th
th
JHE BUPPALO

only the most intrepid sportsman will brave the dangers of
- hunting them,

President Roosevelt, when police commissioner
York, made a trip all the way to Texas to hunt javelines.
He spent two days hunting the animals on a ranch near
Uvalde. He had an exciting experience. with the beasts.
According to the statement of his guide, bunches of javelines
got Mr. Roosevelt into close quarters several times, but he
managed to escape unscathed.

When taken.as a pig and domesticated, the javeline can
easily be trained to do almost any trick that can be taught
the most intelligent dog. It is quick to learn to know the
members of the family and will protect them against harm
with its life, if necessary. No strange human being or
animal is permitted to enter the house or yard where a pet
javeline is on guard. It has a bark something similar to
that of a dog, and when danger approaches it sets up its
peculiar ery.

The javeline is almost,as fleet as a dog, and one javeline
will whip several dogs. They weigh, when full grown, from
fifty to eighty pounds. They are taller in the fore part of
their body than in the rear. In this respect they resemble
the wild boar.

The javelines in their wild state run in droves of twenty
to fifty. They always travel in single file and appear to have
a recognized leader. When feeding or bedded for sleep or
rest, one of the javelines is always on guard. Whenever a
drove of animals is about to cross an open space, a sentinel
is first sent out to take a view of the situation. If everything

of New

is found to be clear, the signal is given by the sentinel, and

the whole drove trots across the clearing and reenters the

chaparral.
MeL Me a ae

TOO MANY QUAIL IN COLORADO.

Their fields so overrun with quail that their grain-crops
are being ruined, the farmers of Montrose County, Colorado,
have appealed to State Game Commissioner Farr to declare
an open season on the birds.

A few years ago a shooting-club imported a large num-
ber of California quail into Montrose County, and these birds
have increased so rapidly that they are now said to be a
menace to the ranchmen. Thousands of quail settle on a
promising field of grain at one time, and in a few hours it
is completely stripped and valueless.

(A letter from Michigan.)

ae read the “Buffalo Bill Weekly” for the last six
months, I thought I would write and felt you what [think
of it. I think it is the best of all the weeklies published,
and so do my friends. Some of my friends-have read an-
other Western weekly published by a rival house up to the
time I gave them several copies of the “Buffalo Bill” to read.
Now they think as I do, and now there is not any other
weekly to be seen at their homes when there is a “Buffalo
Bill” to be had. I will remain a reader of the “Buffalo
Bill” weeklies as long as they are published. I live on a
farm. The clock is now on the stroke of ten, and I must
close. Yours in haste, War KoeEnIG.

We are glad to know you appreciate these healthy stories
of daring and heroism, the main character of each being the
most renowned scout the West has ever known, Colonel
William F, Cody, and we hope you will continue to influence
your boy friends to read it in preference to all others.

BILD STORIES.

A NARROW

ESCAPE.

BY M. SILINGSBY.

We were a party of free traders, five in number, and
were just returning from a Snake village, where we had
been lucky enough to procure some really fine horses in
exchange for the usual truck—rifles, knives, beads, cot-
ton cloth, tobacco, etc.

We had just camped for the night near a small tribu-
tary of the Yellowstone, and hampered our horses in a
luxuriant bottom, sparsely timbered. We had no fear of
a surprise, for the Snakes were between us and the mi-
gratory Blackfeet, and with the former we were upon
decided terms of friendship.

We had just built a fire, and were about commencing
to cook our supper, when our ears were assailed by
a dull, heavy sound, as of a vast army anor oRU HOS us
on double..quick.

It seemed to bear down upon us from the north, east,
and west, and the very earth underneath our feet was
soon trembling and vibrating as though shaken by a dis-

tant earthquake.

There could no longer be any doubt as to the cause of
the. commotion. It was a vast herd of buffalo on a stam-
pede; and if we would save ourselves and horses, we had
not a moment’s time to spare.

Seth Barnsted, who acted in the capacity of guide to
our party, was the first to announce to us the fearful dan-
ger by which we were menaced.

Not one of our party, save him, had ever seen a herd
of buffalo on a stampede, and knew but little of the fear-
ful consequences of being run down by them. The river
at this point was lined by high, steep bluffs, so that no

safety lay for us in that direction.

Our only chance, if we could devise no oe means
of protection from the approaching myriads of trampling
feet, was to mount our horses, and ride on in advance
of the herd till we could discover.a fordable point in the
river, or by diverging from it to the eastward, if we had
time, escape them in that direction. But to accomplish
this hazardous feat would be more than doubtful, for
we had ridden a long distance that day, never having
once dismounted from early light in the morning; so, as
you must know, our animals were by this time thor-
oughly jaded.

“There is but one chance!’ cried Seth, “and not a
moment to lose, if you would avoid being trampled to
death by these maddened brutes. Follow me, and let
every mother’s son of you work once for dear life.”

At a distance of about ten rods from where we had
started our camp-fire was a cluster of three or four large
trees, with the decaying trunks and limbs of a half-dozen
others lying near-by, :

“Quick, boys! we must pile up those logs against the
standing trees, and build a wall of fire with the limbs in
front of our breastwork. If we can succeed by this means
in dividing the herd to the right and left, we are safe.

Ab not, they will sweep everything before them, even to

the trees.”
With a desperation and a purpose known only to men
in cases of the most imminent peril, we sprang to our

 
  

THE BUFFALO

task, tumbling up logs with incredible rapidity—logs that
we never could have stirred, excepting, as then, with
death staring us in the face.

The clump of trees in question grew in such a man-
ner as to resemble a collection of tenpins, with the three
central ones knocked out, forming a sort of hollow space
in the rear of the approach sufficiently large to accom-
modate all our horses by herding them close. Conse-
quently, the breastwork we were so hurriedly piling up
was much in the shape of an ordinary field-harrow, com-
ing to a sharp point in front.

I had often worked with a will before: but on this oc-
casion we all worked for a purpose, and that purpose the
most powerful incentive in life—self-preservation.

In five minutes, with our joint efforts, the logs were
heaped up to a height of several feet, while every instant
the tramp of the approaching herd was growing louder
and louder,

We were satisfied, from the loud bellowing and other
confused sounds, that the advance column at this mo-
ment could not be more than-a mile distant; and in four
or five minutes at farthest we knew that our fate must
be determined. ,

With nerves strained to their’ utmost tension, every
man bore huge-armfuls of the dead limbs scattered about,
heaping them up in a great pile a few feet in advance
of our temporary barricade.

The horses, already apprised of their danger, were
snorting and whinnying, and exhibiting various other
signs of equine excitement and terror. Their alarm was
becoming so apparent at this point of our operations
that there was imminent danger of their breaking loose
from their hamperings, although our lariats were tough
and strong enough to hold them under ordinary circum-
stances,

“It won’t do to leave the ponies any longer,” cried
Seth anxiously; “if we do, they'll break loose, and you'll
have nothing to show for your venture. Bingham and
I will finish this job, while the rest of you hurry and
bring them in. Hitch all together, and fasten them firmly
to the logs and trees.
time to spare, as we've got to climb the trees for our own
safety after that.”

Three of us broke hurriedly for the ponies, while Seth
and Bingham finished up the advance breastwork of dead
,ylimbs and fagots, which were to be immediately fired
in both lines to the rear, from the apex-point.

Never were so large a drove of ponies unfastened from
their hamperings, and firmly secured in so hastily con-
structed a barricade, in so brief a time. But, quick as we
had accomplished our task, Seth and Bingham were not
behind us; for, from the apex-point, with the assistance
of burning brands torn from our camp-fire, two lines of
vivid flame were beginning to spurt up, throwing a glare
of increasing brightness far in advance of the fiery breast-

work.

_ Already could we see the black mass of writhing flesh
bearing furiously down upon us, like a resistless tornado,
recognizing no check nor obstruction in its fearful path,
till its wild fury should be spent.

The advance column was within twenty rods of us
when the last lariat was fastened, and Seth Barnsted,
with a whoop of triumph, hurled the last burning brand
into the pile.

“Now, boys, for the trees! !” he shouted.
for himself!”

“Every man

BILL: SEORIES.

 

Hurry, now, for you'll have no.

 

   

At the word of command every man sprang to his
ascending among the upper branches with the agi”
squirrels.

We had barely attained our position when the mal
dened, bellowing herd was upon us. q

Not a man of us breathed during the next twenty se
onds, but clung to our perches like beings momentara
paralyzed by the near approach of danger, so extensi
and terrible, in fact, as to render,it almost sublime to tf
startled spectator. The flames beneath us threw up the
forked tongues, increasing every instant in volume an
brightness.
it would effect the purpose designed?

We could already distinguish the glaring, startled oth b
of the bulls, fascinated with a nameless terror by th
gleaming breastwork of flame before them, striving ti
turn from it to the right and left, but crowded back int
place, and still forward again, by the wildly struggling
mass behind. ’

column, and thus avoid the flames, but to no purpose
Every man held his breath, expectant. Suddenly, from
the branches of the tree in front came one of the wildeg
and most startling whoops I had ever heard. The ada
vance column was now within ten feet of the flaming
apex, and destruction to our horses—if by a miracle w@
escaped ourselves—seemed at this terrible moment ing
evitable. But, fortunately for all, the frightful but timely
whoop of Seth Barnsted, combined with “the startling ef

   

     

 
 

The all- -important question now was, whe er

7 i

Once, twice, thrice they essayed to divide the advancing

fects of the fire, produced at the last moment the desired /

result.

Two monstrous bulls, directly in front, snorted andi,
reared, and, plunging madly to the right and left, walked

directly over the heads and shoulders “of those next them,
completely dividing the herd at this point, and passing om
harmlessly upon either side of our flaming breastwork. |

“Hurrah! Halliluyar!’ shouted the overjoyed guide
at this moment. ‘You needn’t a man of you tremble any
longer. The tide is turned, and every man is saved.” |

With the exception of Seth, we were all of us wholly
ignorant of the habits and peculidrities of these roaming|
denizens of the prairie, or of the imminent danger thay
sometimes arises from a stampede among these othe 4
wise comparatively harmless animals. And when wi)
heard the agreeable assurance of safety fall from the tp)
of the euide we all sent up a shout of gratitude in uni
son, and prepared calmly to watch the spectacle of thi
immense panorama of moving life. {

It was nearly a quarter of an hour before the entiré
herd had passed, and no human calculation could acct
rately estimate their numbers. At a venture there were
hundreds of thousands. In the rear.of the vast heré
came the harassing beasts of prey, ready to devour th
carcasses of those unfortunates who fell in the gran¢
rush, and were trampled to death by the ten thousang
hurrying feet behind them.

When all danger from the stampede was over we de

scended from our perches in the trees and relieved the |

ponies, who were still shivering from fright, and restores
them to their former pasturage, although the passage
so many horny hoofs had torn it up, leaving in mos
places more soil than vegetation visible.

As for ourselves, we renewed our caimp- -fire, ool
our suppers, and were tired enough after to fall sound]

asleep the moment we were comfortably wrapped in oul

blankets.

   
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or

BUFFALO BILL STORIE

ISSUED EVERY TUESDAY

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Buffalo Bill wins his way into the heart of every
one who reads the strong stories of stirring adventure or
the wide prairies of the West published in this weekly.

Boys, if you want tales of the West that are
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HERE ARE THE LATEST ‘TITLEs:

311—Buffalo Bill’s Fight for Life;
Cave of Lions.

312—Buffalo Bill’s Death Jump; or, The Ogallalas’ Last
Stand.

313—Buffalo Bill and the Pit of Horror; or, The White
Queen of Pa.adise Valley.

314—Buffalo Bill in the Jaws of Death; or, The enaney
Sacrifice ef Uncapah.

315—Buffalo Bill’s Aztec Runners; or, The Hate of the
Gilded Mexican.

316—Buftalo Bill’s Dance with Death; or, Peril on the
Golconda Gold Trail.

317—Buffalo Bill’s Redskin Rovers; Old Nick

: Nomad’s Wolf Trick.

318—Buffalo Bill's. Fiery. Kyey
Last Battle.

31g—Buffalo Bill’s Mazeppa Ride; .or, The Robber
League of the Panhandle.

320—Buffalo Bill in the Land of Spirits; or, The Witch
Hunters of the Hoodoo Mountains.

321—Buffalo Bill’s Gypsy Band; or, The Queen of: the
Road Wanderers.

322—Buffalo Bill’s Maverick; or, The Man with the Steel
Arm.

323—Buffalo Bill, the White Whirlwind; or, Dashing
Dan, the Border Decoy Duck.

324—Buffalo Bill’s Gold Hunters; or, the Clan of the
Skull and Cross-bones.

325—Buffalo Bill in Old Mexico; or, The Red Priests
of Zataclin.

326—Buffalo Bill’s Message From the Dead; or, The
Mystery of the Dagger of Gold.

or, Caught in the

or,

or, Red Thunderbolt’s

 

327—-Buffalo Bill and the Woli-master; or, The Wilc
Dogs of the Hills.

328—Buffalo Bill’s Flying Wonder; or, Zamba, the Kins
of Fire.

3290—Buffalo Bill’s Hicden Gold;
Red Serpent.

330—Buffalo Bill’s Outlaw Trail; or, The Mystery of the
T ton Basin:

331—Buffalo Bill and the Indian Queen; or
Flower’s Mission.

332—Buffalo Bill and the Mad Marauder; or
Fora Foe.

333—-Buffalo Bill’s Ice Barricade; or, The Red anc
White Renegades of Powder River.

334—Buffalo Bili and the Robber Elk; or, The Mai!
Seekers of the Range.

335—Buffalo Bill’s Ghost Dance; or, The Thrall of the
Lightning That Strikes.

336—Buffalo Bill’s Peace Pipe; or, The Casket of Mys-
tery.

337—Buffalo Bill’s Red Nemesis; or, The White Captive

. of the Sioux.

338—Buffalo Bill’s Enchanted Mesa; or, The Lost Prin-
cess of the Moquis.

339—Buffalo Bill in the Desert of Death; or, The
Secret of the Jasper Joss.

340—Buffalo Bill’s Pay Streak; or, A Box Full 0!
Trouble for the ’Paches.

341—Buffalo Bill on Detached Duty; or, The Break on
the Bad Ax. Frail,

342—Buffalo Bill’s Army Mystery; or, The Rope-and-
Catamount Puzzle.

Or, The Ruse of the

, The Ghost
, A King

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