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Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year.

Entered as Second-class Matter at the N.Y. Post Office, by STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Ave., N. ¥.
’ Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1908, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, LsiG,

 

 

a 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 alt

over the world as the king of scouts.

 

No. 359.

NEW YORK, March 28, 1908.

Price Five Cents.

 

: TRAILING THE

alo Bill's Four-footed Pards:

OR,

ULE  SHINERS:

 

By the author of “BUFFALO BILL,”

 

CHAPTER 4d,
CSNARLEYO Wy 7 Rav

In. the distance, across the great,
shone through the darkness like a. star.
ov Ehat niist be a. wagon,” said Buffalo Bill to himself,
pointing his tired Haree. for the light. ‘Looks odd, too,”
he muttered. “That light can’t be a camp-fire, and what
honest freighter would go into camp out here without
starting a fire? There can’t be any doubt, I reckon, but
that it’s Killian’s outfit.”

Slowly, as the scout rode onward, a big “‘ptairie-
schooner” bulked out of the darkness. The horses had
been removed, and presumably hobbled, ar picketed. The
tongue of the wagon was elevated in the air, and from
the top of the tongue swung a lantern.

No sound came from the camp. . All was silent as: the

grave in the vicinity of the prair1e-schooner.

“Hello!” cried the scout, drawing his horse to a halt
at the rear of the wagon.

No human voice answered, but from off to one side he
heard a sharp yelp. Dismounting and buckling his bridle-
‘reins around the rim of one of the wheels, the- scout
leaned in under the canvas cover of the vehicle,

~
level plain, a light

prepare his supper.

He was almost sure he conte Hens the deep breathing
of a sleeper, but in this he might be mistaken.

Striking a match, he survey ed the w agon’s interior.

So far as cargo went, it was an empty. wagon. There
was a pile of bl ankets: in one end of the box, and a rifle
was suspended from the stout “ribs” that supported the
cafivas cover.

“Hello!” the scout called again.

Once more he was answered by
a little distance.

Drawing back, the scout started around the wagon. In
the dark he tumbled .over something on the ground.

A moment’s examination showed him that it was a
little heap of wood and bots de bache—the latter the usual
plainsman’s material in that day when he wished to start
a fire. Beside the fuel lay a bag of food and a small
camp-equipment.

The freighter,

the bark, coming from

apparently, was just getting ready to
Probably he was away at that mo-
ment taking care of his horses.

The scout struck another match on the r rim of a wheel
and looked at his watch.

Eleven o'clock! ,

Rather a late hour for the man in charge of a freight-
wagon to be going into camp!

 

 

        
      
      
     
      
        
     
     

   

 

    
    
  
   
   
 
  
    
   
   

   
THE BUFFALO

And then that light at the top of the wagon-tongue.
What could it mean?

The scout moved off toward a small stream that flowed
within a hundred yards of the wagon. There he found
two horses secured with thirty-foot riatas to iron picket-
pins. The horses were nipping at the grass, and had evi-
dently been picketed out for some time.

“Whoop-ya!” yelled the scout, not knowing but that
some errand might have called the freighter up or down
the stream.

Still there was no human response; therely the sharp
yelp of the dog.

Calling as he went, and making for the place from
which the barking of the dog proceeded, the scout re-
turned toward the wagon, passed it by some fifty feet,
and came upon two objects, huddled on the ground.

One of the objects moved. It was the dog. The ani-
mal came slowly to the scout’s side, his two eyes gleam-
ing like coals in the dark.

“Hello, Tige!” said the scout, putting out his hand.

The dog leaped from the extended hand like a flash,
at the same time giving a savage snarl. Gliding away
like a black blot, he vanished into the deeper shadows
under the wagon.

The scout, paying no further attention to the dog at
that moment, went on to the other form. It was the
form of a man, sprawled out on his) back, his knees
drawn up and his arms flung out from the shoulders.

Kneeling down, Buffalo Bill caught the man by the
shoulders and gave him a shake. The body yielded
limply to the scout’s pushing.

With a sudden suspicion, the scout laid one hand over
the man’s heart. The heart was still; the man had taken
the “long trail.”

A match held over the man’s face enabled Buffalo Bill
to make two discoveries.

One was that the man had a bushy red beard, and this
answered the description of Killian, the freighter.

The other discovery had to do with the man’s lacerated
throat. This was the only bruise or wound the scout
could find upon: him.

“The dog!” exclaimed the startled scout 5
sible the dog could have done this?”

Clearly the freighter had met his. fate by the fangs of
some enraged animal, but the scout did not want to be
too hasty in judging the dog.
freighter, it didnot seem possible that he would have
committed such a murderous attack upon his master.
Then, too, the dog had been crouching beside the form
of the slain man. More than likely he had gone upon
guard, waiting for some one to come and take care of
the body.

Again kneeling by the freighter’s side, the scout began
an examination of the clothes. Tobacco, pipe, a match-
case, a big jack-knife, four silver dollars, and a letter—
these were all he found. The only thing of possible im-
portance to the scout was, the letter.

This last was addressed to. “Dave Killian, Sunfly,
Utah,” the sheet within containing the following :

“is it pos-

“DEAR KILLIAN:
the storehouse. Better -get.it at once. The government
has set a man on the trail of the Utes by the name of
Ratchet. Buffalo Bill and Nick Nomad are helping

The Utes have ten barrels ready. at

Ratchet. This is a strong combination to fight, and, after —

BILL

If the dog belonged to the

STORIES.

we get rid of these ten barrels we'd better lay low for
a spell. Yours truly, _BIFF a

The match the scout was holding dropped from his
fingers. He gave a low whistle.

"Talk about luck!” he murmured, with a low laugh,
“here’s all kinds of it. A hot starter, I must say, first
crack out of the box. Ratchet’s suspicions certainly
proves the government man has the right detective in-
stitict. Killian was on his way to the storehouse after
the barrels.’ Tough luck for him that he was handled
in this way—and “tough luck for Ratchet and the gov-
ernment. I could have followed him to this storehouse,
and the whole consignment could have been confiscated,
and Killian, Hackett, and some ‘of the ‘shiner Utes cap-
tured redhanded. Oh, well, I reckon this is luck enough
to be satisfied with, anyhow. VH keep .the letter ; the
rest of the stuff goes back where I found it.”

The scout replaced Killian’s personal property in ‘his
coat pockets, stowed the letter safely in his own. clothes,
and then went toward the wagon.

He wanted to get a better look at the dog. The : ani-
mal was still under the wagon, but refused to be coaxed
out.

Buffalo Bill lighted the fire which the unfortunate Kil- ,.
lian had laid. As it blazed up, throwing a ruddy light |
over the surroundings, the scout dived into the grub-bx:
and pulled out a piece of “jerked” meat. The uog
scented the meat, sniffed, and began whimpering for
some of it.

Holding out a piece of the meat, the scout continued \
his coaxing, this time with better success.

The dog crawled slowly toward him, as though « some-
what in doubt as to how he would be received. When
he came into the circle of light cast by the fire, the
scout saw that his mouth end teeth were stained with
red.

“Thunder!” muttered the scout. “The dog did it, sure
enough. There’s something of a mystery. here...) The
brute couldn’t have belonged to Killian—he’d never have
treated his master in such.murderous fashion.”

The scout was at sixes. and sevens, for a moment, as
to whether he had better give the dog a meal or a. bullet
from.one of his forty-fours. Finally, concluding that the
mystery the dog represented might be worth sparing him
for investigation, Buffalo Bill hacked off several morsels.
from the hunk of “jerked” and flung them to- the oe
one at a time.

The pieces were eagerly caught up and ereedily de-
voured, the dog gaining confidence from his kind treat-
ment and approaching closer and closer. .

“Snarleyow!” exclaimed the scout, “Snarleyow, ir.
that’s what) you are. You're far from being a beauty,
Snarleyow, and if there isn’t a lot of coyote in el
make-up, I’ve missed a guess.”’

The dog resembled a coyote, had hide of a dusty
brown color, and was long, lank, heavy-fanged, and’ big
of muscle. Besides, he had the stealthy, prowling move-
ments of a mountain-vandal.

“When he-had finished the last of the meant, Snarleyow,
Jr., was near enough for the scout to give him a pat on
the head. Snarleyow’s tail began to wag. He was still
somewhat in doubt, but all doubt was fast leaving him.

Snarleyow showed so much appreciation of a little
kindness, in fact, that the scout wondered at. his reason
for attacking a human being...

¥

 
Vv hve nS

at AL ee NO SER AS

Po

Ve,

a

 

THE BUFFALO BILL STORIES. | 8

Suddenly, while the scout was ingratiating himself
into Snarleyow’s good graces, the dog crouched down-
ward with bristling hair, gave an ominous growl, then
whirled and vanished like a black streak into the night.

The scout started up. Four men were before him,
one white and threé Indians. All the men were armed.

The white man, stepping nearer the fire, looked across
it at the scout.

“Have you any objection, my friendj’ he asked, in a
voice of velvet, “to tell me what you are doing here?
Also what your object was in killing the owner of this
wagon?”

CHAPTER II.
‘A’ DISAGREEABLE: SITUATION.

_ The Indians were Utes. Like the white man, their
hands were fluttering close to the handles of their re-
volvers.

The white man’s face was full of evil. The scout

»»» appraised him as a border ruffian—one of the educated
sort, who, when they go to the bad, cause more trouble
* ».than any dozen of the other kind.

   

’

We kain’t put thet killin’ job onter me, pilgrim,” said

ee the: Scout, assuming the vernacular for a purpose. “It
| ain't my caliber, noways, fér blow in hyer an’ pick off er
peaceful freighter. I jist seen thet thar light”—he pointed

to the lantern at the end of the elevated wagon-tongue—
“an’ it aroused my cur’osity like. Mebby it was the
same thing that aroused your’n? I was as much s’prised
as you could be ter find ther freighter stretched out,
over thar.” The scout jerked his head toward the other
side of the wagon, as he finished.

“Who are you?” demanded the other.

“Pm a friend.o’ Dave Killian’s—the- feller that was
done up, Bein’ a friend, I was hangin’ out here, trying
ter figger out what I better do.”

“What label do-you tote?” went on the white man. |

“Siwash Charley, from down on the Brazos; Cattle-

~~ man, when thar ain’t nothin’ better doin’. You a squaw

man?’ The scout looked significantly at the three Utes.
“Not on your life, Siwash Charley. My name’s
Hackett. I was riding for Sunfly when I met these Utes,
and they told me there was treuble of some kind at the
‘wagon.”
The scout felt sure Hackett was lying. That light, at
the end of the wagon-tongue, the scout was convinced,
had been put there to guide Hackett and the Utes to the
wagon. Perhaps it had been their intention to accom-
pany Killian to the storehouse mentioned in the note.
“Tl bet two bits,” growled the scout, “that ‘them ar’
Utes knows more about what happened to Killianthan
what they wants ter let on.”
“If they had done anything unlawful here, Siwash
Charley,” demurred Hackett, “they would hardly have
~halted me on the trail and headed me in this direction.”
“That might hev been fer a ‘blind’. Ye kain’t never

tell nothin’ about Injuns. They’re like an outlaw btonk, -

an’ plumb full o’ Satan.”
“Tl answer for these Utes, I tell you,” said Hackett
sharply. “I run a store in Sunfly, and they often trade
with me. They’re straight goods. Have you looked
Killian over?” -
“Fust thing I did—nacherly.”

Ao 3

a Se aE Sa Re ee a es

“How do you think he met his end?”

“Beast 0’ some kind.” It was plain to the scout that
Hackett knew nothing about the dog, and had not ‘seen
the animal when it bounded away from the fire. “Looks
like it might hev been a wolf, or a wildcat, or a moun-
ting-lion.”

“By thunder!” exclaimed Hackett, as though by a sud-
den thought. . |

“What's ther rip, Hackett?” queried the ‘scout.

“Tl bet money it was that coyote-dog.”

“What about the coyote-dorg ?”

“Do you know Killian,” asked Hackett suspiciously
“and never have heard about the coyote-dog ?”

“I ain’t seen Killian fer quite a spell, but he never
told me nothin’ about a coyote-dorg. Limber up an’ tell
me what’s on yer mind.”

“There were three of us, once, up on the Bitter Water,
trekking for Salt Lake City with a train of three wagons,
loaded with goods for the Mormons—‘Turk’ Jameson,
Killian, and I. ‘Turk’ had a dog, a cross between a
coyote and a wolf, I guess, and about as big and homely
a specimen of a’ canine as you ever saw. ‘Turk’ didn’t
want the dog, but the dog had sort of appropriated
‘Turk’ and wouldn’t let go of him. The dog was steal-
ing good chuck from our outfit,.and we allowed to make
way with him. All of us bunched together and clubbed
and pounded him; then Killian sprinkled some kerosene
on him and we cut the rope, pushing him into the camp-
fire, and let him go. I guess that whelp knew, by then,
that he wasn’t wanted. But I’m telling you, Siwash
Charley, the dog had more sense than some humans.
He jumped from the fire with a yelp, and dashed like a
comet straight for the Bitter Water. There was a splash,
and a sigg, and the dog had saved his bacon. He came
out on the other side of'the creek, snarled at us from a
‘rise, and loped. off.”

Hackett was silent for a moment. His heartless story
had awakened in the scout nothing but loathing and. re-
pulsion. A man who would treat.a dumb brute that
way was less human than a dog. :

“That snarl the dog gave from the uplift,’ went on
Hackett, “was a declaration of vengeance and of war.
From that time on he began to stalk the men who had
misused him, taking them one at a time. “Turk’ was
found to the south of Salt Lake, dead as a door-nail
and with a mangled throat. That was a month ago; and
now here we've found Killian, done to his death in the
same way. The coyote-dog is on the war-path, and he’ll
be after me next. But Tl fix him if he shows up any-
where in my vicinity.”

“That yarn o’ yours has got a fishy sound, Hackett,”
said Buffalo Bill. “I never seen a dorg what could rea-
son like that.” :

“T never did before, either, but I tell you this isn’t
an ordinary dog. Where are you heading for, Siwash
Charley ?” .

vounny.

“How long you going to linger here?”

From Hackett’s manner it was plain he did not want
the scout to linger there any longer than necessary.

“Phort I’d take keer ©’ Killian an’ his outfit,’ an-
swered Buffalo Bill. es

“We'll do that. From what I have told you about‘the
coyote-dog, you will understand that Killian was a friend
of mine.”

“You an’ the Utes workin’ tergether?”

x

>

: Si kal ail ile oe
LONE

ene aia Se A aoe

 
   

 

4 THE BUFFALO
“No,” scowled Hackett, growing more and more sus-
picious, “but Ill make them help me and drive the
wagon on to town.’

“Kerect. I'll hang out in ther camp ter- night, an’
then I’ll straddle my bronk an’ hike away,”

Hackett could not very well deny the scout this privi-
lege, although he showed, beyond all doubt, that he did
not like the idea.

The scout picketed his horse down by the creek; and
when he got back he found the Utes busily digging a
hole with a pick and shovels found about: the wagon.
Killian was laid away. By that time the night had
dwindled into the small hours, and all hands were “bunk-
ing down.”

Hackett and the Utes had bunched their horses at
some distance from those put out by the unfortunate
Killian, and the scout had exercised care in placing
his own mount a good way from all the other animals.

The scout’s situation was a disagreeable one. He was
flying false colors from force of circumstances, yet even
in spite of his fictitious name, he could see that he was
suspected of ulterior motives. Nevertheless, Hackett
was the man he wanted to keep track of, and. he was
determined to pass the night in camp with him, and
watch him.

Hackett, whether because he feared the dog, or for
some other reason, made his bed in the wagon. The
Utes ‘piled themselves under the wagon. The scout laid
dewn by the dying embers of the fire, rifle beside him,
and without removing his revolver-belt.

The rest of that night Buffalo Bill was to pass
one eye open.”

An hour after all hands had taken to their blankets,
the camp was quiet, save for the snores of the sleepers
and the tramping and ntp-nipping of the live stock.

Buffalo Bill snored with the rest, but he did it with
both eyes wide and watchful.

Well for him was it that he did not allow sleep to
get the better of his faculties.

Lying on his side, face to the wagon, he saw the dark
form of one of the Utes come creeping toward, him.
When the Ute came within twenty feet, the scout could
see that he had a knife in his teeth.

This was a play the scout had been waiting for, and
half-expecting. It proved that Hackett had given the
Utes their cue, and that “Siwash Charley” was, if possi-
ble, to be left under another mound to keep Killian com-
pany.

It proved, too, that the scout’s estimate of Hackett,
as derived from the letter taken from Killian, was correct
in every detail.

“Biff” Hackett and the Utes were hand and glove with
each other; and these three Utes were certainly a part of
the band of red moonshiners who had been selling illicit
fire-water to the rest of the Indians, supplying it to the
gin-mills of that part of the country, and giving the gov-
ernment no end of trouble generally.

This was what the scout had wanted to make sure of.
With a firm grip on one of his revolvers, he waited for
the creeping Ute to bring the affair to a crisis.

But the crisis never came.

Abruptly there came a wild yell from the wagon, fol-
lowed by sounds of a fierce struggle in the wagon-box.

The creeping Ute and his two companions sprang up
on the instant and began investigating the — prairie-
schooner. A dog leaped out at the rear.

“with

BILL STORIES.

The Ute with the knife happened to be close enough
to strike at him, but the dog evaded the blow and
gripped the redskin in the arm. The Wie tet off 2 how!
of pain and tore himself away.

A's that bloody coyote- -dog!” yelled Hackett, piling
out of the wagon in great excitement. “He sneaked in

—_—

on me, and eo d have had me by the throat’if I hadn’t .

grabbed him and thrown him off. Kill him! Don’t let
him get away! Follow him!”

‘Til nab ther critter!” shouted Buffalo Bill, loping
toward his horse with blankets and riding-gear.

CHAPTER III.
“PINTO BEN.”

By an odd coincidence, Buffalo Bill’s trapper pard was
to have a queer adventure with a four-footed animal,
equally sagacious, in its own way, as was the oe
dog.

The trapper was to meet the scout at a ranch known
as French Pascal’s. It was early morning, and Nomad
had broken his lonely camp and started for the raxeit,
which he was planning to reach by noon.

His trail carried him through a rich cattle-range, and

he happened, before he had been an hour on his way, to
meet half a dozen cowboys.

The cowboys were dismounted, had rifles in their
hands and were collected in a close group. About a hun-
dred yards from where they were standing there was a
beautiful pinto pony secured with riata and picket-pin.

Nomad had seen a:good many handsome cayuses in
his time, but never one to compare with this particular
specimen. ‘The horse’s head and neck were as delicately
chiseled as an Arab’s, and his Cie black-and- white
body was as smooth as.a piece of silk

The horse seemed to be aware that something unusual
was going on, and that danger was to be apprehended
from the ‘cowboys.
of the plain, the pinto had his head up, his forefeet apart,
and was staring steadily at the armed men.

So interested were the cowboys in what they were
about to do that they didenot at once observe the ap-
proach of Nomad.

“No use of all o’ us shootin’ at once an’ spoilin’ the
hide with bullet-holes,’ said one,

“Sartain not, Shorty,” spoke up another. ‘‘T’ll do ther
shootin’ ef you fellers’ll jest stand back an’ give me
room.”

“Nary ye don’t, Chet!” cried another. “Tt ain’t every
day a-cow-punch gits a chance ter do up a hundred-dollar
cayuse., We'll toss a two-bit piece ter see who'll do the
killin? 0’ Pinto Ben.”

A chorus of affirmatives greeted the suggestion. A ah
ver piece went twirling upward into the sunlight. One
. - cowboys called the wrong side, and he stepped

ack.

Just then Old Nomad rode up in front of the crowd.

“Howdy, friends!’ he called.

“Howdy, pilgrim!” came from the punchers.

“Mout I inquire what’s goin’ on hyar?”

“Ye mout,’ answered Shorty. “Us fellers is goin’ ter
kill Pinto Ben.”

Instead of feeding on the rich grass -

 

 

 

Ai.

 

 

 

 
 

Sot. atl one

   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
     
  

 

 

 

 

 

_a mile high can’t hold Pinto Ben!

THE BUFFALO

~ “Meanin’ ther calico cayuse, out yander >”
_“Ye've hit the bull’s-eye.”

“Et shore seems like er bloomin’ shame ter knock over
a critter like thet. Ef I mout inquire ag’in, what’s ther
matter o’ ther pinto?”

. “He knows too blame’ much.”

“Quare thing ter be killin’ a hoss fer. Ef all ther two-
legged critters thet knows too much was picketed out
an’ shot up, I reckon there’d be a right smart of us under-
ground.”

A laugh went round at this.

“Ye'’re all right, ye old cimiroon,” guffawed the cow-
boys. “Git down here an’ we'll let ye in on this two-bit.
racket. Heads er tails?’

“I don’t want ter come in on et, boys,” said the trap-
per, turning sideways in his saddle and crooking his left
knee around the horn, “TI ain’t.got no hankerin’ ter put
er bullet inter a purty critter like thet. Injuns thinks er
powerful lot er pinto cayuses.”

“Reds ain’t got much sense, anyways, when it comes
ter hosses,” said Shorty. “In-breedin’ makes er pinto

’

- Whatheis,.an’ he repersents inferior stock. But Pinto
Be n, out there! Well, say, he’s an exception ter the

 

Vhat erbout him?’’ asked the trapper. “Got any ob-
m ter delayin’ ther game while ye tell me?’

owboys looked at each other, then leaned on the
muzzles of their rifles, or against their horses, while

~ Shorty cffed up his tongue with a little “valley tan.” He

offered it around. Two or three accepted the flask, but
the rest—among them Nomad—good-naturedly declined.

“That same Pinto Ben, over there,” said Shorty, nod-
ding toward the cayuse, “is shore the cutest trick that
ever toted a saddle. He’s the knowin’est animile that
ever bit a cow in a round-up. He’s too good, that’s all
about it, an’ he’s goin’ to get killed for bein’ the same.

“Pilgrim, us Circle H fellers hev used Pinto Ben on
the round-up fer goin’ on two y’ars. He knowed his biz-
ness. When you sent him into a bunch o’ cows, he’d
know. right off which cow you was arter. He’d foller
her, twistin’ an’ turnin’, kicking her an’ biting her till:
he jest nacherly cut ’er out.” he

“With nobody on his back?” put in Nomad.

“With nothin’ on his back but that black-an’-white
ha’r o’ his. So fur as it went, this here was slick biz-
ness. The ole man was saved the price of a cowboy,
an’ he couldn’t do too much fer Pinto Ben. The cayuse
wasn’t satisfied ter know that much, but had-ter I’arn
more. He’s took ter rustlin’.”
The announcement was made in solemn earnest.
“Rustlin’ ?” echoed Nomad. ra
“Ain’t I tellin’ ye?” went on Shorty. “A corral fence
As fer tyin’ him, he'll
chaw plumb in two ary rope that was ever made. When
he gits away, off he puts like an arrer from er bow.
Then he praneces around through ther hills, rounds up a
middlin’-sized bunch er cows, an’ drives ’em fer miles
and miles, makin’ the boys no end o’ trouble huntin’ ’em
up an’ gittin’ *em back.

“Pinto Ben used ter be a good hoss, an’ the ole man
has a heap o’ likin’ fer him, so he had us try ter break
him o’ his foolishness. But it couldn't be did. Ben jest
goes on an’ on, l’arnin’ more cussedness ther hull blessed
time. So the ole man, this mornin’, tells us kinder sad-
like ter bring him out an’ settle his hash with a bullet.

Z
4
7
4

BILL STORIES. 5

Now ye know, pilgrim, what we’re up ter, an’ why we’re

doin’ it.”

Nomad, still with one knee hooked around the saddle-
horn, was chewing the cud of reflection. He knew
cowboys, and he knew they were great hands to “josh:”
Were they “joshing” him with this yarn about Pinto
Ben, and really killing the cayuse for some other reason ?

It didn’t seem possible a horse could have as much
sense as Pinto Ben was said to have.

“You all don’t like ter kill thet hoss, T reckon, do ye,
boys?” asked Nomad. aa

“Waal,” said Shorty, “he’s a blamed rustler. I reckon
we wouldn’t hang back in shootin’ a rustler.’’

“But ther pinto don’t know he’s stealin’.”

“Go on! He knows it as well as us fellers.”

“I’m sorter leanin’ to’rds thet hoss, an’ I’ll hand over
a couple o’ yaller boys fer him, ef ye’re agreeable.”

Shorty looked around. The rest of the cowboys shook
their heads, and the man called Chet spoke up:

“We got the ole man’s orders, an’ we hadn’t orter go
aginst °em. He’s plumb measly when us fellers don’t do
as we're told.”

“What d’e want o’ the hoss, anyways?” inquired
Shorty, studying Nomad with a speculative eye.

“Waal, podner, ’'m thet fond er knowin’ hosses T like
ter hev ‘em around. Up on ther Platte a friend er mine
is keepin’ er hoss fer me, an’ I reckon thet animile kin
do everythin’ a man kin, exceptin’ smoke er pipe an’ use
cuss words. I’m a trapper, when I’m ter home, an’ thet ©
hoss helps me ’tend ter ther traps. He kin set a steel
trap as good as what I kin; an’ he’ll make ther rounds,
takin’ out beaver an’ mink an’ totin’ °em in same’s a two-
legged man. Great b’ar-hunter, thet hoss is. He kin
foller a b’ar like er hound, an’ he kin kill one quicker’n
what I kin with a rifle.”

The cowboys were the ones who had now become
thoughtful.

“However does this hoss 0’ your’n kill a b’ar, pil-
grim?’ asked Shorty, in a subdued tone.

“Easy enough. Ye see, I keeps ‘im shod with. er
special kind er shoes—corks three inches long an’ filed
ter a needle-p'int. When he gits ready ter knock over the
b’ar, the hoss r’ars up an’ draps on his head with them
pinted corks. He won’t drap on ther b’ar no place but
ther head, kase he knows ther hide’s vallyble an’ he don’t
want ter sp’ile et. Nebuchadnezzar is ther critter’s name.
I calls him Nebby fer short. He kin tork, too; he -

“Stranger,” asked Shorty deferentially, “did you say
yore name was Ananias ?”’

“Nary, friend,” replied Nomad, “but I knowed An-
anias. He whacked cows on er Utah range, oncet.” -

By a common impulse the cowboys pulled off their
Stetsons and made the peace sign with their hands.

“What’s yer name?” inquired Shorty.

“Nick Nomad.”

There was a movement of surprise on the part of the
cowboys. oe

“Not by any possibility Buffler Bill’s trapper pard >’
inquired Chet. —

“Ther same.”

There was a momentary pause on the part of the cow-
boys; then, with a yell, they rushed around the old trap-
per and began shaking his hand.

“He helped Cody run Silva out o’ the kentry!’

“He coppered ther war-talk of the Comanches an’
KKiowas !”

 

 
%

we

 

 

 

Chet,

~ ter will make er hit with Buffler.
things, whether they’re brute er human, an’ ef this, pinto

northwesterly course.

peg nas

6 THE BUFFALO

“He was mixed up in thet mummy-game down among
the Pueblos !”

These were only a few of the exultant remarks made
by. ‘the cowboys as they tendered the old man their ef-
fusive greeting.

“Whyever didn’t ye tell us who ye was at fust?” de-
manded Shorty. “Ye must hev thort we was actin’ like
ajlot o’ tin-horns. D’ye want that there Pinto Ben fer
Buffler Bill?”

“Whatever me an’ Buffler has,”
in common.”

“What say, fellers?”’ asked Shorty, appealing to his
companions. “Shall we give the pinto to Old Nomad? I
reckon the old man won’t kick’ We all know how he
thinks Buffler Bill is the greatest thing that ever hap-
pened in the Southwest. Nomad’ll take the pinto out
o’ the kentry, and that ought to satisfy the old man.’

“Give im the pinto!” yelled the cowboys.

Shorty turned to Nomad.

“Hear that, old cut-an’-slash? Pinto Ben is your’n.
But we was givin’ it to ye straight when we told ye what

said Nomad,

“we has

3?

he. knowed.”

“Sure_ye was,’ grinned Nomad, making a motion of
the hand over his Jeft shoulder. “‘I was next ter thet all
ther time.”

“But thet trappin’-hoss story 0’ your’n—say, thet ’u’d
shore make ther fur stand’on er buffler-robe.”

“Some folks kain’t appreciate facts,’ laughed Nomad,
“when they’re told erbout a hoss they never seen. Waal,
I’m erbliged ter ye, anyways. Got ter be lopin’ erlong
to’rds. French Pascal’s. Adios!”

“Adios!” cried the cowboys, and watched while Nomad

‘rode to the pinto, pulled the picket-pin, and rode off with

the rescued cayuse in tow.

“‘Afore he gits ter Pascal’s with Pinto Ben,” remarked
Shorty, “he'll find out he’s got a cannon- -cracker at t’other
end o’ thet riata.”

“Et ain’t our funeral no more, anyways,”
“Let’s hit ther trail fer home.”

33

answered

CHAPTER IV.
PINTO BEN’S ODD MANEUVER.

When Nick Nomad rode off with Pinto Ben he was
mightily pleased. He didn’t take any stock in the cow-
boys’ wonderful yarn about the horse, but he did feel as
though -he had snatched a prize from destruction. The
calico was certainly a beauty. He was big for a mustang,
too, but his limbs were clean-cut, and he was as graceful
in his. movements as a deer.

“Whether ther hoss knows more’n the average of. his
kinder not,” ruminated Nomad, riding along with the
pinto following some fifteen feet behind, “still ther crit-
Buffler likes quare

proves ter be a puzzle, he'll be tickled ter death ter take
holt o’ et an’ work. et out.”

The trapper’s trail carried him across the plain in a
- At the end of twe hours he de-
scended a slope toward the timbered bottoms of a stream.
Cottonwoods and box-elder grew thickly on each side of

the trail.

Bah Rg Rg ne TE Tagg INTE

BILE STORIES.

Everything, so far as the trapper was concerned, ‘was.

quiet and peaceful. Flies droned in the warm air, and he
kept them from bothering him and at the same time made
his ride more enjoyable, by smoking his pipe.

Nomad was feeling good about the pinto, feeling good

about the prospect of excitement in the move against the
Ute ’shiners, feeling good to think he was alive and
healthy and had a good horse between his knees—feeling
good, in short, about a hundred and one things, and ta-
king his toll of comfort as he journeyed.

Then, all of a sudden, something happened.

Pinto Ben, who had been following jauntily, nipping at
the bushes as he passed, became abruptly imbued with
the fiercest kind of life and action.

The first thing Nomad knew, the pinto was shooting
past him like a variegated sky-rocket.

From the end of the rope, as he followed behind, to
the end of the rope, as he carried it ahead, the pinto
had some thirty feet of leeway. During the time he cov-
ered those thirty feet his body had acca ee the momen-
tum of an express-train.

Now, the picket-rope, was eda to the han of Nomad’s
saddle, and it was but natural that when Pinto Ben
reached the end of the rope ahead something would have
to give. It might be the rope itself, or it might be the
saddle-horn, or it might be something else.

The trapper had no time to figure on that phase’ of ae

question. With a quick use of the reins he squatted his
horse in the trail to withstand the shock,

The jolt came in about a second. “Nomad’s mount was
lifted in the air like a jack-rabbit. _The horse would
probably have been turned heels over head if the saddle-
cinch had not broken.

Away went the saddle, and away went Nomad. The
trapper did not remain with the saddle very long, for it
was going altogether too fast. It slid out from under
him and ‘left him-on his back with his heels thrashing
the air.

“Waugh!” grunted Noed: picking himself up and
watching the saddle slide into. the distance then whisk
out of sight among the bushes. “Thar wasn’t no hoss-
sense erbout thet move,” he muttered angrily, gathering
in the six-shooters that had dropped from his belt. ‘‘Tork
erbout thet animile knowin’ er hull lot! Sufferin’ wild-
cats! He. don’t know enough ter stay peaceable when
he’s.. well treated. Mebby T ain't goin’ ter hev sich er
good time with thet pinto as I thort. Like as not
he'll ri es

The old trapper paused and listened. Pinto Ben had
swerved from the trail, a little way ahead, and there was
now a tremendous thrashing“in the chaparral. High
above the crash of bushes, came angry squeals of the
cayuse.

Determined to investigate, and find out what was
going on, the trapper turned from the trail and oe
his way through the undergrowth.

He had no trouble in getting to the scene of the: dis-
turbance, as the racket guided him.

Presently he came to the saddle. It. was caught be-
tween two trees, growing close together. The<riata
was ‘still secured to the horn and was wrapped around
one of the trees. It was shivering, shaking, and strain-
ing with the movements of the horse at its farther end.
Nomad continued on, and in a few steps came out on a
little, cleared space not-more than half a dozen feet from
the trail,

 

 
 

 

 

THE BUFFALO

Pinto Ben was in the center of the cleared space,
plunging, kicking, and doing his utmost to break away
from the rope.

A dead steer lay to one side of the clearing. The
carcass had been-skinned and the choice parts of it cut
away. Some one had been using the place as a sort of
camp, so far as Nomad could judge.

The carcass of the steer suggested rustlers.

“Et was thet thar carcass,” thought, the trapper, “thet
fetched ther cow-horse. He smelled et, an’ thort some-
thin’ onusual was goin’ on. Thet was why he made thet
bolt an’ jerked me inter ther trail. Easy, thar, Pinto
Ben!” he called, making his way to the horse and patting
the animal soothingly. “You ain’t got no ¢all ter mix

up with cattle any more, Pinto. You berlong ter Buffler

anne, now).an——"

Nomad’s words died on his lips. His eyes, wander-
ing to the bushes that edged the clearing, had fallen
upon a form—the form of a man. The man’s hands
were bound behind him, his feet were tied, and there was
a gag between his jaws. His eyes were following No-
mad, and expressed the utmost astonishment.

Nomad, perhaps, was as much astonished as was the
man.

“Waal, howlin’ hyeners!” he exclaimed, stepping to the
man’s side and looking down at him. “Ef et ain’t
Ratchet I’m er Piegan! How’d yer ever come hyar, an’
who fixed ye up like thet?”

Ratchet gurgled behind the gag. The trapper dropped
down on the ground and took the gag away.

“Nomad!” exclaimed Ratchet. “This is a big sur-
prise-party on me. That calico horse had set me to
guessing, and now here you drop in on me and set my

‘wits adrift entirely. Get the ropes off me, will you?

I’ve been tied up all night.” _
_ “Who done et, Ratchet?” asked the trapper, cutting the

cords from the detective’s wrists and ankles.

“Redskins,” answered Ratchet, getting up and ‘stretch-
ing his cramped limbs. “By Jupiter! it seems good to

have the use of my limbs once more. I didn’t know but
Iwas to be knocked on the head.”

_ “What sorter Injuns was they?” .
a Utes:
. “How many?”

“Pour.”

_“Whyever did they lay fer you?”

“Give it up. I’ve been trying to figure that out all
night.’’
- “What become o’ ther pizen whelps?’’ asked the trap-
per, grabbing at his revolvers and staring around.

“Three of them left here last evening,” said the trap-
per. “One stayed in this place to look after me, and to
pepper some one who was to travel the trail, if I’ve
guessed his actions right. He had that place fixed, and
has been crouching there with his rifle, ever since. day-
light.”

Ratchet nodded toward a neatly contrived screen of
bushes which looked out upon the trail. There was a

loophole in the screen, and Nomad passed to it, knelt
‘down, and took a glance in the direction of the road.

_ “TY wonder,” he hazarded, scratching his head, “ef by
any chance thet thar Ute was er layin’ fer me, Ratchet?’
“Tt might be. We were both to meet Buffalo Bill at
French Pascal’s, and we were both to travel this trail.
The Utes may have known that—how, I can’t even guess

sae ye a a patna

BILL STORIES. y

and they may have intended to get you after laying
me by the heels. But why should they do that?”
“Kain’t tell, Ratchet, onless they berlong ter thet gang
o Ute ’shiners us fellers aire fixin’ ter trail. More’n
likely thet’s how ther thing stands. How’d they git ye?”
“They lassoed my horse as I was riding toward the
creek, through the woods. The horse was roped by a
forward hoof, and was thrown flat. I went over his head
and landed in the road with a jolt that put my wits out
of business. When I came to I was like you found me,
and I remained that way up to the time you got here.”
“Where'd thet steer come from?”
“The Utes had it. I guess it was a stray, and they
knocked it over. When the three reds pulled out last
night, they packed a lot of the meat along with them.”
“Ye hevn’t got no idee whar them three reds went?”
“Not the slightest. The Indians were doing a lot of
chattering among themselves before they separated. I
figured that they had left one of their number behind
to shoot some one coming along the trail and then to
finish me. The Ute was ready to fire when that horse”
—Ratchet nodded toward the pinto—‘came plunging
through the brush. The noise scared the Ute, and he
jumped into the timber like a rabbit. A moment later I
heard him pounding away on his cayuse. Is that your

“horse, Nick?”

“Et’s my horse,” returned the trapper thoughtfully,
“but et ain’t ther one I’m er ridin’, I reckon,” he pro-
ceeded slowly, “thet move o’ ther pinto’s saved my ha’r.
Ef he hadn’t rushed in hyar, like he done, ther Ute
would hey shot me out’n my saddle.”

“Where did the pinto come fromr And how do you
happen to have him? And why did he rush in here like
he did?”

“I reckon we'd better hike fer French Pascal’s, pard,
as soon as-we kin hit ther trail,” said Nomad. “I'll ex-
plain what I kin on ther way; an’ what the two o’ us
tergether kain’t figger out, we'll let Buffler figger out
fer us. Did them three Utes take away yer horse,
Ratchet?”

_“T suppose so. They took away my guns and every-
thing else I had about me.” '

‘Waal, thar ain’t no use runnin’ arter thet last Ute.
He’s probly a couple er miles erway from hyar, by
now. You kin ride ther pinto, Injun style, ah’ I’ll mend
my saddle-cinch an’ git ther saddle back onter my hoss.
You bring ther pinto an’ ther saddle while I hustle back
ter ther trail an’ see what’s become o’ my mount.”

Leaving Ratchet to deal with that end of the affair,
Nomad regained the road, and, fortunately, discovered
his horse almost in the spot where the saddle had been
jerked off.

A few minutes later Ratchet appeared in the trail with
Pinto Ben and the saddle. The pinto was quiet enough
now, and offered no objections when the detective twisted
one end of the riata into a hackamore and climbed to
his back with the end of the hackamore in his hand.

Nomad was not long in repairing the, cinch, and half
an hour after Ratchet had been discovered and released,
the two men were again on their way to’ French Pas-
cal’s, eas
Nomad was doing a lot of head-work. He wasn’t
thinking about the Utes particularly, but about the odd
maneuver of Pinto Ben. ~ ihe

What had carried the pinto at such breakneck speed

sneer leer ae re aS

  

a
a ———
  

 

 

  

ae Si hte, a
PR pd RM eA Nt

8 THE BUPFAEO

tk

into the timber? Was it the dead steer which the cayuse
had sniffed from afar?

This was the most reasonable explanation, and the
trapper had to be satished with it.

But that maneuver of Pinto Ben’s,
had saved the trapper’s life.

After settling this point, to the best of his ability, No-
mad began explaining affairs to Ratchet.

The detective was as puzzled as-was the trapper.

“Perhaps Buffalo Bill can shed some light on: this
business of the Utes,’ said Ratchet.

“Ef any one kin,’ replied Nomad, “et’s

in all tikelithood,

shore pard

Buffler. We'll hang ther matter up till we git ter Pas-.
al’s.”
CHAPTER -V.
PASCAL IS" SCARED.
“Sacre! Nevaire, by ear!, You talk, I talk, den I
‘ don’ go. I no like dis ‘blame? countree, m’sieur. It iss

bad to leeve in now. Sacre cochon! what. she be to leeve
in if I go help ketch de moonshinair? W’en I do dat I
no leeve, by gar! Me, Napoleon Pascal, I be kill daid.
I got my healt’ now, and 1 keep” hina. l+let de moon-
shinair lone.”

Whenever Napoleon Pascal 1 talked he had: to squirm;
and the more in earnest he happened to be, the more he
squirmed. He moved his hands, his feet, his head; he
hunched up his shoulders and twisted his face. Every
word had a corresponding gesture, every sentence a pose.

He was thin, and wiry, and undersized. His face was
like a piece of brown parchment. He had black eyes
and a black mustache whose ends he kept waxed and
twisted to a point. There were rings in his ears, and
there was said to be a kink in his intellect. But Na-
poleon Pascal was a true friend, and had never been
known to betray a confidence. is

Buffalo . Bill, reaching Pascal’s in time for Hreskiee
had “sat in” for grub- pile.
had broiled. exquisitely a piece of deer meat; and-he had
made, also, the most delicious cup of coffee the scout had
ever drank.

The Frenchman had almost turned himself inside out
with delight when he learned that his visitor was Buffalo
Bill—that great M’sieu Co-dee about whom everybody
had something good to say.

The scout had expected to find Ratchet at the French-
man’s. Nomad~had farther to go to get there than
Ratchet had, and the scout was not expecting him until
some time during the day; but the detective should have
reached the rendezvous in advance of the scout.

Aiter breakfast Buffalo Bill had hung about the shanty

until noon, conning frequently the trail that led away
to the south and east. No horsemen had traveled it,
either going or coming.

Now the scout and the Frenchman were at dinner, and
the scout, having learned that French Pascal was entirely
reliable, had. asked. him if he did not want to lend a
hand in nosing out the Ute storehouse where the illicit
whisky was kept.

Pascal declined in terms that were respectful but_vig-
orous. He and the scout pushed back from the table and
filled and. lighted their pipes. ~

~ cheval.

With his own hands Pascab-

led aN ‘ sald se, ong dentin 5 BRT Nha Fes
VR ee Oe ag ee SAK ar iim ask Riba eee

BILL STORIES.

“When you qwant~a spe of whisky, Pascal, - "asked
the scout, “what do you do: pee ee

Mier. By gar, 1 put wan tollar- bill in de Haale of
de jug and set heem in de road. Dat night somebody
fill de jug and take de bill. It ‘been lak dat ofe, two,
t’ree mont’: but las’ night I set out de jug wid: de bill,
and de bill still in de ‘handle and de jug empty in de
morning. Bien! “De moonshinair know Buffalo Bill on
de trail, and dey plentee scared.” ~~ yy

“What's the matter with the country, Pascal, “aside
from the moonshiners?”. asked the scout.

It was as good as a circus to him to watch the French-
man talk. There was nothing for the scout to do but to
‘wait until” Ratchet and: Nomad: ‘presented themselves,
and conversation w ve ‘his lost: was a good way to- kill
time,

WV at for I -no fae de countree? Well, de- Ute him
ver’ bad, and dey steal Pascal’s steers w’enever dey lak.
But de Ute I stand him t’ree, four year. I get along
some way. -I no get along wid de animal—de chien, -
De dog and de horse, you onnerstan’??

“T don’t believe I catch the ‘drift of your temarks ex-
actly, Pascal. How do dogs and horses make is coun-
try a bad place to live in?’ .

“Sacre, m’sieu! Wan horse and wan n dog. De horse,
we considet heem first. Bien. He weat you call pinto-
horse, onnerstan’? Two color, from head to tail: Beeg,
not lak mustang. Dat horse wan diable, m’sieu! Oui,
me, saa eon Pascal, I know. Pinto Ben he lak to fight.
He b’l ong to Circle H Ranch, ten mile from dis place, but
dey not able to keep heem at Circle H. Non, c'est im-
possible. He chew de rope, he break de fence, he get
‘away spite of ever'ting. W’erever dat Pinto Ben see
wan fight, he come, and he get in dat fight wid hees teet’
and hees hoof. He bodder me plentee. He get away
from de Circle H, he come to Pascal’s, He keel de
chicken, he keek down de barn, he chase Pascal to de
house, and he try keek down de house.”

The Frenchman flung out his hands angrily and glared.

“Wat you tink of horse lak dat, eh? Nom de Dieu!
It make me all mad inside. I go to de Circle H, make
beeg complaint. Bien. M’sieu Hawkins at de Circle H
say he have dat Pinto Ben killed daid. Dis morning dey
kill heem. - Den I feel safe.”

Pascal wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“T never heard of a horse like that,” remarked Buf-
falo Bill. “Lve seen locoed mustangs, but I never saw
one that went on the war-path just for the fan of the
thing.”

“By. gar, dat Pinto Ben fight, fight, fight all de tam.
He never feel good wid himself onless he fight.”

“You spoke Ore dog,” said the scout, vastly amused
but suppressing his feelings.

“Mais, de dog!” groaned Pascal. “Him beeg dog, lak
de coyote, m’sieu. Leesen. I have fine saddle of de
deer, all cooked, ready for de table. Do I eat de saddle?
Do I put heem on de table? Non!
kitchen, grab dat saddle, trun out of de kitchen.
So queek lak dat.

“Den, wan tam, M’sieu Killian de freighter been here
wid me. I no lak M’sieu. Killian, but he stop for de
meal and pay de good money, and he be my guest. And
dat dog bound in like wan streak lightning, m’sieu! He
jump at de t’roat of M’siett Killian. I hit heem wid: de
frying-pan, I keek him wid de boot—not M’siew Killian
but de dog=--and | pull heem away and get heem‘in de

Pod! !

 

 

Dat dog run in de-

  
   

 

OIE Og LE PR - inttae

    
     
 

 

ae
E
3

i
ps

 

 

story he had recently heard from Hackett.

' intensity, of: it.

ae ot

 

THE BUFFALO

odder room—not de dog but M’sieu Killian—and den r.
go for de gun. Mais, meantime, dat dog say ‘au revoir,’

and make de gran’ skedaddle. a

This dog of French Pascal’s the scout immediately
recognized. Certainly it was the coyote-dog, Snarleyow,
Jr. The scout had not ‘seen the brute since the animal
had left the camp of the unfortunate Killian.

“I don’t think that dog would hurt you, Pascal,” said
the scout <<

“W’y not, Buffalo Bill? He take de saddle of de deer,
and it hurt Pascal in de stomach to loose de dinner. Den
he try kill dat M’sien Killian. W’y he not try kill Pas-
cal de same?”

“Probably the dog has a grudge against Killian. As
a matter of fact, Pascal, I know the dog had a grudge
against him and that he has finally killed him,”

“Poof! Dog not lak man, Buffalo Bill,
sense lak dat. How he hold de grudge?”

For the Frenchman’s benefit, the scout repeated the
Pascal: lis-
And when Buffalo Bill told

No have

tened with widening eyes.

-of finding the body of Killian, Pascal gasped and col-
_ lapsed: into his chair.

“Sacre, I don’t lak dat! De dog have de grudge for
ever body. He kill M’sieu Jameson, he kill M’sieu Kil-
lian, he try kill M’sien Hackett. Some day, by’nby, he
try kill me, Napoleon Pascal. By gar!’

“He wouldn’t try to kill you, Pascal,” returned the
scout.

“I pound. heem wid de i ‘and keek him wid

- de boot,” cried the Frenchman, horrified.

“Yes, but you did that in order to save Killiané You
didn’t pour kerosene on the dog and push him into the
camp-fire.” The scout’ eyes flashed. “Men who will be
so brutal as that,’”’ he added, “ought to get their come-
up-with, If Hackett, Killian, and Jameson wanted to

_ get rid of the dog they could have used a bullet and put

him out of the way in a humane manner. But those men
were brutes themselves, and %

Right then and _ there

 

a

something happened. The
kitchen-window, near which Buffalo Bill and Pascal
were sitting, was wide open. Suddenly, without the least
warning, a form came hurtling through it and landed
softly at the scout’s feet.

Napoleon Pascal bounded into the air with a yell of
terror,

“Merci!” he cried  shrilly ;
dog!’

Pascal’s fright would have been ludicrous but for the
He bounded for the door, kicking over
everything that got in his way. Rushing from the house,
he was quickly on his way to a tree that grew near the
kitchen-door.- The scout was watching his movements
through a window. Before Pascal reached the tree, the
scout saw him halt in petrified amazement and stare along
the trail leading toward the southeast. He staggered
and threw.up his hands despairingly. Then, with an-)
other yell of abject fear, he raced back into the house.

“Dat pinto!” he cried. “Mon Dieu, I been wan daid
Frenchman dis day!
Bill!”

‘There was a trap-door in the kitchen-floor leading
foan into a potato-cellar. With frantic hands Pascal
lifted the door, jumped out of sight into the darkness,
and let the door drop back into place behind him,

“de dog! Dat man-killer

‘ther run o’ et.

Save de Frenchman’s life, Buffalo

se ne en in rarSa 35 tae NR EN Tip at SS

BILL ae o

Jumping up, Buffalo Bill hurried out of the house,
jerking a revolver as he went.

W hen he was able to look off over the trail,
to laugh.

There was a pinto in sight, sure enough, but Ratchet,
the detective, was astride the horse. Side by side with
Ratchet, too, was Nick Nomad, the scout’s trapper pard.

These were the two for whont the scout was waiting,
and the sight of them had taken a load from his mind.

he began

i

CHAPTER V4,
GETTING THE RUN OF IT.

“Whoop: -ya, Buffler!” yelled Old Nomad, waving his
haffd. “What’s ther matter with thet pize Frenchrnan ?
Ther minit he clapped eyes onter us ye’d hey thort he’d
seen er couple er ghosts.” \

“He was scared,” answered the scout, sizing up the
pinto as his pards came close.. “What's the matter with
you, Ratchet?” he asked. . “Bareback and without a
bridle! And your guns are gone, too. You're not very
well equipped for taking the trail of the Ute ’shiners!

The detective gave a rueful laugh.

“Met up with a run of hard luck, Buffalo Bill,” he
answered.

“Was that what kept you from getting here sooner?”

“That was the cause of it.’

“Well, hitch and come in and-we'll talk it over.”

“Thet’s what we're pinin’ ter do, Buffler. <A hull lot
o’ things hev happened, an’ we want ye ter help us git
Thet ther barn, out thar?”

eG

“We'll be with ye in er brace o’ shakes, Buffler. Mean-
while, ye 'd better give thet Frenchman a dose er soothin’
syrup.’

The trapper and the detective rode on toward the
barn and the scout went back into the kitchen.

Snarleyow,, Jr., was still there, and had not, so far as
Buffalo Bill could see, made any attack upon the food
that had been left over from dinner.

The dog’s manner toward the scout was decidedly
friendly. He seemed a little in doubt as to how he would
be received, keeping at a distance and wagging his tail
in an ingratiating way.

“Hello, Snarleyow!” said Buffalo .Bill, meeting the
dog’s advances. “Come here, old fellow. You've got a
bad character in these parts, but if some men had been
treated as you have, they'd have acted even worse.”

Snarleyow doubled himself itp with joy; then, as if to
seal his compact of friendship with the scout, he laid
down on his back and wriggled about the floor.

Buffalo Bill-sat down, got him on his feet again, patted
his ugly head, and fed him scraps from the table.

Feed a dog and treat him kindly and he’s your slave.
The scout understood this; and, besides having a warm
sympathy for Snarleyow, he would much rather have the
brute for a friend than for an enemy.

Muffled blows came from the underside of the trap-
door. Snarleyow began to growl.

“Quiet, boy!” said the scout to the dog. The animal
crouched down obediently. “Come up, Pascal!”> called |
the scout.

 

 

 

 
4

ee ty ‘ ot eshte i ata Pa Le nl ate. Sb
or gh REO: ib IT edt hase eh Mirth Riedel Se haa alge EPO ES PR, EEG RE
5 .

j

10 THE. BUFFALO
-The. Frenchman lifted the door with his head, saw
the dog,.and was about to drop the door again when
the scout restrained him with a word.
. “He won’t hurt. you, Pascal. The dog’s a friend of
mine, and you're perfectly safe so long as I’m here.”
_ It. was perfectly apparent that Snarleyow did not
cherish any great amount of friendship for Pascal, per-
haps because of the frying-pan and the booting. The
Frenchman, while he climbed out of the cellar, kept his
fearful gaze fixed on the dog.

“I no like heem, I. tell you dat!” Pascal breathed, keep-
ing his face to the dog as he lowered the door. ‘He
jus’ as soon take me by de't’roat as eat wan meal. Sacre!
he look lak de fiend himself. W7’re dat Pinto Ben?’

“Those were my two pards you saw coming, Pascal,”
said the scout. “One of them was riding Pinto Ben.
They have taken both horses to the barn, so you have
nothing to fear either from the horse or the dog. Get
some chuck ready for my pards, will you? We'll, be
leaving here before night, and we'll take these four-
footed wonders with us.”

“You keep two eye on dat dog, Buffalo Bill,” admon-
ished Pascal, as he moved toward the stove. “My life
don’ be worth wan peench of snuff if you let heem go.”

“Tl watch him,” smiled the amused scout.

Nomad and Ratchet came in just then.

“Waugh!” exclaimed the trapper first thing. ‘“Wno’s
humly man’s dorg is thet, Buffler?” -

“He’s a stray,” explained the scout. “I’ve annexed
him temporarily. Sit down and I’ll tell you about it.”

Immediately after the three pards had finished their
last daring exploit at the pueblo of Taos, in New Mex-
ico,* they had hardly been allowed breathing-time before
undertaking this present move against the Ute moon-
shiners. Word had been received by Ratchet, in Trini-

_dad, Colorado, directing him to proceed immediately to

’

Utah, and do his best to apprehend the manufacturers of
illicit whisky, confiscate what product there was on hand,
and destroy the still. A Mormon by the name of Biff
Hackett was supposed to be mixed up iin the illegal busi-
ness, and Ratchet was to find out whether this was true
or not.

The work appealed to both the scout. and the trapper,
and they volunteered their services.

Hackett was supposed to be either in Sunfly, at a
ranch he owned some thirty miles from Sunfly, or at an-
other town, twenty miles off, where he kept a large-sized
domestic establishment. The storehouse of the ’shiners,
and also the still they used, were also supposed to be
somewhere in the vicinity of Pascal’s.

The scout had gone to the other town, known as Camp
Horeb, Nomad had visited the ranch owned by Hackett,
and the detective lingered in Sunfly for a day to see
whether the man they wanted, or Killian, a freighter
suspected of complicity with Hackett, showed up there.

All three, whether successful in locating Hackett or
not, were to rendezvous at French Pascal’s.

Before Buffalo Bill began talking about Snarleyow,
Jr., he asked about his pards’ luck in gathering informa-
tion bearing on the ’shiners.

“Kin we tork with him in the room?”
nodding toward Pascal.

“He’s all right,” said the scout reassuringly.

queried Nomad,

 

*See No. 358, Burraro Bit, Stories, “Buffalo Bill Among the

' Pueblos; or, The Still Hunt of Professor Bings.”

SNe

 

Sa PAS Nt neh Rin he ve mtn ar is Space nm

en tem, get ey Ay as atm nse

titans Sic cde a vas sail Le pe tps

 

BILL: STORIES:

“Waal,” said Nomad, “Hackett wasn’t-at: his ranch,
an’ I couldn’t l’arn: anything erbout him.” = = os. =
“Neither Hackett nor Killian showed up in Sunfly,”
added Ratchet. ge Dat Hees
“Tt remained for me, then, to connect with a few
clues,” went on the scout; “but, first, [’ll tell you: about
Snarleyow, here.” Ae
As the affair concerning the dog was intimately con-
nected with Killian’s freight-wagon, the scout, as the say-
ing is, killed two birds with one stone while telling about
the dog. He repeated Hackett’s yarn, just as he had
given it to Pascal, and, long before he finished, Ratchet
and Nomad were thinking more about the important
clues the scout had unearthed than they were about
Snarleyow. Sa eee
“By Jupiter!” exclaimed Ratchet. “You've not only
discovered Hackett, but Killian, as well. You're the lad
for luck, Buffalo Bill!’ Dee ae
“Tell me what happened to you, Nick,” said the scout.
“I’m anxious to hear about Pinto Ben.” gan pe
The trapper recounted his morning’s activities, in-
cluding his rescue of the detective from the Ute:

“Those cowboys may have been ‘stringing’ you a little,
Nick,” said the scout; “but there’s no doubt, J reckon,
but that Pinto Ben has about as bad a reputation in these
parts as Snarleyow, Jr. If we treat the horse and the
dog kindly, perhaps we can make four-footed pards of
them. Now, Ratchet,” he added, turning. to the de-
tective, “tell me about those four Utes.” es

Ratchet’s remarks were brief. He was eager to get
the run of the affairs as the scout saw it, and hurried
his recital. Cs

Buffalo Bill was silent while his two pards drew up
to the table and began eating. Finally he remarked: —

“The note I took from Killian proves that Hackett
knew we were in the field against him. That explains a
lot that has happened. He must have know that we had
separated at Sunfly, had gone in different directions, and
were to meet at Pascal’s, The four Utes went into
camp along the trail you two were to follow in coming
to this place. They captured Ratchet. Leaving one
Ute with Ratchet, to take charge of him and to drop
Nomad when he came along, the other three joined
Ten somewhere, and the four went hunting for Kil-.
lan. es
“Killian was expecting them. He had tied a lantern
to the end of the wagon-tongue, and then elevated the
tongue. This, to any one riding across the plain, would
mark the site of his camp. The three. Utes I met in
the camp were the ones who had a hand in capturing
Ratchet. i

“I don’t believe I fooled Hackett with that Siwash
Charley business. Anyhow, he had told his Utes to put
me out of the way, and they'd have tried it if Snarleyow,
here, had not caused a diversion at the critical moment.

“That note taken from’ Killian incriminates Hackett,
and is excellent evidence for you, Ratchet. If we needed
any more, the abortive attempt on me by the Ute would
furnish it. As the matter stands, Pinto Ben has not only
saved one government detective, but he. also prevented
one free-lance trapper from getting potted. Let’s take
off our hats to Pinto Ben, the horse that scents trouble
and then rushes right into it.”

Buffalo Bill was half-smiling, although there was an
undernote of sincerity in his voice.

“What's ther next move, Buffler 2”

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

THE BUFFALO BILL STORIES. I

“The Ute who got away will carry the news of recent
events to Hackett. From that Hackett will understand
that he’ll have to disband kis Utes, blind the where-
abouts of his still, and get rid of the contraband stuff
in his storehouse in mighty short order. If we want to
oe anything’ here in Utah, we’ll have to work
quick.”

“Thet’s ther tork!” returned the trapper, with undis-
jsuised satisfaction. -““What’s ther right play ?”
“First, we'll have to get weapons, saddle, and bridle
jor Ratchet. He can use the pinto, I reckon. The horse
looks like a good one. When we.get. into our saddles,
we'll hustle back to that place where I found Killian’s
wagon, and then trail it. Killian, I have no doubt, was
bound for the secret storehouse, to get those ten barrels
of raw product. Whether Hackett has changed his
plans or not remains to be discovered. But our present
cue is to follow the freight-wagon.”

French Pascal had one horse—and he couldn’t spare
that—but he happened to have riding-gear for two
horses, and also quite an assortment of small arms.

_ > Two solid-framed Colts were purchased of him, along

with a revolver-belt and cartridges. The riding-gear
was likewise secured, and the pards went out to the
barn. : |

Here a disagreeable discovery was made—a discovery
that altered their plans.

Pinto Ben was gone!

He had chewed in twain the rope that had tied him,
and was-probably back at the Circle H Ranch by that
time.

“He’s a gone critter,” muttered Nomad, “ef he ever
shows up thar agin. I’m blame’ sorry fer et, too; «I
was jest beginnin’ ter take quite er fancy fer thet hoss.”

CHAPTER VII:
FITTING THE TRAIL.

Pascal had accompanied the pards to the barn. He
had not been much surprised to find that Pinto Ben was
among the missing—nor much cast down by the fact,
if his actions were any indication. Now, so far as Na-
poleon Pascal was concerned, the quicker the scout got
away with Snarleyow, the happier he would be.

“Pascal,” said Buffalo Bill, “will you ride over to the.

Circle H and get a horse for my pard!’’

“Sacre!” fluttered Pascal. ‘Does m’sieu know w’at he
ask? By gar! Pinto Ben he be layin’ for me some-
weres. You talk, den\I talk, and I don’ go.”

“Will you sell your horse to me?”

“T nevair sell _de horse, Buffalo Bill, to any one! I
do w’at I can for Buffalo Bill, but not dat.”

There was no use attempting to argue with the man,
the scout could see that plainly.. He was terribly worried
about the dog and the horse—almost in an unreasonable
panic Geen them. Meanwhile, while the pards were
hung up at his place, the afternoon was slipping away,
and Hackett, presumably, was doing his utmost to blot
out the evidence against himself and the ’shiner Utes.

“There’s only one thing to do,’ said: the scout, plan-
ning quickly, as was his wont. “We'll have to get at
that wagon-trail quickly, while there is yet enough sun

(

to follow it. For one man, or two, to butt into that pack
of obstreperous Utes would probably result in “suicide
and queer all our work here. There are only three of
us, and when we make front on the enemy, we must
make it in solid formation. But I can follow that trail
and find where it leads. You, Nomad, can ride for the
Circle H and get a mount for Ratchet. Ratchet will wait
here until you get back; then the two of you can hike
after me.”
“We don’t know whar thet: wagon was, Buffer,” de-
murred Nomad. “How we goin’ ter foller ye?”
_ “Follow the trail that leads northwest,” said the scout,
“until you come to the first stream. Cross the stream.
From that point, the way to the wagon is across the
plain. I saw an old deck of cards in Pascal’s house. I'll
take them with me, and when I turn from the trail be-
yond the stream I’ll leave a paper-trail: You can fol-

‘low it, Nick, with grotnd to spare.”

“Purvidin’ et ain’t night,” said the trapper. “When I
git back from ther Circle H, an’ by ther time Ratchet
an’ me is acrost thet stream ye’re tellin’ erbout, Buffler,
I reckon et’ll be too blame’ dark ter see ther playin’-
keerds ye’re goin’ ter scatter.”

“Then follow them in the morning. You'll find me
lying low in a convenient place. And, if all goes well, I
may have something to tell you about that storehouse
we want te-find. Bring two or three days’ rations with
you, Nick,” the scout added, leading his horse out of the
barn. “If we win out, you know, pards,” he finished,
rising to the saddle, “we'll have to strike while the iron
is hot.”

Without delaying further, he rode to. the house, went
in, and got the well-thumbed_ deck of cards which he had
seen lying on a shelf, came out again, remounted. and
spurred off at a gallop.

Of the three pards, Buffalo Bill was the only one who
had captured the fancy of Snarleyow, Jr. When the’
scout rode off, the dog bounded after him.

Half an hour of brisk riding brought Buffalo Bill to
the stream he had mentioned to Nomad.

Crossing this, he swerved from the trail at the farther
bank, dropping a playing-card to show that he had
swerved to the right.

He had the location of the wagon pretty well in mind,
and laid almost a direct course to the site of Killian’s
night camp. .

He was judicious in making his paper-trail. There
were only fifty-two of the cards, and he could not be too
prodigal in his use of them.

Having once secured the trend of his direction, he felt
sure Nomad and Ratchet would: be able to follow, glimps-
ing the cards now and again merely as an assurance that
they were going right.

Probably twenty of the cards» were used between the

stream and the site of Killian’s camp. From there on
the cards were hardly necessary, as the trapper and the
detective would have the trail left by the wagon to guide
them. Nevertheless, the scout decided to mark his en-
tire course with the pasteboards—manifestly the safest
way.
The wagon, just as he expected, was gone. All that
remained to mark the night’s camp was that melancholy
mound which had been heaped over the unfortunate
Killian.

From the camp the prints of the wagon-wheels, while
none too plain, were yet sufficiently clear for practised

SS.

 
 
 

PMS

a ee

a

Sepik SMART Maman er a I PL

THE BUFFALO

eyes like the scout’s. He dropped a card and started
along the trail.

From the nature of the trail the’ scout saw at once
that the Utes had accompanied the wagon. He had ex-
pected this, too, but the discovery tended to make his
assurance doubly sure.

The trail pointed toward a range of hills, hemming in
the plain at its western edge.

The scout, keeping vigilant watch all around him, did
his trailing at speed.

After leaving Killian’s camp he noticed that Snarleyow
was taking a good deal of interest in the proceedings.

Up to the time the camp was reached, the dog had
merely been running on all sides of the scout, delighted,
apparently, at having him for a companion; but now his
nose, for a good share of the time, was to the ground.
Occasionally he got so far in the lead that the scout
had to call him back to keep him from getting out of
sight altogether. —

The scout’s instinct, and the dog’s skill, were taking
both along the wagon-trail.

“He’s after Hackett!” thought the scout, a sudden
idea entering his brain. “The animal is likely to be of
considerable use in our work if he can follow Hackett
like that. Hackett was either driving the wagon, or else
he was mounted on a horse. Yet the dog appears to
keep after him as easily as though he had been on foot.”

The sun was getting very low when the scout reached
the hills,

The uplifts were gaunt and bare, and covered with
boulders.

Here another difficulty presented itself.

The character of the ground over which the scout was
trailing the wagon had changed. From turf, which
bore the marks of the wheels in a manner sufficiently
plain for him to follow, had given way to rock where
no imprint whatever was left.

In such a condition of affairs, his first thought, nat-
urally, was to fall back on the instinct of Snarleyow;
but Snarleyow himself appeared to be at sea. He was
circling around through the hills, sometimes in sight and
sometimies out of it, making a heroic effort to pick up
the scent.

“Up against it,’ muttered the scout, taking a look at
the sun. “Before Snarleyow and I get over this break,
we're liable to have darkness, and to be hung up until
morning. Tough luck!”

‘He dismounted, dropped the reins over his horse’s
head, and went forward to make observations on foot.

He rounded the base of the hill on his left. The
ground was so covered with boulders of large size that
he did not believe Hackett would make an attempt to get
over it with a heavy wagon. Nevertheless, he looked at
the rocks closely, to see if he could find any scars from

- the iron-rimmed wheels.

He was still looking, when, with a suddenness that
took his breath, a large rock came charging down the
hillslope beside him.

_ The scout, at that time, was close to a big boulder.
If he remained where he was, the descending rock would
crush him against the boulder.

To avoid this danger, he had to throw himself for-

ward.

There was not much time for thought. Instant action
was demanded, and the scout met the emergency with his

usual quickness.

Stemi at cit Sati iy ates we deRir eee smi teen Knee

bbe

BILL STORIES.

But, as ill luck would have it, he ‘tripped on a: pro-
jecting piece of the boulder and fell at full lerigth. ~~

He had barely time to turn himself on his face, ‘pre-
paratory to starting up, when the descending rock
crashed against the boulder and came to a shivering stop.

Pieces of the stone flew all around the scout, but the
fragments did him no injurye | ,

So barely had he missed destruction, that the descend-
ing stone had caught his right foot under it. The foot
was not crushed, but it was held tightly imprisoned in
a crevice that gouged the rock at the foot of the boulder.
While the scout could move his. foot a little—just enough
to assure him it was uninjured—to draw it forth was
out of the question. Had he been chained to that posi-
tion he could not have been more helpless.

While he was speculating on this unforeseen disaster,
he heard a shrill whoop from the top of the hill.

Turning his startled eyes in the direction, he saw two
exultant Utes rushing down the hill toward him.

CHAPTER V1iT.
THE FOUR-FOOTED PARDS.

As already stated, Buffalo Bill had not had much time
for thought, and none at all to speculate upon the cause
of his accident. He knew, of course, that stones were
not in the habit of rolling down-hill unassisted, but up
to the moment he had heard the yells and looked up the
hill, he had remained in the dark as to who had started
the stone. ! o

The Utes had been laying for him! Yet they had.not
been.laying for him in any force, for the two who were
rushing down the hill were all he could see. oe

Yet, in his present predicament, these two were quite
enough to finish the work they had set out to do. -

The scout made a desperate struggle to free himself.
It was useless, however. The stone that held his foot im-
prisoned must have weighed three or four hundred
pounds, and he was not in a position to pit his strength
against it.

Although helpless in one way, there was another in
which he was not so helpless. He still had his re-
volvers, and was able to tse them within a limited range.

Jerking one of the weapons from his belt, he turned
on his side, rested one elbow on the ground, and blazed
away.

The Indians noted his move, and dived for cover. The
scout’s bullet chipped a piece from the stone behind
which they had taken refuge. It was a close call for
one of the reds, and inspired both with excessive’ cau-
tion.

Buffalo: Bill knew that he had made a mistake. Had
he lain quite still, and given the Utes the idea that he
was badly hurt, he could have held his fire until they had
come close. Then there would have been no doubt as to
the outcome of his pistol-work. Now they would be
careful to keep out of reach of his bullets. es,

There was a depression in the slope, leading to the
foot of the hill and past the boulder where the Utes had
taken réfug¢ Aa

They were not slow to perceive the advantage which
this rift in the hillside gave them. They rolled into it,

   

 

 

  
  
 

   
     
   
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
    
   
  
   
  
  
 
  
     
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
      

     
  

pe
—_

 
 

 

 

further favored the. redskins.

THE BUFFALO BILL STORIES.

and, one. behind the other, crept down the descent, show-
ing Only the feathers in their head-dress. Buffalo Bill
could only watch, and prepare himself for eventualities.

At the foot of the hill the lay of the ground still
The rift emptied them
onto level ground on the other side of the boulder and
the: stone that laid against it. ;

This. enabled the Utes to come up behind the rocky
barrier, not more than a dozen feet from where the
scout. was lying. But, so far as his being able to reach
them with a bullet was concerned, they might as well

-have been a thousand miles away.

The, scout fell to wondering what tactics the Indians
would next pursue. He was not long in doubt. A
rock, as big as his head, was heaved over the top of
the barrier, dropping with a thud on the ground within
a foot of his side.

Had the missile struck the scout fairly, it would have
broken in-his ribs.

A second stone followed the first, missing the scout’s
head by only a few inches.

This was altogether too one-sided a game for the
scout to appreciate. In carrying out their part, the Utes
did not have to show themselves at all. The. only thing
they had to do was to heave the rocks over the barricade
and trust chance to drop them on the prostrate form on
the other side.

That would have been a good time for Nomad and

Ratchet to appear, but the coming of the scout’s two
pards was out of the question.

Nomad, by then, had no more than returned to Pas-
cal’s from the Circle H, with a horse for the detective.
If the scout caught a glimpse of the trapper and the de-
tective before the following day ‘his previous expecta-
tions. would be exceeded.

In the meantime Well, in the meantime a great
deal might happen of a nature decidedly unpleasant for
the scout.

Yet, even as thoughts of his pards drifted through
the scout’s brain, a sound of rushing hoofs broke on his
ears. ae ae

_Avhorse was coming! The rocks intervened to shut
off the scout’s view, and he could not see the horse. If
the horse bore a rider, and the rider was a white man
and a friend, then Buffalo Bill would soon be pulled out
of his awkward predicament.

He waited and watched breathlessly, hope mounting

 

high within him.

No more rocks sailed over the barrier. The Utes were
talking excitedly.

Nearer and nearer came the fall of hoofs; then, the
next moment, the scout heard another sound that set
his sanguine expectations bounding,

It was the shrill, coyotelike bark of a dog!

“Snarleyow !” yelled the scout, wondering why he had
not thought of the dog before. “This way, Coyote!
Come on, Coyote.” a
If the dog had been called anything but evil names by
“Turk” Jameson, the scout did not know. He might
not yet be familiar with “Snarleyow,”’ and “Coyote,” in
that crisis, might come nearer-his comprehension. —

The dog yelped in response to Buffalo Bill’s loud cry.

Presently the Utes, chased from their position by a
greater danger than that which menaced them from the
scout’s guns, dashed wildly from the boulder and out on
the level, past their intended victim.

 

 

 

3

a

Snarleyow was after.them like a dusty brown streak.

With a mighty leap he caught one of the Utes, who’

was just turning to face the canine peril, fiercely by the
throat. |
Hardly had the dog secured a hold before, to the
scout’s intense surprise, Pinto Ben came careering around
the boulder.
The horse rose in the air, dropping’ down with his
pawing forward hoofs.

The second Ute hurled himself aside, barely escaping

the murderous blow.

Whirling about, the horse used his hind feet, and the
second Ute continued to dodge.

“Take him, Coyote! Take him, Pinto!’ shouted the
helpless Buffalo Bill, as he watched the weird battle.

Never, in all his days as a plainsman, had the scout
seen anything like that before!

Demoniacal frenzy seemed to possess both the dog and.
the mustang.

In Snarleyow’s case, the scout was ready to believe

that the dog had sufficient intelligence to understand the
case; and to know that what he was doing was for his
new master, the man who had fed him, and had been
kind to him.
_ But the. pinto, how were his actions td be accounted
for—unless, indeed, what Pascal had said was the truth?
The horse had scented a fight, and had hurled himself
into it merely because a brute love of combat impelled
him.

Snarleyow was having an easier time than the pinto.

“Not once did he release the cruel grip he had on the

Ute’s throat.

The Indian, tottering under the dog’s weight and
growing weaker and weaker, managed to jerk-a knife
from his belt:

Seeing this move, and fearing the redskin would sink
the blade into the dog’s breast, the scout prepared to use
one of his weapons,

But it was not necessary to fire a shot. The Ute’s
strength failed him before he could give a blow, and he
sank to his knees and toppled backward.

“Here, Coyote!’’ ordered the scout, finding it no pleas-

ant sight to watch the dog worrying at the redskin’s.

throat. “Come here!”
Snarleyow obeyed the command, drawing off in a

crouching. attitude and keeping his glittering eyes on

the prostrate Ute.

At about the same moment, Pinto Ben’s heels found
the other savage, hitting him fairly and laying him sense-
less beside his red comrade.

The mustang threw up his head and gave a long squeal.

—it might have been a squeal. of victory—then whirled
about and darted away. @

- Astounded by what he had seen, Buffalo Bill lay

quietly for several minutes; then, realizing that night was
fast approaching, and that it would be wise to free him-
self of the stone before any more savages appeared on
the scene, he set about the task before him.

Had he been able to twist his foot so. he could rise to

his knees, his work would have-been simplified: This,

however, he could. not do.

His horse was on the other side of the hill.
to the saddle on the horse was a picket-rope and an iron
picket-pin. If the scout had the pin he might use, it as
a lever in prying up the stone. But how to get the pin
was the question. ,

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14 THE BUFFALO

A cow-horse, such as the scout’s, would stand like a
rock so long as the bridle-rein hung from the bit. That

‘is the way cow-horses are trained. Even if the reins

were not in that position, however, the cayuse would not
have responded to the scout’s call. Cayuses are of many
kinds, but the kind that will come to his master in dis-
tress is rare indeed.

If Snarleyow had know what Buffalo Bill wanted he
might, in some manner, have brought the horse. How-
ever, there was a limit to even Snarleyow’s reasoning
powers.

The scout decided that he would have to depend upon
his own unaided efforts. Just as this conclusion flickered
through his brain, the Indian who had been kicked stag-
gered to his feet.

The dog, feeling that he was called upon to watch
both redskins, made ready for a leap. °

“Down, Coyote!” ordered the scout.
to the Indian, “you savvy English, mebbyso?”

“Wuh!” groaned the redskin, one hand on his head
and the other on his stomach.

“You push um rock, eh?” went.on the scout ;
rock so paleface pull out foot?”

“Ugh!” grunted the Ute, backing away.

A bullet fanned past his ear.

“Push um rock,” eried the scout ee fa.
stop um bullet!”

This was enough

“push um

“or Ute

for the red man. With the revolver’s
point following him, the gleaming eye of the scout along
the barrel, the Ute moved to the rock and pretended to
push. oe
“Heap heavy,” he muttered; “no push um.”

“Push um rock,” Buffalo Bill insisted, “or paleface kill
um Ute.”

There was nothing else for it, then, and the Indian ex-

erted himself to the utmost.

The stone moved a little.

“Push!” yelled the scout.
It moved a little more, and Buffalo Bill, with a quick
jerk, freed himself and sprang to his feet.

The Ute whirled to run, but the scout still covered him
with the revolver, and, in a stern voice, ordered him to

halt.

CHAP®ER IX.
ON THE PAPER-TRAIL.

“Paleface want um ee said the.scout. ‘No let
um Injun go right away.’
“Why paleface want um Injun?” grunted the Ute:

The redskin was in a good deal of pain. He strove to

» bear it stoically, after the manner of his race, but the evi-

dence was clearly visible.

“Paleface show um,” said the scout.. “Walk ahead.
You savvy? Paleface got um horse on other~side hill;
Ute walk to paleface’s horse.”

“Ete tl nS + Sia ay
Ute! he added, tacked had succumbed to his injuries.

9 RON

% . a

BILL STORIES.

The redskin turned and passed around the rocks. He
wobbled as he went, but managed to keep himself up-
right.

Under the point of the scout’s gun the Ute circled the
base of the hill, and finally reached the horse. The ani-
mal, in spite of the exciting events that had happened,
was standing precisely where the scout had left him.

“Take um picket-rope from saddle,” was Buffalo Bill's

6

next command.
The Ute obeyed. Thereupon the scout tied the Indian’s

hands behind him, and, with the rest of the picket-rope
in his hand, climbed into the saddle and drove the pris-
oner back to where Snarleyow. was watching the other
Ute.

Buffalo Bill believed that he was to have two enti es.
But fate willed otherwise. The Indian the dog had at-_
After the scout
had examined the wound, his only wonder was that the

edskin had lived as long as he had.

“Snarleyow,” said the scout, “you’re a master at that
sort of work. You're a mighty bad proposition for a man
to go up against, and I wouldn’t like to stand in Biff
Hackett’s shoes. I’m sorry, though, to see such an all-
around fine example of canine intelligence evince such a
bloodthirsty disposition. But wrongs and ill treatment
have made murderers of human beings, so I don’t know
that I ought to blame you. Just now you have done me
a good turn, but I wish you could have accomplished it
without killing the Indian.”

He bent down and stroked the dog’s head for a mo-
ment. Then he turned to his prisoner.

“You got um horse?” he asked.

“Wuh!” grunted the Ute.

“Where ?” i ieee

The Ute jerked his head toward the darkening hills.

“Any other Utes there?” .

The prisoner shook his head.

“Lead the way,” ordered. the scout.
he added to the dog.

Mounted, and keeping the prisoner ahead of him, he
rode for a little way into the uplifts, then turned into a
ravine, where there was grass and water.

Here, among the hovering shadows, Buffalo Bill could
see two hobbled cayuses.. He dismounted; made the pris-
oner: lie down while he tied his ankles, and then cut off
the spare end of the riata) What was left made but a
short picket-rope for the horse, but it had to serve.

“Watch ‘im, Snarleyow!” said the scout, pone to
the Ute.

The dog showed his reddened teeth and cies down
beside the prisoner. Thereupon Buffalo Bill watered his
horse and picketed him where the grass was thickest.

_ Ute got um grub?” queried the scout, coming back
to the prisoner’s side.

“Find um grub at tree,” was the answer.

There was only one tree near at hand. The scout went

“Come, Coyote,”

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THE BUFFALO

to it, and found a buckskin bag hanging from a limb.
The grub- bag had been hung up to keep it from prowling
animals.

-All the bag contained was jerked meat.
very fresh, even for jerked meat, and did not taste overly
wholesome.

Still, it answered the purpose, and Buffalo Bill divided
it into morsels with his knife and fed himself, the pris-
oner, and the dog impartially.

- Supper over with, the scout sat back for a smoke. His
foot ached, and felt lame, but it was no more than
bruised.

“Why Injun push um rock down on paleface: ?” asked
the scout, between puffs.

_ “Want to kill um paleface,” was the calm rejoinder.
Hie Why you want to do that?”

‘The Ute was silent.

“You make um whisk?” continued the scout.

“No make um whisk,” averred the Ute.

- This might be a lie, or the truth. Certainly, if the In-
dian was one of Hackett’s réd moonshiners, he would be
the last person to admit it.

“You know um Hackett ?”

Silence again.

“You know um Killian?”

Continued silence.

“Ute make um talk,” said the scout. ‘Ute find it bet-
fer to make um talk. Straight talk. Paleface no like um
two-tongue talk.”

“Injun no like um,” answered the red rascal.

“Why Injun not say he know Hackett ?”

“Injun know um,”

“Hackett tell Injun roll um rock on paleface ?”

“Mebbyso.”

“Where’s Hackett now ?”

“Storehouse.”

“How Ute know that?”

“Me see um go.”

“Ute no make um whisk,
house. Wuh! Ute heap lie.
like um go to paleface jail: Pe

“No like um.”

“Take plaeface to storehouse no go to ae go free.”

“Ute go free, anyhow, bymby.”

Buffalo Bill let it go at that. He felt ie he had the
Ute “coming his way,” and that a little judicious work
might make an informer out of him.

see um Hackett in store-
Ute make um whisk. Ute

After satisfying himself that there had never been any
' one else in that camp but the two Utes, Buffalo Bill left
Snarleyow on guard and laid down with his head on his
saddle.

The hours of the night ‘slipped by WahOn incident.
To the tired scout it seemed as though he. had scarcely
closed his eyes before he opened them again in. broad
daylight.

 

It was not

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BILL STORIES. 7 Is

Snarleyow was still crouching, like a stone dog, beside
the prisoner.

Buffalo Bill served breakfast to all hands just as he had
served supper. The jerked beef was hacked into small
pieces and passed around.

The scout tossed a piece to the dog, and then a piece
to the Ute, both catching them in the same way.

“Paleface treat Injun like dog,’ said the prisoner
sulkily.

“Paleface treat Injun like Ute brave when kajun tell
about storehouse.”

The prisoner sulked under this remark, but it was ap-
parent that it had made an impression.

Following the meal, the scout got his horse under sad- .
dle, mounted, and rode up to the Indian.

“Snarleyow,” said he, “I’m going to have a look at
that paper-trail. Watch the Indian until I come back.”

The dog understood the scout’s gesture, if he did not
grasp the meaning of the words. Buffalo Bill rode off,
and when he looked back, as he was about to turn out of .
the ravine, he saw the dog, silent and menacing, crouch-
ing at the Ute’s side.

“I captured a prize when I got him,
scout.

If Ratchet and Nomad were following the scout, it
would not be long before they showed up. on the paper-
trail.

It was the scout’s intention to ride back to the crest
of the hill, near which he had met with his mishap, and
keep a weather-eye out for his two pards.

He had no trouble in retracing his way, for he had
paid particular attention to the course when the Ute
had led him over it the night before.

He gained the uplift from the west side, and spurred
toward the top. When he was head and shoulders above
the crest, and able to look off over the plain along the
route he had taken the afternoon before, an exclamation
escaped his lips, and he backed hastily down the hill
again.

The paper-trail was being followed, but not by the
trapper and the detective.

Half a dozen Utes were riding from card to card, and
approaching swiftly in the scout’s direction.

This was more than he had bargained for, and he
paused for a few minutes to make up his mind as to
what he should do.

” muttered the

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Leaving his horse half-way down the slope, Buffalo

Bill crawled back to the crest for a further survey.
As the Indians game closer he : saw that they had ne

3

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16

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riors ran to their horses, vaulted to the animals’

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Presumably they had revolvers, but the distance
was too great for the scout to determine that point by
his eyesight alone. The Utes would hardly be abroad,
however, without some sort of firearms.

-The ‘six comprising the party: were well mounted.
They must have picked up the paper-trail far back to-

-ward Killian’s camp. Curiosity, 1f nothing else, would
- prompt them to follow it.

As the Utes were riding fast, and coming into un-
comfortable proximity to the scout, he returned to his
horse and ambled about.among the ravines until he found
himself to the north of the two-rocks where he had had
his disagreeable experience the day before.

‘Here, again on: foot, he crept to: the top-of a rise, and
continued to keep track of the red men.

They had-lost the trail at the point where the scout and
Snarleyow “had that 6f “Hackett and the “wagon, but
they separated: and rode forward, covering a | wide sweep
of country. ° : Pane

One of their Humber discovered’ the slain Indian, and
he at orice let out a yell which was taken up ae reechoed
by the other warriors.

_Presently all were dismounted and congregated about
the dead savage.

_ They would doubtless conclude that the Ute had. met
his end by coming in contact with some ferocious wild
animal, the scout thought; but, as he watched, the war-
backs,
and made a concerted rush into the hills, in the scout’s
direction.

Buffalo Bill realized that it was high time he was
pulling out. The reds suspected the presence of enemies,
and they would comb the hills in an-effort to find them.

It might be, too, that this party was bound for the
camp pitched by the two Utes. The scout’s prisoner had
hinted at a rescue, and perhaps he had been thinking of
this: band at the time.

As Buffalo Bill crept down the slope and regained his
saddle, he thought regretfully of Snarleyow. The dog
had been left on guard, and if he proved true to his trust,
and the Indians really went to the camp, then the dog’s
fate could be easily foretold.

But the scout had himself to think of, and he had not
been spurring through the little valleys for many min-
utes before he discovered that he would probably have his
hands full if he got away without a fight.

‘The Utes, not having any special. reason for keeping
out of sight, were crossing hilltop and ridge. If, they
had planned to surround: the seout they. could not have
succeeded better. -

In half an hour, Buffalo Bill found himself in an in-
teresting situation. From the yells and answering cries
of the Utes, he found that they were closing in in a circle
of which he represented the exact center. -

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BUFFALO

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BIEL STORES,

“He could proceed in-no direction without: a the

risk of immediate discovery.
The emergency made.it necessary for. him to ahoche

_some sort of holding-ground, and fortune pointed him

to a sort of swale that crossed one, ofthe low hills, —

Riding to: the highest part of the- swale, he left. his
horse and=climbed the. nearest bank fpr the. gee of
reconnoitering.

_As he lifted. his: head hue the rim cee the: eae ihe
crack of a revolver sang through the. hills, cee at
once by a bloodthirsty . yell. ere te

« The - scout. ducked: Cow | with “more® haste than

grace.

There was not the feast Hoth aban thal Text ee
armed.. Nor. was there any more doubt: pie their. ae

cing distevered’ BuffalosBul 8 22> ses oo

He laid his hat on a stone and, wile the Utes: shot at
it, putting a hole through the crown, to go-with the: one
already- through. the-brim, he unlimbered his forty-fours,
and caused two of the savages, who were Tushing his ae
sition, to fall back—one with a game arm: -

For-a while there was a cessation of hostilities. Buf-
falo Bill could see nothing of the Utes, and he rightly
surmised that they were getting the lay of the ground,
with the intention of making 'a covert assault.

Turning away from the place.where he had done his
first shooting, he got into the saddle and rode toward the
east end of the swale. All was quiet in that direction.

- Riding back over the high point toward the west end,
he stumbled into a small surprise-party.

Three of his foes were creeping forward, skulking
from rock to rock, and he rode full tilt into ther before
he discovered, where they were.

The popping that followed resembled the explosions
of.a bunch of fire-crackers. All the redskins were shoot-
ing at once, and Buffalo Bill was their target.

The scout’s horse was wounded in the neck, one bul-
let glanced from the saddle-cantle and ranged upward
through the scout’s coat, raking the flesh like a hot iron
and passing out of the coat at the shoulder. Several
more missiles buzzed about the scout’s ears like flies.

Because of the stinging wound, the horse became. for
the moment unmanageable.. The reins were on the pom-
mel, and the scout had his weapons in his. hands..

Uncurbed, the horse for a while had everything his
own way. oe

He plunged: down the-swale at. Rea cds ta-
king boulders like hurdles. The scout let him. go the
pace, merely. turning in the saddle to eee an. oeca-
sional bullet at the foes behind..

At the bottom of the swale the Soke ee to. the
‘right along a narrow valley.

realized. where he.was, he came within sight of two hob-
Then he knew that he was back at: the

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ne weapons and curbing the horse.

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THE BUFFALO

: place where he had left Snarleyow ae ee captive

Ute.

“Well!” muttered Buffalo Bill, pukeine away one of
“We're back at the
and there’s the Coyote still on
I can save him, at all events, so there’s
I wonder where

old stamping-ground;

those other three Utes are?” |

He rose in his stirrups and.looked and listened. He
could hear nothing, and was of the opinion that there
were no reds, apart from the prisoner, in that particular
spot. Snarleyow, however, was sniffing the air in a man-
ner that proved he was not entirely satisfied we the

surroundings.

“That will do, ‘old flan u Gael ene scout, in a low
tone. “You can go off guard now, and we'll hike
for Y ss

The words faded ion the-scout’s lips.

_ Why not, he asked himself, with a sudden thought, try
to. get away with the prisoner?

It might be possible to force the Ute to give informa-
tion regarding the storehouse; perhaps, also, regarding
the still, and the’ ‘whereabouts of Biff Hackett.

The possibility of all this seemed to warrant the at-
tempt to get the Ute away.

Leaping to the ground, Buffalo Bill ran to one of the
cayuseés, cast off the hobble, and started toward the Ute.

 

The prisoner, divining his captor’s intention, let go:

with an ear-splitting yell that reverberated through the
hills.

“Another mistake,”
have gagged him.”

growled the scout; “I ought to

Notwithstanding the wild alarm, which, naturally,
made the scout’s position extremely perilous, the desper-
ate attempt to spirit_away the captured redskin con-
tinued.

Racing the cayuse to the Ute’s side, the scout lifted
him bodily and laid him across the cayuse’s back; then,
jumping astride his own mount, he spurred alongside
the cayuse, and threw a bight of his abbreviated oe
rope around the animal’s neck.

Even yet, although Snarleyow was showing traces of
frantic excitement, none of the other Utes had broken
into sight.

“Tl make it if I can!” muttered the scout, through
his teeth; “everything may depend on getting the red
shiner away from here.”

' He used his spurs and. started, oo the cayuse
after him.

All might have gone well had not the prisoner, ivh6
was bent on staying behind, complicated matters.

With a wriggle of his lithe woe e he threw himself off
the cayuse.

‘The scout muttered to himself. Before he eoust alight.
, to get his red cargo aboard the horse, the whooping

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BILL STORIES. 717

Utes appeared up ite valley, bearing down on the scout
at top ao

“No go,” thought Buffalo Bill regretfully.

There was ‘no time to untie. the picket-rope, so he
slashed it asunder with his knife, turned to give a part-
ing shot, and was off like the wind. ’

Snarleyow appeared to take this failure to gee away
with the captive as much to heart as did the scout him-
self.

Traveling along at Buffalo Bill’s-side, the dog would
stop, now and then, to whirl and utter a defiant bark;
then, pointing ahead once more, he would overtake the
horse,

What followed, after this, was merely flight and pur-
suit.

Buffalo Bill’s mount was owned by a man in Sunfly.
The horse was ranch-bred, and had both speed and bot-
tom. Touched up as he had been back in the swale,
nothing more was needed to call forth his best powers.

Five Utes came slashing on in-the rear. A sixth—the ©
one with the bad arm—had dropped off to get the ropes
from the Ute whom Buffalo Bill had held a captive over- >
night,

The Indians were wild for vengeance. They sup-
posed, naturally, that the scout was accountable for the
slain brave found at the eastern edge of the hills.

“It’s a wonder,” thought Buffalo Bill, “that they
wouldn’t lay that onto the dog. That red they got away
from me will tell °em; but I reckon if they knew the
truth, it wouldn’t make much difference with this shin-
dig. They’re after me, first, for putting that Ute out of
business; and then, again, they’re after me by Hackett’s
orders.”

Buffalo Bill turned from the ‘valley and struck directly
eastward. He was bound for the paper-trail, and at the
pace he was going, his horse could about touch a playing-
card at every jump. f

Snarleyow held to the pace like a major; if anything,
he checked his speed to keep abreast of the -scout, ap-
parently scorning to get. any farther from the danger-
line, Cpe

The Utes wasted much good breath in whoops and
yells. The scout saved his for an encouraging word,
now and again, to the laboring horse, and to the dog.

“Keep it up, cayuse! You're doing nobly. Snarleyow,
you’re the boy! Remember that place we just passed?
You ought to. It’s where you and Pinto Ben found me
hung up, and sailed in to help me, like the four-footed
pards you are. J’ll never forget what you’ve done,
Snarleyow! There’s a good home and plenty of chuck
for you from this on, Only, my lad, we'll get the ’shiners
first. Ha, the paper-trail! We just passed the ace of
clubs; and there——”

The scout broke off his rambling talk. . “Ba eae
distance, careering toward him as fast as they could

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THE BUFFALO

come, were two horsemen—none others than Nick ‘No-
-mad and. Ratchet..

- “We're done with this race, reclevay| 1" cried the
scout, drawing rein and turning his horse the other way.
“Now let the Utes hunt their holes. The boot’s on the
other leg, and we'll have them guessing!”

CHAPTER XI,

ON TREO UCD NT ALA

By the time Old Nomad had made the round-trip from
Pascal’s to the Circle H Ranch, and had returned with
the horse for Ratchet, it was sundown. The trapper had
pushed for all he was worth, and had not lost a minute.

“We'll hev ter make tracks mighty lively, pard,” said
he to Ratchet, “or we won’t git ter thet stream Buffler
was tellin’ us erbout in time ter go inter camp. It'll be
black as yer hat. inside 0’ two hours, an’ in less’n half
thet time we won’t be able ter tell a playin’-keerd from a
handful o’ sage-brush.” :

- “We won't let any grass grow dee our feet, Nee
mad,” returned the detective, JHDPINE for the horse that
the trapper had towed in,

“M’sieu!’” yelled Pascal. from his kitchen door.
see anyt’ing of dat Pinto Ben?’

“He wasn’t at ther Circle H!” called back Nomad, as
he and Ratchet headed for the northwest.

Pascal began to shout and throw his hands, but the
horsemen were too far away to hear what he said.

“Waugh, but he’s locoed!” growled the trapper. “I
never seen a seee so. worked up erbout a hoss an’ a
.dorg.”

“You

“Strange at ticeathe ‘of that pinto,” said the detect-

ive, “if he didn’t go back to the home ranch.”

““Pinto Ben’s a knowin’ critter. I reckon he under-
stands it wouldn’t be healthy for him ter go back thar.
Hosses, eza. gin’ral thing, does a heap more thinkin’
than what we gives ’em credit fer, Ratchet. Snarlin’
catermounts!’’ the trapper muttered, starting up in his
saddle and looking around. “See how dark et’s er-git-

n’, - We'll hev ter lay by at ther Uintah, an’ let Buffler
go et alone fer ther night.”

“The Uintah? |

“Thet’s ther stream ‘Buffler was tellin’ us erbout; ther
one we hev ter cross afore we kin pick up ther paper-
trail.” :

“There’s. a moon. to-aisht, Nomad
up while I waited at Pascal’s.”

“When do we git et?”

“Along after midnight.”

“Wonder ef we could pre thet blame’ trail with er
moon ?”’

“We might try.”

Something less than an hour Jater they. crossed the

I was looking it

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BILL STORIES.

aah. and -rounded up-among trees. where. the. gloom
was so thick you could-have- cut it. with a knife. .

The horses were tied up in. the brush, and. the. dine:
gear left on them.. If the travelers-were to move on at
10 o'clock, they might just as well. leave the -mounts
as they were...

Nomad was Lonnibe ead ‘out 2 Sar ae didn’ t
like to think that Buffalo Bill. ‘was taking long chances,
somewhere. in the north and west, so far away that his
pards couldn't get to him to lend a helping-hand. _ |

The detective curled up on a pile of leaves to catch
his forty winks against moonrise.. Nomad sat where he
was, and smoked and looked for the moon until his
nerves got. on edge with it-all, and he had to, begin
moving.

_ Purely as a test, and with the idea of having soreitine

to. do after midnight, he wandered along the northwest
trail, and looked for a playing-card. He might as well
have looked for a bullet lying in the trail...

-It was not quite so dark. beyond. the bole “but it
was dark enough to make his search a useless one.

When he started back to find the place where he had
left the horses and the detective, he tried taking a short
‘cut. The night and the unfamiliar surroundings ¢ con-
fused him.

“After walking. for half an hour, when he knew that
five minutes should have brought him where he. wanted
to go, he decided that he had gone astray.

At that part of its course the Uintah was ‘bordered
by high bluffs, steep- faced « on the sides that fronted the
stream. Only at the place where the trail crossed. the
stream was this double line of bluffs broken away.

It was this fact that set Nomad to wondering how
- coe have lost his bearings. In taking his. “short
cut,” he had clambered across the top of a low bluff,
oy then walked westward through the timber, expecting.
every moment to reach the spot where Ratchet had been
left.

As he continued to walk, the heavy black masses rep-
resenting the bluffs grew higher, and came down closer
to the stream.

He halted, at last, in deep disgust.

“Waugh! he grunted. “I shore ort ter hev a ‘pell-
mule ter go ahéad o’ me an’ p’nt ther way. - Jest ter think
oO’ gittin’ off yer trail in er leetle two-by-four stretch 0’
woods like this hyar! Reckon [ll sot down hyar, fire
up my brier, an’ wait fer thet blame’ moon.”

He groped about until he found a rock, close to the
water’s edge, and fell to smoking. Soon he lost himself
in thought. o

Nomad was a crank on the subject of intelligence in
horses—in some horses, that is, and parheularly in his
old war-horse, Nebby.

Now here was Pinto Ben, who seemed to match Neb-
by, so far as. intelligence went. To such. a subject the

1

alee aiamesdteamiltnetta demmaieinienlanelidcaue anda okaent eT coe tate Tree

 
 

 

       
 

  

   

trapper was instinctively drawn, and his studious reflec-
tion held him chained and preoccupied for some time. —
_. He came out of his thoughts with a start. The moon
_ was in the sky, and its slanting rays were Haye a sil-
very pathway along the Uintah.

The opposite bluff presented a clifflike front to the
river, thrusting itself so far forward that the water flowed
at its base. A little way to the left the bluff receded,
_ and gave’place to a strip of low bank, heavily timbered.

  
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
 

beams formed an entrancing picture, and the old man
_ was held, for a moment, in rapt enjoyment.

“Waal,” he muttered, at last, “this ain’t hittin’ ther
trail Buffler left fer us. Ratchet an’ me’ll hev ter’ be hi-
kin’.”

He knocked the ashes out of his pipe on the stone,

thrust the brier into his pocket, and was about to pro-
' ceed down-stream, when a “swish” as of something in
_ the water, attracted his attention. .

 
  
   
  
 
     
   
  

out-across the stream.

  

What he saw surprised him still more, for there was a

_ human head on the surface of the water—an Indian’s

| head!

__ Where had the Indian come from? He was right

_ in front of the steep, high face of the bluff. Surely he

(i) had not jumped, or fallen, from the top of the bluff. In
©) that event there would have been a resounding splash,

   
  
  
   
  
    
 

‘i? heard nothing of this.

' The Indian was syrah ake swift? and noise-
lessly for the low, tree-covered bank. Touching ground
_ with his feet, he waded ashore and vanished into the
| shadow. of the timber. -

Nomad, looking at the place the redskin had disappeared,
was trying to puzzle out the mystery of his sudden ap-
# «pearance on the surface of the stream; then, abruptly,

| there was another “swish,” and, under the old trapper’s
amazed eyes, a second head bobbed up from under the

_- surface of the stream. Then came another, and another,
and another, and still another—jumping into sight from
the very depths:

These Indians made rapidly for the place where the
first Indian had gone, got hastily ashore, and melted into
the shadows of the trees.

 

As Nomad hung to his position, crete oand with the

wonder of it all, a muffled tramp of hoofs smote on his-

ears from across the stream, and died away in the dis-
tance.
_ “Six Injuns,” he breathed, “comin’ up from under ther
river like so many mink er beaver, an’ skinnin’ out on
) hossback! Wharever did ther pizen whelps come from,
_down thar? They don’t berlong ter no mermaid- tribe,
8 I reckon. I wonder is thar any more?”
He made up his mind that he wonld watch the spot a

  

  

 

  

> THE BUFFALO

The lights and shadows brought out by the moon-.

He paused in startled surprise, and let his eyes wander |

with an accompanying geyser of water, 2 Nomad had

 

KP tt errs tae amiga amc Ale ht hte tae 8 ee anternhy iigh

  

a pM TER SBT ep Sa eS, SRO Dicicadl se Be a sree: rae on re Pad eae eee —

BILL STORIES. 19
while longer, but a sudden thought altered his plan, and
sent him along the bank at a quick pace. Suppose those
reds, coming from he knew not where, had been in-
formed that Ratchet was on‘ the bank near the trail-
crossing? And suppose it was the plan of the reds to
surprise the detective while he was asleep?-: aac
Awed by the mystery, and apprehensive over the out-
come, Old Nomad made haste to reach the detective,
watn him, and get the camp in a position for defense.

CHAPTER XII,
AN ASTOUNDING SURPRISE,

Nomad had little difficulty, now that the moon had
risen, in locating the detective. Ratchet was asleep on
his pile of leaves.

The trapper roused him with a hissing whisper, in-
formed him that there were Indians about, and they skir-
mished noiselessly in the direction of the trail.

Before they reached the trail they heard a splash of
horses taking the shallow ford. Presently they saw the
six dripping savages filing up the bank and riding for
the northwest trail.

That the Indians had no designs on Nomad or Ratchet
was evident, for they defiled past them, away from the
timber, and out onto the plain.

“Wouldn’t thet knock ye slab-sided, Ratchet?” mur-
mured Nomad.

“What? Just to see those Indians? We're in a coun-
try where the Utes are pretty thick, aren’t we?”

“Et ain’t findin’ ther Injuns fn ther kentry thet’s both-
erin’ me,’ returned. Nomad; “et’s whar ther reds come
from thet’s got me in the air. x

“They came from the dindetton of Pascal’s,
they?” .

“Not by er blame’ sight! They come from ther direc-
tion o’ ther river-bottom.”

Nomad explained. The detective até was mightily
surprised.

“Let’s go back,” he suggested,
of that bluff, Nomad.”

“Kin we spare ther time? Thet’s ther p’int.”

“There may be something here thet’s of more impor-
tance than following that paper-trail.”

“But Buffler! Ef he should happen ter need us

“Buffalo Bill isn’t expecting us until to-morrow, any-
how. He said he’d probably hole up for the night, you
remember.”

“But them Injuns may strike thet paper-trail, an’ foller
et. Buffler’ll take keer o’ himself with ground ter spare,
though, thar ain’t no kind er doubt erbout thet. Prob’ly
we wouldn’t meet up with him durin’ ther night, any-
ways; so, ef ye think we ort ter examine this hyer

didn’t

“and look at the face

 

*
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, é fe x
BR A oa hein bd sss ue ws) RO kak i Sule UIE ea)

 

  

     

a LL I I AO uN A Rt an Ree: ce at
 
 

  

 

f Ss ~ @

stream—an’ I’m shore anxious ter do et, Ratchet—we’ll
jest delay matters erwhile, an’ git busy.”

‘“There’s certainly something here that ought to be in-
vestigated,” returned the detective. ‘‘We may find out
a lot of things we ought to know, and we may not dis-

cover anything; but, between the two of us, I think we’ve .

struck a hot trail, and ought not to stop until we’ve seen
the end of it.”

“Keno,” acquiesced Nomad. “We'd better take ther
hosses nigher ther bluff an’ picket ’em out.”

This was done. The trapper thereupon showed the de-
tective where the Indians’ heads had appeared.

“They popped up from under ther water like them thar
Jacks-in-ther-box,”’ said Nomad.

Ratchet studied the situation. To the right, the face
of the opposite bluff was steep, and laved by the water
as far as he could see in the moonlight. To the left, as
already stated, the bluff broke away, and ee a stretch
of low, wooded bank.

“The Indians could not have come from up above,”
said the detective musingly; “and they could not have
come from below, because they would have had to swim
under water, and up-stream, and, besides, why should
they have come from below when they had to go back
there and get their horses? Yet Fay did come from be-
low—from under water, I mean.’

The detective began taking off his clothes.

“What ye goin’ ter do?” demanded the trapper.

“Tm going to find out what sort of a place the reds
have got in the river-bed,” was the quiet ee

“Hang et all, Ratchet, ye’ll drown!”

“T can live and breathe wherever an Indian can.’

The trapper admired the detective’s nerve. The Uin-
tah, at that point, formed a wide, deep pool.

“T’m somethin’ of er fish myself,’ remarked Nomad,
“when et comes ter paddlin’ eround in ther water. I
reckon I’d better go with ye, Ratchet.”

“One’s enough to investigate, Nomad. You stay here
until I report what I find. If I want you, I'll let you
know.”

The detective, having stripped, laid his clothes in a
pile and waded out into the stream. He must have gone
off a ledge, for he suddenly sank, only to reappear again,
swimming.

There was no current to speak of, and the trapper
called softly from the bank, guiding the detective to the
left and right until he was in the exact spot where the
Indian’s heads had appeared.

“Thar ye aire, Ratchet!’ said Nomad.

“Then here’s where I go down,’ answered Ratchet,
rising, taking a long breath, and vanishing.

The old trapper was in a twitter of apprehension. He
began to count off the seconds. When he had counted
up to three hundred, he began to yank off his own
clothes.

eae ene ge i ga

THE. BUFFALO BILL STORIES.

button between us!’

  

Cieusuagugece: apeiinntesolertanrg atten ee

 
  
 

“Somethin’ hez happened ter him, down thar,” thought
Nomad.
er- 33

 

Just then the detective’s hea showed: again, Sea

“Say,” called Nomad, “ef ye "ve been holdin’ yer breath
all this time ue. ‘re a wonder.”

“T haven't,’ was the surprising answer ; “Pye had
several good breaths since I left here,”

“Vou locoed, er what?”

A spluttering laugh was returned.

“Come on in,” called the detective; ae water’s fine,
and I’ll show you something surprising.”

“What is et?” asked Nomad, walking out into ihe
stream.

“Well, when you get to where I am, dive and swim
right into the face of the bluff.”

“Want me ter crack this ole head 0’ mine?’

“You won’t. That’s where the surprise comes in.”

Nomad dropped off the ledge and took to swimming.

side.

“Now,” said the detective, turning over, “down you

go and make for the bank es as though you were: go-
ing to knock the bluff over.”

Nomad obeyed. He swam for the bank well under
water, and he swam with powerful strokes. When he

came up, gasping, it was to blink in the flare of a candle.

“Let down,” spoke Be voice of the detective; Mee
good ground under you.”

Nomad dropped his feet and found the water only

waist-deep. Directly in front of him was a strip of sand,

lit in a small ring by the candle. Everywhere else was

darkness. The voice of the detective had echoed hol-

lowly, as though he were speaking inside a big cylinder.

“Whar ther blazes aire we?” inquired Nomad.

“I told you you’d be surprised,” laughed Ratchet.

“The Indians you saw came out of this place. They
dived through under the foot of the cliff-”

“Waal, I'll ber hanged!” muttered the trapper, crawl-
ing up on the sandy bank and looking around. “Et’s like
er beaver’s hangout. What for sort er place is et, any-
ways?”

“Give it up, Nick,” returned Ratchet. “We'll have to
investigate a little and find out. The instant I got the
lay of the place, I dove back under the ae to call
you.”

Nomad looked at the candle. It was planted on the
sand in its own drippings, and was about aes

“Did you light thet?’ he asked.

“How could 1? Vd have had a hard time keeping my

matches dry if I’d brought any with me. No, Nick: I

found that cantlettietitee, just as you see it.”

“Thunder! Thar must be some one in hyar besides:
us. An’ hyar we aire, without so much as er suspender-

 

 

  

“T shore hadn’t ort ter, hev.-let iad ©

The detective “floated” until the Sl came along -
o ‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 
        
    
        
      
      
     
      
        
 
    
      
        
     
   
    
    
  
  
  
    
   
  
 
   
  
   
   
  
 
    
   
  
  
  

OR Ty tl > mee See $5 gee

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Presi
 

 

THE BUFFALO BILL

“7 don’t think there’s any one else in here,’ answered
Ratchet. “If there had been, we’d-have heard from them

long before now. When those mers skipped out, 3 that
emptied the place.” :

“T wouldn’t be too sure 0’ thet, Ratchet.”

“Well, anyway, ’'m nee going to leave a promising
trail on a mere suspicion.” He took up the candle and
got to his feet. “Come on, Nomad,” he finished.

They started to the left, but had only gone a few feet
when they were halted by a solid wall. This, so far as
they could make out, rounded to the partition wall that
formed the front of the bluff.

“We'll follow the wall around to the right,” said the
detective; “it pushes back from the water, and probably
leads directly into this queer place.’”

“Lead ther way, Ratchet,’ returned Nomad, “an’ I'll
foller. Ef.this is er cave, we'll Wow!” The trap-
per. tumbled over something and. barked his. shins.
“Reckon. I'd hetter be lookin’ down as well as up,” he
growled, rubbing his legs and getting, back on his feet.

. “What is that you fell over?” inquired the detective.

“Kag er powder,” was the response. “Don’t hold thet
candle too blame clost. Kag’s been opened,” he con-
tinued, proceeding with his examination, “but not much
hez been took out of et. She’s purty night full, Ratchet.”

“Well, leave it and let’s go on.”

A little way farther on they reached a place aie
there was a small, sheet-iron stove and some cooking-
utensils. Beside the stove was a small heap of dry wood.
There was a ledge in the rock wall, back of the stove,

 

and on the ledge lay a pair of bullet-molds, a lot of old

lead pipe, an iron ladle, a box of matches, and. some more
candles,

“There must be some other way into this place than
by the river,’ mused the detective. “If this stove was
used—and everything points to the fact that it was—
there must be some sort of an opening in the roof to let
out the smoke. Not only that, but all this truck would
have to be let down. It couldn't have been brought in
here under water.”

“Right ye aire!’ agreed the trapper. “Hyar’s. whar
ther Injuns run their bullets an’ filled ther powder-horns.
By ther same token, they couldn’t, take their powder-
horns out under water, nuther. An’ then, ag’in, people in
hyar would hev ter breathe. Whar’d they git air ef thar
“wasn’t a hole some’rs leadin’ ter ther outside? Mosey
on, Ratchet. Ther more I see o’ this hyar place, ther
more anxious I git ter see ther hull o’ et.”

They came presently to some empty barrels, and to
half a dozen tubs. The detective began to chuckle,

“What ye feelin® good erbout?”’ asked the trapper.
“Thar ain’t nothin’ in them bar’ls, Ratchet.”

“There has been something in them,” exulted Ratchet,
“and that was—whisky.”

be

thane hh eee a thee heh sem met ehh ae ws neg te

ae : Sats cals ats ular co acess ee ne
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STORIES. 21
\
Nomad gave a jump.

“Think this hyar’s ther storehouse Buffler was speakin’
of?” he demanded.

“No, I don’t think it’s the storehouse, Nomad. _Fa-
cilities are not right for a storehouse.” :

“Facilities ain’t right fer anythin’ but a good, safe
hangout, ‘pears ter me.”

The detective continued leading the way with the can-
dle. Suddenly he paused, and pointed. The candle-
gleam was reflected from shining copper.

“Look there!” breathed Ratchet.

Nomad saw a whisky-still—a gruesome lump of ma-
chinery, that reared itself out of the gloom like some
fabled monster.

“Here,” jubilated the detective, “we have stumbled
upon the very thing we were looking for.. Here is where
the Utes, under supervision of Biff Hackett, manufacture
their illicit product. Oh, I don’t know. For once, I
guess, we were fools for luck. It’s all owing to you,
Nomad. If you hadn’t got off the track coming back
to the place I had bunked down, you’d never have seen
those Utes popping up from under the river; and we’d
have gone oe along that paper-trail, feavene this place
behind us.’

“I reckon ye’re right,” averred Nomad. “Sometimes
a piece o’ luck’ll jump right out an’ hit er feller plum
in ther face. Thet’s us, this trip.”

The detective went around the still with his candle.
Suddenly he halted, and recoiled.

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. ‘See here,

He pointed to a huddled form at his feet.

“Dead Injun?” queried the trapper, kneeling down.

“No, it’s a white man,” said the detective, sweeping
the candle-light over the pallid face and glassy eyes of
the prostrate figure. “How was he killed?”

«Some wild varmint took him by ther throat,” an-
swered Nomad, Igoking at the form,

“Well, by thunder! Could it have been that coyote-
dog, do-you think? Do you think he’s run out his
trail of vengeance?”

“Snappin’ wildeats!” muttered Nomad, springing up.
“Thet’s ther size o’ et, I'll gamble a blue stack. This ’
hyar must be——” He paused.

“Biff Hackett!” finished the detective.

4°?

Nomad!

 

CHAPTER XIII.
DESTROYING THE STILL,

This overwhelming discovery, and the inference to be
drawn from it, set the trapper and the detective to star-
ing at each other with incredulous eyes.

“Go through the man’s clothes and see if you can ‘ind
anything to prove he’s Biff Hackett,” werlt on Ratchet.

 
      

   

    
   
   
   
   
   
   
 
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
    
   
  
  
  
  
   
    
  
  
  
  
  
 

 

ah Wha e

22 THE BUFFALO‘

Nomad found a pocketbook containing some money
and some business-cards. “Hackett & Co., General
Hardware, Sunfly, Colorado,” was what the cards read.

“That’s right,” observed the detective. “Hackett has
a hardware-store in Sunfly, although he leaves it mostly
in the care of a partner, and spends nearly all his time
at his ranch, and at Camp Horeb—when he’s not here
making whisky.”

“But ther dorg!’ spoke up Nomad. “Consarn et,
Ratchet, how could er dorg come inter this place like
we done? How could he foller er water-trail? Water
sp’iles er trail fer a dorg.”

“Well, to my notion, and paradoxical as it may seem,
the condition of Hackett’s throat proves the dog has.
been here. Let’s keep on looking, and see what else
there is to find.”

There were no more discoveries to be made. The ex-
plorers were close to the place where the back wall took
a turn and went down to the wall that hemmed in the
water.

“This is a cavern in the bluff,”’ said the detective. “It’s
a big one, but we’ve gone around the limits. How high
it goes up’—and he lifted his eyes into the gloom above
—‘is something we couldn’t tell without a search-light.
I am sure, though, there must be a hole up there. That
would make it easy for the Utes to let down all their.
paraphernalia with a rope. In coming or going, it
poe be easier for them to take the water-door, I imag-
ine.’

“Ye don’t think thet coyote- aes could jump down from
up thar, do ye?” queried the trapper, peering upward
into the darkness.

“He may have dived into the place like we did.”

“No dorg knows as much as er hoss,” commented the
trapper. ‘But, look’ee hyar, oncet, Ratchet: You an’
me aire li’ble ter hev some Utes swim in on us ef we
hang out hyar too long. I. wouldn’t like nothin’ better ef
I had Scoldin’ Sairy an’ Saucy Susan in my two fists ter
fight with. “But us two is as naked as ther day we come
inter ther world, an’ I’m feelin’ kinder lost, ter say noth-
in’ er bein’ chilly.”

“We'll get out of here at once,’ said Ratchet, “but
we'll first have to destroy the still.”

“How ye goin’ ter do et? Knock-et ter pieces?

MY-GR.

“Whar’s er ax? Got ter hev somethin’ ter hammer
with ef ye do ther job right.”

“Now you’ve got me. Why not pick up a couple of
stones and jump. into the thing?”

93

“Too much heavy machinery, Ratchet. I got er sug-

gestion.”

“What is it?”

“Use thet kag er powder.”

“Bully !”

“With thet ye kin knock ther still inter smithereens. -

 

BILL STORIES.

Thar won't be“nothin’ Boe scrap. left 0’ ee arter ne ee
der lets go, ef we fix ther kag right.” Se

“You go ahead and fix the keg, Nomad. “You know

more about that than IT do.”

. Nomad got busy at once; thie detective: carefully? hold-
ing the candle so he could see-what he was doing.

“I'd likeet better,’ said the trapper, “ef we hed a
long fuse. Ye kin cut off er fuse~so’st ter give ye as
many minits as ye want. Not hevin’ er fuse, though,
we'll hev ter lay a train, an’ thet’ll take some o’ ther
powder we could hev used on ther still: Ther more
powder under ther still, ther more pieces we make 0’ et.”

Nomad laid the train carefully, beginning at the place
where he and the detective had come up into the cavern.
At the end of the train he placed the kee of powder, :
spilling out a small heap.

The keg, as it was finally left, was directly under ‘the
whisky-machine.

“We'd better carry Hackett out of the? way,” oa
Ratchet.

“Kase why?” asked: Nomad gruffly. ee

“Well, it doesn’t seem just right to leave him: there
to get the full effect of the explosion.” x

“What did he try ter do to Buffler?” growled the old

‘trapper. “He’d hev had Buffler knifed by one-o’ them
pizen Utes at Killian’s wagon. I kain’t. see why we
orter be grievin’ any over what happens ter him. 3

Nevertheless, the old man helped the detective carry
the lifeless form to the other end of the cavern,

“This, the scene of his: lawless work, will prove his
tomb,” said the detective solemnly. oe

“T reckon thet’s right. He’s left six widders an’ thirty
children ter grieve fer him, but I'll bet a poncho they'll
all begin scrappin’ fer Te pEOpeLy. “Aire ye ready ‘ter
hike, Ratchet?”

“AIL ready.”

“Then gi’ me thér candle an’ we'll make fer ther place
whar we take ter me water. Arter I light ther train
we'll hey ter hustle | oe eee

They went to ihe spot where they had made their en-
trance into the nefarious retreat. Here, before touching
off the train and taking their dive, they paused for a mo-
ment.

“Et ’u’d be tough luck, Ratchet,”- in Nomad,

“ef, by any chance, we butted inter ther wall an’ couldn’t
git out.”

“Certainly it would,” answered Ratchet, “but I’m not
looking for anything of that kind‘to happen,”

“Things ye ain’t lookin’ for sometimes does happen,
though. We'd be in a mighty hard<row er stumps ef
we got blockaded. We’d'hev ter bob up back es ag’in,
an’ we'd shore git knocked over by flyin’ pieces o’ iron,’

“We'll go out the same way we came in? Nick.” :

“Waal, nee goes, anyhow. We've been. fools fer luck
so fur, an’ we'll hope ther luck#keeps up. ookin fer ther

6

 

 

     
  
     
    
     
   
   
   
   
    
          
   
        
  

~ TH ae >

Se

he

  
 

  

 

opposite bank ther minit ye git out. Take yer dive, an’

7 _ look fer me in erbout two seconds behind ye.”

“Hadn’t I better wait till: Yous

“Nary, pard. Take yer header.”

Without waiting for further woes, Ratchet plunged
into the water and disappeared. . re

Nomad, kneeling on the sand, tose off the train
with the candle. The fire sputtered, blazed up, and
darted along the train. ,

Flinging the candle from him, ead finiped into the
water, went down, and began swimming. His fears were
not realized, for he came up in the river alongside the
detective:

“Dig out,” spluttered Nomad.
fer ther kag, an’——’

“Indians !” returned the
couple right on us.’

By then Nomad was able to hear ie peda of the
watef, and to see a couple of heads coming from ee nw
bank, below the bluff. oe

.“Consarn ther luck!” putes he strapper. . “EE Bins
was only so’st ye could use ’em in ther water! Say,
we'll hev ter wait hyar an’ keep them fellers from gittin’
inside till ther peace lets g0. a mene put et a
fire, an’ a

“They’ re coming as though ae Sntended to mix
things with us,” interrupted Ratchet.

By that time the two redskins were quite dose It
seemed as though there was to,be a hand-to-hand fight in
the water, with red men and white he for. the. breath
in each other’s throat.

&

“Ther fire’s: rushin’

detective: - ‘There are a

 

“Let ’em come!” growled Nomad, making for. ae

nearest Indian. _
Just at that instant a ‘muffled r roz > came. from the bosom

of the bluff. The ground seemed to shake with the pent-

up forces, suddenly released. The shock to the air, in-
side the cavern, sent a tremendous jet of water out of the
“water-door.”

The four combatants, caught i in ihe churning v waves,
were dashed in all directions, and effectively separated.

CHAPTER XIV,

“OFF TER JINE BUFFLER.”

Ratchet was bumped against the face of the bluff and

‘badly stunned. When he finally recovered the use of
his faculties, he found himself-on the bank beside his
pile of clothes.

“All right, pard?” asked Nomad.

“Yes. How. did I get here?”

“I helped ye a little: Had ter pull out er handfal Q”
ha’r, but thet’s better’n. hevin’ et lifted oe a Utes,
hey ?”

   

THE BUFFALO

 

Bibi STORIES.

23

    

“Sure, Where are the Utes now?’

“Pass ther ante, Ratchet. Scramble inter yer clothes
an’ we'll jump onter our hosses an’ cross ther ford fer a
look.”

Nomad was already nearly dressed. While the de-
tective was finishing, the trapper got the horses ready. __

Once more in the saddle, the two comrades hurried
along the stream through the timber, reached the trail,
turned to the right, crossed, and then came back along
the other: bank.

They headed for the place, near the bluff, where the
Utes all seemed to leave their horses when they paid
their visits to the cavern,

A search through the timber, however, failed to abl
any signs of either horses or be
. “T reckon ther pizen varmints hev given: us ther slip,”
said the trapper regretfully.

“Tt looks that way,” agreed the detective.

“Thet big wave spurted out: jest in time ter sp'ile er
purty set-to, Ratchet.
' “Tt’s just as well, I euess, Nomad. There’s no telling
how that set-to would have come out. If those Indians
had been armed with knives they’d have probably got the
best of us. Our luck, apparently, still continues.”

“But ther still ain’t continuing none,” chuckled the
trapper. “We've delayed our start on thet paper-trail fer
so long now, I’m mightily tempted ter ride ter ther top
o’ thet bluff an’ see what we kin find thar, ef anythin’.”

“We might as well,’ concurred Ratchet.

‘The bluff sloped away from the river. As the two
rode up the slope they detected a perceptible odor of
burned powder. The odor thickened as they mounted.

“Thet means somethin’,” said the trapper.

“Tt means a hole in the top of the bluff,’
Ratchet.

Near the flat crest of the uplift they detected a thin
column of smoke, issuing, apparently, out of a rock-heap.

_Closer inspection of the rock-heap revealed an open-
ing in its center. The opening was circular, and. sonie
ten feet in diameter.

“Hyar’s ther chimbly!” declared the trapper.

“Tt is also the place from which the moonshiners took
their barreled whisky,” said the detective. “Look cu that;
Nomad.”

He pointed to a huge stone. The stone was squared
on one face, and had an immense iron hook embedded
in it.

“Right ye aire, pard,” said Nomad. “Thet hook was
used ter hold their tackle when they fisted stuff up er
let et down. Tork erbout yer swell hangouts! Blamed
ef this don’t lav over anythin’ I ever seen.”

“Tt filled the bill in good shape for the Ute ‘shiners.
But it will be some time before they make any more
whisky down there.”

27

answered
 
 
     
       
     
       
       
   
           
     
     
     
     
       
       
       
     
     
      

   
   
 
 

   
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
   
    
   
  
   
   
  
    
   
 
 
   
 
 
   
     

 

 

ae Se I ee Re a ee DY tr syle Ae MS thea dl RE Ree ye UN, Ot hep ¥ BY

“Pears ter me like et ’u’d be a heap easier fer them

(Utes ter be lowered down from ther top than ter come
up inter ther cave from ther bottom.”

“The water-door is the safest. They could enter by
that at any time, whereas if they got to fooling around
the top of this bluff too much in daylight, some cattle-
man would spot them. No doubt they had some means
of keeping their weapons dry, or else left them outside
with their horses, whenever they took the water plunge.
The water-door is easier, too, Nick. It would take two
or three Utes to work a pulley, and any red that can
swim can enter by the other way. It beats all,’ added
the detective, shias the subject, “where those other
two.Utes have gone.”

- “When they left,” said Nomad, “they didn’t hit owin’
but ther high. places. Wonder what they thort had hap-
pened?’ He laughed. “Reckon they must hev opined
their j’int had been hit with an airthquake. Look over
thar!’ Nomad finished, pointing toward the east.

The detective faced in that direction. Over the rim
of hills the first. gray dawn was stretching itself like a
silver ribbon. Se

“Daylight is tagging right after us!” exclaimed Ratch-
et. “I-had no idea we had used up so much time!”

“We must hev been in thet cave longer’n what we
thort, Ratchet. I reckon et’s erbout time we was off ter
jine Buffler.” ,

“Tt is that. There’s nothing more for us to find out
here, so we'd better pull out.”

They headed their horses back down the slope of the
bluff, regained the trail, and splashed across the ford.

“Anyways,” chuckled Nomad, “Buffler didn’t corral
all ther excitement last night.”

“Certainly we had our share,” said Ratchet.

“We've accomplished somethin’ fer Uncle
an’ thet’s ther best part o’ et.”

Sam, too,

“It was by a happenchance that we did it, Nomad.
All credit to you for going astray in the night. We
ought to be getting close to one of those cards, hadn’t
we? ‘Unless the wind——” :

“Thar hezn’t been no wind sence faites left Facets
Ef thar had been, thar’d be a deck 0” keerds seatipved
all over this part o’ Utah. Don’t ye never think Buf-
fler didn’t figger on thet. Afore he makes any kind of er
play, he figgers ther possibilities up an’ down an’ side-
ways. Which same reminds me Whoop-ya!” broke

 

off the trapper, pointing to the ground ahead, “thar’s ther .

king er dimings!~ Buffler went ter ther right.”
. “Sure enough!” returned the detective.
Daylight was none too bright, as yet, but what little
there was served to show them the telltale card.
They rode-on, side by side, busily seemning the’ ground
in advance, It. was an easy trail to follow, for, having
atice got the general direction, all they needed was the

THE BUFFALO

BILL... STORIES.

sight of a card, here and there, to reassure them that

they were going right. . :

_“T reckon Snarleyow, as Buffler one ther sone _ob-
served. Nomad, “run out thet trail o’ Hackett’s some time
yesterday.” Nea

“It must have béen vextelg” morning, then,” re-
turned the detective, “because he was at Easeare with
Buffalo Bill, at noon. The chances are, too, that he has
been with the scout ever since.” * :

“Et was yesterday mornin’ or Right before last, Kase
et couldn’t hev been no other time.”

“Those six Utes you saw coming out of the cave were
the’ ones who left that candle for us. They——”

“They was so skeered at findin’ Hackett down an’ out
thet they hiked away for all they was with!”

“T wonder if any of those red rascals were the ones
who captured me on the trail?” - de

“Shore.. I don’t reckon Hackett her got sich er pow-
erful big gang ter help run thet still.
he has, ae more ae some of ‘em would be ter ‘give
him away.’

“That’s right. When a man is engaged a an anlawtul
business, he can’t afford to share his secret with too
many others. There's always danger in that. Hackett,
take it all in all, was pretty clever.”

“Any man thet kin boss six wives, an’ do et proper, is
bound ter be clever! Ef he wasn’t, life ’u’d shore be a
howlin’ wilderness fer him. Most fellers that I know
hev got their hands full takin’ keer 0’ one. Thet’s why
Old Nomad never committed mattermony.  He’s
afeared.” .

“I didn’t think you were afraid of anything,” laughed
the detective.

“Wimen an’ whiskizoos aire erbout ther on’y things.
Friend 0’ mine named One-eyed Sanders got stuck on er

gal oncet. She was a biscuit-shooter in a railroad hash-
house, and, say, she, had Sanders throwed an’ hawg-
tied. Why, she had him goin’ so fast, that every time

he pulled foun his month’s salary at the ranch whar he
worked, he loped right inter town an’ gave the money
ter the eal ter keep fer him. Sanders explained ter me
thet they was savin’ up ther money ter git married on,
an’ go ter housekeepin . Waal, when ther gal had erbout.
five hunderd:o’ Sanders’ money, an’ Sanders was gittin’
ready ter hire a sky-pilot fer.ther comin’ nuptials, what
did thet thar biscuit-shooter dor I’m er Piegan ef she
didn’t elope with er drummer, an’ Sanders’ five hundred
jest erbout paid ther honeymoon expenses.
fer me! I’m too ‘old now ter butt inter mattermony, but
et never appealed ter me none when I was younger.” ©: .

The detective laughed. They had been for some time
in the saddle, and shortly after the trapper had un-
reeled his:story they reached the site of Killian’s ‘old
camp. There was no doubting the place, because the
freshly made mound-offered conclusive evidence,

Ther more Injuns

“Oh, no, not |

|

 

 

 

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ba

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the

hay
the

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tim.
  

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BO Aree S

 

    

   

ther gang ‘thet -kerosenéed -

  
 
 
 
 
 

 

Se oR ear ie
PPS ee (eden oie RK

“Hyar's whar ther Soo ces cleaned up another 0’
fn, commented Nomad.
“Moril never kick er dog’ ke ‘Snarleyow. ©

wheel-marks, Ratchet j re
“They're not very plain.”

ee Es ‘been. some time sence. they was s ade, an’ ground
Tike this hyar i is spongy. Waal, thet’s ther. trail Buffler
was follerin’ yesterday arternoon, Right in front-o’ ye
is ther two-spot o’ hearts. Tramp. et down. an’ let’s
mosey. We're off on ther. road ter ther storehouse an’
ten bar'ls 0’ valley tan.”

ue hey put their horses to oe wllgs ie closer
aed closer to the. range of hills that ridged: is horizon
in the west.

Nomad kept track on ‘the. eee. mares chile he de-
tective had an -eye out for. cards.. It was easier for him
to follow the pasteboards than -the marks of, the wagon-
wheels, oe ee

An hour of saddle work brought wen very - close to
the bleak uplifts. As they gazed at the hills, a horse-

@ man broke out of a valley with startling suddenness. A

‘seems tickled at ther prospeck of er fight.

long, lean dog was running at the horseman’s side.

“Is that Buffalo Bill?” queried the detective.

“Shore et’s Buffler!” cried Nomad. “I kin tell him
as far away as I kin see him. Ye ort ter know et’s Buf-

_ fler, Ratchet, by thet dorg, ef nothin’ else.”

“That’s right. He seems to-be in a big hurry.”

“Which is what I kain’t savvy, nohow. He’s slashin’
this way ter beat two of er kind, an’ ~ The trapper
cut short his words abruptly. ‘“Howlin’ hyeners!” he
finished, as five mounted Utes came piling out of the
hills arter the scout, ‘““Buffler is bein’ chased.’*

“He sees us!” returned the detective excitedly.

“An’ he knows we're hyar ter give him er boost! See
him pull rein and head t’other way. Even ther ‘dorg
Unlimber,

 

Ratchet !’’

Nomad jerked.a revolver from his belt.

“There'll be no fight,” said Ratchet. “The sight of us
has scared the reds. They’re turning, too, and putting
back toward the place they came from.”

The trapper and the detective used their spurs and de-
veloped a faster pace.

“D’ye reckon them’s part o’ ther gang thet got out 0’
ther cave last night?’ asked Nomad. :

“There mre six in that party, and there are only five
in this one,” replied Ratchet. “Still, Buffalo Bill may
have dropped one of. them. I should aS ee ‘that
they're the same Utes.”

“Then, by thunder, they must hév follered het paper-

trail! I'll bet a poncho Pard cethes. has been perie the
time o’ his. life.”

They rodé their best it in order to come alongside of hie
| scout,

_ THE ey “ALO

~ See them

    

      

BILL STORIES.
CHAPTER XV.
Gob beam Chk Eke Ono Sukah lg

Buffalo Bill had started to chase his late. pursuers, but

he checked his speed in order. to let his pards overhaul

him.
“Howdy, pard!” sang out Nomad.

“What’s ther mat-
ter with ther back o’ yer’ coat?”

“Why ?” asked the scout, urging his horse to a faster
gait.
 “Ket’s. kinder reddened’up. You been shot?” ne)

“Grazed,”’ answered the scout, witha low laugh. ak
ran into a swarm of lead bees, in a swale over in the
hills.”

“Got stung, too, hey?’

“Not to hurt.”

“Was them the fellers thet done et?”

S Yess:
“Then we'll get clost eubaeh, mebbyso, ter empty: our
pepper-boxes‘inter "em. Why, oh, why, hevn’t-I got er
THe é

“For the same reason that I haven’t, I suppose. Those
reds wouldn't have chased me much if. I’d had. some-
thing for long-range work. Lucky you showed up when
you did’ Where have you fellows been all the morn-
ing?”

“Blowing up a still,” spoke up the detective.

The scout jumped around in his saddle.

“Do you mean to say you spotted Hackett’s still?’ he
demanded.

“Nomad picked up the clue, then we both followed it.
Blew it up with a keg of powder, Buffalo Bill!”

“Hooray!” cried the scout.

“Your horse is hit in the neck,” went on the detective

-solicitously, noticing the dried blood.

“Another scratch. He doesn’t mind ‘that any more
than I do what happened to me. Hi, there, Snarleyow?’
shouted the scout to the dog, who was far in the lead:
“Come back here! He’s hot on the trail of Hackett, and
he thinks those reds. will lead him to the man. Well,
maybe he’s right, but I don’t vou the dog to ge
knocked over by a bullet.”

“Ef ther dorg thinks he’s arter Hackett, Buffler,”
Nomad, “he’s shy a few.”

“How’s that?” asked the scout.

“Fle’s already bagged Hackett.”

“What? The dog has already run out that trail ?”
“He has thet. We found Hackett lyin’ by ther still,
his throat all mangled. He’s shore gone ter j’ine Joseph

Smith—wharever thet is.”

“This is news!” muttered Buffalo Bill. ‘Why, I
thought all the time Hackett was with the wagon. I was
following.”

“What's a thar, Buffler ?” asked N Roma pointing to

said

  
   

 

 

 

  

the Ute who was lying near'the spot where the scout had
met with an experience well-nigh disastrous.

“More of Snarleyow’s work,” said Buffalo Bill. “He
did that to save me. I'll tell you about it, some time.”

“Ef ther Utes don’t band tergether an’ kill thet dorg,
Buffler, he’ll wipe out the tribe!”

“No Ute uses a bullet on Snarleyow if J can help it,”
said the scout.

Conversation was far from easy, slashing along as they
were. They rode in silence for a space, then, over the
tops of the near-by hills, a cloud of heavy smoke shot
suddenly into the air.

“Thunder!” cried the trapper.
mean ?”

The scout shook his head.
“IT don’t know,’ he answered, “but it comes from

“What does thet

pretty near the place where I camped last night.”

“What’s become of the Utes?” asked the detective.

The reds had vanished mysteriously among the hills.

“There’s no. telling about that,’ said Buffalo Bill.
“Keep a sharp lookout to left and right a§ we ride. We
dofh’t want to run into an ambush.”

“Like ez not them fellers aire. back o’ thet fire;” sug-
gested Nomad.

“Impossible!” declared the scout. “They haven’t had
time to get there and start it. But,” he added, with sud-
den thought, “when this chase began, a prisoner I had
and one winged Ute were left in the valley, about where
that fire appears to be. They may be the ones’ who

‘started it’

TuUBeS os fer thet valley o’ your’n, Buffler, an’ see
what et is.’

“That’s the’place I’m heading for, Nick.”

A few minutes later the scout turned into the valley.
There were no Indians in sight, and the three pards gal-
loped: at speed past the ‘place where Buffalo Bill had
passed the night with his Ute prisoner, and on past
the lower opening of the swale through which-he had
rushed when his horse carried him away. from the at-
tacking Utes. :

Half a mile farther they beselied a prairie-schooner.

"There were no horses at the pole of the wagon, and the
vehicle was wrapped in flames. The canvas top had been

burned away, and as the flames twisted and eddied, and
the smoke was fanned aside, the three white men were
able to see that the wagon was full of barrels.
“Whisky-barrels!’’ exclaimed the detective.
“Right you are,’ Ratchet,” said the scout.
the ten barrels Hackett wrote Killian about.”

Fire dripped from the wagon. The broaching of a
spirit-cask allowed its contents to. trickle down, and the

‘flames licked greedily at every drop.

“There goes the last piece of evidence against Hack-
ett,” remarked the detective, backing his horse: away
from the fierce heat of the fire. :

THE BUFFALO BILL STORIES.

“There are —

x

turned the scout. “That is just what you’d have done
with the whisky if it had'come into your hands.”

“That’s so. The Utes, or whoevér it was set fire to the
stuff, have saved me a little trouble.”

“The storehouse must be around here somewhere,” re-
marked the scout, pushing his horsé into a fringe of

bushes that screened the side of the valley.

Nomad and Ratchet followed him. Beyond the bushes
there was a broad door in the hillside.
open.
“Blamed ef thar ain't a dugout !” aad Nomad,

“It’s the storehouse,” answered Buffalo Bill. “Hack-
ett found out, at Killian’s camp, that Ratchet and the rest
of us were loose in the country. That scared him, and
he sent the Utes.on after the stuff in the storehouse, while
he went back to the still, The red ’shiners have been
kept so busy they haven’t had time to get away with
the whisky.”

Nomad held the Horses while the scout oy the on
tective dismounted and went into the dugout.

It was.a roomy place, running well back into the mt
But it was empty. -

“The still has been wiped out, Ratchet; 2 sail Buffalo
Bill, “and from now on this storehouse will make a cap-

ital wolf- oo pore Ns wolves aan sense eee

to use it.” ieee : a

A welltacnned wd sniead led away from the front
of the dugout, presumably going north to some seques-
tered valley, which ae a asa ae back to the main
trail. a

“Hackett planned his work cleverly,” said Ratchet.
“If he had put as much brains and effort into his hard-
ware-business, in Sunfly, he might have made as much
money as he did out of his- whisky, and he would have
made it honestly.”

“Some men like the excitement that goes ie brea’
ing the law. \ Hackett was that kind ofa man.”

“T believe you, Buffalo Bill.”

They rejoined Nomad, mounted, and rode back to: the
place where the scout had spent the night with the
captive Ute. eae J

“Did you bring along those rations, Nick?” the scout
asked, his searching eyes on a bag at the trapper’s sad-
dle-cantle.

“L-shore did, pard,” replied Nomad.
“Then let's sit down here and have something to eat.
We don’t want to take the back trail until that wagon
and its contents are entirely consumed.”

The horses were put out, the scout took off his coat
and looked after his wound, and all hands ate of the cold
chuck the detective had secured at Pascal’s; -°

During the meal there was-an interchange. of experi-
ences, and some doubt was expressed as to which ‘was

“You don’t need) any evidence to: convict him,” re-—

   

    
   
 

The door was.

    
  

   
    
 

 

      
 

 

    
    
       
       
     
       
     
         
      
       
       
 
    
 
   
   
    
  
  
   
   
 
 
  
   
  
   
 
  
   
 
  
   
   

 

  
 
  

 

at
ld

“1-

  

 

| ever took part in;
strangest thing is the t

 

Ge ee Heese SCR Pt A TTY PCT LETH IS

THE BUFFALO

hea more wonderful—the cavern in the bluff, and the way
the trapper and the detective had entered it, or the roll-

:. ing-stone, the scout’s capture. by it, and the final rescue
) by his four-footed pards.

“Tn some respects,” said, the scout, “this series of Utah
p

4 j experiences havé been the | most unusual of any I have
but, everything considered, the~~

_trail mapped_out by this dog”—he
tossed Snarleyow a piece of meat as he spoke—‘“and re-

lentlessly followed until he had cleaned up the three white

brutes who had treated him so fiendishly.”
“Et kain’t compare with what thet pinto done, Buffler,”
demurred Nomad. iO

“Well, maybe not. You like horses better an you i

q a dogs, Nick, and you’ rea little prejudiced. All this, how-

ever, is beside the question. Hackett and Killian have
gone to their long account, the still has been utterly
destroyed, the whisky « on hand has been taken care of,
and the Ute “shiners scattered. The reds will never
again engage in such unlawful traffic after this lesson
they have had. Are you ready to cry ‘quits,’ Ratchet ?”

“I’m done,” ‘answered the detective; looking toward
the smoking embers of the wagon: “I can report, with a
good deal of sae econ that the Ute ’shiners have been
takemccare of.f6% =) 7.

“In that case, pards,’: went:on Buel Bill,
ready to return to Sunfly by Way of Pascal's.
put up at the Frenchman’s to-night.”
“Keno,” said Nomad, “thet. suits me plumb up ter
ther hilt.”

“we are
s.. We can

a

- CHAPTER XVI.
CONCLUSION,

Not a Ute was seen along the back trail that led to
Pascal’s. The three pards made the journey in a leisure-
ly way, having plenty of time for it, now that their work
was, completed.

At the Uintah, Buffalo Bill insisted on a halt while he
made personal inspection of the cave; and he insisted,
too, that they go into the place by the “water-door.”

Nomad volunteered to strip and accompany him, while

Ratchet remained on the bank. to look after the horses.

But the scout was doomed to disappointment: Al-
though he and Nomad dove and dove again, in the yery
spot where the Utes had appeared, and where the ‘trap-
per.and the detective had effected their’ entrance and exit,
it was impossible: for them to find anything but solid
rock, —

Giving up, after a while, they swam back to the other
bank, came out of the water, and got into their clothes.

“How do you account, for that?” asked the puzzled aS
tectiy e, as they. mounted and. rode off.

“house afire!

    

  

SE ME TIE IN a I cae ge tec I IS er SRO a NI eae aga ie TOO

  
   

BILE STORIES!” 27

“That explosion inside the cavern must have loosened

‘some of the stones in the wall fronting the river,” sug-

gested the scout. “The loosened stones fell down and
blocked the ‘water-door,’ as you called it. That’s the
only explanation I can give.”

“I reckon ye’ve got ther right end o’ ther stick, Buff-
ler,” concurred the trapper. “Et was”shore a powerful
explosion, A mounting o’ water jumped up on ther
tiver side o’ ther wall, an’ Ratchet an’ me had et which
an’ t’other fer a spell ter keep from gittin’ drownded.”

“I-would have gone under for keeps if Nomad hadn’t
grabbed me by the hair ‘and swam ashore with me,” said
Ratchet. :

Still determined to see. as much of: the moonshiners’
retreat as he could, Buffalo Bill rode to the top of the
bluff and looked down the hole.

A strong odor of burned gunpowder floated up from
the gloomy depths.

“This was certainly a tip-top place for Hackett’s law-
less work,” said the scout, as he turned away. “Nature,
when she fashioned this cut-out in the bluff, played
directly into his hands. If Nomad had not seen those
reds bobbing up to the surface of the river, I doubt if we
should ever have discovered the place. Odd what a
course fortune takes with men, sometimes! What we
often believe to be a.run of bad luck occasionally proves
to be the very best of good fortune, temporarily dis-
guised. Now we'll try oy get to Pascal’s in time for
supper.”

They rode down the slope silently and regained the
trail just beyond the woods.

“Thar was six Utes in thet gang thet chased ye inter
ther swale, was thar, Buffler?” queried Nomad, when
they were well away.

“Yess:

“TIl bet a hundred agin’ a Chink wash-ticket they was
the same six I seen come out o’ ther cave.”

“Probably.”

“They picked up thet -paper-trail o” your’n like er
Don’t reckon they heerd anythin’ about
et from Pascal, do ye?”

“No. They saw the cards and followed them out of
curiosity. Pascal’s all right, Nick. He’s a little wrong
in his head-piece, they say, but he was never known to
be anything but white in dealing with friends.”

“All right, then, if ye’re satersfied.’’

They came to Pascal’s about sundown. Paseal was

not in sight as they rode up to the barn, so they put

up their horses and walked on to the house.

Here ‘they saw something that aroused their deep -in-
terest,: and occasioned some surprise that was- not ex-
actly agreeable. A dead pinto horse lay about thrée
yards from Pascal’s kitchen-door.

“Jumpin? wildcats!” muttered Nomad, keenly dis-
tressed. “Et’s Pinto Ben, Buffler! Shot, by thunder!
  

   

 

 

Killed by er bullet through ther head. Now, what mis-
erable, good-fer-nothin’ yaller whelp done thet?”

A sereech came from one of the kitchen-windows, and
the muzzle of a gun was thrust through. A bead was
being drawn on Snarleyow, when the scout pulled the
dog hastily away and got in front of him.

“Is that you, Pascal?” demanded the scout.

“Take away dat dog! Take ‘im away, or I shoot.
By gar! I no have dat blame’ dog round: dis house.”

Tt was the Frenchman. He was barricaded in his
home, and was about scared out of his wits.

“The dog won’t hurt you, Pascal,” answered the scout.
“Tl keep him away from you.”

“T no lak dat dog,” snarled Pascal.
I talk, and I don’ lak him neider.”

“Did you shoot the pinto?”

“Out, I shoot heem! Py gar, me, Napoleon Pascal,
do dat. He come, an’ he chase me from de barn to, de
house, and he keek de door when I shut heem. Den I
fire from de window and dat fixes Pinto Ben. Now,
wen J feex de dog, de countree will be safe for me to
leeve in. Sacre! Step wan side, m’sieu, w’ile I shoot
wid de gun.”

“Look here, Pascal,’ cried the scout sternly, “you’re
not going to do a thing to this dog. If you do, you can
look out for me, that’s all. The horse and the dog
were my four-footed pards, and I intended to take them
out of the country with me. I’m more sorry than I can
tell that you killed the mustang, but that’s been dohe, and
can’t be helped. However, the dog is alive, and he’s go-
ing to remain so, if I can protect him. Comprenny voo?”

“Out, me comprenz,’ answered Pascal, with a despair-
ing groan. “Tie dat dog up, Buffalo Bill, so dat I feel
safe.’

“We're going to stay here all night, Pascal, and the
dog is going to stay with us. That’s settled.”

“And, another thing, you white-livered Johnny Cra-
peau,” cried the wrathful Nomad, “hev ye got any picks
an’ shovels erbout yer ‘ole shack ?”

“You. talk, den

“Oui, m’sieu, I haf de pick and de shov-el. W’y you.
ask dat?”

“Come out here and git ’em, blast ye!” ted Nomad.
“Fust thing I do I’m goin’ ter plant Pinto Ben. An’
ye’re goin’ ter help. Thet hoss knowed more in a minit

than you do in er y’ar, an’ he desarves ter be put erway

decent.”

Paseal was horrified at the thought of approaching the
pinto, but Nomad stuek to his purpose and the French-
man was obliged to help dig a hole, down by the corral;
then, with picket-ropes, poor, misguided Pinto Ben was
dragged into the hole and covered up.

He was a horse that knew too much; or, perhaps,
there was more fighting-blood i in his veins than was good

for him.

_ Yet, be that as it might, he had performed valiant

THE BUFFALO

  

BILL STORIES. |

service for the pards, and they were not disposed to let
his beautiful hide be flayed from his body, or to leave

his carcass where the wolves‘could devour it. :

This work, insisted on by Nomad before supper was
prepared, carried the evening meal well into the night.

Buffalo Bill lay down with Snarleyow in the room
with him, and Pascal slept with a rifle in the bed at
his side. |

It was early morning when Pascal announced break-
fast. He was nervous and worried, and eager to speed
his gtiests on their journey to Sunfly—simply and solely
because he wanted to get the coyote-dog out of his
place. . @

When the pards were mounted and ready to ride off,
Pascal appeared in the door of his kitchen, still hanging
to the gun.

“Buffalo Bill, me, I want to ask you somet ing,” he
called.

“What is it, Pascal?”

“You take dat dog out of de countree ?””

Py @S;"

“Sure you take heem so far dat he nevair come hack? a

Yes.

“Den I much oblige.
gar! Au_revoir, m’sieu?”

“Good- by, Pascal!” called.back the scout.

Ratchet waved his hand, but Nomad merely growled
fiercely and refused any parting word or sign.

“Waugh!” growled the trapper angrily. “Thet frog-
eater is erbout ther slimmest excuse fer a man I ever
seen.”

“As I said, Nick,” returned the scout, “he’s a trifle
locoed. He’s not responsible for the unreasonable fear
he has of the dog, or the fear that led him to shoot
Pinto Ben.”

“He hadn’t ort ter shot thet ints anyways! I was
layin’ ter take Pinto Ben away with me!”
“Tough luck; yet, when you think it over, Pascal only
did what those cowboys were about to do, when you
stepped in and halted their game. There must have been
a pretty general sentiment in this part of the country to
the effect that Pinto Ben wasn’t wanted.”

“He was sartinly a mighty knowin’ hoss.
trained him like I did Nebby.
was a pard wuth hevin’.”

pen the horse and the dog were pards worth hav-
ing,’ put in Ratchet. :

“We'll keep Snarleyow as long as we can,” said the
scout. “When a pard, even a four-footed pard, does
you a service, I believe in treating him white.” :

“Kerect!” seconded Nick Nomad.

Honest, Buffler, thet pinto

THE END.

The next! number, 360, will be “Buffalo Bill’s Pro-
tégé; or, Foiling a Nihilist Plot,”

  

If he come back I kill heem, by

I could hev

       
 

 

        
     
     
    
        
    

<=

  
        
      
     
     
     
     
     
        
       
  
   
    
  
   
  
  
  
   
    
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
    
  
   
  
   
  
    
 

es

me em ASA

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NEW YORK, March 28, 1908.

 

 

 

 

_ TERMS TO BUFFALO BILL STORIES MAIL SUBSCRIBERS.
‘(Postage free.)
Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each.

  

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G. SuiTH,
ORmonD | Proprietors. 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City.

Gerorcs C. SMITH,

 

 

AROUND THE CAMP FIRE.

COWBOY CHANGES WITH THE WEST.

It is pretty hard to find an old-time cow-puncher in the

| business nowadays. There are plenty of hardy. young cow-

| boys, who can ride like Centaurs, handle the rope with skill,
and cut out and brand cattle to the taste of the crankiest
round-up foreman, but the grizzled old boys who followed the
long trails in the days when the cowman was an undisputed
sovereign are standing ie and criticizing the .work of
their successors.

The fact that the rieders cowboy is part fet hand ‘is
what brings a snort of contempt out of the old-timer. The
big. cattle-ranches of. to-day are, without exception, putting
up hay and alfalfa for winter feeding. It is cheaper than
facing a winter like that of 1889, that killed eighty per cent.
of the cattle in northwestern Colorado and .southwestern
Wyoming. Nobody thought of winter feeding cattle in those
days, and when cattle couldn’t paw away the snow to get
at the bunch-grass they simply starved to death, while Mr.
Cowman figured up his losses. To-day, with broad acres
under irrigation, the cattle-owner puts up enough ‘hay to tide
him over a hard winter, and after the spring round-ups are
over the cowboys turn in and exercise with ‘the ee
until the fall round-ups begin.

“You couldn't get an old-time cowboy to do any farm
work,” said Charley Russell, Montana’s celebrated “cowboy
artist,” to the writer. “Maybe there was a little wild hay
put up for a pet sadddle-horse, but, generally speaking, all
the ‘critters’ had to rustle their own living. They tell about
an old cowboy when things began to change. The new
ranch-owner showed him a pitchfork and told him to get

. busy. The cowbey stood off ahd surveyed the pitchfork from
every angle, and, finally, he walked away ‘shaking his head.
‘That’s plumb past me, mister,’ he said. ‘I never could
run a complicated piece of machinery like that. You'll have
to hire a farm-hand to do it. My business is punchin’ cows.’
And that’s what makes a false note in “The Virginian,’ in
my estimation. The book is suppased to be a picture of old-

 

   

TELE BUPRFALO BILL STORIES. 29

EE ORIN: | RR SA! acy lg SR OE PR ai y= Aer RR CE

 

\ =

 

time cowboy Kkfe, yet there are hens on Judge Henry's
ranch. An old-time cowboy didn’t know any more about
hens than he did about pitchforks.”

But, despite the fact that some features of the cowboy’s
life have changed, there is enough of the old element re-
maining to make the life an attraction for the growing
generation in the cattle strongholds of the West. There are
plenty of hard-riding young chaps who are willing to take
less pay than they could get for sheep-herding, and do much
harder work than the sheepman ever does, for the sake
of sitting within that charmed circle at the round-up cook’s
fire. The creak of the saddle-leather is still an alluring
music in the ears of man, and the call of the cowboy’s life
is not to be resisted any more than it was a generation
ago. What if a sheep-herder does get from $50 to $75 a
month and “chuck,” and all the comforts of life in a wagon

that is as snug as a house, while the cowboy only gets from

$30 to $40 for rough work outdoors in all kinds of weather ?
One business spells romance and the other doesn’t—and
these warm-blooded youngsters in the West are no mere
money-grubbers,

Another feature of cowboy life that has changed some-
what is the cattle drive. There are no more of those tre-
mendous drives, such as Andy Adams describes in “The
Log of a Cowboy.” Before the advent of the railroads,
cattle were trailed sometimes thousands of miles to market.
The trail life was one of the most picturesque features of
the old cow-puncher’s existence, but, of course, it is all gone
to-day, for it is seldom that cattle have to be driven over one
hundred miles to a shipping-point.

In northwestern Colorado, where railroads have never
penetrated, one finds the cattlemen in all their majesty.
Few settlers have moved into this remote land, and the range
is innocent of fence. There are no wars between sheep and
cattle interests. The line between the two States is a dead-
line, and the sheep are run in Wyoming, while the cattle-
men do not range north of Colorado. On this wonderful

plateau-land, which exercises a strange fascination over him

who gazes on it, thousands of cattle roam the year round.
One big outfit alone runs upward of 40,000 head in the Lit-
tle Snake and Bear River valleys. It takes plenty of cow-
boys to look after 40,000 head of cattle mixed in with count-
less other brands. on a range that is not fenced. Conse-
quently, one will find all kinds of conditions of cow-punchers
roaming over the hills. And when the big “association
round-up” is on one will get a glimpse of thirty or forty
of the “top hands” of the Colorado-Wyoming country do-
ing all kinds of fancy werk in riding and’ roping, and per-
forming heroic stunts at the branding fire. This big semi-
annual round-up is a community affair, supported by most
of the cattlemen in the vicinity. Each cattleman sees that
his share of the round-up ‘work is performed, and that he
contributes his share of horses to the “saddle cavvy,” and
incidentally that his own interests on the range are well
looked after. It is a sort of semiannual range inventory,
and few cattle get through the round-up drag-net.

Without men to ride and rope and brand and perform
the other tasks that fall to the lot of the cow-puncher the

' cattle interests would be helpless, Consequently, there is

a demand for good cowboys to-day, and will be for years
to come—not unskilled tenderfeet who want to spend a

oR

  
THE BUFFALO

30 : ; \

summer vacation at nice, easy work in the saddle, but wiry,
seasoned men, who “have the savvy.’ -A few days on the
spring round-up would soon take all the nonsensical ideas
‘out of a tenderfoot, and would convince him that the cow-
boy’s lot is not an easy one, even in this day when the
labor of all men is supposed to be lightened by science:

Take a dripping June day, such as the writer spent with
a bunch of the Two-Bar boys at the old L-7 cow-ranch-house,
oh the Little Snake River. Camp was pitched at a bend
in the river. A mess-wagon, backed up to a wall-tent, and
a few pyramid, or herder, tents for sleeping purposes con-
stituted the camp. Everything was dripping, and had been
for days, as the spring was cold and backward. The cow-
boys were grouped about the trees in front of the mess-tent,
waiting for the evening meal. Johnny, the round-up cook,
was sick, and his place was taken by Slim, a tall cowboy,
whose good nature was unfailing. Most men in Slim’s case
would have had a good old “camp grouch,” which is the
worst grouch in the world. It is bad enough to be called
upon to cook fof an outfit when you have signed to ride,
but what made it worse in Slim’s case was the fact that he
had ‘been walked on by a horse that morning. A big gray
bronco that he had roped out of the “cavvy” for a moment
had rushed at him, striking out like a prize-fighter with its
front feet. Slim had slipped in trying to get ey and the
horse had planted one foot on Slim’s hip.

“Then that dashed bronk stood up on’ that one foot and
turned around on it, jest to rub it in,” said Slim, concluding
the story of his mishap. “I’m jest a little dissatisfied to-
night, because I didn’t sign either for a cook or a hoss-
fighter.”

In proof of the fact that it was no trifling injury ~he
‘sustained, Slim could«not straighten up, but walked with his
body bent at an acute angle. Yet he hustled about the fire
with the activity of a cat, mixed up a lot of biscuits, got
them baking in the Dutch oven, and saw that the fire was
kept going under the stew and the beans and the other ar-
_ ticles hanging from pot-hooks over the flames. There. was
no complaint out of him, in spite of the pain he must have
suffered, and no thought of any stiffness that might ensue on
the morrow. And the fact that Slim’s mind cure was effica-
cious was borne out at breakfast next morning, when he was
spry as a prairie-dog and chipper as a sparrow, though his
back was still bent at an ominous angle.

Johnny, the cook, has not Slim’s equanimity of temper,
or else he has been sick so long that ‘good nature has ceased
to be a virtue. Wrapped in a heavy coat, Johnny sits with
his unshaven face in his hands, and stares moodily at the
fire the while he curses the weather. Grip, he calls it,
and, whatever it be, the sickness has left the cowboy. color-
less and with little strength. To-morrow he is going to
ride to Craig to see a doctor—a tere matter of sixty miles
or so in the saddle, over roads slippery with rain. To-night
he tries to eat a little of the fare Slim presses upon him, but
finally he has to put down the food untasted.. He smiles a
little at the skylarking of the boys after supper, but soon
the sick cowboy crawls away in his tent and to slumber in
damp bedding on the damp ground.

The rest of the boys repair to the old ranch-house for a
game of cards. This old stone cabin, nestled snug against
@ bank, is a place with a history. It was built years ago,

BIEL STORIES.

in the days of the cattle barons. Tom Horn, who was -
hanged for too active work in assassinating small ranchers
who moved into the territory of Wyoming’s ranch dicta-
tors, used to “hang out” here. From there many an expe-
dition was sent out against the rustlers who levied heavily
upon Routt county herds. Here the round-ups started in
the old days, and here the flower of cowboy chivalry gathered
to make merry at Christmas time, with perhaps a shooting
to add to the excitement of the occasion. The low-ceiled,
stone-walled rooms, with their corner fireplaces and their
bunks for sleepy cow-punchers, seem to exude the spirit
of romance. If one could get but a part of the stories the
old cabin could tell he would not have one, but a dozen
classics of Western literature.

But the boys who gather for their game of cards to- night
are not of the past. They speak, as a rule, correctly, albeit
with that surplus of profanity that seems to be a part of
range life. Aside from their high-heeled boots and other
noticeable points of cowboy accouterment, they might be ta-
ken for young artisans in a city. They drop occasional bits
of up-to-date slang, and one of them tells an incident that
befell him recently in a variety theater in Denver. They
are all sophisticated, and some of them are pretty erage is
traveled, so far as the West is concerned.

The butt of the outfit—for what cow outfit could exist
without some one to play jokes upon?—is the lad who is
doing the horse wranglers work. He is addressed as
“Rang,” and anybody who can play a practical joke on him
is welcome to do so. “Rang” is like the freshman at col-
lege. He takes the hazing good-naturedly, and no doubt
makes a mental resolve to “pass it on” when some ue
“freshy” becomes the wrangler.

Cards over, the boys straggle back to the camp she “hit
the hay,” and soon quiet reigns, except for the splashing of
clay-banks eaten away by the booming river and the end-
less drip of the rain. In the morning the yellow slickers
of the outfit gleam through the dawn. “Slim” is as good-
natured as ever, but thé rest are somewhat quiet until break-
fast is over. As for “Johnny,” he does not show up, prefer-
ring to remain in bed until it is time for him to start on his
long search for a doctor.

at ene
EXPLORE CANONS OF RIO GRANDE.

F, P. Starr, Charles Bane, and John B. Jones recently
started on a trip of 1,200 miles down the Rio Grande River
in boats. This journey is so hazardous that it.has never
been accomplished by any one, although several persans-have
undertaken it in the past.

A part of the trip down this treacherous and tortuous
river was made a few years ago by Professor Robert -T. Hill,
of Washington, District of Columbia, who was at that time
connected with the United States geological survey: Pro-
fessor Hill’s trip extended over 200 or 300 miles of the course
of the stream. He passed throfigi: cafions that are almost
equal in grandeur to those of the Colorado River, in Ari-
zona. Dangerous rapids and falls were encountered, and it
was_only by the rarest good luck that he and his guide were
able to get through the cafions alive.

The cafion part of the river extends from near the mouth
of Capote Creek to the point where San Francisco Creek

 
  

   

   

dred miles.. It is a tugged and desolate region. .In some
places the walls of the cafion reach upward in sheer straight
Jines for hundreds of feet. While no measurement of the
‘depths of the cafion has ever been made, so far as known,
Hit is. said. that it.is more than two thousand feet in some
places to the water. The unbroken rim of the cafion: extends
‘for many miles, and it is only at such places where the small
‘streams empty into the river that an entrance to. the cafion
‘is to be found. There.are long stretches of water where
it is impossible to cross from one side to the other. At
' places the cafion. is very narrow and at other places it
| broadens so that. the distance between the two. walls is sey-
eral hundred feet. .
| There is .a tradition among the, Maceae on both. sides
of the border that a-vein of gold of fabulous richness. is to
be seen ‘far. up. onthe walls of the cafion, but. no one has
ever been able to tell at what exact. spot this wealth exists.
The cafion is in the heart. of a rich mineral country, how-
ever, and it is Believed by practical mining men that a care-

    
   
    
   
  
  
    
   
 

ful. exploration | of the walls probably would reveal rich .

veins of gold, silver, and quicksilver. The Terlingua quick-
silver. fields are on the Texas side of the border adjacent
to the cafion, and on. the other side of the river, in Mexico,

valuable quicksilver. deposits also are found. It is not an

' uncommon thing for Mexican sheep-herders and others who
happen to be along the river below the mouth of the cafion
to pick up small nuggets of gold and silver. -Placer mining
was tried in the sand of the river near Del Rio a number
of years ago, and the returns of gold and silver were said
to be very satisfactory for a time, but the sand soon was
exhausted.

The three men who started on this long in eae the
river are all practical mining men. _ They -have prospected
in the. mining districts. of Arizona. ae Mexico - for several
yeats... The particular. object | in their present undertaking
is. to. esol: the cafions. of the..river with the. view of
locating mineral veins. They. are. carrying along with, them
a complete prospectors’. outfit. They: also have ropes and
other. equipment,- by which means they. expect to. let them-
selves down the sides of the steep walls of the cafion and
thoroughly inspect any likely-looking spot which might be
developed into a mine. They are traveling in three boats
—one boat for: each man.“ These boats are’ all small and
light, the largest one being only ten feet long. .

p+ B+
Pr tor st

LONG DICK Ss STRATEGY.

BY JOSEPH £. BADGER, Jak,

 

 

Richard. one or “Long Dick,” as he was_ better
known, was a peculiar character that only the: great
Western: prairies could have produced. Brave to oo
lessness, shrewd and. cunning, humorous and ‘witty, 4
good rider and’ faultless trailer, he was looked up to by
his Comrades: and considered a kind of a in al mat-
ters pertaining to prairie lore. :

But to those who knew him in Jife, words are need-

THE: BUFFALO

empties’. into. the’ Rio Grande, .a distance of about two hun-

 

 

BILE STORIES. \ Pat Oe
less; and those who did not, could gain but.a faint idea,
of ae character and traits were an entire column spent
in describing them. _ As to the incident that follows, we
can vouch for its being truthful in every particular. .

Long Dick was a passionate lover of horseflesh, and
was never content unless he possessed the swiftest and
best animal in the vicinity, and for some months he had
been “cock 0’ the walk,” his latest acquisition—a deep
chestnut sorrel—easily defeating ail that had been pitted
against him as yet.

But one day Dick was taken down a peg or two,
in the following manner: As he was putting his horse °
through its paces on the parade-ground, a newcomer
pressed through the crowd and began imitating him.

This was a comely brave of the Pawnee tribe. He be-
strode a large, clean-limbed, silver-gray stallion; a Speci~
men of equine beauty that caused the eyes of more than
one present to sparkle covetously.

And then its movements—so regular and smooth, like
clockwork, and guided only by its rider’s knees, as his
body swayed to and fro. Long Dick looked and scowled.
He saw that he had met a dangerous customer.

A move of his hand parted the crowd from before hier
and a long stretch of level prairie, smooth and clear of ob-
structions, was revealed. The eyes of the Pawnee
sparkled with glee as he noted this action of Dick’s, —
then the rivals drew up alongside.

With a wild yell Dick sank spurs rowel deep into the
flanks of the chestnut, who sprang ahead like a dart.
The Pawnee laughed aloud and checked _ his fretting .
horse, until Long Dick was fully a hundred. -yards. ahead.
Then, with a shrill yell, he GROp REG the reins, and gave
his steed tree heads: ¢23

With wonder we saw the hitherto invincible atiestniit
gained upon, then caught; atid before a half-mile had
been traversed, the gray stallion fairly rode’around his
rival, uttering a shrill neigh as of triumph. It was a
sad hour for Dick, and he slowly rode back to the crowd,
crestfallen, while the Indian again pu the gray through
its paces.

Dick resolved to possess that hae if it cost hin, every-
thing he was worth in the world. But he seemed doomed
to disappointment. His offers were all rejected, until
next day, as he was “showing off” his shooting powers
at long range, using an English rifle belonging to Cap-
tain S——.

The Pawnee-was standing by, deeply interested, and,
after a-time, signified a desire to try the rifle. Dick
consented, and.a few shots set the redskin fairly. wild
for-the-gun. Finally he offered his gray stallion for. it.
Dick’s: eyes: :flashed* with joy, but: then. dulled, for. ke
knew how highly the rifle was: prized by Captain S——,.
and that a score’of horses could not buy it.

e

 

~ However, he put the Indian off for a time, and pres-
ently sought, the officer.

   
 

 

“Say, cap,” he began, “how much will you take for
the shooter?” —- oe

“More than you can raise, Dick.
for a year’s salary. It saved my life once, when my
hair had fairly started, and the man who held the rifle
was ne ee a mile ee I shall keep it as long as
I live.” BA oe

“But then lend it to me. Tell you what I'll do. T’ll
give you twenty dollars if you lend me the gun for one
week,”

“What do you want of it, Dick ?”

“You know that gray hoss? I want to trade it for
him,” was the cool reply.

“You get out! the rifle’s worth a dozen such.”

“TI know it—but [’'ll bring it back. Give you Long ~

Dick’s word.”

The captain, curious, tried to ascertain what the scout
was up to, but Dick kept dark. He would only promise
that the rifle should be returned within one week. His
word was a bond, and all who knew him knew that. He
never promised more than he could perform. So the
matter ended for the time, by the captain’s consenting
to his plans, whatever they might be.

There was great competition among the officers to
secure the famous gray, and fabulous sums—for that
section, where good horses were cheap as sheep are in
the States—were offered, but in vain. .The Pawnee had
his eyes upon the rifle, and would sell for nothing else.

Dick stalked around with the coveted gun, and the
Indian showed off his horse, each eying the other as if
to note the impression made.
camp were upon them, anxious to know how the affair
would end. Many were the wagers laid upon the re-
sult, but the backers of Long Dick were obliged to give
odds.

Finally matters came to a head—the trade was effected,
and both parties seemed hugely gratified. Only those
who had lost upon the event, ae Cae S , were
_ dissatisfied.

“Don’t fret, cap,” said Dick, , chuckling, ‘you shell hev
the rifle—never fear!’

“But how? It was a-fair trade, and he’ll not give
it up peaceably. It won’t do to kick a fuss: with him;
the entire tribe would take it up, sure.
ing to manage it?” (

“You'll see. I know the imp. He’s like all the rest
0’ his tribe. I kin read him like a book. You shall hev
the shooter afore the week’s out. You've got my word,
and Long Dick don’t go back on that nary time, 2
fidently replied the scout.

With this Captain S
But still he did not see into the matter.

 

 

‘However, his

eyes were soon opened, for on the very next morning
Long Dick rode into camp with a wild whoop of exulta-
tion, bestriding the gray stallion and brandishing the

eifle.

\

 

PHE BUFFALO

 

 

I wouldn’t sell it.

miee, sais. Lt

The eyes of the entire

How are you go-

COnAY

was cea to be content.”

    
   

BILL STORIES. '

  

= Par: caps-that's: your: rifle, and here’s the hoss— ‘
my hoss, too,” and the reckless scout uttered a loud, long
peal of laughter, as though hugely pleased. 2

“How is it, Dick? Where is the Indian?” suspiciously

‘demanded the officer.

“Come along ‘th me, and I'll Blow ye,’ "chuckled Dic
dismounting. :
He led. the way out from the camp ee over half a
mile, to a spot where he had been camping by himself for
some time, disliking the crowded grounds above.

Stepping beside a shallow gully, he pointed signifi-
cantly down to where the ground had been lately dis- !
turbed. Ce
“What is that, Dick?’

“He’s thar—I ‘planted’ the imp this” mornin’.
“What, you did not kill him?”

“Don’t bet on that, cap, ‘cause if you ‘do, you 1 lose,
shure !” = i

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Gael began the
officer, when he was interrupted by the scout:

“Calc’late I do. Don’t fly off the han’le now, ’f:
pete hurt. Jest wait ontel I gin ye the facts o’ 1!
case,’ coolly said Dick, as he renewed his quid. .“‘]
night that red came down here and got to talkin’,
saw then that I’d hev the shooter afore oF but I dic
let. on.

“You see thet line o’ grass—tall weeds, I mean?
Waal, thar’s good browsin’ close to thet. So I sais to the ,
‘Thar ain’t no hoss-thieves around here,
be ther?’ He sais no, nary one; but I saw his eyes snap
like fun, and thet he war ready primed for to go off.
So I takes the gray out yonder and ropes him out, and

“then laid down to sleep; but it was ’th one eye open.

“The red went off tord the camp, and then waited.
You know the moon shined clear last night. Waal, ‘long |
to'rd midnight I seed this same pesky imp come sneakin’ ,
up nigh here, and saw he'd tuck the bait. He b’lieved
I war snoozin’ sound, and then crawled off to’rd the
HOSS a 5 ne ae a eos

“Up I gets and sneaks after him. Shite enough, —
the critter was a’ter the animile, as I ‘lowed he’d do.
He thought too much o’ it not to make a try for both. |
Then as “he gits out thar in the open, and goes to cut
the laryit, I jest up and plugs the cuss. He drapped, in
course, and so I hed both hoss and gun. See!” chaesieG a
Dick, in conclusion.

“But they may make a eb about it, They'll swear

you shot him just to git the rifle back again.’

“IT knowed thet, and.*so I was fixed for it. I kin
prove all I say. . That ar feller—Jim Croghan—hid out 4
here to b’ar witness to it all.” i

And such was the fact. Long Dick felt confident that

‘the Pawnee would not abandon the stallion without an |

effort to. regain him, and had played his cards aceord-
ing. First averting the redskin’s suspicions, he had laid
his trap, and the fellow had fallen into it.

Such was one of the many well- known instances of ©

Long Dick’s strategy that gained for hima name scarcely —

second to that of “Buffalo Bill’? among bordermen. The |
above we can vouch for as being truthful. .

  

 

 

 

 

 

 
rie ene an as Aaa RR Ia it

Segirt neste

 

 

 
 

 

 

UFFALO BILL STORIE

   

 

ISSUED EVERY TUESDAY

BEAUTIFUL COLORED COVERS 5

 

Buffalo Bill wins his way into the heart of every
one who reads the strong stories of stirring adventure on
the wide prairies of the West published in this weekly,

Boys, if you want tales of the West that are
drawn true to life, do not pass these by.

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For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, by the publishers to any address upon receipt of price in money or postage stamps

 

 

HERE ARE THE LATEST ‘TITLES:

328—Buffalo Bill’s Flying Wonder; or, Zamba, the King
Chelate,

329—Buffalo Bill’s Hidden Gold; or, The Ruse of the
Red Serpent.

330—Buffalo Bill’s Outlaw Trail; or, The Mystery of the
Teton Basin.

331—Buffalo Bill and the Indian Queen; or, The Ghost
Flower’s Mission.

332—Buffalo Bill and the Mad Marauder;
For a Foe.

333—Buffalo Bill’s Ice Barricade; or, The Red and
White Renegades of Powder River.

334—Buffalo Bill and the Robber Elk; or, The Mail
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 ;
Secret of the Jasper Joss.

340—Buffalo Bill’s Pay Streak; or, A Box Full of
Trouble for the ’Paches.

341—Buffalo Bill on Detached Duty; or, The Break on

the Bad Ax Trail.

342—Buffalo Bill’s Army Mystery; or, The Rope-and-

Catamount Puzzle.

343—Buffalo Bill’s Surprise Party; or, The Red Raiders

of the Picketwire.

Of e Feiie

or, The

 

 

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dealer, they can be obtained from this office direct.

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79 Seventh Avenue, NEW YORK CITY.

344—Buffalo Bill’s Great Ride;
Handsome Elk.

345—Buffalo Bill’s Water Trail;
Fort Totten.

346—Buffalo Bill’s Ordeal of Fire; or, Trapped in the
Coteaus.

347—Buffalo Bill Among the Man-Eaters; or, The Mys-
tery of Tiburon Island.

348—Buffalo Bill’s Casket of Pearls; or, The Lost Treas
ure of the Montezumas.

349—Buffalo Bill’s Sky Pilot; or, The Fiesta Tangle.

350—Buffalo Bill’s “Totem”; or, The Mystic Symbol! |

the Yaquis.

351—Buffalo Bill’s Flat-boat Drift; or, Taming the Mi:-
sissippi Tigers.

352—Buffalo Bill on Deck; or, The Strange Pilot of ih:
River Belle.

353—Buffalo Bill and the Bronco Buster; or, The Rai
of Wolf Fang.

354—Buffalo Bill’s Great Round-up; or, Trailing the
Red Cattle-rustlers.

355—Buffalo Bill’s Pledge;
Narrow Path.

356—Buffalo Bill’s Cowboy Pard; or, Foot, and Horr
on the Chisholm Trail.

357—Buffalo Bill and the Emigrants;
Captain of the Wagon Train.

358—Buffalo Bill Among the Pueblos; or,
Hunt of Professor Bings.

oe Puta Bill’s Four-footed Pards; or, Trailing th

Ute “Shiners.”

Of, | ahae. Capture {
or, The Still Hunt at

or, Lhe Vultures of th

or, fhe Blac

The Stil

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