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Copyright, 1917, by STREET & SMITH.

 

 

 

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BUFFALO BILLS TRAMP PARD;

OR,

PAWNEE BILL AND THE SACHEM OF SAGINAW.

By the author of

CHAPTER IL
THE MAN WHO WAS “BROKE.”

From within the depths of the building came a roar as
The tumult and the shouting sounded
through the door of the Tivoli, under the glaring kero-
sene lamps, and echoed through the street. A man who
was passing drew up, listening and wondering.

The hubbub of voice and movement came nearer the
Tivoli’s door; then, suddenly, the swinging screens were
hurled outward and a form hurtled through and fell in
a huddle on the walk. There it lay, silent and motion-
less.

A. watery-eyed, red-faced man looked out and bawled
a husky threat, shaking his fist toward the shadowy heap
on the walk.

“Come back in hyer ag’in,’ he threatened, “an’ I’ll do
ye up fer keeps. Thar ain’t no plug-ugly o’ yore stripe
kin play hoss with this layout.”

He withdrew, and the doors swung back into place.

The man who was passing, who had stopped, listened,
and wondered, muttered angrily at this violence of many
against one. He started toward the silent heap of hu-
manity on the walk.

Some distance lay between him and the huddled form.
Before he came very~near through the shadows of the
street, the screen doors opened again and a man ran out;

aman in a gray flannel shirt, sombrero, and with trousers:

tucked in his boot tops.
He dropped on one knee beside the form on the walk,
cast a swift look at the closed swing doors, then jerked

“something from his belt.

The object, lifted over the still form, glittered in the
light of the kerosene lamps. ‘

Growling savagely, the man started to bring the bit of
sharp steel.down. The descending blow was. stayed by
the passer-by, who darted forward like a streak and

caught the other’s wrist. :
“You coward!” cried the man who had interfered.

“BUFFALO BILL.”

“Do you want to knife a man when he can’t defend him-
self?”

An oath burst from the lips of the man in the gray

flannel shirt, but the savage words gave place to a groan
of pain.

until the knife dropped, clattering, on the walk and the
owner of it doubled with the torture.
The next moment the man in the gray shirt had, with
a fierce effort, jumped erect.
off
' The man in the gray shirt jerked a revolver from his
belt with his left hand. Before he could level the weapon,
a six-shooter had jumped as if by magic into the hand
of the man who was facing him.
“Qn-she-ma-da!” laughed he who had drawn the bead.
“Don’t try a game of that sort, pilgrim.
and can’t be depended on, anyhow.
I lay you by_the heels and hand you over to the town
marshal.”
The man in the gray shirt swore again, turned ab-
ruptly, and faded back into the Tivoli, hugging his right
wrist to his breast with his left arm.
At that moment the form on the walk sat up.
“Two on the red, two on the red,” he mumbled.
“Get up!” said the other.
“Who are you?” inquired the man on the walk.
“Never mind that, for now. You're in some danger
here, I take it, from the way you were bounced out of
that honkatonk, and from the way a man just tried to
use cold steel on you while you were lying stunned and
helpless.”
“Cold steel?” returned the other, struggling to his feet.
ov Yes 2)
“You kept him from that?”
“T couldn’t stand by and see a man sent over the Divide
in such cold-blooded fashion.”
“[’m obliged, stranger.”
Set wogovat that:

 

Like bands of steel the fingers of the man who.
had interfered closed on his wrist—closed and twisted

The stranger threw him

You're left,
Clear out before

 
 

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“Was—was the man who tried the knife trick wearing
Bi VAY sSRITER SI MO. ce Chena BL eo

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Muttering under his breath, the man who had been
“saved. from the assassin’s. knife caught his new-found
friend by the arm and hurried him for a block along the
‘street. When they halted, it was in a dark cross street,
‘where they could only see. each: other with difficulty.

The one who had wrenched the knife from the would-be
~-assassin’s hand had-already taken stock of the other man’s
appearance. Beas

It was not.an appearance that would impress a stranger
in the man’s favor. His:shoes were rusty and worn, and
“his trousers and coat were in rags. The man was-a tramp,
beyond all doubt,:and probably there had been good and
sufficient reasons for his ejection from the Tivoli.

». What impressed his new friend, and aroused his curi-
osity, was the tramp’s use of. good English. His speech
did not .at all harmonize’ with his rags and patches and
his disreputable appearance.

“Who are you?” demanded the tramp’s rescuer.

“Did you ever hear of Saginaw—Saginaw, Michigan?”

i ‘Yes? : :

“Well, I’m the Sachem of Saginaw.’
. The other was inclined to laugh.

“J didn’t know they had sachems in Saginaw,” he an-
swered.

“Then that’s one on you.”

“What’s your other name?”

“For the present, if you don’t mind, I’m keeping it
under my hat—what’s left of my hat. Who are you,
“noble benefactor?”

“Lillie, Gordon Lillie——”

- “Eh? What's that? Be still, my heart! Come again,
please.”.. ones : Ue

The other repeated ‘his words.

“Buffalo Bill’s pard!” murmured the sachem. “Wouldn’t
that take your breath? The next friend of the great king
of scouts has befriended me! Verily, I fall into ill luck
only to ‘have good luck come along and bang me one right
‘between’ the. eyes... Pawnee Bill, otherwise Joe Skeetik,
otherwise Kulux Kittybux; knight of the plains and friend
of the friendless, put your little hand in mine for a*mo-
ment, just a thoment.”

The tramp seized the hand of the bowie man and pressed

2

it fervently. Pawnee Bill’s interest in the strange indi-:

vidual continued to grow.

“How did they come to throw you out of that honka-
tonk?” he asked.

“T wanted to change my spots—to transport myself from
this spot in Cheyenne to another spot in the Black Hills.
At least,” he added, “I think the next.spot lies in the
topography of the Pah-sap-pah region. You see, I’m fol-
lowing a light by night and a smoke by day—three flashes
-of light and three clouds of smoke. The smoke and the
flashes have brought me here, and I’ve an idea that ulti-
mately: they'll land me in the Black Hills.
sir, which possibly may be wide of. the mark.”

Pawnee Bill was gathering the impression . that’ the
Sachem of Saginaw needed some one to look after him
—that he was. not well-balanced. His talk seemed to
indicate it.

“What has that to do with your being thrown out of

=the Tivoli?” inquired the prince of the bowie.

“A great deal, companion of my perilous hours,” re-
‘turned the tramp gravely. “I had a lone two-bit piece in
my pocket. That won’t help a man get over much ground
in a hostile Indian country, eh?. I went into the Tivoli,
I confronted one of the whirling wheels, and I placed
my two bits on the red. It won. I left the original
stake and winnings where they were. They won again.
Five times it happened, and each time I doubled on the
red. Then black came up. I lost. So grievously I felt,
amiable friend, that I carried on in a manner that did not
conduce to the order of the place; for which reason I
was summarily ejected.” ;

“Then you were.to blame?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Who was the man in the gray shirt?”

“T do not know.”

“From the way you grabbed me and rushed me off

A guess, worthy |

Bale. WEEKLY

down the street when I mentioned the fellow, I was under
the impression, that, you, knew-something about him.”..

“T know this about. him, that. he has: trted three times,
now, to take my life. Once by a revolver shot. That
was in Denver, Again by pushing me over a steep place,
where I‘ was caught on a bush. That was in Alder Gulch.
And: now to-night, here in Cheyenne.”

“This is mighty queer!” exclaimed Pawnee Bill. “Don’t
you know his name, or why he is making these attempts
on your life?”

SNO.

“Where did you.come from?”. nes

The sachem laughed—not-a pleasant laugh, but one
tinged with bitterness.

“Do .you.recall..this line of a poem, esteemed. com-
patriot? It runs, ‘He came from where he started, and
was going where he went.’ That applies to me. I ama
wayfarer, following always the flashes by night and the
smoke by day.” :

“What flashes are you talking about?”

As though in answer to the bowie man’s question, just
at that moment, from farther along the dark street, there
showed suddenly a glittering eye of light.

The sachem gasped. “Look!” he muttered huskily, drop-
ping a tense hand-on Pawnee Bill’s arm.

The light vanished. as suddenly as it had appeared,
Then it came again, winked out, and showed itself an
instant for a third time. :

With a yell the tramp leaped away toward the place
where the light had shown itself. The prince of the
bowie followed at a run, but he-could find nothing of
the Sachem of Saginaw nor of the person who had caused
the light to appear.

“By my medicine,” he muttered, after a fruitless search,
“that’s the queerest thing that ever crossed trails with
me. I’d like to follow this up, but 1 haven’t time. There’s
work for me in the Indian country, and Pard Bill is wait-
ing at Custer.”

Leaving the cross street, the prince of the bowie, not
a little puzzled, made his way along the main thorough-
fare and to his hotel.

CHAPTER IL
THE SMOKE SIGNALS.

“By gorry, that gets me!”

Wild Bill Hickok, his riding horse at a halt, looked over
the animal’s head toward the crest of a low elevation
not more than an eighth of a mile away.

What he saw was a rising whiff of white smoke.

It wasn’t the smoke, so much as the smoke’s perform-
ance, that had commanded the attention of the man from
Laramie.

It was in the Chew-cara-ash-Nitishic country, as the
Absaroke call the Big Horn Basin, and Wild Bill was
riding toward Fort Custer.

His keen eyes had first detected a puff of smoke from
the hill crest. It was only a puff, and had appeared sud-
denly, risen slowly into the’ still air, and then melted away.
Scarcely had the last-vestige of it vanished, when another
pai rose from the hill, and this was followed by a third

all.

Then came an interval during which the Laramie man
studied the hill crest.

_ “Smoke signals,” he muttered, “or I’m a Piegan. This
is Crow country, and the Crows are all same friends of
the yellow eyes. Is that-one bunch of Crows smoke sig-
naling another, or is it an outfit of Sioux planning devil-
try? We'll see.” :

He pulled his rifle from the scabbard under the stirrup
leather, lay it across the saddle in front of him, where it
would be handy in case of quick need; rattled his spurs,
and started for the rise.

No “signs” of savages, hostile or otherwise, met his
sharply roving gaze, and the smoke signals did not again
show themselves on top of the low hill.

At the foot of the uplift he drew rein. The slope was
rocky and steep--too steep for a horse. Slipping from
the saddle, he pulled the looped reins over the horse’s
head and let them trail on the ground,

Wait here, old Spatterdash,” Wild Bill remarked to

 

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his horse. “I’m going up to look over the top of this
hill. Be ready to jump for the sky line if you see me
coming back in a hurry.”

With that, Wild Bill began his ascent of the rocks.
Coming to a bowlder that commanded the top of the
hill, he peered around its granite side and was astonished
by what he saw.

A wet blanket covered a small square of earth. Heaped
under the middle of the blanket were undoubtedly the
smothered embers of the greenwood fire that had caused
the smoke signals. Beyond the. blanket, kneeling behind
another stone, was-a white man in a gray flannel shirt.
Across the top of the stone, in front of him, lay the
barrel of a rifle. The butt of the weapon was at the
man’s shoulder.

The man in the gray shirt had not seen or heard the
Laramie man’s approach. The latter lifted himself and
peered away from the top of the butte to see who might
be under the muzzle of the threatening rifle.

The uplift was more like a section of a narrow ridge

‘than a hill, and the slopes were ‘steep on both sides.

Wild Bill was able to look downward to the plain that
lay beyond the foot of the farther side of the slope.

\ man was coming across the plain and was drawing
close to the hills foot. A ragged man he was, with
a stick over his shoulder. : From the end of the stick
hung a handkerchief bundle.

But the man was white. Furthermore, he was on foot,
and seemed unarmed in that hostile country. It was In-
dian country, and roving bands of Sioux were mostly to
be feared; but this tatterdemalion, it seemed, had a white
foe more implacable than any red enemy.

The man in the gray shirt, ready to fire from rest, was
waiting until the other man came close enough to make
rifle work double sure.

Suddenly Wild Bill saw a flexing’ of the muscles of the
hidden marksman’s right arm, a lowering of the head, to
bring one eye in line with the sights—and then the man
from Laramie lifted his own weapon and gave a yell.

The total surprise, so far as the man in the gray shirt
was concerned, was ludicrous. He lifted his head, turned
on his knees, and a stone gave way under him and sent
him sprawling. The rifle clattered down on the rocks.

“Pilgrim,” called Wild Bill, with a grim laugh, “pull
yourself together and get on your feet. Let the Long
Tom stay on the rocks. You’re the sort of a yap it’s
safer to talk with when you haven’t any exploding irons
in your hands.”

The man got up, scowling. Wild Bill’s rifle muzzle
following his every movement. >

‘Who in blazes are you?” he demanded gruffly.

“Tm from Laramie originally,” explained the other, “and
Wild Bill Hickok is what they call me. I’ve been scout-
ing for Sioux, and was a whole lot surprised when I
Saw your signal smoke and found it had been sent up by
a white man—a white with a bullet teady for another
white. Pretty low-down business, neighbor.”

“Anyhow,” flared the other, “it’s none of your busi-
ness.’

“Well, fe drawled the Laramie man. “You can
count on me to butt in whenever a game of this kind
is going on, even though it isn’t any of my business. I
don’t like to see’a white bowled over by another white.
Who-are you?”

“That’s nothing to you.”

“Maybe not, but it’s a whole lot to you. I’m going
to hold you here until that chap with the stick over his
shoulder gets to the top of the hill. Possibly he can let
in a little light on who you are.’

“Possibly,” returned the ae with a snarl like that
Of 2 trapped wolf. “You’re one of Buffalo Bill’s pards,
ain’t you?”

“Check! It gives me pleasure to inform you, or any
one else that wants to know, that Pard Cody is my
blanket mate and next best friend.”

ae ve got another pard, called Pawnee Bill, haven’t

ou!

“Check again, pilgrim.”

“Where is Pawnee Bill?”

“When I started out on this scout, he had last. been
heard of in Cheyenne, working north. That was several

days ago, and like enough he’s at Custer by now.”

-révolvers from a holster at his belt.

BILL WEEKLY. 3

The man in the gray shirt thought over this informa-
tion, frowning heavily as he did so, and casting wistful
looks in the direction of his rifle.

“IT know you want it,” remarked Wild Bill, with a low
laugh, “but don’t try to pick it up.’

The Laramie man could not see the ragged individual
with the bundle. He had passed out of sight under the
edge of the hill’s steep bank.

“What did you say you were goin’ to do with me?”
asked the man under the gun muzzle.

“Take you to Custer,” f

“Why?”

“So as to find out something about you. Now and then
a white cutthroat strays into these parts from the settle-
ments, preferring to take chances with hostile reds rather
than to face white men who happen to be officers of the
law. I’ve a notion, just a notion, that you’re some out-
law, and that the folks at Custer will be mighty glad when
they see me bringing you in.’

“You'll never take me in!” growled the other.

“I reckon you don’t savvy the situation like you’d ought
to. Whenever I set out to do a thing, I generally make
good. For all I know, you may be White Wolf, the low-
down renegade who’s setting the Sioux on to make trouble
for the pony soldiers, and for the friends of the pony
soldiers, the Crows.”

Wild Bill watched the man’s face keenly as he spoke.

A glitter jumped into the white man’s eyes, then as
suddenly faded. ~ ’

“You're shy a few,” said he. “I know this White Wolf,

‘and he hasn’t been heard of in the Indian country for a
> month.”

“That’s correct,’ agreed Wild Bill. “He hasn’t been
heard from, and it’s dollars to chalk marks he’s been lying
low, showing the Sioux how to dance the medicine and
getting the whole red bunch cocked and primed. for
trouble.

“You say youre not White Wolf. Well, from whe
I’ve seen of you, I wouldn’t believe you under oath. You
look to me like a contemptible cur, who’d just as soon set
the reds on against his own people as not.”

“You're mistaken.”

The man turned and peered over the edge of the bank.

“Looking to see what progress that ragged stranger is
making, eh?” inquired Wild Bill.

“Yes,” was the answer, as the man drew back.

“Ts he pretty near up the hill?”

“He'll be here in five minutes——”

Many times, in the course of his peril-sown career,
Wild Bill had been reached after by the unexpected and
floored with a big surprise. .

That happened to him now.
blow on the head from behind.
himself, and partly turned.

He had a glimpse of a Sioux warrior just drawing
back for another blow with a club. The club did not fall
a second time. The man in the gray shirt, finding the
Laramie man’s back to him, leaped forward and struck
out with his clenched fist.

Wild Bill dropped his rifle dad crumpled to his knees.
He saw the white man pick up the rifle, and believed that
his own weapon was going to be used against fim. With
a fierce effort he endeavored to draw one of the army
Before the weapon
could be brought into play, the Indian’s club fell again.

Wild Bill’s hands’ dropped nerveless- at his sides, and
he pitched forward at full length.

For a space he realized nothing; and then, tough as
whalebone, and with an endurance like iron, he opened
his eyes, groped a moment for the lost chain of events,
and presently staggered to his feet.

‘Leaning against a bowlder, he looked below dizzily.
The white man and the Indian were hustling into the dis-
tance as fast as horseflesh could carry them. Fortunately,
although they had stripped the Laramie man of his
weapons and ammunition, they had not taken his mount.

“By gorry,’ muttered Wild Bill, rubbing a hand across
his forehead, “but that was sudden! And I never sus-
pected that the whelp had a red helper along. A Sioux
helper at that

“Flello!” came a panting voice from behind the Lara-
mie man.

Some one dealt him a
He staggered, caught

 

 

 
4 NEW BUFFALO

He turned to find the ragged individual with the stick
and the bandanna bundle, somewhat blown by his climb,
just seating himself on a bowlder.

“What’s the good word, you of the red flashes and, the
smoke fog?” went on the stranger. :

“T haven’t any good words to describe the situation,”
answered Wild Bill fretfully; “and you’ve got a bean on
the wrong number if you think I was back of that green-
wood-and-wet-blanket work. And what do you mean by
‘red flashes,’ anyhow ?”

CHAPTER iii.
THE ABSAROKE CAMP.

The tramp looke puzzled.

“Tell me,” said he, ‘as one honorable stranger address-
. ing another, is it a fact that you did not send up those
smoke clouds?”

“T did not,” answered Wild Bill.

“Then who did?”

“A man in a gray shirt-—”

’ The tramp bounded off the bowlder with a yell.

“It can’t be! By my sick sister’s seven cats! It can’t
be the man in the gray shirt who has been lighting the
dark with the flashes and filling the day with the guiding
smoke?”

Wild Bill gave the tramp a curious glance, then turned
and pointed toward the figures of the two receding horse-
men.

“There they go,” said he; “look for yourself.”

The tramp came to the Laramie man’s side, shaded his
eyes with his hand, and peered after the fading figures,
They were too far away to distinguish their wearing
apparel, or even to make out that one was red and the
other white.

“Two of them!” murmured the tramp.

“That’s the count, neighbor. The extra man is a red-
skin, a Sioux.”

Wild Bill stepped to the wet blanket and kicked it aside.
Underneath could be seen a few sticks of charred wood.

“This was the fire,” he explained, “and that’”—he pointed
to the blanket—‘‘was what was used in making the sig-
nals.”

The Laramie man took off his sombrero and rubbed his
head tenderly.

He went on to explain how he had seen the smoke
signals from the other side of the hill, and had investi-
gated, only to find a white man drawing a bead with a
rifle on the tramp. His interference and the events that
quickly followed were briefly set forth.

The tramp had dropped down on the bowlder again,
and was deep in thought.

“What's your label, stranger?” inquired Wild Bill.

“You ever heard of Saginaw, Mish?” asked the other.

“Seems to me I have.”

“Well, I’m the Sachem of Saginaw, and I’m a puzzled
sachem right at this minute.”

“Don’t mire down over something that don’t concern
me until you turn on a little light regarding yourself,”
went on Wild Bill. ‘“Pve lost an arsenal and a supply
of ammunition over this, and it frets me to think that the
country is mainly hostile, clear to Custer. But you—
say, sachem, you might as well talk straight to me. What’s
your real handle? Cut out the sachem business, and give
me the right of it.”
_“My real appellation,’ returned the Sachem, “I shall
keep under my hat, what is left of it.”

As he spoke, he took off his ragged “slouch” and gave
it a regretful glance.

“All right,” said Wild Bill, “if you don’t want to go
that far. There are a lot of people, in this man’s coun-
try, who’re shy of real names. But what are you doing
in a hostile Injun country, on foot and without guns of
any kind?”

“T’ve been following the red flashes and the smoke
signals,’ was the mystifying answer. “I can’t understand
how it happens that the man in the gray shirt is work-
ing the signals.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know. He has made several attempts on my

BILL: WEEKLY.

life. Know about the Tivoli in Cheyenne, Hank Beemer’s
laces

“By gorry! I know it up and down and across, front

and rear, bottom and top.”

“Well, on the sidewalk in front of that place, four
days ago, this same man in the gray shirt tried to knife
me. A knight of the plains, by the name of Pawnee Bill
interfered——’” ; :

“Whoosh!” exclaimed Wild Bill. “Was it really Paw-
nee Bill?”

“So he said:”

“Then it was my pard who saved you—my pard, who's
expected soon at Custer.”

“Then you are Buffalo Bill?” queried the sachem, get-
ting up from his bowlder and reaching out his hand.

“No such good luck, sachem. I’m the other of the
three Bills, the one called “Wild.” You may have heard of
me in connection of Buffalo and Pawnee.”

“I have. Let us strike hands like comrades, I’m a
tramp, Wild Bill, but I should be delighted if you would
count me in on your combination as the scout’s :‘tramp
pard,’ ” a

“I’m not picking pards for the king of scouts,” re-
turned Hickok, taking the tramp’s hand, “nor for myself,
until I know more about them than I do about you. Have
you said all you’re going to say?”

“Except this: if Buffalo Bill’s at Fort Custer, I’m
going to Fort Custer, and if I can see the big high boy
himself, I will pour into his listening ear a tale that—
that will lift him out of his boots,”

“That’s a pretty good lift, so I take it that the tale’s
a wonder. If we reach the Little Big Horn in time
for a night’s camp, we'll have to be on the go. You haven’t
any horse, so I'll double up with you on Spatterdash.”

The Sachem of Saginaw agreed to the arrangement
with relief and thanks. When they were mounted, Wild
Bill rose in his stirrups and cast a menacing look in the
an taken by the man in the gray shirt and his red
ally.

“Some day,” he muttered, shaking his clenched fist,
“some fine day, when I have hardware in these empty
holsters, ll meet up with you, my festive white rene-
gade, and with your red friend with the club. Until that
day, adios!”

Settling back into his saddle, he laid the straightest
course for the Little Big Horn.

“You couldn’t have walked this far from Cheyenne in
four days, sachem,” he remarked to his companion as
they rode.

“I fell in with a party of gold hunters, two days out
a Cheyenne,” was the answer, “and they gave me a
ift.

“This country is full of gold hunters, all making for
the Black Hills. The opening of the Hills to prospectors
and diggers is what caused the massacre on the Little
Big Horn, and even now the trouble with the Sioux keeps
up. It’s a wonder, sachem, some buck hasn’t got your
scalp drying in his tepee.”

o didn’t have any trouble, not a particle of trouble.”

Not until you came so near stopping that white man’s
bullet. When did you leave the gold hunters?”

“Early this morning.”

“Why did you leave them? There’s safety in num-
bers, and it’s blamed poor riding that don’t beat walking
hands down.”

“I saw the smoke, and it indicated that I was to bear
due north instead of east by north, I left the gold hunters
and followed the smoke.”

“Who did you think sent up the smoke?”

The sachem remained silent.

What are you following it for?”

No answer from the tramp. Wild Bill gave over his
prying questions and set all his faculties on the Little
Big Horn.

Finally, just when a fringe of timber cut across the
vista that lay before them, the two travels glimpsed
more smoke, rising in hazy spirals from the section of
wooded bottoms that lay nearest them.

By jings!” gasped the sachem, “We'd better steer
clear of that timber, Wild Bill.”
Not so, friend,” was the Laramie man’s response. “Al

,

 

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Ce fT OS KF TN

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rt mDm mn

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that smoke indicates boiling kettles and roasting buffalo
hump, and looks very pleasant to me.”

“But if the smoke comes from Sioux fires——” :

‘Which it don’t. The Sioux are not lighting fires in
these parts just now. That’s either a cantonment of pony

soldiers from Custer or a camp of Crows. Either way,
sachem, we’ll find ourselves among friends.”

As they dipped down into the bottoms, they ran into a
herd of feeding ponies, guarded by red herd boys.

Two of the boys had shot into the timber, presumably
proceeding in the direction of the camp to inform the
Crows that white men were coming.

When Wild Bill and the sachem struck the first of a
dozen tepees, pitched in an open space in the timber, less
than a stone’s throw from the water, they were met by a
deputation of half-famished and savage dogs. The snap-
ping curs were put to flight by three or four muscular
squaws with clubs, and half a dozen warriors issued from
among the brightly glowing fires to question the new-
comers.

It was a small band, judging oe the number of the
tepees, but the band was well armed, as the whites could
see with half an eye.

The: Absaroke tribe was at war with all the other tribes
of the Northern plains, but a peace was maintained with
the whites.

An old: chief was among the warriors, ard he stepped
close to Wild Bill, —

“What you want, huh?” he inquired, peering at the two
men and noting that they were not armed.

“We're white brothers, and come in peace,’ ’ answered
Wild Bill. “We are hungry, and the horse is tired. We
want to stay a while with the Crows.”

The chief made a sign that they were to dismount.
As soon as they were on their feet, the chief spoke to
one of the other warriors, and the white men’s mount
was led away.

The chief led the visitors to the council lodge, and a
pipe was brought. When they had whiffed the tobacco
for a few moments, the chief, piecing out his limited
English with the hand talk, asked the names of his guests.

The sachem’s name had ‘little interest for the chief, but
when Wild Bill told who he was, a flicker of surprise ran
through the chief’s leathery face.

Running a hand into his medicine pouch, hé brought
out a folded paper.

“Pa-e- ~has-ka leave um paper talk,” said the chief
gravely. “Umbass-a-hoos give um to  Pa-e-has-ka’s
friend.”

Here was another surprise for Wild Bill, and he caught
the paper eagerly out of the chief’s fingers.

a CHAPTER IV.
THE MESSENGER.

The’ situation in the Indian country, at that time, was
very unsettled. The Sioux nation, bitter over the loss. of
their sacred country, the Pah-sap- -pah, or Black Hills, and.
forgetting the hard lesson dealt out to them on the score
of Custer and the Little Big Horn massacre, needed only,
a firebrand to set their slumbering passions in a blaze.

At the various military posts the critical nature of the
situation was fully realized. It was a mocking commen-
tary on the progress of affairs that the white military
authorities were worrying more over the influence of one
of their own race among, the red men than over anything
the red men themselves were doing.

Among the Sioux was a white renegade, and this rene-
gade was doing his utmost to foment an uprising.

Little was known concerning the white trouble maker.

It was said that he was a friend of Sitting Bull, and that

in the old days, he had curried favor with the notorious
Rain in the Face and other chiefs of lesser note. Rumors,
however, gave way to unqualified truth regarding the white
renegade’s nefarious activities. He was seeking, by every
means in his power, to muster the Sioux once more against
the whites. A few small outbreaks had already been
caused,

The renegade was called, by his savage allies, White
Wolf. That he was a human wolf the savage and cruel

_stories about him amply testified.

  

 

NEW BUFFALO

 

BILL: WEHERLY,

 

5

Buffalo Bill and his pards had been summoned post-
haste from the Southwest to codperate with the military
authorities in capturing White Wolf. Apart. from that,
the great influence of Buffalo Bill among the Sioux was
counted upon as a factor that would make for peace.

Business of a pressing nature had caused Pawnee Bill
to halt for a few days in Cheyenne. He was to rejoin
the scout as soon as possible at Fort Custer.

The baron, becoming involved in an affair of the heart
in Prescott, Arizona, had decided to turn his back on.

_ Mars and give his immediate attentions to the shrine of

Venus. He was the only one of the pards who remained
in the Southwest.
Little Cayuse accompanied Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill, and
old Nomad to Fort Custer. While waiting for Pawnee
Bill to join them, the other pards entered actively into

the work that lay before them.

They scouted far from the post, sometimes together,
sometimes separately, and sometimes with red Crow scouts
as followers.

Wild Bill, understanding that it was quite possible that
Buffalo Bill might easily have dropped in at the Crow
camp for a brief respite from his arduous saddle work,
had Ae feeling of surprise over the paper talk tempered
a little

Opening the paper, he read as follows:

“Witp Birt: A war party of Sioux jis in this vicinity:
I have picked up their signs half a dozen times, and I
have a notion that this war party is the personal follow-
ing of the trouble maker, White Wolf. Nomad and I are
hot after them in an attempt to find out their number
and where they have their rendezvous.. On the chance
that you may drop in on Umbass-a-hoos—I know you
ought to be somewhere in the vicinity of his camp—I am
leaving this letter for you.’ If you receive it, wait in
the Absaroke camp until you hear from me or see me.

“BUFFALO BIL.”

“That hits me plumb center, chief,” remarked Wild
Bill, folding up the letter and stowing it away in his
pocket. “When was Pa-e-has-ka here?”

“Last sleep,” seats the chief,

“He left this morning?”

“Him make um ride so”’—the chief waved his hand to-
ward the east—‘‘during sleep. Pa-e-has-ka heap big brave.
Him find um White Wolf make um heap sick. Ugh!”

“Keno. You haven’t seen anything of any hostile Cut-
throats (Sioux) or Cut Arms (Cheyennes) ?”

“No see um, Laramie. Heap plenty like to see um.
Young Crows all same hungry for Cutthroat scalps.”

“Da. -e-has-ka’s orders are for me to stay with you until °
he sends for me.’

“Wuh!” grunted the chief hospitably. “Umbass-a-hoos
give um Laramie and other brave tepee. You come.”
The old chief put aside the peace pipe and conducted
his guests out of the council lodge and to another in the

center of the camp.

The lodge was occupied, but Umbass- -a-hoos routed out
the occupants unceremoniously, and turned the place over
to Wild Bill‘and the sachem.

Here the two white men were supplied with roasted
buffalo meat and soggy corn bread. They were hungry
and not overly fastidious, and they enjoyed the meal thor-
oughly.

Following it, Wild Bill produced a pipe and a pouch of
tobacco.

“Go and borrow a pipe from Umbass-a-hoos, sachem,”
ane “After you get the pipe, I'll give you ‘something
to bet

am obliged to you, my generous friend,” replied
the tramp, “but I have smoking materials, I never. have
fallen so low in fortune that I can’t dig up a pipe and a
handful of the oh-be-joyful.”

“You're a queer sort of a tramp,” remarked the Lara-
mie man, leaning back on the tepee robes and whiffing
the vapor from his pipe. “Your talk indicates that you’ve
seen better days.”

“So I have, friend—better and more prosperous days.
Bill J don’t want to talk about that until I see Buffalo
1

“I suppose there’s nothing about yourself that you want
to tell me?”

    
    
 

6 NEW BUFFALO

“First, let me tell what’s on my mind to Buffalo Bill,
- himself.”

The Laramie man was thoughtful for a few moments.

“You acted surprised, when we were on the top of

that hogback, at the time I told you the man in the gray
shirt had sent up the smoke signals and was laying for
you.’ :
“I was surprised, yes,’ returned the sachem; “not be-
cause the man in the gray shirt was laying for me—he’s
been doing that right along, for some time—but, because
he had sent up the smoke signals. A friend has been
guiding me—and where is that friend now? The man
in the gray shirt is using my friend’s signals to lure me
to my doom. That is what puzzled me and set my wits
at sixes and sevens.”

“You have been guided for some time by the smoke
signals ?” : :

“Yes, and by the flashes in the dark.”

ian never saw the friend that gave you the signals?”

ow :

“Have you any notion who he might be?”

The Sachem of Saginaw was drawing at a disréputable-
looking cob pipe. He continued to draw passively without
answering Wild Bill’s question.

“That's right,’ grunted the Laramie man; “hang fire
on the important points.”
“Esteemed companion,” answered the tramp, “if I hang
_ fire, it is not because I do not appreciate what you have

done for me, but because I think it is best to reserve
what little information I can give the king of scouts.”

“I believe,” said Wild Bill, “that. this coyote in the
gray shirt is a friend of White Wolft’s.”

“The renegade who’s trying to stir up trouble among
the Sioux?” :

»)) fhe'same.” .

“Why do you think that?”

“He had a Sioux buck with him, there on the hogback
—the first Sioux I’ve seen since Pard Cody and the rest
of us landed at Custer.” ‘

“It may be,’ mused the sachem, “that he’s the White
Wolf himself.” -

“That’s what I told the whelp while we were company
front with each other. A light rose in his eyes when I
spoke, but it didn’t tell me much. If you could give any
information at all about the man, possibly we could be
able to judge whether he is this White Wolf or not.”

Again ‘the tramp hung fire. Wild Bill stirred rest-
lessly.

“It looks to me like a fool proceeding,” said the, Lara-
mie man, “your following smoke signals straight“into a
hostile Injun country, on foot, without knife or gun, and
not knowing where you were bound for.”

Puff; puff, puff from the Sachem of Saginaw; that,
and no other answer.

' “Or what you were going to do when you got to where
you were going.”

The Sachem, evidently touched by the disgust in the
Laramie man’s voice, roused up and took a much-soiled
envelope from a pocket of his ragged coat.

“T’m going to show you something, noble benefactor,”
said he, “and when you read it you will understand why
Iam so close-mouthed. Pass your eyes over that.”

He drew a folded sheet out of the envelope, and Wild
Bill took it and proceeded to scratch a match in order to
make a light for reading.

“I got that ina cow camp on the Sweetwater,” explained
the sachem.

Here is what the Laramie man read:

“SACHEM OF SAGINAW: Whenever you see three clouds
of smoke, or three gleams of light.in the dark, follow.
Keep following, day by day and night*by night, until you
_ discover a man who writes this. He will tell you some-
thing greatly to your interest, and show you more. Above
all, keep your moving about in strict confidence. Every-
thing may depend on that.

“A Man WITH A Purpose.”

Silently the Laramie man tossed away the burned match
and handed the letter back.

“That letter,’ went on the tramp,’ “was pinned to the
door of the chuck house in the Sweetwater. Next day,
while I was peeling potatoes for the camp cook—choring

y

BILL WEEKLY.

around and earning my keep—I saw three spurts of smoke.
1 dropped the potatoes and took after it; and I have been
after it and after the three flashes in the dark ever
since. That's going on two weeks now.”

Wild Bill made no comment. Knocking the ashes out
of his pipe, he unbuckled his belt, kicked off his boots,
and stretched himself out on the robes. A few minutes
later he was sound asleep.

He could not have slept more than two or three hours,
when he was aroused by a husky voice in the dark tepee,
He started up to a sitting posture.

“Who’s that?” he demanded.

“Umbass-a-hoos,” answered the chief.

“What do you want, Umbass-a-hoos ?”

“White man come from Pa-e-has-ka.
quick, want um palaver with Laramie.”

“Where ts he?”

At that moment the tepee entrance was filled by a
dark figure silhouetted against the lighter background of
the opening.

Him come heap

CHAPTER V..
‘THE LONE PINE.

Buffalo Bill and old Nomad had spent only a few hours
among the friendly tepees of Umbass-a-hoos. They had
rested and refreshed themselves and their mounts, had
left the letter for Wild Bill, and then fared away while
it was yet night.

They might have remained longer with the Crows but

for the fact that they had left Little Cayuse watching

eb spot where signs of the hostile were only a few hours
old.

It was sunrise when they rejoined the Piute.

The spot he had been watching was a pass between
two hills. At one end of the pass flowed the Little Big
Horn, and at the other end lay a small stretch of level
ground, with hills bordering it to the east.

The boy had secreted himself and his pinto pony Navi
in a growth of alders, and he crept quickly out of the
thicket when he saw Buffalo Bill and Nomad.

The two pards dismounted, and the scout dipped into
his war bag and brought out a piece of buffalo meat.

“Anything turn up here, Cayuse?” the scout asked.

‘Nah, Pa-e-has-ka,” was the reply.

“We didn’t reckon thar would, son,” observed old No-
mad, “but we got ter do a lot o’ useless work, I reckon,
ef we spot them hosstyles. Ther pesky kentry ain’t much
good fer trackin’, an’ them red skunks make et er p’int
ter blind their trail ev’ry few miles.”

“There’s a lunch for you, Cayuse,” said the scout.

The little Piute took the meat and began devouring it
greedily.

“No see um Injun, Pa-e-has-ka,” remarked Cayuse, be-
tween mouthfuls, “but me see um something else.”

“What else?”

“See um since sunup,” was the reply. ‘“Pa-e-has-ka
come with Cayuse.”

Munching at the meat, the boy turned and walked be-
taveen the hills, away from the river. When he had
reached the end of the pass, on that side, he pointed
across the little plateau to a hilltop, directly opposite the
place where he and the other two pards were standing.

“You see um hill®” he asked.

“Ther hill with thet lone pine on ther top?” queried
the old trapper.

NA

“What ‘of it?”

“Watch um pine tree, watch um close.”

_The pine tree stood on the very top of the opposite
hill, shooting upward with not a branch for fully two-
thirds of its height.

“Jest er ordinary pine tree,” mumbled Nomad.
see er blame’ thing ther matter with et.”

_ The scout, peering through half-closed lids, and guard-
ing his eyes from the rays of the sun, believed he could
see something white.

“I see a bit of white,” he announced, “halfway up the
tree trunk.”

“Ugh!” said Cayuse.
huh?” ‘

fl lain t

“Him) look all same white flag,

 
WIS NINE Ue CD be bee

eee

_ something Nature never put up there.’

animals haven’t scented any reds, and

 

NEW BUFFALO.

returned the scout.

”

“Maybe it’s a flag.”

“Right ye aire!” declared old Nomad. “I see ther thing
now, myself. Et’s er flag, shore as ye’re a foot high—
et’s wavin’ er leetle in ther wind. Waugh! How d’ye
reckin ther thing come thar?”

“Him hot on tree last night,”
“Me see um since last sleep.”

“Possibly it’s a signal of some sort,” guessed the scout.

“Signal, Buffler? "Who's signalin’, an’ fer why?”

“That's something we shall ‘have to find out.”

- Old Nomad wagged his shaggy head.

“S’posin’ et’s er bunch o’ Sioux?” he suggested; “s’posin’
they stuck thet white rag onter ther tree knowin’ we'd
see et an’ investigate? An’ then, s’posin’ thar’s er slather
o' them layin’ fer us ef we come clost?”

“There is sense in your talk, old pard,” answered the
scout. “If we find out what that white flag means, of
course we'll have to take chances. The ground, *however,
doesn’t lay right for an ambush. The hill seems to be
rocky, but, if we keep our eyes peeled as we approach
it, we can ‘show the Sioux, if there are too many of them,
just how we wear our back hair.”

“Waugh!” chuckled the trapper. ‘“Thet’s ther tork,
pard. We, Us, an’ Comp’ hy ain’t showin’ ther white flag
jest bekase a bunch 0” Sioux aire doin’ ther same thing.”

At this mild jest the trapper chuckled again, and the
pards returned along the pass to the place where they
had left their horses. Cayuse brought Navi out of the
alders, and presently the three of them were galloping
toward the plateau, on the way to the opposite hill, the
lone pine, and the mysterious white flag.

They slackened pace as they came nearer the rocky
side of the; hill, and scrutinized the rocks keenly, not. only
on that particular hill slope but on the adjacent slopes.
They. saw nothing to arouse their apprehensions.

“Kain’t see er thing thet reminds me o’ Injuns,” re-
marked Nomad.

“No Injuns,” said Cayuse. “Wind him blow from hill,
sabe? Caballos smell um Injuns if any Injuns in rocks.

said the scout approvingly. “Our
our eyes haven't
shown us signs of any. We.can bank on it that the
coast is clear, and go ahead.”

They rode on, still vigilant, yet feeling fairly easy over
the prospect.

The white flag came into clearer prominence as they
won closer to the base of the hill. It was not attached
to the tree, but to a rope that ran closely along the trunk
of the tree, and passed through a pulley attached to one
of the high branches.

“This is queer, and no mistake,” muttered the scout,
peering around at the deserted locality in which this evi-
dence of human handiwork was flaunting itself.

“No one in sight,” added Nomad, “an’ yit thar must
be some un around as pulled ther flag up whar we ‘see
et. Ther) flag wasnt thar at sundown, yisterday, so et
must hev been h’isted durin’ ther night.”

“Wuh!” agreed Cayuse.

The hill was too steep and rocky for the horses, so
the animals were left in Cayuse’s charge while Buffalo
Bill and Nomad started their explorations afoot.

Scrambling upward among the big stones, they arrived
finally at the foot of the tree. They. saw, then, that the
slender, strong cord that was used for the lanyard was
double, the flag being secured to one strand, making it
possible to pull it either up or down.

Furthermore, as the scout pointed out to Nomad, the
two light ropes, at the foot of the tree, passed through
staples. These staples held the cords closely against the
trun

At the foot of the tree, close to the lower staples, there
was a shallow, basinlike depression in the flinty earth,
partly covered by a flat stone. On a rough edge of this
flat stone was a bit. of white cloth, evidently torn from

ats Little Cayuse.

: Ugh! 17?

“Correct, Cayuse,”

the flag.
“Snarlin’ catermounts!” “growled old Nomad. “This
hyar’s er brain teaser, this 1s.’
“This flag raising,’ remarked the scout, “was secret

work, Nick.”
“How d’ye mean, Buffler ?”

“Certainly it’s -

been seen.

“and a good one.

‘do, the trapper helped him with the big rock:

BILL WEEKLY. a,

“Why, the white cloth, when lowered, was tucked under
that flat stone. While hidden, in’ that way, it could not
have been seen by any one who passed close to the: pine
and gave it a casual glance. Nor could the ropes have
They are a little weather worn, and are made
to work up and down directly against the tree trunk.”

“What's ther reason fer all thet?”

“Give it up. There must have been a reason, however,
The man who hoisted ‘that white flag
wasn't here-when he did the work.”

Nomad removed his hat and ran “his fingers through
his long hair in a puzzled way.

“How d’ye figger et?” he asked.

“When the flag was pulled out of a little cache
Nick, it caught on the sharp corner of that flat stone. If
the man who was hoisting the flag had been here in per-
son, he would have loosened the flag with his hands. As
he didn’t do that, he pulled until he freed the flag by
tearing a.piece out of it.”

“Blamed ef thet don’t sound as though ye had ther
right end o’ this quare purceedin’. Ef ther feller wasn’t
hyar, then whar was he?” : a
* “Our next step will be to locate him.”

“How'll we do et?” Jest bushwhack eround ontil we dis-
kiver him?”

“Why, no,” the scout answered; “we'll follow the ropes.”

The two ropes stretched away from the foot -of the
tree, following a sort of groove among the rocks. This
groove served the purpose of concealing the twin cords,
and it was evidence that it had been artfully improvised.
As the pards started to trace the cords to their farther
ae they suddenly halted. The cords had begun to
jerk. Ay

“Waugh!” exclaimed the startled trapper. . ‘Ther feller’s
at work now. Look at ther flag.” eae

The flag was violently shaken. It dropped a little and
was jerked back sharply, then dropped again, and again
was jerked back.

“Wouldn’t thet rattle yore spurs?” muttered Nomad:

“Let's get to the end of the ropes,’ said the scout,

“and we'll solve the riddle.”

For some twenty-five feet they followed the two cords,
finally reaching a place where they vanished, seemingly,
into the rocky side of the hill.

“Up-a stump, er I’m er chink!” exclaimed Nomad. °

“Not exactly,” returned the scout. “This -way, Nick.”

He turned to the left and walked a couple of yards.
There he halted, confronted by a huge bowlder. ~Here
there was some sand that had eddied into a sort of basin
at the base of the bowlder, and in the sand could be seen
prints of moccasined feet, and of one foot that wore boots
and spurs.

The old trapper whistled.

“Now, what d’ye think o’ thet!” he mumbled. “Sioux
tracks, by thunder! An’ along with ’ em 1S the footprint
of an Americano. Now——”

“Lay hold here,” said the scout, catching at the bowlder.

Hardly understanding what Buffalo Bill was trying to
It yielded
easily to their efforts, fell away from the stones, and re-

vealed a black opening in the hillside.

Nomad, far gone with astonishment, was sputtering
away in his usual fashion, while the scout, ‘going down
on his knees, struck a match and held it. at arm’s length
in the darkness.

The next moment he gave vent to.a muttered exclama-
tion and crawled’on into the hole.

Nomad followed him.

CHAPTER VL
THE PRISONER IN THE CAVE...

What Buffalo Bill saw, in the flickering light of the
match, was this:

Beyond the small circle of light sireiehed the dark coii-
fines of a roomy cavern. A little to the right, on a Led
of pine needles covered partly with a blanket, lay a inan.
The man was lying on his face, or would have been lad
his head not been turned a little sideways. A stick was
tied between his jaws, effectively gagging him. His hands
were bound at his back, and his feet at the ankles.

 
 

8 : \ NEW: BUFFALO

With his bound hands the man was clutchi ng a cord,
giving the cord a jerking motion, evidentty | at much pain
and discomfort to himself.

Having seen so much, the astounded Seon rolled into
- the black den.

“What's tér pay?” queried Noid. tumbling after him,

“There’s a man here, Nick,” was the answer.

“Er man, hey? Then why don’t he say somethin’ >?”

~“He’s bound and gagged, and he can’t say anything. Get
a match to going, so I can see to release him.” -

Once inside the cave, the scout found that he could stand
erect, with plenty of head room. As Nomad struck a
match, the scdéut- moved carefully to the bound © man’s
side and bent ov er, his bowie in his hand.

Taking the cord ott of the.man’s fingers, he carefully
severed the buckskin thongs-that secured his wrists, then
slashed at the fastenings of his feet.

The match went out in the trapper’s fingers, but the
freed prisoner could be heard lifting himself to a sitting
posture and evidently removing the gag.

“Saved!” came his voice, in a husky whisper. “Saved,
just. when I had all ‘but given up hope! You are friends?”
he asked.

“If we weren't iriends.” returned the scout,
hardly have set you free. Then, we are white men.
ought to prove that we are friends.”

“Tt was a white man who tied me and rolled the bowl-
der into the opening. So there was one white man who
was not my friend. You saw the flag?”

“we'd
That

“My last hope! And it won the day for me! Blessed
be. the hour when I thought of that device. Light another
match, friends.. You will find a candle on a ledge of rock
at the back of the cave.’

Nomad found the candle and lighted it. In the glow
that fought with the cave’s darkness, the released prisoner
arose to his feet weakly. |

A queer-looking creature he was, in all truth. His body
was misshapen and his hands reached almost to his knees.
He was clad in greasy buckskins, and his long, tawny
hair swept his shoulders. He was a hunchback.

“Tt seems,” he said, in a high, piercing tone, as’ he
rubbed his chafed wrists to restore circulation, “as though
I had been in torment here for a thousand years! And
yet it was only yesterday evening when I was captured and
bound. I am a cripple, as you see, and I have little
strength. The white man and his Indians had little trouble
in capturing me.. When they bound me, and rolled the
stone before the door, they thought they had sealed me
ita. living ‘tomb.’ He icackled: sarcastically... “But. 4
raised the flag on the pine—with my bound hands I raised
that flag on the pine. And you saw it, and came to my
rescue.”

He moved to the wall, his eyes glittering in the yellow

-candlelight, pulled away a small stone, thrust his. hand
into an aperture, and drew out a piece of jerked beef. He
fell to gnawing it ravenously.

The pards sat and watched him, from time to time ex-
changing wondering glances.

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” he begged, his mouth half
full, “it, has been forty-eight hours since I have touched

food. I need strength, strength for revenge, strength to
help Captain Hollis. Be patient and presently I will
tate”

The hunchback’s mention of Captain Hollis caused the
pards to again exchange glances. They had heard of
Captain Hollis at Custer—and it was not a pleasant
story.

Another hole in the wall, likewise guarded by a small
stone, yielded up a canteen of water. The hunchback
drank deeply. Then, from. still another aperture, he
drew a bull’s-eye lantern, lighted it with the candle, and
set it on a ledge, so that it would shine full in the face
of the scout. :

You have a good face, my friend,’ murmured the
dwarf; “a noble face. I feel that I can be frank with
you.” . ‘

“You can be as frank as you wish,” said the scout.
Hoe am Buffalo Bill, and this is my old pard,: Nick No-

mad.
“Buffalo Bill?” gasped the hunchback. ‘Buffalo Bill?”

BILL WEEKLY. | ‘

He stepped to the scout and seized | one of bis hands
in both his own.

“Heaven has indeed been kind to me,” he went on.
“Buffalo Bill is the one man I have heard about whom
I could shave wished to find and have rescued me—to
help me.’

Having gripped the scout’s hand fervently, the hunch-
back sat down on the floor of the den. He was very
weak. Even at his best he could not have had any too
much strength, and it was plain that the ordeal through
which he had recently passed had worn on him cruelly.
He leaned back for a few moments, breathing heavily.

“Tl have no strength at all,” said he, in his shrill voice.
“Nature collected heavy toll of me when she broke my
back and gave me a twisted body. But I am not utterly
powerless. There is still work for .me to do. in this
world.”

“Wheare you?” queried the scout. -

“Crooked Ben,’ was the reply, with a_ bitter Hasek,
“The name fits, eh? There’s nothing like having a name
that fits. The "beauty of that name is this,. Buffalo Bill:
Whenever it is spoken, it serves to remind me of my
deformity.”

“How long have you lived in this place?” queried the
scout, casting a wondering eye over the housekeeping
appointments of the den.

“Since the wagons were destroyed, and since those with
the wagons were slain by the Sioux. It was not long
after the Custer massacre. I keep little track of time, as
time goes.’

“Why do you stay in such a place, surrounded, as it
is, with hostile Indians and renegade whites ?”

“There is none in this wilderness to jeer at me or
mock me because of my twisted body. I am going to
show you where the wagons were burned, Buffalo Bill. I
will show you the place where I buried the emigrants—
there were six of them, and two were women and one a
mere child. I will show you the grave of the driver of
one of the wagons, a man who had done freighting for
the troops at Custer Fort, a man whose last breath did
much to set. fair and right his evil past life.”

“Wait a little,” interposed the scout kindly. “Tell us
something about yourself, Ben.”

“The life-of a hermit is uneventful. Nothing thas hap-
pened to me since the wagons were burned, until two
weeks ago, when I left the hill to hunt for the sachem,
and to guide him here.”

A mournful note crept into the hunchback’s voice as
he added:

“I wonder, now, what has become of the sachem? I
guided him close, ‘almost to the end of his journey, and

there the white ruffian, and the Sioux at his back, saw

me and gave chase. T rode like the wind for my re-
treat but they tracked me like bloodhotinds. They found
me here, and they tied me and gagged me and left me
to die!” His voice grew mocking. “But the white flag
saved me! Buffalo Bill and old Nomad saw the white
flag, and came. to my relief.”

The scout’s impression was that the hunchback “was
daft. He had lived so long like an animal in that
den, far from human beings, that his mind had become un-
hinged.

“No, no, Buffalo Bill!” cried the hunchback, seeming
to read the scout’s thoughts, “I’m not a madman. My
reason is as strong as ever. You think I am crazy be-
cause you do not know all, but I shall tell you, and you
will help me. IJ have tried to do little good alone, but
I am not strong enough.”

“If you have something to tell us, Ben,”
“get at it logically.”

“In other words,” took up the hunchback, “begin at the
beginning! Well, that is what I intend to do. I could
begin at the wagons, but perhaps I had better begin -with
Captain Hollis. a” He paused and searched the scout’s
face furtively. “You have been to’ Fort Custer?” “he
inquired.

“Ves

Bee hn you heard something about Cue Hollis?”

“I heard that he had quarreled, months ago, with a Lieu-
tenant Eldridge over a game of cards; that ‘he had shot
ae killed Eldridge, and had then escaped from the guard-
ouse.”

stid> the scout,

 

 
<a

ee eee

 

 

NEW BUFFALO

“That is the story as.it is generally believed, but Cap-
tain Hollis was an officer and a gentleman, and his name
and fame have been blackened. The shooting of Eldridge
was done by another—and this I can prove.”

“It. makes little difference what you can prove, Ben,”
said. the’ scout, ‘‘for Hollis has disappeared. It is common
report that he made way with himself because .of his
disgrace.”

“Even so, Buffalo Bill, is it not something to set even
a dead man right with the world? To clear his name,
for the benefit of his family, if not for his own? To——”

Nomad gave a yell and reached for his revolver. Soft
feet. had patted down at the entrance to the. cavern, and
a tawny wild cat, the muscles ruffling under its sleek skin,
had started to enter, only to draw back, spitting and
snarling, its glaring eyes on the old trapper.

“No, no!” screamed the hunchback, throwing himself
on Nomad and jerking away the revolver.

| CHAPTER VIL.

QUEER REVELATIONS.

“Br-r-r!” growled the old trapper. “I ain’t er-goin’

ter set hyar an’ let thet animile claw me up. Et’s ther
biggest cat I ever seen; an’ he ain’t haulin’ back none, but
seems detarmined ter come right in.”
- “He’ll.not harm you!” cried Crooked Ben. “This was
his den before I took it for my own. I was a whole
month making friends with him, and it has been three
weeks ‘since I left here, and since he has seen me. Sit
quiet, and watch.”

.Nomad drew back a little farther from the entrance.

“Wah-loo!” crooned the hunchback.

The wild cat had been lashing its tail from side to side,
its pointed ears laid back angrily. At the sound of the:
hunchback’s voice it slunk down, dragging its body along
the rock and crawling slowly into the cave. To the
hunchback’s side it crept, lay down, and began purring
contentedly under the man’s caressing hand.

“You see?” laughed Crooked Ben. “This animal has
been my only friend for months. Together we have
shared this hole in the rocks. If I were straight as you,
if my body were perfect, this brute could not have been
more loyal. Four-footed animals are not like the animals
who call themselves human, for they do not jeer or
taunt the unfortunate. Wah-loo,” he whispered, bending
over.

The big cat partly rose and rubbed its head against
the hunchback’s face. :

“Ye’re a good deal of er animile trainer, Crooked Ben,”
observed Nomad.

“I have succeeded in making a pet of Wah-loo.”

“Waal, don’t let Wah-loo come eround whar I am. I
hate cats an’ painters.”

Crooked Ben laughed his queer, high-pitched laugh.

“Buffalo Bill,” he. asked, “will you and Nomad go with
me now to the place where the wagons were destroyed ?”

“Yes, if there is, anything there you think we ought
to see,” the scout answered.

“I’m willin’ enough ter git out of er place whar thar’s
er loose wild cat,” said Nomad, and began crawling through
the entrance into the broad daylight.

The scout followed him, and last came the hunchback,
with the cat fawning at his feet.

“We will go over the hill,” said Crooked Ben.

“Wait a minute,” returned the scout. “One of our
pards is below with the horses. I'll let him know that all
is well with us.” :
_ The scout made his way to the tree and hailed Little
Cayuse. 3

“Wait for us, Cayuse,” he called, as the Piute looked
up. “Everything’s all right up here, and we'll be with
you before long.”

Cayuse waved his hand to signify that he understood.
Buffalo Bill returned to Nomad and Crooked Ben, and
they began climbing the rocks toward the crest of the
hill. The cat, keeping close to the hunchback, bounded
from bowlder to bowlder.

The scout was deeply interested in Crooked Ben. The
hunchback was a strange character, but there seemed to
be a lot of method in his madness—if madness it was.

-had its effect on their savage minds, no doubt.

_night on the door of the chuck shanty.

BILL WEEKLY. | 9

The descent on the other side of. the. hill. was’ quickly
made, and the three men found themselves in a narrow
valley. between the uplifts. ;

“There are the wagons,” said Crooked Ben, pointing;
“all that’s left of them.” Zi

There were round, rusty tires and scraps of iron, half
buried in the sand that had drifted over them.

“There were three wagons in the train,” explained the
hunchback, “and they were passing through the Indian
country, bound for the Yellowstone. They thought they
had safely left the Sioux behind, and that they were in
the land of the friendly Crows. Then, without warning,
the Sioux poured down upon them from both sides of the
valley.”

A look of anguish crossed the face of Crooked Ben.

“I wish I could forget the cries of the women,” said
he, “and the last groans of the men; but I shall hear them
in my sleep till my. dying day.” .

“Where were you at the time?” asked the scout.

“I was traveling to the Yellowstone in one of the
wagons,” was the answer. “The Sioux spared me be-
cause they thought I was not human. At least, I suppose
that was the reason. I jumped from one of the wagons
and ran up this hill. Not a bullet was fired at me. I
howled and danced like a demon as I climbed. That
When
I crossed the crest, I found that hole in the rocks, and
the cave. There I stayed until thirst and hunger drove
me out. I went to Custer, and carried the news of the
lost wagon train—but not until I had cared for the victims
of the massacre.”

He indicated six mounds, each with a rudely constructed
cross at its head.

“That is my work,” he finished. ‘‘Weak as I am, friends,
I did it all. There was one man alive—Cummings, the
driver. He was scalped and dying, and I could not ‘save
him, but he had strength to tell me about Captain Hol-.
lis and about Sergeant Blix. Did you hear anything
about Sergeant Blix at the fort?” he added, turning on.
the scout. Capa

Buffalo Bill shook his head.

“IT suppose not; I. suppose not,” murmured Crooked
Ben. “That mound at the end is where I put Cummings.”.
He sat down on a bowlder.

“I carried the news to Custer, as I told you,” he went.
on. “The disappearance of Captain Hollis was compara-
tively fresh in the minds of the officers and men at the
post at that time. I got one of the officers to tell it to.
me, and my blood boiled because of what Cummings had
said regarding Blix and Lieutenant Eldridge. I had saved
a little gold—not much, but a little—and I hired a
hanger-on at the post to go looking for the sachem. I
gave him money, and I promised him more if he located
the sachem and brought me word where I could find
him. After that I bought a horse and some provisions —
and firearms, and came back to that cave. I remained
there, waiting to hear about the sachem; but, if I never
heard, I had made up my mind to spend the rest of my
days in that hole in the rocks. The world is an unkind
place for such as I. Even at the post, when I had brought
news of the massacre of the emigrants, the soldiers flouted
mers

“Some men are brutes,” said the scout quietly.
blame all men for what a few men do, Ben.”

“Rather than face the few, I will renounce all, Buf-
falo Bill,” returned the hunchback. - “After months ‘of
waiting, the man I had hired to look up the sachem came
to Lone Tree Hill. He told me that the sachem was in
a cattle camp, far away on the Sweetwater. That was
nearly a month ago. I took my dark lanterns, my re-
volvers and ammunition, and my horse, and went to the
Sweetwater. But I would not show myself in the cattle
camp, so I wrote a note for the sachem, and pinned it at
In that note I
told the sachem to follow the three flashes by night and
the three clouds of smoke by day. In that manner I
guided him to Cheyenne, through Cheyenne, and north,
toward .the Little Big Horn.

“IT was mounted, and he was on foot for most of the
journey, so I kept ahead of the sachem, and out of sight.
After leaving Cheyenne, he fell in with some gold hunters,

“Dane.

 
10 NEW BUFFALO
and they gave him a lift, At the. right time T took him
away from the: gold hunters. I kindled my last fire. yes-
terday morning, not far from the Littl Big Horn, and
it was then that the white renegade. and his Sioux saw
mé.and gave chase. I was compelled, at the peril of my
life, to abandon the sachem... You have heard how the
white man and the Sioux trailed me to my lair, and ae
saw what they did.

'“That. white flag I contrived for the purpose of sig-
naling the man who was to bring me news of the sachem.
When that was done, I still left the ropes and the. flag
in place, ready for use. Well for me that I did. Eh,
Wah-loo?” and, with that, the queer hunchback fell to
stroking the big cat.

“Who is. this man you call the sachem ?” asked the
scout.

Crooked Ben lifted his head quickly and gave Buffalo

Bill a startled look. He started to answer, hesitated, and
then, after a moment, spoke:
““He calls himself the Sachem of Saginaw, Buffalo Bill.
He is a tramp, but he is a friend of Captain Hollis, and
1S always looking. for evidence to. clear the captain’s
name,”

“It wag rather foolish to use all that claptrap in get-
ting the. sachem to your cave. Why was it necessary to
bring him to the cave at all? Couldn’t you have told him
all you had to tell, there on the Sweetwater?”

“T wanted him to see the destroyed wagons, what was
Sn of them, and the six mounds,” answered. Crooked

en,

“That wasn’t necessary, was it?”

“I wanted to tell him everything, right here.’

“Then why didn’t you talk with him on the Sweetwater,
and have him come here with you? What was the use
of guiding him on by means of lantern flashes and smoke
signals?”

“Twas afraid. of Blix.”

VOM Bixee

“Yes, of Sergeant Blix.. I have Cummings’ story in
black and white, signed by himself and witnessed by me.
Hollis did quarrel “with Eldridge at.the officers’ mess, at
the post, and there was bad blood between the captain
and the lieutenant. That night the lieutenant heard some
one at his window. He got up to investigate, and a bul-
let struck him as he raised the window to look out. A
revolver, identified as belonging to Captain Hollis, was
found under the window”

“And the captain was seen by a sentry running toward
his quarters from Eldridge’s house,” added the scout.

‘Ves that is trae: But Sergeant Blix fired the shot.
He had been reprimanded by Hollis for some breach of
duty, and also by Eldridge. Blix hated them both, and
Blix knew that he was about to lose his sergeant’s stripes.
He felt that he could get even. with both men, so he stole
Hollis’ revolver, did the shooting, and left ‘the weapon
under the window——”

“But Hollis was seen running away. from Eldridge’s
house directly after. the shot!”

“Cummings cailed Hollis from his sleeping quarters on
the pretext “that he had something of importance to, tell
him, Cummings had been hired by Blix to play the part,
and Cummings purposely led Hollis toward Eldridge’s
house. When the shooting was heard, Cummings promptly
took to his heels, got past the sentry in the. confusion,
and left Hollis to bear the brunt of everything. As for
Blix, he sneaked back. to his quarters, and no one knew
that he had not been there alf night long. A month after-
ward, Blix deserted. Where he is now, no one knows.

‘He was a murderous scoundrel, at best, and will prob-
ably reap the reward of his evil life, somewhere and
somehow. As for Cummings, he was only a freighter at
the post, and his going away excited no comment. Hollis
told how Cummings had called him from his house, but
no one believed the story.. Some even’ said that Hollis
had hired Cummings to disappear, so that he could not
be called as a witness.”

These were queer revelations that Crooked Ben was mak-
ing, but someHow, in spite of his indirect way of manag-
ing matters with ‘the sachem, what he said had the ring
of truth.

“All this,” declared ‘the scout, “should be laid before
the commandant at Fort Custer,”

 

BID WEEKLY.

“T want to lay it before the sachem,” answered. the

hunchback. “He can use the information better than ae
can. All I ask of you, Buffalo Bill, is to help me find
the sachem. Later, if you will, we can hunt. for the man

in the gray flannel shirt, who- led the Sioux against me
and

“Just now, Ben,” interrupted the scout, “I am engaged
in important work. Later, when that work is finished,
T 9 ‘ : é

Three distant shots rang out faintly. They were -re-
volver shots and came from over the hill. MO

“That’s Cayuse, Buffler!” whooped old Nomad. “He’s
hevin’ trouble! Mebbeso ther Sioux aire comin’ back
hyar !”

Old Nomad leaped up the hill, with all his speed. The
scout, startled and apprehensive, made after him.

Crooked Ben, fully as interested in the proceedings
as were the pards, started up from the bowlder and began
climbing. Wah-loo bounded along at his side.

CHAPTER VIIL.
A CLEAR TRAIL,

Buffalo Bill had been allowed but little time to hints
over the revelations made by the hunchback. No. doubt
they were of the utmost importance to the friends of Cap-
tain Hollis, as tending to show—perhaps not very’ conclu-
sively—the captain’s innocence. The scout had thought,
just before he was startled by the shots: from over “the
hill, that he would himself take the matter up with the
commandant at Custer. But those sudden reports, presag-
ing danger for Little Cayuse, drove Hollis and his troubles.
out of the stout’s mind for the time.

From the top ofthe hill the Piute could be seen, dis-
mounted, the horses behind him, standing his eround with
a revolver in his hand. He was facing the rocky slope
of another hill, that was immediately north of the one on
which the scout and Nomad were standing.

“Cayuse has beat off ther pizen reds!”’
Nomad. “Thar ain’t one of ’em in sight.”

The scout yelled and waved his hand encouragingly.
Cayuse, perfectly self-possessed, as he always was in time
pf stress and danger, looked up and gave an answering
wave with the glittering revolver.

The pards hurried on in a scrambling descent toward
their horses and the boy. When they reached the foot of
the slope, the hunchback and his wild cat were not far
behind them.

Cayuse cast a quick glance at Crooked Ben. His face
was passive, and what he thought of Crooked Ben and:
Wah-loo did not. appear.

“What’s ther trouble, son?” demanded the trapper.

“See um Sioux,’ was the sententious response.

“How many?”

“One. 3?

“What did ther pizen whelp try ter do?”

“Him gallop out on cayuse, gallop back when me make
um shoot.”

“Where did he go, Cayuse?” asked the scout.

“Make um run between hills,’ and Cayuse indicated
the narrow strip of gully that separated the two hills
one from the other.

“Thet means er cl’ar trail, pards!” exulted Nomad,
leaping into his saddle. “Fust time we’ve got so clost ter
one QO" ther Sioux sence. we left Custer on this ae
scout.”

The scout, hand on bridle and foot in stirrup, paused
to look at the hunchback.

“We can’t leave you here. Ben’
your horse?”

“T suppose the white renegade and his Sioux followers
took the horse,” replied the hunchback.
“Then get up behind me, and we'll clear out.”

But Ben held back.

“Til only hamper. you,” he answered, “for you'll ie
to ride fast and maybe far. I'll stay here with Wah-loo.”
‘ oo if that white. fenewade and the Sioux should come.

ac

“They wouldn’t find me,” cackled Crooked Ben. “I'll
dodge ’em—-Wah-loo and I will dodge ’em. We know

exclaimed old

said he. “Where's

 

 

 

 
 

RO See Pe eee

 

 

 

 

NEW BUFFALO

other places in these hills where we can hide.’ Eh, Wah-
loo?”

The big cat arched its back. and ‘rubbed against the
hunchback’s leg.

“T think you'd better go with us, Ben,” insisted the
scout. “I hate to leave you here.”

“I can take care of myself, Buffalo Bill,” answered the
hunchback firmly. “I want you to overhaul that Indian.
He may be one of the band that set upon me and made
me a prisoner in the cave... If he is, then the white rene-
gade in the gray flannel shirt is with thé main party of
the Sioux, and perhaps you can catch the scoundrel.”

There was no time to waste in useless colloquy, so the
scout flung a leg over the saddle and spurred swiftly
away. Nomad and Cayuse were already in the gully be-
tween the hills. The scout was alongside his pards at
the farther end of the gully.

A valley lay before them in a straightaway stretch of
perhaps half a mile. Well along the valley the Sioux
could be seen, leaning over his pony’s neck and using the
quirt furiously.

“Thar goes ther pizen critter!” yelped old Nomad.
“He’s \hittin’ ther breeze fer all he’s wuth. Looks as
though he had a purty good idee o’ what’s behind him.”

“We'll have him,’ answered the scout grimly, “if this
good running ground stays with us.’

At every leap the mounts of the three pards gained
on the fleeing Indian cayuse.

They were almost within shooting distance, when, near
the lower end of the valley, the Sioux turned his. pony
and darted from sight through a gap in the valley bank.

“Thet twist won’t save him!” roared the old trapper,
his blood up; “we're too close ter him fer him ter git
away.”

The old trapper’s view was ae one the scout held. The
trail was not so clear, but it was still promising.

With Bear Paw, the scout’s war horse, slightly in the
lead, the pards whirled through the gap, only. to find
that the break in the valley was not a gap, but the en-
trance to a cafion.

From a defile with low, sloping sides, the walls arose
steeper and steeper, and constantly increasing in height.

They could see nothing of the fleeing redskin, but the
cafion had many a crook, so that the Sioux, if he was a
little way in advance, could keep himself out of sight.

“Waugh!” rumbled the trapper, “we’re goin’ three feet
ter thet varmint’s one! Et kain’t be long till we’re right
on *op.o° him.”

From time to time Little Cayuse lowered his eyes to
the ground over which he was speeding. His face did not
reflect the sanguine feelings of the old trapper; but, then,
the Piute’s face rarely reflected his thoughts. He con-
tinued to watch the rocky ground as it rolled away from
under him, but he could see no sign of the passing hoofs
of the Indian’s cayuse.

Presently a bend in the cafion brought the-pards face
to face with a serious problem. In front of them, clos-.
ing the cafion completely, was a sheer wall of rock.

They drew rein at the foot of the blank wall, and stared
at each other. That defile. was a box cafion, a cul-de-sac.
They had traversed it from entrance to end, and they had
not seen the Sioux. What had become of him?

“Oh, sufferin’ sidewinder!” howled old Nomad. “He’s
gone an’ took an’ shifted ther cut on us! He didn’t come
down ther cafion at all, Buffler!”

“That's an easy guess,’ answered the scout, with a
grim laugh, “now that we’ve been through this blind
gash without finding him. A good chance gone, Nick.”

“We kin git back ter ther entrance an’ pick up his trail, |

pard,” fumed Nomad, vastly chagrined.

“Picking up his trail is out of the Guestion: That
red knows more about the lay of the land than we do,
and he’s probably a long way off over hard ground by
now.”

“Mebbeso him go back to lone pine tree,”
Cayuse, “ketch um little man with wild cat.”

“Ther leetle man with ther wild cat’ll hev ter take
his medicine, ef thet’s ther case,’ scowled Nomad. “Buf-
fler tried ter git him ter come with us, but et wasn’t no
go. Anyways, thar’s no use coolin’ our heels at the foot
o this hyar. blind wall. Let’s mosey back, er else look
fer a place whar we kin git over ther rim rock.”

suggested

BILE WEREREY. 11

.» They rode back slowly, scanning the cliffs on each.
side of them as they went. There was absolutely no place
where a man on foot could scale the walls, say nothing
of getting over the rim rock with a horse.

“We'll have to go back to the entrance, Nick,” de-
clared the scout. “That will take us out of the cafion,
even if it don’t give us a chance at the a

A rifle suddenly exploded on the top of the right
hand wall and a bullet dropped downward and pecked
at the rocks directly in front of Hide Rack, the trap-
per’s horse.

“He’s up top o’ ther cliff!” yelled Nomad, lifting his
eyes to the crest of the wall.

What the pards saw, just then, was enough to cause
even their stout heartS to quail. Feathered heads were
visible all along the rim rock on both sides; and in front
of each head was a glittering rifle barrel.

Bang! went a gun on the left.

The bullet barely stung Bear Paw’s neck, and the gal-
lant. black rose on his hind feet with a snort and flung
himself sideways.

Bang! bang! bang! roared the guns from both sides,

It was a drop fire, and dangerous in the extreme. Buf- -
falo. Bill, always quick to act in an emergency, was not
slow in rising to this desperate situation.

“This way, pards!” he shouted, heading Bear Paw to-
ward the left-hand wall.

A little ridge ran out from the wall, and the pards rode
in behind it. The bullets from above tickled their horses’
feet as they went, and they went quickly.

 

CHAPTER EX.
AT BAY IN THE CANON.

Although the scout had had little time to select a
refuge out of the few places in the cafion that offered
shelter, his quick wit had selected the best.

The ridge, after jutting out from the left-hand wall,
described a slight curve, and then followed the wall for
perhaps twenty feet, leaving a space between it and the
cliff some ten feet wide.

The ridge was high enough to protect the pards and
their horses from bullets that -were fired from the top
of the right-hand bank, and from the top of the leit-
hand bank the Indians could not depress their guns suffi-
ciently to reach those below.

Slap, slap, slap! came the lead on the opposite side of
the ridge. The bullets tinkled musically as they struck

‘the granite and glanced.

“Blaze away, ye onnery coyotes!” shouted the trapper.
“Ve kain’t git us onless ye can put er ball through six >
feet o’ solid rock, er send one eround a corner. Oh,
reckon this ain’t so bad, Buffler.”

“It’s bad enough, old ‘pard, ue returned the scout gravely.

“They kain’t tech us.’

“Not so long as we stay behind this ridge.”

Nomad slipped off Hide Rack’s back.

“Then let’s. make ourselves plumb ter home, Buffler,”
said he.

“We'll have to do that, of course,” returned the scout,
“but this place won't be much of a home for us when
thirst and hunger drive us out.”

“Mebbeso somethin’ll happen before thet.”

“T hope so.”

While the glancing bullets snarled and whined against
the rocks, Buffalo Bill slipped clear of his saddle and
looked at the trickle of red on Bear Paw’s neck.

“Much of er hurt?” queried Nomad.

“Just a scratch,’ answered the scout.

“Ther way B’ar Paw went up inter the air an’ danced
eround on his hind toes, Buffler, I reckoned et mout be ©
purty serious.’

Leaving Bear Paw, the scout surveyed the narrow limits
of their refuge. There were twenty feet by ten of a
clear)space back of the ridge. This was the safety zone,
and fo venture beyond it meant destruction.

“We ain’t got much room ter mosey eround, pard,” said
Nomad.

“Not much, that’s a fact. This whole scheme, Nick, is

_ beginning to look like a frame-up to me.”
“Frame-up?”

we

    
 

bee

12 | NEW BUFFALO BILL” WEERLY.

“Yes. The Indian who-ran through the gully between
the hills, and showed: himself. to Cayuse, was playing a
part.”

“T kain’t savvy yit, me no cumtux.”

“The Sioux, in some way,” explained the scout, Nghe
we were'at Lone Tree Hill. The Jay of the ground in
that locality didn’t appeal to them as the right place
for a fight, so they got on top of these cliffs “and sent
the buck on the horse to lure us into. the cafion.”

“Waugh! D’ye reckon thet’s what they done?”

“What's happened to us’ proves it. Eh, Cayuse?”

“Wuh!” answered the Piute gloomily. )

“Snarlin’ hyeners!” growled the old trapper, in great
disgust, “Et’s demoralizin’ ter git ketched in sich er
Way.”

“We've found the hostile Sioux we were looking for,
but they've got us bottled up—for a while.”

“Fer. a while, Buffler? What d’ye mean by thet?”

“Why, when night comes, I reckon they'll have their
hands full keeping us here. Under cover of the dark, we
may be able to slip past them, down the cafion, and get
back into that straightaway valley.”

“Shore we kin!” asserted Nomad.
easy fer any use.”

“Meanwhile,” went on the scout, “there are several
hours between us and dewfall, and we've got to see to
it that the reds don’t charge us along the bottom of the
cafion.”

He pulled the rifle out of its case under his saddle
leather and crept to the end of the ridge. As he peered
cautiously out, a bullet came from the top of the right-
oe wall and made a neat hole through the crown of his

aby,”

Removing the hat, he flung it behind him and con-
tinued to reconnoiter.

The redskins were showing themselves freely on top of
the opposite cliff.

The scout, stepping quickly into full view around the
end of the ridge, flung his rifle to his shoulder and pulled
the trigger.

The roar of the gun reverberated between the walls,
and its echoes were taken up by fierce yells and a volley
trom the cliff top.

But the scout was back again before the redskins
could concentrate their fire upon him.

It was a reckless move, but there was one red enemy
the less to face the beleaguered pards.

“Blamed ef thet wasn’t neat!” applauded the admiring
trapper. “I reckon I'll try et on, myself.”

Rifle in hand, he started toward the end of the ridge,
but the scout caught his arm and pulled him back.

“That move might win once in a while, Nick,”
he, “but it’s sure death to try it now. Keep back.”

“I hate ter be bottled up without lettin’ "em know I’m
able ter fight,” spluttered Nomad.

“T reckon that shot will prove that we’re to be handied
with care, Nick,” the scout answered.

“Nothin ’ter do till night,” grumbled the trapper, ‘an’
et seems like night was a week off.”

“It will come quick enough.
trance to this niche.

“We kin do et too

said

Cayuse, watch the en-

the bottom of the cafion.”

“Wuh,” answered Cayuse, and moved to his post.

“I didn’t see anything of a white man among the reds,”
the scout went on to Nomad. “He-may have been on
the other wall of the cafion, however,” he added.

“D’ye reckon this is the outfit thet tied up Crooked
Ben an’ corked him tight. in thet cave o’ his?”

he may bere)

“Who d’ye reckon thet white renegade is?”

“At a guess, I should say he is White Wolf.”

“Waugh! We seem ter-be findin’ everybody we went
lookin’ fer. But we ain’t findin’ ’em in ther right way.
What we ort ter hev, ter corral this bunch o’ hosstyles,
is a comp’ny o’ pony sogers. How many d’ye think thar
aire of ’em, Buffler ?”

“Twenty-five or thirty.”

“An’ thar’s three o’ us! _Thet White Wolf ain’t got

much confidence in his reds ef he was afeard ter bring

‘’em ag’inst us-at Lone Tree Hill.”

bliawed thet he was afeard o’ Blix.

Keep well inside the entrance, and,
tell us if any of the Indians are showing themselves in

The scout, was thoughtful for a while. Nomad. had
to talk, however, and started in on. Crooked Ben.

“Wliat d’ye think o’ thet yarn Crooked Ben told us
Piper Cap’n Hollis?” he inquired.

*] think Crooked Ben told the truth.”

“An’ thet Hollis didn’t kill Eldridge?”

“T don’t think the story told by Cummings, the freighter,
would entirely offset the evidence against Hollis.”

“Ner I don’t, nuther. This feller Blix ort ter be found.
Thet ’u’d help prove Hollis’ case.”

“But Blix has disappeared, just as Hollis has van-
ished. There has been no news from either of them since
they left the post, months ago.”

“T got er idee, Buffler,” remarked Nomad.

“What is it?”

“Why, Crooked Ben is cunnin’. He torks kinder bug-
house, but he’s got his brains right with him all ther
time. Thet’s my notion. He ain’t nobody’s fool.”

“T agree with you there.”

“Waal, V’ll gamble my spurs thet the feller he calls
the sachem is this hyar Blix.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Nothin’. Et’s only jest er notion, as I said. Crooked
Ben didn’t show himself ter thet sachem, an’ when ye
asked him why he fooled with a dark lantern an’ smoke
signals in gittin’ the sachem ter Lone Tree Hill, Ben jest
Mebbeso thet means
thet ther sachem is Blix. What d’ye think?”

“Tt’s all guesswork, Nick, and not very clear guesswork,
at that,’

The hours dragged for the pards. They tried to be-
guile the time with talk, and by making careful surveys
of the cliff tops, and by getting in an occasional shot at
their besiegers.. But the Indians were wary. Perched
on the cliffs, they watched keenly below, and dropped a
oe whenever one of the pards ventured to show him-
se

Along toward sundown, Cayuse announced that some
of the Sioux were in the cafion. The scout and the trap-
per looked around the end of the ridge, only to be driven
a by a rain of bullets from the top of the opposite
wa

But they had seen enough to send their hopes for
escape by night down to zero. The Indians were string-
ing ropes across the cafion, and making the barrier more
secure by heaping rocks under the ropes.

“Consarn their pictur’s,’ muttered Nomad,
fencia’ as) iy’

“They're not intending to take any chance on our get-
ting out under cover of darkness,” returned the scout.
“The outlook is dubious, pard.”

“they're

CHAPTER ix:
CROOKED BEN’S NEWS.

The form which darkened the tepee door was twisted
and misshapen. To Wild Bill, just awakened from sound
slumber, it looked more like the form of an ape than of
a man.

“IT am here,” said the newcomer, ind 1 high, shrill voice.

It was also a breathless voice, and Wild Bill could
hear the man falling to the floor of the aie from ex-
haustion.

“Who are you?” demanded the Laramie man.

“Him all same Broken Brave,” struck in Umbass-a-
hoos, his guttural voice filled with awe.

“Broken Brave?”

A bitter laugh came from the newcomer’s lips.

“Aye,” he answered ; “Broken Brave, as the Indians
call me, or Crooked Ben, as the whites have it. I live
in a den like a wolf, but whenever I come out, it is not
always to prey. I try to do good to my fellow men when-
ever cans

“Why do you want to see me, Crooked. Ben?” de-
manded the Laramie man.

“Listen,” went on the other. “Buffalo Bill, old Nomad,
and Little Cayuse were at my refuge in the early part of
the day just gone

“Where is that?” interrupted Wild Bill, at once de-
veloping great interest in the stranger’s story.

“East and north of here,” was the reply.

 

“The noted

 

 

 
OT Rte ao OL een

Oe RS TR SPS

CB wet te

 

 

 

{
}

‘up, Crooked Ben. :
and that no much more time can be

NEW BUFFALO

scout and his pard, the trapper, rescued me from what
might have been my tomb. A horde of savage Sioux,
captained by a white renegade in a gray flannel shirt, a
sued me if

“A man in a gray shirt !”

“Yes. He had me’ bound hand and foot and the en-
trance to my den closed with a stone. But what do you
speak? Have you seen this man?’.

“I should say so! I found him sending up smoke sig-
nals and laying for the Sachem of Saginaw with a gun
and——

A sharp cry escaped Crooked Ben’s lips. He threw
himself toward Wild Bill, through the gloom of the tepee,
and caught at his arm.

“The sachem! You have seen the sachem!”

“Do you know the sachem?”

“T want to find him! I was bringing him from the
Sweetwater to the Little Big Horn! I But, tell me,
this man in the gray shirt did not injure him?”

“No,” answered Wild Bill. “The sachem came with
me to this village of Umbass-a-hoos, and he is here, in
this tepee, with me now. I say, sachem!” he called.
“Why don’t you open up and greet a friend?”

There was no answer.

Wild Bill called again, but with no ‘better result.

Thinking the Sachem of Saginaw had one of his taci-
turn streaks on, the Laramie man lit a match and peered
about the tepee.

The sachem was not in the place!

“Well,”’ muttered Wild Bill, “here’s a go, and no mis-
take! The Sachem of Saginaw was in this tent when
I went to sleep, and that must have been two or three
hours ago, anyhow. Have you seen anything of him,
Umbass-a-hoos ?”

 

 

“Laramie’s friend,’ answered the chief, “left the camp

plenty time ago. Herd boy see um,’

“That’s queer,’ muttered Wild Bill.
was going to stay here all night.”

“That ‘is my usual luck,” spoke up Crooked Ben. “I
wanted to see him, but he is gone.”

“He'll be back here, Crooked Ben,’ returned the Lara-
mie man. “He wants to see ‘my pard Buffalo Bill, and
Tve a paper talk from Buffalo Bill, saying he'll be back
here, to this Crow camp. Wait, and you'll see this sachem.
Vl gamble on it.”

“Buffalo Bill cannot get back here unless he and his
pards have help,” announced Crooked Ben.

“What's: that 277

The hunchback repeated his words.

“How do-you know?” demanded Wild Bill, his voice
hardening.

“That is the news I came to bring,” went on Crooked
Ben. “It was toward noon when Buffalo Bill, old Nomad,
and Little Cayuse left me. While I was talking with the
scout and the trapper, Little Cayuse, who was watching
the horses, saw a lone Sioux rider, and fired at him. The
shot carried the scout, the trapper, and me over the hill.
When Little Cayuse had made his report to Buffalo Bill,
all the pards mounted and rode like the wind after the
Sioux.”

“Naturally,” commented the Laramie ‘man. “They’re
out hunting the Sioux, and one lone buck would not get
away from them if they could help it. Go on, Crooked
Ben. All this is mighty interesting to me.”

“Buffalo Bill”’ proceeded the hunchback, “wanted me
to ride with him, but my horse had been stolen by the
white renegade and his red followers, and I would not
hamper the scout by burdening his horse with my extra
weight. I remained behind, and it was well I did so.

“Perhaps the scout and his pards had been gone an
hour, when I heard a sound of distant rifle firing. That
called my attention, and I knew there was trouble of
some sort and that the scout and his pards were mixed
up in it. I waited, expecting them to come back. They
did not come. ‘Then I stole away after them, guided by
the sound of more firing. What I discovered has filled
me with the utmost alarm for Buffalo Bill and his two
pards.”

“What did you discover?” asked Wild Bill. “Hurry
It strikes me that there is need of

“I, supposed he

instant action,
wasted here.”

er ray

BLL WEEKLY. 13°

“There is a box cafion, *went on the hunchback, “and
the scout and his pards were in the bottom of the cafion,
with the savages on the walls, on both sides. They were —
shooting downward, and only now and then was there
a shot in return. I believe, Wild Bill, that that cafion is
a trap and that the lone Sioux led the scout and his pards
into it. Unless something is done, your pards may be
wiped out.”

“I don’t know about the wiping-out part, Crooked Ben.
Pye yet to see Pard Cody in a hole he couldn’t get out

of without help. But it won’t do to hang back. How did
you know I was here?”
“I didn’t know that,” answered Crooked Ben. “I knew

the Crows were here, and that the Crows are friendly.
I came in the hope that Umbass-a-hoos would furnish
warriors to help the scout. I walked all the way from
Lone Tree Hill, and, as I am not physically strong, it
took me a long time. As soon as I had met Umbass- -a-
hoos, he told me that you were here, so I asked him to

take me to you.”

“You did well, and I am grateful,’ said Wild Bill’

“I am only paying a debt I owe the scout. He saved
ine, and it was no more than right that I should save

im.”

Umbass-a-hoos had stood like a statue, listening to the
words of Crooked Ben.

“You heard, Umbass-a-hoos?” asked Wild Bill.

“Wuh,” answered the chief.

“Are you going to send warriors with me to fight the
Sioux?” oA

“No like um night fight.”

inere tl not be much night left by the time we get to
this box cafion,’

ae many Sioux, Broken Brave?” demanded the
chie

“Thirty,.as near as I doula judge,
back.

“Was that white man in the gray shirt with them?”
queried Wild Bill.

“I could not see him.”

“What are you going to do, Umbass-a-hoos?” urged
Wild Bill. “We haven’t much time to lose deciding.”

“Me send um Yellow Horse with war party,” answered
the chief. “How many brave you want, huh?”

“AS many as you can spare. You'll have to keep a few
fighting men here in order to guard the camp in case
another party of Sioux should show up.”

“Me tell um warriors,” said the chief.

“And say, chief,” called Wild Bill, “I haven’t a gun
with me. If you’ve got something in the shape of hard-
ware, I’d be obliged to you for the loan of it. I’ll give-
you the gun back again, and the best blanket in the post
trader’s store at Custer along with it.”

“Ugh!” returned the chief, “me git um gun for Lara-
fies

The chief’s summons caused an uproar in the village...
Squaws were screaming, dogs were barking, and the young
men, eager for the war trail and Sioux scalps, were
rushing for their ponies.

All was turmoil and confusion when Wild Bill stepped
out of the tepee and received a breech-loading rifle and
a supply of cartridges from the chief.

“Him my gun,’ “said Umbass-a-hoos fondly, and Ath
some apprehension; “treat um fine, Laramie. Bring um
back with blanket, heap fine blanket. i

You. ean gamble your moccasins on that, chief,” and
the Laramie man began stuffing the cartridges i in the fluted
rim of his belt.

One of the herd boys led up his horse, saddled and
bridled and ready for the foray.

“What are you going to do, Crooked Ben?” inquired
the Laramie man, as he swung ‘into his saddle.

“T shall remain here and wait for the sachem to come
back,” answered the hunchback.

“That will be best.”

A whoop from the outskirts of the camp signified that
the Crows were ready and waiting for their white leader.
Wild Bill spurred away to join them.

There were twenty of the braves, all young and full
of fight, and every man was well armed. Yellow Horse
was a noted war chief, and’ he and Wild Bill rode avway
together, the braves flickering after them in single file. .

7

”?

answered the hunch-

 
 

14 NEW. BUFFALO

AS

That ride to the box cafion- was quickly made, and the
first streamers of dawn were fluttering in the east as the
war ‘party rode from the valley into the mouth of the
cafion. ©

They had heard no sounds of firing, and they saw no
feathered heads along the cafion’s rim nor in the cafion’s
murky depths.

The party divided. One-half of the force, led by Yel-
low Horse, climbed to ‘the rim rock and looked for Sioux
on the walls, while the other half, led by Wild Bill,
“searched the cafion.

Neither party discovered the scout and _ his pards or
Indians, but those below and above found many traces
of the fight that had been waged.

What had become of Buffalo Bill, Nomad, and Ca-

yuse?
CHAPTER XT,
THE ESCAPE FROM THE CANON.
“Juberous, eh?” muttered old Nomad; “ye think ther
prospeck i3 juberous, Buffer?”
“Dubious, yes,’ answered the scout; “but not by any

means hopeless. The bucks are stretching ropes across
the cafion to fence us in and keep us from making a break
for liberty when night falls. But we'll make the break,
just the same.’

“Shore we will,” chuckled the old trapper, ‘‘an’ we'll
show them thar red whelps our heels, as slick as ye
please. When ye goin’ ter try ter make ‘ther break ?”

“We'll wait until the middle of the night, old pard.
If were quiet, in here, during the first part of the
‘night, the Sioux will think that we’re badly scared and
have given up hope. Then will come the time to show
them what we are made of.”

“Kerect.”

Little Cayuse again took up his post at the entrance
into the niche, and Buffalo Bill and old Nomad drew back
nearer the horses.

‘Dhet ‘thar Crooked Ben,” remarked the old trapper,

“reminds me.a heap o’ one o’ the fellers thet was mixed
up in our last scrimmage in Arizony.”

“Old Gaspard of the evil eye?” queried the scout.

“Ther same, Buffler.
Ben’s size an’ shape, ef my mem’ry sarves.’*

“This Crooked Ben,” said the scout, “is an altogether
different man. His form is bent and broken like, old
Gaspard’s, but Ben, if 2 read him right, has a good heart
and a clear conscience.’

“An’ a level head, barrin’ them didoes he cut up with
his flash light an’ his smoke signals.”

No overt act was committed against the pards by their
red foes. The Sioux could be heard moving around, and
occasionally calling to each other from rim to rim of the
cafion, but they were not using their weapons. Appar-
ently they felt sure of ultimately getting the pards, and
had settled down to a waiting game.

The night came and deepened. There,
of the cafion, it was doubly dark.

When the scout believed that sufficient time had elapsed,
he stepped toward the mouth of the niche.

“Whar ye goin’, Buffler?” asked Nomad, hearing the
scout move off.

“T am going out to reconnoiter,’ ‘whispered Buffalo
Bill. “Stand to your horses, Nick, and be ready to come
if you hear me call, or to ride at once if I should return
quietly.”

“Ye kin count on us, Buffler.”

“Wuh!” seconded Little Cayuse.

Very quietly the scout stepped past the end of the
little ridge; then, hugging the gloomy wall on the left,

he slowly made his way toward the barrier that had been
erected by the savages. :

He could see nothing in the gloom, but he kept his

' groping hand on the wall, and that served to guide him.
Suddenly he stopped. A guttural voice had hailed him.
It was a Sioux on guard, watching for a down-cafion
movement on the part of the whites.

in the bottom

 

*“Gaspard of the evil eye’ figured in No. 255 and No. 256
of the NEW BUFFALO BILL WEEKLY.

\ amination of the redskin.

Gaspard was erbout this hyar .

BILL WEEKLY.

‘Who comes?” were the words of the Indian, in the
Sioux tongue.

Evidently the redskin was in some doubt, and had an
idea that the approaching form might be that of one of
his own comrades. :

“A friend,” answered the scout, his hoarse voice giving
the Sioux a Sioux answer.

Clearly the challenger believed that the scout was a
friend, solely on the testimony of the language used.
Vaguely a blur of shadow rose up in: front of the scout.

“You see the hat weavers (whites) ?” asked the Sioux.
The scout’s answer was a forward spring, quick as a
lightning flash. His hands closed around the Indian’s
throat, and the astounded red man was hurled backward
to the cafion’s bed.

The only noise made by the clash was the sound of
the fall. Not so much as a gurgle escaped the ps of the
Sioux. The Indian’s head struck with cruel force on the
rocks, and his limbs went limp. With a heave of his
powerful body under the scout’s grip, he straightened

out and lay. quiet.

The scout did not pause to make a very ‘thorough eX-
Time was too precious.

He started on down the cafion, but had taken only a
few steps when he ran into the ropes. He groped over
them with his hands, and discovered that there were no
stones piled at the foot of-the wall.

The Sioux who had been on guard had evidently been

watching that end of the barricade, ready to give the
alarm when he discovered the pards venturing out.

The time to act had come, and there was a good pros-
pect of success if the pards acted quickly.

Jerking his knife from his belt, the scout slashed the
ropes, then turned and made his way hurriedly but noise--
lessly back. to his waiting pards.

“Any chance, Buffler?” queried Nomad.

“The best chance in the world,” answered the scout.
“Mount, pards. Each of you tail on to the end of my
reata, so we'won’t get separated.”

The scout, as soon as he had. climbed to his saddle,
uncoiled a few yards of rope and passed it backward.
Cayuse laid hold of it, and Nomad, bringing up the rear,
grasped the end.

When the scout started, his pards followed behind him,
following his general course and keeping together by
means of the reata.

They reached the rope-and-stone barricade, and the
scout continued to lead his pards safely on through the
breach.

Suddenly, when they were clear of the barricade, a loud
yell went up from the other side of the cafion.

There was another Indian on guard duty, and he had
heard the white men and their Piute comrade passing
down the defile. '

Instantly the tops of the cliffs awoke into fierce tur-
moil. Rifles began to volley downward, their sharp flash-
ing splitting the night redly.

It had evidently been arranged that, in case the pards
attempted escape, the guards below were to rush for
cover and leave the shooting to the Indians on the top of
the. walls.

Here fortune favored the three escaping riders. The
Sioux on the walls had the location of the barrier marked,
and they centered their fire upon it, thinking, no doubt,
that they would lay their enemies low while they were
attempting to force the barricade.

This misconception on the part of the red men ‘caused
most of their lead to fall behind the pards, who: were
well away from the barricade.

“Ride, now!” called the scout; “ride for your lives !”

The hoofs of the war horses made merry music on the
cafion stones. The rattling tattoo, echoing through the
cafion, reached the ears of the redskins “overhead and
\gave them a fair idea of the course of the pards’ flight.

On either wall a flaring torch appeared, carried “by a
feathered savage. Each of the torch bearers was running
along the rim rock in the direction the scout and his,
comrades were taking.

Suddenly. one of the Indians halted and hurled his
torch into the murky depths at his feet.

Simultaneously, the old trapper tried an up shot with
his riflé. The scream of the savage merged into the hiss-

 

 

 

 
Deere Seakeit ee Pe ee eet Oo BS ne

See et

 

 

 

 

 

“and pitch camp for the rest of the night.

NEW BUFFALO
ing of the falling torch. The glowing flame struck the
bottom of the cafion. directly in front of the scout.

Bear Paw, frightened, reared back..“The scout Aeoneed
the gallant black with the spurs, and he leaped the lick-
ing flames. to an accompaniment of more shots that
rained down all around him.

“Whoop-a-la!”. exulted the old trapper, carried away
wita the excitement of the moment. “We're. winnin’,
Buffler ; winnin’ with ground ter spare.”

“We're not out of the woods. yet,” the scout called
back over his shoulder. “Are you fellows all right?”

“Wuh!” answétred. Cayuse. ca

“Nary a scratch!” bellowed old Nomad. | “Et’s too
blame’ dark fer any fancy shootin’. Anyways, we're goin
so fast them thar bullets kain’t overtake us.’

By that time the pards were close to the gap that led
into the valley. There were sounds from the top of the
walls which indicated that the Sioux were mounting their
ponies and preparing for a night chase.

“Them pizen reds ain't got no stomach fer a dink
fight,” . called. the trapper. ."T. ain't. never seen a. red that
had. They’d ruther do their shootin’ by day, when they
kin see what they’re a-doin’. I reckon our ha’r. won’t hang
in no Sioux lodge fer quite er spell.”

They gained the valley. Here the earth was yielding
and the hoofbeats of their mounts fell more softly. The
light also was better, and the pards were able to see each
other.

“Cast off the rope,” called the. scout;
ther need for it. Now, after me, pards! 1

He coiled in the reata as he rode toward the low bone
of the valley. Putting his horse at the slope, he clam-
bered to the top, and over it.

Halting there, until Nomad and Cayuse could join

“we've no. fur-

him, he saw a blur of shadows spurring into the valley.

He laughed under his breath.

“What's ther fun, Buffler?” asked Nomad.

“Why,” answered the scout, “the Sioux are tearing
down into the valley, hoping to head us off as we come
out. of the cafion entrance. We've fooled them good.”

‘“Thet’s er way. we hev,’ chuckled the trapper.

“Heap fine work,” commented Little Cayuse.

“We'll ride back up the cafion, a stone’s throw from
the cliff’s edge,” said the scout. “After that, we'll. cross
over on the top of the blind wall, and gain the Little Big
Horn. Before I leave the cafion, though, I’d like to
make sure whether or not that man in “the gray shirt
is with these reds.”

“We'll scout fer thet whelp as we ride, Buffer,” re-
turned Nomad.

. He and Cayuse, trailing on at the scout’ s heels, followed
to a short distance from the cafion’s. brink, then turned
their horses toward the top of the blind wall.

CHAPTER XII.
THE MAN IN GRAY.

. The pards rounded the farther end of the cafion with-
out hearing or seeihg anything of their foes.

“They’re all at ther mouth o’ ther defile,” laughed the
trapper, “waitin’ fer us ter come out. Say, this hyar’s
rich, this is.. Thet war party acks er heap like et hadn’t
cut its milk teeth.”

“We'll ride on to the Little Big Horn,” said the scout,
We've secured
a good deal of information that will be valuable to the
colonel at Custer, but I’d like to find out something more
about this renegade White Wolf.”

They pointed their horses toward the river, and got
them started.

“White Wolf j is ther ombray thet’s causin’ all this ayer
ruction, ” declared: Nomad.

“Small doubt ofthat. As in several other cases of
incipient uprisings on the part of the reds, if we capture
the ‘man at. the back of the hostile movement, hostilities
will probably cease.’

“They ll drap muy pronto,’ agreed Nomad, “but et’s
one thing ter find thet renegade an’ another thing ter
ketch him. Findings ain’t allers ketchings, not by a hull
row o-dobes:’”.

They reached the bank ‘of the Little Big Horn, and dis-

Bil  OWREKLY. 15
mounted in a place where there was. good grazing and
excellent shelter.

The animals were picketed with short ‘topes, ‘close to
drink and forage, and the pards, with their riding gear?
dropped down close to them. Buffalo Bill raided his war
bag for rations, and they all cleaned up the slender sup-
ply in short order.

“Now for a few hours’ sleep,” said the scout. “Take
the first watch, Nick, and call me in a couple of hours.
I’ll relieve you then, and you can stretch out and snatch
your forty. winks. To-morrow may be a hard day, and
W2 want to be fit and ready for whatever. comes our
way.”
‘The: scout fell back, -with his. saddle for a pillow. :
ul wisht Pard Pawnee had been with us in thet. thar
cafion,’ Nomad remarked. “I'll gamble a blue stack he’d
hev enj’yed the experience. Pawnee allers did like a close
call, an’ then a tight squeak in the get-away. He'll be
sorry when he hears what’s. happened.”

“Pawnee ought to be at Custer by now,
scout.

Little Cayuse, curled up at the foot of a sycamore, was
already asleep. Buffalo Bill was not long in following
him into those hazy realms where clashes of red men and
whites are forgotten, and rest and refreshment come to the
tired body.

In due course he was roused by the npr.

“Hated ter do et, Buffler,” said Nomad; “ye was
snoozin’ so comfortable, but I’m havin’ the fiend’s own
time keepin’ awake. I’m afeard I might doze off, an’ then,
mebbeso, them reds ’u’d creep up on us.”

The scout took a look at the stars.

“You. have already let me sleep longer than I told
you to,” said he.

He got up and stepped to the horses. ‘The animals
were lying down. Returning, he passed his sleeping com-
rades and walked for several yards toward the open. .

There was a lulling ripple to the flow of the river, but
no other sounds, apart from Nomad’s snores, broke the
silence.

Buffalo Bill tramped a short beat, for a time, in order
to get himself fully awake, and then he sat down with
his pipe and tobacco.

No Indians. showed themselves. The scout speculated
a little as to what they were doing, and where they might
be carrying their search. He hoped in his heart that they
would not go to Lone Tree Hill.and make trouble for
Crooked Ben.

This thought concefning Crooked Ben aroused other
thoughts regardine Crooked Ben’s queer revelations con-
cerning Captain Hollis, Cummings, Blix, and the sachem.

The scout was half. inclined to the belief expressed by
Nomad, viz., that the sachem might be none other than
the deserter, Sergeant Blix.

But why ‘should Crooked Ben be luring Blix to Lone
Tree Hill? What could Crooked Ben hope to accom-
plish by such a move? And why, last but by no means
least, should Blix. heed the letter given to him on the
Sweetwater, and follow the foolish flashes and smoke
signals ?

It was conceivable, of course, that Blix might be in
that part of the. Indian country; and it was more than
possible that, being a deserter and possibly guilty. of
Eldridge’s death, he should be disguised. But the man
would be too wary to fall into any trap set-for him by
Crooked Ben.

While the scout turned these matters over in his mind,
day broke in the east, and the mellow glow of morning
hustled the night’s shadows westward.

The scout looked toward his pards and the horses.
Nomad and Cayuse, worn by their hard work of the last
three days, were still sound asleep, and the horses were
up again, and feeding,

Buffalo Bill made no move to arouse his companions.

“There'll be plenty to do,” he thought, “before this day
is over, and I'll give them ‘another hour of rest.”

When the morning had brightened, he got to his feet
and ascended a gentle slope that lay before him. It was
in his mind to make a survey from the higher point of
ground and see if there were any redskins-in evidence.

As his head and shoulders came level with the hill

2

answered the

 
16° NEW BUFFALO
crest, he suddenly muttered an exclamation and dropped
downward. Sk i oe ee

He had. not seen Indians, but he had seen a man in
a gray shirt riding his horse into a thicket a little way
from the foot of the slope, and there dismounting.

“Here’s unexpected luck!” muttered Buffalo Bill. “The
man in the gray shirt! And without a red at his back!”

Removing his hat, the scout crept back to the crest,
and peered over it cautiously. :

The fringe of brush ran all along the foot of the hill,
-and there was a sort of trail separating the brush from
wooded ground beyond.

~The man in the gray shirt was crouching in the bushes,
rifle in his hands. He was waiting for some one, that
seemed certain. /

Buffalo Bill allowed his eyes to travel along the dim
trail. Then, the next moment, he discovered the man for
whom.the ambushed marksman was lying in wait.

~The man was a tramp—a creature of rags and patches
from,his bursted shoes to his old slouch hat. Over his
shoulder was a stick, and from the end of the stick hung
a bundle tied up in a bandanna handkerchief.

“A. tramp!” muttered the scout; “and roaming these
dangerous hills without a weapon! The fellow must be
erazy. Something will happen here in a few minutes,
unless I can interfere.”

Carefully the scout picked up his hat and crawled over
the bare crest of the hill. Slipping down the slope, he
came presently into the bushes, then laid a course de-
signed to bring him close to the position occupied by
»the crouching man in the gray shirt.

Buffalo Bill was at the edge of the bushes, and peering
out into the trail at the moment the tramp came along
and the other leaped out in front of him.

_ $tartled, the tramp fell back, dropping his stick and his
handkerchief bundle.

- “Know me?” demanded the. man with the rifle, his
voice savage and murderous.

“T reckon I couldn’t ever forget what you’ve tried to
do to me,” answered the tramp, staring into the baleful
eyes of the man that faced him.

“What I’ve tried to do don’t count,’ growled the man
_ with the rifle. “It’s what I’m going to do now that tells
the tale—or, rather, prevents a tale from being told.” .

The tramp started, thrust his head forward, and peered
into the other’s face.

“What do you mean by that?” he demanded.

“If you can’t guess right off,’ was the reply, “you'll
never know.”

With that, the ruffian’s fist shot out and the tramp
threw up his hands, reeled backward, and dropped at full
length.

“Git up!” ordered the man in the gray shirt.

The tramp gasped and stirred weakly.

“Git up, I tell you!” said the other again, this time ac-
companying the words with an oath.

The tramp sat up, one hand to his forehead.

“You've got about one minute to live,” went on the
rufiian, taking his rifle in both hands; “just about one
minute. Want to say anything?”

This was enough for the scout. Before the ruffian
could bat an eye, he had stepped clear of the bushes
and leaped between the armed man and his intended
victim.

“That will do, stranger,” said Buffalo Bill; “this man
is unarmed, and I am here to look out for him.”

The man with the rifle stared as though he could
scarcely believe his eyes. The tramp gasped.

“Again,” murmured the tramp; “again, and by the: skin
of my teeth! I had just made up my mind that I was
face to face with my finish. Noble benefactor, I can never
be sufficiently grateful.”

“Who are you?” snapped the man in ‘the gray shirt,
recovering himself with an effort.

Cody is my name.”:. —

“Buffalo Bill!” Fire flashed in the eyes of the man
with the rifle, and he fell back a step.

“Buffalo Bill!” murmured the man who was sitting up
in the road. “I’m running up a big debt to the scout

and his. pards, and———”

There was a quick movement. on the scout’s part; quick,
certain, and violent. He had flung himself forward, and,

PIL WWEERLY.

just as the tramp had been struck he struck the tnan
in the gray shirt, downing him like a tenpin in a bowling
alley. ss

The rifle dropped. The stricken man gurgled and strug-
gled to his elbows. Vo

The scout caught up the rifle and turned the muzzle
of it on the man at his feet.

“[’m ready,” said the scout grimly, “and perhaps more
than willing, to give you a dose of your own medicine;
so lie where you are while you answer a question. This
rifle belongs to my pard Wild Bill Hickok. Where did
you get it?”

CHAPTER XI
THE SACHEM’S FRIEND.

The man on the ground glowered,| but remained silent.

“TI can tell you where he got the gun, esteemed res-
cuer,’ said the tramp.

“Where?” inquired the scout, keeping his eyes on the
man in front of him.

“He sent up a smoke signal, Buffalo Bill, from the
top of a rise. I had been following smoke signals by
day and flashes by night for quite a while, so I followed
that one. When I got to the top of a rise, I found Wild
Bill Hickok.” oN ee

“Wild Bill?”

“Yes. He told me had seen the signals from the
other side of the hill, suispected Indian tricks, and had
investigated. _When he crawled up the hill; he found that
man in the gray shirt drawing a bead on me with a
rifle. Wild Bill interfered with him. While they were
having a talk, an Indian—a Sioux—stole up behind Wild
Bill and clubbed him over the head. When Wild Bill
came to, the white renegade and the Sioux were streaking
it toward the sky line on their horses.”

“I wish now,” growled the white renegade, “that I had
put a bullet through Wild Bill!”

“Well for you, you scoundrel, that you did not!” flared
Buffalo Bill, ‘You are the man who led the Sioux
against Crooked Ben, tied and gagged the cripple, and
left him in his den to starve and die! Furthermore, you
are the renegade the Indians call White Wolf, and you
are stirring up the Sioux to take the warpath. You
thought you had me and my pards last night, but you
missed your play. I’ve got you, you cur, and I’ll hang
on to you until I land you in Fort Custer e

“Waal, sufferin’ bluebottles!” came the voice of old
Nomad, as he stepped clear of the bushes and. peered
at the exciting scene in the trail. “Buffler, why don’t ye
wake a feller up an’ let him hev er hand in ther excitin’
doin’s? The man in the gray shirt! White Wolf! Waugh,
but hyar’s luck! What was he tryin’ to do2”

“He had knocked down that tramp behind me, and
was getting ready to use his rifle on him,” answered the
scout.

“Blazes ter blazes an’ all hands ’round!
ain’t he? But ye’ve pulled his fangs.
knock anybody else down er :

Old Nomad halted suddenly, his eyes on the rifle in
the scout’s hands.

“Thet’s Wild Bill’s Scoldin’ Sairy!” he gulped. “Whar’d
ye git it; Buffler >?”

“The man in the gray shirt had it.”

Nomad turned glaring, vengeful eyes on White Wolf.

“Whar’d ye git et, ye onnery whelp2” he demanded,
his voice rising high with apprehension and anger.

“Steady, old pard,” put in the scout. “The tramp will
tell you all about that.”

Nomad turned to the tramp, and he told him just what
he had already told the scout.

_ Whar’s Wild Bill now?” asked the trapper, much re-
lieved. ;

“He took me to the Crow camp on the Little Big
Horn,” replied the tramp.

“Did Wild Bill get the written message I left for him?”
queried the scout.

She uid?) 02

“Why did you leave the camp?”

“I was nervous and unsettled. I wanted to find out
about the man who had sent me a_letter in a cow camp

Some savage,
IT. reckon he won't

 

 
ee ee eee

—

 

 

Saitairs, ter a fact,’

~ slope.

NEW. BUFFALO

on the Sweetwater, and had asked me to. follow. the flashes
and the smoke signals. This White Wolf had taken his
place, and I was so anxious, noble comrades, to learn the
truth about my real friends that I couldn’t sleep. So 1
got up, left the tepee and the Crow camp, and have been
travelng toward Custer. It was a surprise to meet this
man in the road. He has tried to get me several times.
In Cheyenne, Pawnee Bill came to my rescue——”

“Pawnee Bill?” echoed the pards.

“None other,” went on the tramp. “On that ‘hill, as
I've just told’ you, Wild Bill saved me; and here, in ‘this
trail, Buffalo Bill has come to my aid. My friend, I am
under obligations to you and your pards that I can never
repay !”

“You are the man who-calls himself the Sachem of
Saginaw ?” inquired the scout.®

“Even ‘so, valuéd friend.”

Old Nomad whistled.

“Buffer Bill an’ pards seem ter be mixin’ a lot in yore
said he.

“How did you know what I called myself, renowned
helper of the downtrodden?” asked the sachem.

“A man by the name of Crooked Ben told me,” the
scout answered.

“T do not know him.”

“Crooked Ben was the one who showed you the flashes
and the smoke signals and got that letter into your hands
on the Sweetwater.”

“Well, well! What does he want of me?”

“He wants to tell you something about Captain Hollis.”

The sachem showed traces of excitement.

“Hollis?” he repeated. “He has some information about
Captain Hollis?”

“About Hollis’ trouble.
has will clear Captain Hollis’ name in that deplorable
Eldridge affair. And

“Look out, Buffler!” shouted old Nomad suddenly.

With a quick turn of the body White Wolf had rolled
against Buffalo Bill’s feet. The scout was overset, but

 

when he came down he landed squarely on the man who

had thrown him.

There was a quick, sharp struggle. While it was going
on, Little Cayuse appeared on the top of the hill, tossing
his arms and yelling.

“Sioux! Sioux! Pa-e-has-ka, look out for Sioux!’

From a distance could be heard the tramp of running
hoofs, unshod hoofs thrumming a constantly increasing
staccato note in the trail.

“Up the hill with you, sachem!”. roared the scout.
“Quick, man! Here, Nick,” he finished, “help me with
this white renegade.”

White Wolf struggled furiously.

“My reds are coming!” he cried hoarsely. “They'll get
you—you can’t escape from them! You gave us the slip
in the cafion, last night, but now -

Goaded by necessity, but entirely without compunction,
old Nomad leaned over and struck the prisoner a heavy
blow.

“Waugh!” muttered the trapper.
fightin’, Buffler, an’ we-ain’t got no time ter waste.
his heels—I’ll take him by the shoulders.”

The rolling hoofs were dangerously close as the pards
hurried. away with their stunned prisoner. The woods
formed a screen, which prevented the scout or the trap-
per from seeing the approaching redskins, but their ears
convinced them of their perilous proximity.

As they toiled over the bare crest of the hill, a chorus
of shrill yells followed them.

“They're lookin’ at us, Buffler,” puffed old Nomad. “T
reckon we're goin’ ter hey ther fight o’ our lives.”

“Get into the timber,” said the scout, who. was packing
Wild Bill’s rifle as well as carrying half of the dazed
prisoner. “There’s some shelter in the timber,” he added,
“and we'll have the river at our back.” ‘

“We'll give them red whelps somethin’ ter think erbout,
anyways,” growled Nomad.

As rapidly as they could go, the pards descended the
Cayuse was already busy with the horses, remov-
ing the tethers and leading them away from the cleared
grazing ground and in among the trees.

 

“He does too much
Grab

Crooked Ben believes—how -
_ rightly I am at a loss to state—that the information he

’ cafiom like a lot of singed cats.

BILL. WEEKLY. _ 17

The sachem was at the edge of the timber, watching
the pards and keeping a lookout for the Sioux. —

A bullet fanned the air close to the scout’s face.

“Hurry, Buffalo Bill!” yelled the sachem excitedly.
“The reds are on top of the hill—they’re getting ready to
come down, And there’s a smother of them.”

A rifle cracked from the line of the woods.

“Tally one fer Leetle Cayuse!” panted Nomad, listen-
ing to the yell of pain that followed the shot. =

“Into the timber with you, sachem!” ordered the scout.
oeind val good- sized tree, and see that you keep behind
it. 9?

“Tf you’ve got a’ gun of your own, my friend,” returned
the sachem, “why not let me use that?”

“ll use this rifle. You go and tell Cayuse to let you
take mine.”

The sachem whirled and bolted for cover. The scout
and the trapper, staggering in among the trees, dropped
their burden.

“Look after the prisoner, Nick,” said Buffalo Bill, turn-
ing to take stock of the trouble in the rear. ~

To his amazement, the trouble was not materializing.
There were no red horsemen on the hill slope.

“Where are the Sioux, Cayuse?” called the scout.

“No sabe, Pa-e-has-ka,” answered the boy, in a puzzled
tone. “Me see um one Sioux. Bymeby he turn round,
ride back over hill.”

“Kain’t be ther whelps aire skeered out, kin it?” queried
Nomad.

“Something unusual has turned up to——

The scout was. interrupted by more yells from over
the hill. But they were not Indian yells.

Old Nomad gave a whoop.

“T’m er ‘“Piegan,” he cried, “ef ther sogers hevn’t
showed up! What d’ye think o’ thet? The ole man at
Custer must hev got wind o’ hosstyles, out in these parts,
an’——”

The words froze on the old trapper’s lips.
moment two riders appeared on the hilltop.
white men, and they were not soldiers.

“Thunder, an’ kerry one!” gasped Nomad.
Pawnee Bill, er I’m er Dutchman!”

“And Wild Bill!” added the scout.

It was a pleasant surprise, and Buffalo Bill and Little
Cayuse stepped from cover and shouted a greeting to
the two on the hills.

39

Just at that
They were

“Thar’s

CHAPTER XIV.
AN EXCITING REUNION. re ;

Nomad, with a rope brought by Little Cayuse, had rade
the white renegade secure. He now stepped out beside
Buffalo Bill and Cayuse and joined in the greeting they
were giving Wild Bill and Pawnee Bill.

The two pards spurred swiftly down the slope, reached
the timber line, and flung themselves from their horses.

“On deck, necarnis!” cried the prince of the bowie jubi-
lantly. a little late, pard,’ he added, “but better, late
than never.’

“Where are you from, Pawnee?”

“Custer, direct 1 landed there from Cheyenne, only
to find that the lot of you were scouting in the hills. [
was getting ready to start, when a Crow scout came in
with the news that there were hostile Sioux on the Little
Big Horn, in the vicinity of the box cafion. A detach-
ment of troopers was ordered out, and I rode with them.
Captain Holcomb is in charge.”

‘Where did you meet Wild Bill?” went on the scout.

“At the box cafion. He was there with a force of
Crows from Umbass-a-hoos’ camp

“An hombre who called himself Crooked Ben,” put in
the Laramie man, “blew into the Crow camp during the
night, and said you, Nomad, and Cayuse were bottled
up in the box cafion and needed help. Umbass-a-hoos
gave me a force of warriors, and we started for the
It was just breaking day
when we reached the place, but we couldn’t find anything
of you fellows nor of the hostiles. There were plenty
of signs, though, to tell of a hot scrimmage, and you
can gamble that I was which and t’other to guess how
the scrimmage had come out. The Crows were madder

 
18 NEW BUFFALO
than a bunch of hornets. It was the first chance they’d
had to annex real scalps in a month of blue moons, and
they hated to see the chance go glimmering.
~ “T gathered them together on top of the cafion wall,
and told them we'd go after the Sioux and. find out
whether they had made Pa-e-has-ka and pards prisoners
or not. If the Pah-sap-pah bucks had done that, 1 prom-
ised the Crows five Sioux scalps all around.
- “We started trailing, and hadn’t been at it for more
than an hour when. we tan into Holcomb, Pawnee Bill,
and the outfit from thé fort. They were also trailing,
and our trails had come together. There was a happy
reunion between Pawnee and me, and I took my Crows
and joined the troopers. ‘The trail led us toward the
river, and, before we had gone very far, we heard the
regular Sioux yell, and saw you and Nomad climb over
the top of that hill, carrying some one between you. Two
minutes’ more and the Crows had broken loose. They’
had ‘seen the Sioux, and were at them like a lot of angry
bées. “Holcomb and his soldiers put spurs to their horses,
and, while they and the Crows gave pursuit, Pawnee and
I rode over here to have a look at you. Who was that
you were carrying?”

“Come in here and see him,”
ing the way into the timber.

“He’s not a new one on me,’ averred Pawnee. Bill,
the instant his glance had rested on the prisoner.

“Nor on me, either,” added Wild Bill grimly.

“I saw him in Cheyenne,” said the bowie man.

answered the scout, lead-

“And. we had our first meeting on a hogback. south of -

Umbass- a-hoos’ village,” observed the man from Lara-
mie.

“IT kept him from knifing a tramp,”
of the bowie.

“And I kept him from shooting a tramp, Gordon,”
laughed the Laramie man.

_ “Where’s the tramp now?” Pawnee. Bill inquired.
“That's the question I. was just. asking myself,” said
the scout. “The Sachem of Saginaw was here not more
than five minutes ago. Have you seen him, Cayuse?”

“Nah,” answered the Piute.

“When did you see him last, Nomad: >» asked the scout.
“Jest afore I begun tyin’ up this hyar pizen varmint,”
a6 the trapper nudged White Wolf with the toe of his

OOL.:

The scout threw back his head, made a trumpet of his
hands, and began shouting for the sachem.

“There was no answer to the shouts, and the sachem
did not appear.

“Vl bet er bushel o’ dinero,” remarked the trapper,
“thet ther sachem has ducked.’

“Tl bet another bushel the same way,” said Wild Bill,
“He ducked out the ‘Crow tepee without rhyme or rea-
son, just the same as he’s ducked out of here.”

“Look for him, pards,”’ said the scout. “He can’t be
very far away.”

But a search of the timber failed to reveal the where-
abouts of the missing sachem.

The scout was disappointed, but more on. Crooked
Ben’s account than his own. Who the man was, or why
Crooked Ben wanted him, the scout could not. under-
stand. The sachem seemed a little wrong in the head,
and, apart from his importance to Crooked “Ben, the scout
was loath to have the man loose in that part of the coun-
“try at such a time.

“He had this rifle, Wild Bill,” said the scout, picking
up the weapon from the ground near White Wolf, “and
he must have left that behind him when he went.”

“T’m obliged to him for that, anyhow,” returned the
Laramie man. “It’s my old Gatling, and I’d given up
hopes of ever laying hands on -it again.”

“White Wolf: had it at the time he was captured,” the
scout explained.

“Then he must have the rest of my arsenal,” said Wild
Bill, and bent down to extract his six-shooters from
White Wolf's belt.

The prisoner, his eyes gleaming fiercely, was watching
the scout and his pards keenly.

“Why have you tried so many times to send the Sachem
of Saginaw over the Divide 2” demanded the scout.

“That's my business,” snarled the prisoner,

went. on the prince

“He's. mighty particular about that business ie his,

captain added grimly, *

 

BILL WEEKLY.

Pard Cody,” put in Wild Bill. “He told me the same

thing, up on the top of that hogback, when he was try-

ing to get a shot at the sachem.” /
“His “principal business,” remarked Pawnee Bill,

“oems
to be that of an assassin.’

“And he’s the most contemptible kind of a would-be...

killer,” went on the Laramie man. “He shoots from
ambush, and hasn’t the nerve to face his man. in the
open.”

“His knavery goes deeper, pards,” declared the scout;
“for, if I’m not mistaken, he’s the renegade who has been
spurring the Sioux on to make trouble for the whites.”

“He ‘ort ter be hung,” grunted Nomad angrily.  _

Just at that juncture a horseman came spurring into
the timber. .He drew rein close to the scout.

“Ah, Holcomb!” exclaimed the scout; “I’m glad to see
you. >

“Ther way ye drapped in on us a while back, cap’n,’
grinned old Nomad, “was some refreshin’.”
5 oe luck with the Sioux, captain?” asked Pawnee
il

“Dropped four and captured six,” reported the captain,
“and the Crows had the four Sioux scalps before I could
interfere with their operations. The rest of the outfit got
away.”

‘What. have you done with the six prisoners: PY

“Sent ’em on to Custer. T , was afraid to have them
around where the Crows were.”

“We've got another. prisoner here,’ said the scout,
“who might have been sent to the post with the Sioux.”

Heat white man, eh?” queried the captain, looking down
at the bound man on the ground.

The prjsoner evaded the captain’s glance and turned
his head.

“He’s the firebrand, Holcomb,” said the scout.

“What?” repeated the captain, with freshened interest;
“not White Wolf?”

“The same?

“By Jove, Cody, but ie is a good day’s work!”

The captain dropped out of his saddle and’ stenped

closer to the prisoner’ s side.

“Turn your head,” he ordered, “so I can see your face.
a ae you trying to keep your face turned, White

Oo fi 99 i

As the prisoner seemed indisposed to obey the order,
Wild Bill dropped down on his knees and turned his head
for him.

Holcomb seemed startled. He drew a deep Hoe cast
an amazed look at the scout, then bent over again for a
closer look.

“I can’t be mistaken!” “IT know. this
man, Cody.”

“You do?” returned the scout. ‘‘Who is he?”

Blix” an ex-sergeant and a deserter. His name> is

ix 99

“Snappin’ namnteree gasped old Nomad.

“Great Scott!” muttered the scout. ‘“You’re-sure of that,
are you, Holcomb?”

“It’s impossible for me to be mistaken.
to the fort.in short order.

he exclaimed.

We'll get him
He'll be welcomed there,” the
‘with open arms.’

He lifted his voice and called to some of his men, milb
were tightening girths and looking after their horses and
arms*on the slope of the hill. Three men mounted and
came riding swiftly into the timber.

Bi “Sergeant,” said Holcomb, “here’s an old comrade,
ix=
“Divil a bit,” growled the weather-worn eae “he’s

no comrade of mine, th’ bloomin’ desarter. With. yer

leave, cap’n, f’r so expressin’ myself.”

“He’s the fellow who’s been posing as White Wolf,
sergeant.”

“What d’ye know about that!”

“Take him in charge, you and the two men with, you,
and see that he gets sately to Custer,”

ub adoniriastry:

The sergeant and his two ‘men Sees and the
prisoner was roped to the sergeant’s horse, back of the

 

saddle,

‘When do we ride, cap’n?” the sergeant a
“Now. Sound boots and saddle, and we'll: be off.” .
The captain swung to the back of his horse, and the

 

 

 

 
~— 7

 

 

NEW BUFFALO

pards got their own mounts under gear and rode to the
top of the hill.

The blue file of troopers was moving briskly off along
the trail. Buffalo Bill, and those! with him, halted for a
word with Yellow Horse and the Crows.

“Tell Umbass-a-hoos,” said the scout, “to send Crooked
Ben to Custer. You tell Crooked Ben that Buffalo Bill
wants to palaver with him at the post. Understand?”

“Woh!” grunted Yellow Horse.

The war chief was in good spirits, for he had got one
of the four Siouxs’ scalps.

“Also,” went on the scout, “tell Umbass-a-hoos to fur-
nish Crooked Ben with a pony and an escort, and that
Buffalo Bill will pay him for it.”

“Wah!”

“Take this gun back to Umbass-a- -hoos,” put in Wild
Bill, handing over the chief’s rifle, “and tell him that
Laramie will have the finest blanket at the post trader’s
store to send back by the escort.”

“All same,” said Yellow Horse.

The Crows turned their ponies toward Umbass-a-hoos’
camp and started off at a-gallop, the four bucks with the
scalps juggling the tokens in the air as they rode and
singing their songs of victory.

While he and his pards were on the way to overtake
the troopers, the scout suddenly remembered the horse
which he had seen White Wolf secure among the bushes.
He went to the place to get the animal, but discovered

’ that it had vanished.

“Some of the Sioux bucks who got away must have
taken the horse,” he thought, as he and his pards went
pounding along the frail.

CHAPTER XV.
A CHAT WITH THE COLONEL.

Not until the morning following the return of the de-
tachment’ and the prisoners to the post did Buffalo Bill
and his pards have an interview with thé colonel. Colonel
Griggs sent for them, and the pards, who had been loung-
ing on Holcomb’s veranda, accompanied the orderly to
the colonel’s office.

“You got in so late last night, Cody,” said the colonel,
wtih a genial smile, “that I didn’t have a chance to talk
with you. This is my first opportunity, and I want to
congratulate you and your pards upon breaking the back-
bone of this Sioux rebellion.”

“Do you think it amounts to that, colonel?” asked the
scout.

“I’m positive it does. You have captured White Wolf,
and it’s conceded, all around the Indian country, that
White Wolf was the only one who could get the Sioux
started. It reminds me a good deal of that old a

of yours where you captured Lightning That Strikes,

half-breed trouble maker who tried to do just what White
Wolf has been trying. It was a good piece of work.
What makes it all the better is that White Wolf is none
other than Abraham Blix, an ex-sergeant at this post and

a deserter.”

“The prisoner admits that he is Blix?”

“He does, but it would make small difference if he
didn’t. It is easy to recognize the fellow.”

“Why did he desert?”

“He had some trouble with Captain Hollis and Lieu-
tenant Eldridge, months ago, and was. afraid that he was
going to have the stripes stripped off his sleeves.”

“Just a moment, colonel. He didn’t desert until after
Eldridge was shot and Hollis had escaped from the post,
did he?” f
ay SIN ote

“Then what had he to fear from Eldridge and Hollis?
The time for him to have deserted, on that plea, was be-
fore the unfortunate affair here, ir’ which Eldridge lost
his life.”

The colonel scowled at the tip of-his cigar.

“You appear to have the right end of that particular
argument, Cody,” said he. “I’m only telling you what
Bhx told. me!

“Did Blix tell you anything else?”

“He admitted being White Wolf, and said he had gone

BILL) WEEKLY. oh 19

among the Sioux to make all the trouble for the soldiers
that he could. That’s about all.”

“He didn’t say anything about Captain Hollis?”

The colonel opened his eyes wide and stared at the .

’ scout.

“What could he have to say about Hollis?” he. asia.

“We know what sort of a man Blix is,” said the scout.-
“He has a venomous disposition, and does not hesitate to —
shoot, and to shoot-to: kill, if he thinks he has anything
to gain. Now a

The orderly appeared in the doorway, his eyes bulging
with excitement.

“Two men to see you, colonel,’ he announced, salut-
ing.

‘“T’m busy,” said the colonel shortly.

“But they’re very anxious, sir, and they say it’s a mat-
ter of great importance.”

“We'll go, colonel,” said the scout,
with you another time.”

“Beg pardon, sir,’ went on the orderly, “but the men
who ask to see the colonel want the scout and his pards
to stay.”

“Who are they?” doers the colonel.

“A cripple by the name of Crooked Ben

“IT know that poor fellow!”

“And Captain Hollis.”

The colonel stared at the orderly as though paralyzed.

“What's that, sir?” he asked sharply.

“Captain Hollis, colonel,” repeated the orderly.

“Why, there’s no Captain Hollis any more!”

“This man is the captain, sir,’ declared the orderly,
“and [ll swear to it.”

The colonel bounded out of his chair.

“Send him in,” he ordered. a he’s an impostor, we'll
at least discover what he’s up to.”

Crooked Ben entered the room, and after him came a
trim figure in a captain’s uniform. Buffalo Bill and his
pards peered into the smiling face of Crooked Ben, and
then their wondering eyes turned upon the captain. They
could not remember ever having seen the captain before.

The colonel, still on his feet, looked at the captain as
though at some one returned from the grave.

“Hollis!” he breathed. “By gad!”

The captain saluted.
said Hollis, “I am indeed the

_“Esteemed commander,”
missing captain. Otherwise,’ he added, turning gravely
“the Sachem of Sagi-

 

“and finish our chat

 

toward the scout and his pards,
naw.”

“Waugh!” growled Nomad.

“By gorry!” gulped the man from Laramie.

“On-she-ma-da!” exclaimed the bowie man.

The scout, although as profoundly surprised as any of
his pards, held his peace.

A puzzled look had crossed the colonel’s face.

“You look like Hollis, all right,” said he, studying the
captain, “but yet there is something about the way you
taik that isn’t like Hollis, after all.”

Crooked Ben pushed forward.

“Colonel,” said he, “what Captain Hollis has been
through, during the months when he has been falsely
accused of a grievous crime, would be enough to make
any man a little different up here’—he tapped his fore-
head—“don’t you think?”

“He must be different up there,”
“or he’d never have jcome back here. He knows what to
expect. Orderly:

“Just a moment, colonel,” said Crooked Ben. “When
I am through talking you won’t want to send Captain
Hollis to the guardhouse. Let him speak first, and then
let me put in a few words. Will you question him,
colonel ?”

The colonel sat down and mopped his forehead with a
handkerchief.

“Hollis,” said he, “where have you been?”

“IT have been trying to find the man who killed Lieu-
tenant Eldridge, worthy colonel,” was the answer.

oie you had looked in the glass,” returned the colonel
dryly. “you'd have found him.”

“T have been all around this part of the country,” went
on Hollis: “I was no better than a tramp; in fact, J
claimed to be a tramp. I was looking, looking, looking
for evidence.”

growled the colonel,

 

 
20 | NEW BUFFALO

“How did you escape from the guardhouse?” went on
the colonel, studying Hollis curiously.

“T was helped.”

Wrath suffused the colonel’s face. !

“By whom?” he thundered. “Is there any man at this
post who would so far forget his duty as to help you to
escape from justice?”

“The man who helped me is not here now, colonel,”
said Hollis, with a dull smile. “As soon as I was clear of
the post, he told me to cut short my disgrace—and he
pushed a revolver into my hand. I threw away the re-
volver, left my uniform with a woman at the post trader’s
who was sorry for me, took some cast-off clothing she
found, put it on, and became a tramp. All over Montana
and Wyoming I have roamed, hunting, hunting, hunting
for evidence. At last I got a letter at a cow camp on the
Sweetwater——”

Here the captain detailed. substantially what had hap-
pened to him from the time he had encountered Pawnee
Bill in Cheyenne.

“When I was with Buffalo Bill and Nomad,’ he went
on, “and-when I heard that the soldiers were coming, I
was filled with alarm, and ran away. I found a horse in
the brush by the trail—I have learned since that it was
White Wolf’s horse—and I rode toward Umbass-a-hoos’
village. When I reached there, I found an unknown
friend.”
zi He turned and laid his hand on Crooked Ben’s shoul-

er,

“Umbass-a-hoos, following a request from Buffalo Bill,
furnished us with an extra horse and a Crow escort and
sent us to the post. I had no fear of coming after I
had talked with Crooked Ben. At the post trader’s I got
my uniform. A bath and a shave, and then, properly
clothed, I came on here.”

There was something pathetic about Captain Hollis.
He was a fine-looking officer, but it was plain that the
blow which had brought him into disgrace had struck
deep into his soul. His mind had been somewhat affected
through much brooding over the dishonor that had been
heaped upon. him.

“Now,” said Crooked Ben, “let me speak, colonel.”

Then, substantially as he had already recounted the
story to the scout and Nomad, he told of the destruction
of the wagon train and of the confession made by Cum-
mings. He produced the written confession signed by
Cummings, and then, cleverly, step by step, he showed the
colonel how Blix had shot Eldridge and had contrived to
place the blame on Hollis.

The colonel was not convinced. The evidence was in--
teresting, and reopened the whole case greatly in Hollis’
favor, but the evidencé was not conclusive. At that mo-
ment, when Crooked Ben was peering into the colonel’s
face for some expression of the sentiment uppermost in
his soul, the orderly presented himself breathlessly.

“Don’t bother us now,” called the colonel.

“Pardon me, sir, but this is important,” insisted the
orderly. “Blix, the prisoner, has taken poison of some
kind and is dying in the guardhouse. The doctor says
there’s no hope for ‘him. | He wants to see the colonel.”

Here, indeed, was a tragic sequel to the affair of Hollis
and Eldridge. The colonel jumped out of his chair.

“Come on,” he called, “all of you.” He paused a mo-
ment in the outer office. “Adjutant,” he went on, “bring
pen, ink, and paper and come over to the guardhouse.
Hurry, man!”

CHAPTER XVI.
A SORRY END.

It was a strange scene there in the guardhouse. The
colonel stood beside a cot, on which lay Abraham Blix
tossing with pain and slowly sinking into the Valley of the
Shadow, On the other side of the cot sat the adjutant
taking down his story as he told it. A little to one side
_ stood a guard, and around the foot of the cot were clus-
tered the three Bills, old Nomad, Crooked Ben, and Cap-
tain Hollis.

“Yes, I shot Eldridge,” ran the burden of the pris-
_ oner’s confession. “I hated him, and I hated Hollis. They

had reprimanded me for failure to do my duty at stables
and I wanted a chance to play even with both of them. I

iH

BILL WEEKLY.

heard about their quarrel over the cards in the offers’
mess. Already I had secured one of Hollis’ revolvers,
and I put it up with Cummings to get Hollis over necr
Eldridge’s ‘quarters. I tapped on the lieutenant’s witdoy,
then I stepped back and waited.

parade ground. Then I fired, and threw the revolver
under Eldridge’s window. I saw the lieutenant siagger
and drop limp across the sill. After that, I slid around
the rear of officers’ row, and got back to barracks.

“Cummings disappeared. Everything went off as I had
planned. I saw Hollis confronted with the evidence of
his. crime and thrust into the guardhouse. His escape
worried me. I was afraid he would find Cummings and
get Cummings to talk. That is why I deserted. | went
into the Indian country, and made friends with the Sioux.
It was I who steered a party of hostiles against that
wagon train where Cummings was driving one of the
wagons. I breathed freer when I knew Cummings was
out of the way, but I was still worried about Hollis.

“T drifted around the Indian country, and _ finally
spotted Hollis in Cheyenne. It was in the Tivoli. Hollis
was dressed like a tramp, but I knew him. He was thrown
out of the Tivoli, and I tried to knife him.”

“He tried to put me out of the way twice before that,”
muttered Hollis to Buffalo Bill. “He forgets.”

“T followed Hollis like a hound when he left Chey-
enne. I had seen flashes of light guiding him and smoke
clouds showing him the way. They bothered me. When
he traveled north with the gold hunters, I rode on ahead,
and saw the hunchback who was back of the signals. |
chased him, bound him hand and foot, and left him in
his hole in the rocks; then, with one Sioux, I went back
and started the smoke signals myself. I wanted to ‘get’
one JAS long as he was alive I was afraid of him.

Very quietly the words died in the man’s throat. His
head fell back and his eyes closed. The post doctor
stepped forward from the other side of the room, touched

_ his breast, felt his pulse, then pulled a blankét over his

face.

“This is the end, colonel,”. said he.

“Where did he get the poison?” asked the colonel.

“He had soaked his handkerchief in it, and then dried
the handkerchief. All he had to do was to ask for a drink
of water and then wet the handkerchief and squeeze it
out in the cup. He was prepared, it seems, for whatever
happened to him. He was bound, by hook or crook, to
cheat the cause of justice.”

“But he has not,” said the colonel solemnly, “for his
confession clears of all stain the name and fame of Cap-
tain Hollis,”

“There was some good in his taking off, then,” said
the doctor. “Hollis, let me congratulate you.”

* * kK * ok * Ge

The ranks of the “T-told-you-so” party were greatly
added to when the substance of the prisoner’s confession
spread over the post.

In officers’ row and in the barracks every one was Say-

ing that he had never believed Hollis guilty of Eldridge’s
taking off.

But what had all this in it that could benefit the man
Mae reason had been impaired by an unjust accusa-
ion?

“He will get over that flighty trend after a while,”
said the colonel hopefully. “When he is among the boys
at the post for a few weeks, Hollis will be himself again.

ark my words,”

Everybody hoped so, and everybody was doing every-
thing he could to be nice to the captain, The captain
seemed to appreciate it, but he had no desire for any-
body’s society save that of Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill, Pawnee
Bill, and Crooked Ben.. He never tited of being with the
Bills or with the hunchback,

“They were my friends when I was all but friendless,
worthy commander,” he said to the colonel, “and 1 owe
them more than I can ever repay.”

The escort of Crows that had brought Hollis and
Crooked Ben to the post was sent back with a fine blan-

ket for the chief f 2 L a
from Buffalo Bill. rom Wild Bill and with some g

ce

 

As the window wert up, |
I could see Cummings and Hollis coming across the |

st
h

Ooo 290 aman

pet A et Oh OD
 
    
 

he

is

~ AS ea

Bere nets

Wee SOO

 

   

Crooked Ben, as soon as he could get away from Hollis,
prepared to return to his cavern at Lone Tree Hill.

The scout tried to persuade him not to return to the
place, but the hunchback merely shook his head.

“Then,” said the scout, “if you’re bound to go, take
White Wolf’s horse. The renegade stole your own mount,
and it’s only right that you should take the animal.”

“T will, with gratitude,’ answered Crooked Ben. “If
you're ever out Lone Tree Hill way again, Buffalo Bill,
drop in and’ see me—no matter whether I have the flag
hoisted or not.”

“Be sure of that,’ returned the scout heartily.

That night, on Holcomb’s porch, Holcomb and the three
Bills were discussing the hunchback.

“He’s as daft in one way as Hollis is in another,”
averred Holcomb.

“There’s a method in his madness,” said Pawnee Bill.

“What method was there in that signal business?”

“Crooked Ben was afraid of Blix,” put in Wild Bill.

“He didn’t know that Blix was the man in the gray

shirt,” answered Holcomb. “And, if he didn’t know that,

how could he possibly have been afraid of Blix?”

“He might have feared , Blix on general principles,”
spoke up: the scout. “Crooked Ben knew that Blix had
deserted, and he may even have known that he was in
the Indian country. After Cummings’ confession, Ben
was well aware that, if Hollis was alive, Blix would be
afraid of him. In the circumstances, quite naturally Blix
would have tried to get Hollis out of the way, because
only by so doing could Blix feel sure that no noose would
ever go around his own.neck.”

“Well,” said Holcomb, ‘maybe there was method in that
signal work, but it all seems sort of useless to me.
A personal’ meeting and a dozen words on the Sweet-
water would have settled the matter, and Hollis and
Crooked Ben could have made their way to the Little Big
Horn without any trouble whatever.”

“No man ever goes about any important business mat-
ter exactly the same as does another man,” said the scout.
“Take that into consideration, Holcomb, when you're judg-
ing Crooked Ben.”

“And also take into consideration,” added Wild Bill -

warmly, “that Crooked Ben took grave risks in befriend-
ing Hollis, and that only a genefous nature prompted him
to do what he did.”

“He’s a good fellow, that Crooked Ben,’ said Holcomb.

“Check,” said Pawnee Bill.

“Pard Cody,” remarked the Laramie man, “has lost a
tramp pard.” 2

“But Cody and all of you,” returned Holcomb, “have
gained the lifelong friendship of Captain Hollis.”

THE END,

The Bills and their pards are having busy work nowa-

‘days. Indians, good and bad, are keeping’ them on the

jump, without much time for resting; and a few white
men, who try to keep pace with the Indians in treachery
and all sorts of bad business, add to the excitement, and
keep everybody guessing most of the time. Next week
you will get a few new thrills in “Buffalo Bill on the
Upper Missouri; or, Pawnee Bill’s Pick-up,” as well as

another installment of the Ted Strong serial and many .

interesting articles, in No. 258, out August 18th.

 

“PROPS” GETS SQUARE WITH STAR.

Otis Skinner says that Joseph Jefferson once told him
that during his long stage career he had never been asso-
ciated with any one who showed undue familiarity with
him save one individual, a man named Bagley, who was
property man in the comedian’s company. :

Finally the familiarity of the property man increased
beyond the limit of endurance, and he was summarily
discharged—just before the opening of Jefferson’s engage-
ment in Baltimore one year. : y

That night Bagley got exceedingly tipsy. Paying his
way into the theater, he repaired to the gallery to see his
old employer enact “Rip Van Winkle.” The action had
reached the point where the angry Gretchen had just

y

NEW BUFFALO

BILE’ WEERTY. | ot

driven poor, destitute Rip. from the cottage, and Rip
turns, and, with a world of pathos, asks: “Then I have
no interest in the house?’

The theater was deathly still, the audience half in
tears, when Bagley’s cracked voice rose in response:
ae eighty per cent, Joe, old boy; only eighty per
cent!”

LOST IN THE DESERT:
Or, Merciful Toward His Enemy
By EDWARD C. TAYLOR.

(This interesting story began in New BuFFraLo BILL WEEKLY
No. 251. If you have not read the preceding chapters, get the
back numbers which you have missed from’ your news dealer.
If he cannot supply you with them the publishers will do so.)

CHAPTER XIV.
BUD MORGAN'S TEMPTATION.

A heavy silence had come upon the two men thus left
alone in the middle of Death Valley. They were nearly a

‘hundred miles from the nearest water. Bud had tasted

no water that day, and Speed very little. The horse,
becoming crazed by eating the loco weed, had taken
all their supply away with him. They -were left alone
to perish, and to pgrish in the most horrible manner—
to perish of thirst. —

As they stood there in silence, watching the whirling
spirals of dust that the hot wind sent chasing one another
across the valley, they were both thinking the same
thing. Both men were experienced plainsmen, both had
spent their lives in the open, and both knew well, better
than any Easterner can know, just what was before them,
how hopeless their case was.

Both had ‘listened to descriptions of the agonies of
thirst, and now all these stories that they had heard re-
lated, these tales of horrible deaths in the country of
lost borders, told about blazing camp fires by lounging
cattlemen, came into their minds. Neither spoke for a
long time. ;

For a wonder, Speed seemed to have recovered from
the fit of insanity that had come upon him. His sober
senses had returned. It might have been better, perhaps,
had he remained crazy, for now he was able to realize
fully the horror of his position and the awful death
that he must face. His face had become gray, the
color of ashes; deep lines had appeared in it, and he looked
years older than the man who had been talking to the
condtictor on the Boulder train. There was no fight left
in him now, and his eyes were dull and lifeless. He
sank down onthe sand, but Bud remained standing, al-
though he was forced to drop his hand, as he was still
fettered to his captive.

Speed was the first to break the silence. ;

“Set me free from this cursed thing!’ he said. ‘““There’s
no need to chain me now. I’m caught fast enough with-
out that. And so are you. There’s no escape from Death
Valley.”

Bud looked down at him for a moment in silence.

“No,” he said. “I cart set you free. I’ve lost the
key.”

Speed sprang suddenly to his feet, his eyes blazing.
”*Do you think you can hold me chained up to you this
way?” ke cried. “Tl throttle you! [Il beat your brains
out!”

Speed was raising his hand to strike the flaxen-haired
cowboy, but his hand stopped suddenly, and he drew
back as. far as the fetters would: allow, for he was
looking into the muzzle of the big revolver which Bud
still held in his right hand.

“You won't do anything of the sort,” said Bud calmly.
“T still have the drop on you.”

“T’m not afraid of your killing me,” said Speed; “I’m
to die of thirst, anyway. Shooting’s a heap easier.”

“TJ won’t kill you,” said Bud. “Ill keep you alive as
long as I can. While there’s life there’s hope. There’s

  
22 NEW BUFFALO

the faintest chance in the world of some one getting here
after us.” :

Speed burst into a roar of harsh, bitter laughter.

“Qh, you make me tired!” he said. “Hope! Chance!
You know as well as I do that there’s no hope for either
of us. You know that no one ever enters this cursed
place. Why not shoot me and then shoot yourself?
That’s an easier death. That’s better than dying of
thirst.”

“I won’t do that,” said Bud slowly and solemnly; “I’m
no murderer, if you’re one. I’ve done some things in my
life, I guess, thet was kinder wrong. I’ve drunk too much
sometimes, an’ I’ve been reckless gamblin’, an’ I reckon
as how I’ve talked profane lots o’ times, an’ been sorter
wuthless generally». I was always a no-account feller, not
like poor Tom. But there’s some things I never done.
One was to show the white feather. I’ve always been
ready ter face ther music, an’ I’m ready to face it now.
I never was a coward, an’ I’m goin’ ter stay gritty till
the end of the game. It’s a coward’s act ter commit sui-
cide while there’s ther faintest chance of life, an’ I’m not
that kind.”

“Then [’ll-kill you!” shouted Speed, and he sprang upon
the cowboy.

He reeled back, blinded with the flash and smoke of
the revolver, and yelling with pain. Bud had pulled the
trigger and sent a bullet through his arm.

It was broken near the elbow, and now hung limp and
helpless by his side.

“Yer got what yer was looking fer!” said Bud sternly.
“Yer a miserable coward. Yer life isn’t wuth much,
but I'll not kill ye. Not thet I dom’t hate an’ despise
ye. But I’m no murderer, an’ I’ve give my word not ter
kill ye.”

Speed’s courage had left him utterly. He was now
whimpering with the pain of his wound like a child. He
began to plead with Bud to put him out of his pain, but
the cowboy shook his head and sternly bade him be
quiet.

“Try an’ hey some spunk erbout ye,” he said; “try
an’ die\game. If there’s any heart in yer big, cowardly
body, show thet ye hev some courage now, anyways.”

Speed paid no attention, but continued to whimper
and beg to be killed, repeating the same request over and
over again. Bud paid no further attention to him. Both

_were sitting on the ground now, and Speed, after a while,
fell into a dull silence.

The sun had just touched the tops of the hills, and the
two watched it as it slowly sank. It was big and yellow
now, and Bud watched it slip down and down by slow,
imperceptible degrees behind the hills.. He felt that he
would probably never see another sunset, and all the
events of his past life came before him like a series of
pictures. He remembered his boyhood as he sat there,
saw himself working for his uncle, doing chores on a
farm in Vermont, and remembered the wild longing that
had filled his heart to get away from his surroundings
and reach the golden West that he had read so much
about and pictured so often in his dreams. He remem-
bered his first coming West as a mere boy, his working
as a cook for a cattle outfit, his first attempts as a cow-
boy, and later on his work on various ranches throughout
the West. Then, later on, he thought of his first meet-
ing with Ted Strong, up at Crook City, and his happy
days at the Black Mountain Ranch in Dakota, and, later
on, in Texas.

“I must bid good-by to all that now,” he thought;
“here’s an end of everything.”

He glanced at the man chained to his wrist. Dark-
ness had come on now, and Speed had fallen asleep. Be-
hind Bud, in the east, the moon was rising in its full
splendor and the desert was white and ghostlike under
her rays.

Bud cast another look at Jim Speed. The outlaw was
sleeping now. Bud watched him in silence for a while.
He felt his throat dry and parched with the thirst, but
it was a great deal cooler, almost cold now, and he did
not suffer as he had before the sun had set. Bud was
thinking of the gambling den in Abilene where Speed
had shot down his brother. A sterner look came into
his eyes, and his. jaw set hard as he glanced at the sleep-

 

BILL WEEKLY.

ing murderer. His nostrils dilated, and his hand gripped
tighter the revolver he still held in it. ¢

Suddenly a new light came into his eyes. He thought
at that moment of a spot about twenty miles farther on
in Death Valley where he had heard one might find
water by digging for it. He glanced at Speed. If he
were alone he might make the journey. In the struggle
the key to the handcuffs had dropped and been lost in
the sand. Bud raised the revolver in his hand, still gaz-
ing intently at his prisoner.

“He shot my brother,” he muttered; “I have-a right
to take his life. If I kill him and leave him here, | may
escape. I have a chance for my life. Chained to him
I have no chance. We must both die of thirst. I have
him covered now. One chamber of this revolver is still
loaded. I could pull the trigger and send a bullet through
his brain. Then I could open these handcuffs and go off
by myself and leave him here. Why, shouldn’t I shoot
him? I have a right to shoot him. It might save
my own life, and he’s my enemy. He killed my brother!”

The hand holding the revolver was raised higher now,
and the black muzzle of the weapon turned around so
that it covered the sleeping man. Bud’s eyes squinted
along the barrel, and his hand was as steady as a rock.

“T have a right to kill him,” he muttered over and over
to himself; “I have a right to kill him. I have a right
to vengeance.”

His finger trembled on the trigger and he drew a deep
breath. Then suddenly he threw back his hand and fired
into the air.

“I won't yield to temptation like that,” he said, half
aloud; “there goes my last bullet. I can’t kill him
now.”

When Speed awoke, Bud was sitting with his face
buried in his hands, and would give him no answer when
he spoke. e

CHAPTER XV.
THE STRAY HORSE.

In the midst of a sandy, mesquite-covered plain, dry
and parched, baking under a brilliant sun, and fringed
with a line of vermilion-colored hills, three cowboys were
slowly moving forward on horseback. Behind them came
two burros, each carrying on its back two large water
barrels, All the animals in the cavalcade walked for-
ward. with limply hanging heads’and painful steps. They
had plenty of water along, but the terrible heat of the
Land of Little Rain made travel slow and toilsome under
the best of circumstances.

The three cowboys were Ted Strong, Ben Tremont,
and Kit Summers. The faces of all were burned dark
with the pitiless sun, their eyes were sore and watering
from the glare in them, their faces were sunken and
caked with alkali dust. Ben Tremont was perspiring
freely.. The big fellow, with his immense frame and
great masses of muscle, felt the heat more, perhaps, than
a of his companions, but no complaint escaped his
Ips.

They were shading their eyes with their hands and
scanning the country about them on all sides. They had
come to find Bud Morgan. They had followed his trail
to Boulder, and, inquiring there, had learned that two
men had recently gone forward into Death Valley, in
spite of the cautions of people who had warned them
against it, and told them that it was a particularly dry
season. From the descriptions given they had decided
that they were Bud Morgan and Jim Speed, and they

had immediately made preparations to enter the desert
after them.

Carl Schwartz, Bob Martin, and Bean Pole had been
left behind at Boulder, for they were able to get only
two burros to carry water, and they had to cut down the
number of the party to fit the amount of the water they
were able to carry with them. They had been now over
a dav’s march across the desert. Twice they had come
within sight of tracks across the country, but they were
very hard to follow. At times there are high winds that

blow across the mesa, and they soon obliterate all traces
from the sandy ground.

 

 
     

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“See any signs, Ted?” asked Kit anxiously. “You

‘think that your. eyes are a trifle better than mine.’

Ted shook: his head.

“No trai now,” he ‘said;
before us, though.
left behind them.”

Ted swooped: down from the saddle of his horse as
he spoke. » When he rose and checked his horse there
was something in his hand. He held it up so that the
others might see it. It was a human skull, as bare of
flesh as though it had been boiled in a ‘caldron and
bleached to a startling whiteness in. the desert sun and
wind. The. other horsemen looked at it in silence for
a moment, All three could not repress a slight shudder.
Ted Strong opened his hand and let the skull fall back
in the dust.

“Whoever owned that had hard luck,’ said he sol-
emnly ;, “he must have died of thirst, This is a bad coun-
try to get lost in’

All three were thinking of the fate of Bud Morgan,
who had ridden boldly into this wilderness in pursuit of
Speed a short time before.. They. were wondering if his
skull also would lie whitening on the sands, with its
great mane-of glorious, yellow hair blown this way and
that in the wind.

“There’s the wagon that fellow came in,” said Ted,
pointing to the battered remains of a tilt wagon; “like
as not he brought his whole family with him, and they
all died here. There are other bones here. It’s worse
farther on, I believe: Death Valley lies farther on.”

“Death Valley,” said Ben Tremont; “1. guess tpat it de-
serves its name.’

“It does,” said Ted. “Whole parties of settlers trying
to cross in. wagons to more fertile parts of California
have perished there.” .

“We might as well push on toward it,” said Kit; “at
lies dead ahead of us, according to the reckonings 1 have
taken.”

“Yes said Led,
for Death Valley. e

“What’s the use of pushing on in that direction?” said
Ben Tremont. “We don’t know that Bud has gone that
way. It seems to me that it ouie not be a likely course
for him to take.”
ae would take whatever course Jim Speed took,” said

ed.

“Yes, but “would Speed toad for Death Valley? He
must know the kind of place it is.”

“He. doés,” said Ted. “From what I have booce he
has been across it before. He might try it again.” —

“We have been riding ahead for a long time now,
said Kit, “and it’s a good way back since we have -seen
any trails of either Speed or Bud. But when we did see
their trails, they were headed in this direction. We have
had nothing to indicate that they would change their
course, and, until we do find something to indicate that,
we might as well keep right ahead.
be the most logical thing to do.”

“Logic isn’t always the best thing when it comes to
finding people in Death Valley,” said Ben Tremont. “Say,
Ted, are there any inhabitants of this country at alee L
haven’t seen a sign of life since we came here.”

“Some of the Indians penetrate pretty deeply into’ the
country here,” said Ted; “some of them have means of
getting water that white men. seem to know nothing of.
They say that even in Death Valley there is water to be
struck if one knows where to dig for it.”

“Death Valley,” repeated Kit: “I’ve heard of that often.”
“Ws: a sort of sink: or depression in the country,” sai
Ted. “In the rainy season, when there is a good down-
fall, there is plenty of water there. But it sinks through
the soil very quickly, and at this time of year it’s as
dry as the Sahara. There are a few mesquite bushes
and a little. sage scattered through it, and some yucca
trees. The yucca trees are used by the Indians in some
way. There is some sort of fruit that grows on them
that yields a good deal of water when it is squeezed out.
Two. or three: Indian. tribes are scattered about on the
corners of the desert. None of them-go into it very
far, and most of them are altogether wild. So few’ set-
tlers have come into this section of the country, and the

“other: people have been here
Look at some of the things they

“we are moving north now, straight

NEW BUFFALO

‘they will be just. that: much more use to us.

I think that would ,

. I guess Speed has cashed in his chips.

  

nay

BILL WEEKLY. | 93

 

land is so utterly worthless, ‘that they haye | not come
into contact with the white men very much.”?:32 =~.

“What tribes are they?” asked Ben. |
» “Utes and Piutes and Shoshones,” said Ted;
meet some of them before we get out of here.
as well keep moving for another hour. . Then we'll camp
till the heat of the ads, is.past a little. We can ride: tilk
pretty late and still look for tracks, for there's a. good
moon shining these nights.”

The boys all became silent, and moved steadily « on, still
scanning: the country, searching every hillock and every
bare space’ of sand for some indication as to. whether any
human being had- passed in that direction.

The, sun, which was now. at its highest, beat. dower: on
their heads, and streams of perspiration poured down
their cheeks. The horses felt the heat terribly. It was
hard to urge them to anything faster than a slow, jogging
walk. The burros on which the water barrels had-been
loaded, and which Ben. Tremont was leading after. his
horse, ‘bore the heat and fatigue better than either*horses’
or cowboys. These tough, little, sure-footed animals: have
wonderful powers of endurance. They can live-on sage-.
brush and mesquite in places where a horse would starve
to. death, and they seem to be tireless. The: heat has
little effect on them, and they do not drop and suffer under
the sun, as most animals do,

At length Ted. Strong checked ‘his horse, and all thee
dismounted. The saddles and blankets were) removed
from the horses to give them all the rest possible. Ben
grumbled at the labor of unstrapping the saddles, but Ted
insisted upon having them removed. -

“We need these animals, and need every ounce oft
strength they have,” he said: ‘if we make them “com-
fortable, and. enable them to rest as easily as possible,
Poor things;

“Swe may
We might

they’re having a hard time’ of it!”

Ben and ,Kit then went back to the: burros,- and, be?
tween them, lifted the heavy water barrels from their
backs. One of them was empty: already, but there was
sufficient. in. the other three to last them for a: ee
time,

The burros, relieved of aa loads, rolled about in the
sand and began to grub away at the scattering bunches
of sagebrush. The horses, on the other hand, stood. stock- -
still with drooping heads: The range. riders spent some
time giving jthe horses a small amount of oats from the-
saddlebags they carried, and allowing them to drink ‘a
little water, which they poured from ‘the barrel. into col-.
lapsible rubber buckets which they carried on their. sad- -
dles.. Then some time was spent redistributing the water:
among the four barrels, so that they would balance prop-
erly on the backs of the burros when they loaded: up again.
After this was done, the cowboys sat down to rest: They
were all burning with the heat, and none of the three :
felt. any desire to. eat.

“Td like “to knock the head off one of those water
barrels,” said Ben, “and climb into it, as much of myself
as I could: get into: it, and just drink and. drink by the
hour. I-believe that I could drink one of those barrels’
dry without stopping.”

“Tye got a pretty healthy thirst myself,” said Kit Sum-
mers; “but I don’t believe I could quite do that.”

“T don’t believe that either of you will get:the chance,”
said Ted. “That water is far too precious a_ thing for
experiments like that. We'll have to make it go just ~
as far as possible, for we want to be able to stay here
without returning for more supplies until we find Bud
Morgan.”

“This heat is terrible,’ said Ben.

“Poor. Bud,” said Kit, “he’s all alone, and I guess that
he’s feeling it worse than we are, because he won’t have.
very much. water with him, as he went alone, ween only.
his own horse.”

“IT wonder hee be ase sard: Bens «bes i looking
for a needle in a haystack. looking for him here. , These
plains are so broad and trackless that it seems like search-
ing through a whole continent.”

“TI wonder if he’s caught Speed?” said Kit. “If he has,
Bud would shoot
that fellow on. sight.”

“T don’t think so,” ‘Ted Contented. “He promised to

  

 
. Bud will break his word.

24 :

take him prisoner, if possible, and I don’t believe that
I don’t think he’s that sort.”

“T wouldn’t blame him if he did,’ said Kit; “he’s had
provocation enough. And he would find it pretty hard
‘bringing a prisoner out of this place single-handed, with
no one to help him. Bud has a perfect right to shoot
him down. I believe that when he meets him he'll just
turn his gun on him and shoot him down. He’ll forget
all about his promise. All he will think of then will be
the death of his brother and his vengeance. I don’t
blame him.” '

“JT don’t know that I blame him either,” said Ted, “but
all the same I don’t believe that he will shoot him down.
He may shoot him if Speed puts up a particularly des-
perate fight, and he finds that he won’t be able to take
him prisoner.” :

“Out here in this desert he'll figure that all law except
natural: law is laid aside,” said Kit. “I don’t know but
what he’s right; at least, according to his lights. You
must remember, Ted, that he’s a cowboy, and that he
has spent all his life among lawless people in the West.
These people don’t consider human life as valuable as
more civilized people do, They have their virtues, but
a great respect for human life is not among them. You
remember how ready Bud was to pull a gun when he
met Speed that time on the road to the Golden Mesa,
me in Texas. You put too much confidence in him,

ed.

“I do put every confidence in Bud,” said Ted, “but I
don’t believe that that is too much. - It’s true that he
was ready to shoot down Speed the time you mention,
but I talked to him afterward, and he gave me his promise
that He would get Speed arrested and leave the matter to
the law of the land.”

“But the law of the land didn’t make good that time,”
said Kit; “the law of the land didn’t work very well with
Speed. It’s that sort of thing that makes people lose their
respect: for it. The law allowed Speed to get out of
jail,and it would be a week before a sheriff and a posse
would be ready to follow him up here.”

“That’s very true,” Ted admitted. “But I don’t believe
Bud will consider that it lets him out from his promise.
Bud may be reckless and extravagant. He may have
cowboy notions of getting square with his enemies with
a revolver. But he has.a high sense of honor. A promise
is a promise with him, and something not to be broken.”

Ben Tremont jumped to his feet at this moment.

“Look!” he cried. “Here comes a stray horse! What’s
a ‘horse doing here?” :

“I-never saw a horse act that way before,” said Kit;
“it looks as though it were crazy.”

“Saddle up,” said Ted. “We’ve got to get after it and
find: out something about it. We can rest assured that
it didn’t come into this desert all by itself, and that its
rider isn’t very far from here.”

Ben Tremont, who never talkéd much, and who, in spite
of all his laziness, was prompt enough in action when
there was real necessity for it, had thrown saddles on
two of the horses. Ted and Kit ran to his assistance,
and, after getting the water barrels placed. on the backs
of the burros, the three. were ready to start.

The strange horse which they had seen was still caper-
ing madly about in the distance. Tossing its head and

neighing madly, it would first rush toward the boys and —

then, swerving suddenly, it would dart away again. The

thud of its hoofs on the ground sounded out clear and

distinct in the solitude.

“That horse is crazy,” said Ted; “it has eaten loco weed,
or'I’'m very much mistaken.”

““What’s loco weed?” asked Kit.

“It's a sort of plant that grows out here among the
sagebrush or mesquite. A horse that’s bred in this part
of the country knows enough not to touch it, but a
strange horse will feed on it, and it’s sure to make him
crazy. That’s what’s the matter with that horse. You

see, it is saddled and has a water bottle hanging near.
the pommel. It has run away from its master, but if.we
get after it good and hard it will lead back the way it
came, and we'll come pretty near to finding the spot it
ran away from.”

“You fellows get ahead after it,” said Ben Tremont;
“VI stay here till I get the burres started, and then I'll

   

NEW BUFFALO BILL WEEKLY. |

follow on at a slower pace. Nk
worn out. I’m a good deal. heavier than you fellows, and
it’s harder for an animal to carry me.” |

Ted immediately decided to act on this sensible sugges.
tion of Ben Tremont’s. All three of ihe cattlemen thought
that, beyond a doubt, the horse belonged either to Bud
Morgan or to Jim Speed. _The question arose in all three
minds—which did it belong to, and would they find Bud
alive or dead?—but none of them voiced his thoughts.

“Come on in our tracks!” shouted Ted, as he gave his
horse the spurs and started on the trail of the locoed
horse. Kit was close behind him, and, as their horses
had been rested a little during the noon wait, they got
over the ground at fairly good speed. The crazy horse
watched them coming until they were within three hun-
dred yards.of it. Then it turned, and, with a shrill snort,
started off at a hand gallop, going a little faster than the
steeds on which the boys were mounted.

“Keep it in sight, Kit,” said Ted; “this is no time to
spare a horse. We must not lose sight of it. A good
wind might obliterate its tracks. It can’t be far. We
must keep it in sight.”

Both of the young range riders had forgotten all about
the heat now, and they urged their steeds forward as
fast as they could go. They seemed to be riding through
a fiery furnace, for the hot dust blew up in clouds and
beat against their faces. The poor horses they rode
labored and panted, doing their best to plow through the
drifts of sand that they struck occasionally and stumbling
on madly in a lather of foam. The boys knew that their
ride might mean the saving of a human life, and they
could notgconsider the comfort of their steeds.

Up a long, rising slope went the crazy horse they were
chasing, and up after it went the boys. When they
reached the crest of the hill, Kit was a little in advance.
He could see’ a great way over the country spread in
front of him. He did not know it at the time, but he was
looking down into Death Valley, the most dreaded spot
in all the Western desert. He waved his arms and let
out a great yell. \

When Ted reached the top he checked a little to allow
his horse to breathe. Kit pointed mutely down before
him, The crazy horse was still staggering on, but as
Ted watched it, it stumbled and fell, never to rise again.
It had run itself to death. A little farther on were
two black figures outlined clearly against the sandy plain.
The loco horse had done its work. It had led the two
roughriders. in the right direction.

* * * * * * x

When Ted and Kit reached the spot, Jim Speed had
passed away. He was cold in death, his eyes protruding
horribly, his blackened tongue sticking out from his mouth.
Chained to the corpse, face downward on the ground, lay
Bud Morgan. At first he could not speak. But water
was given him, small drafts at first and larger drinks
later on. _In half an hour he was able to sit up. After
a search in the dust, Ted had found the key ‘to the hand-
cuffs, and he unlocked the manacles and set Bud free

from the corpse of the man he had tracked down in the
desert.

CHAPTER XVI.
DISCHARGING A SAD DUTY.

When Bud had been refreshed with food and water, !

he told his story of the encounter with Speed, how the
two came to be handcuffed together, and the manner in
which the murderer met his death. 7
Then Ted Strong, Kit Summers, and Ben Tremont went
to work digging a grave, for it had been decided to give

_ Speed’s. body as decent a burial as possible in the circuim-
_ stances.

They used their knives and bare hands: to
scrape out the dry, sandy earth.

“Well, Bud,” Ted Strong said, looking into the face

of the cowboy whose life had almost gone out along with

that of Speed, “that’s the last of your old enemy. You've
had a terrible experience with him here in the desert.”
It’s a thing I never want to go through again,” said

_ Bud slowly, “but I just had to run this feller down.

pant hev shot him to death, fer I had ther drop on
Im, but 1 remembered that.1 had given my promise to

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NEW BUFFALO

Ted not to shoot him, but to take him prisoner. He
died of thirst. He was half crazy when I met him.”

Ted laid his hand kindly on the shoulder of the cow-
boy.
“We all appreciate what you have gone through,” he
said. “I always knew that you would keép your word.”

“We'll have to bury him pretty deep,” said Kit Sum-
mers, glancing around him with a shudder. ‘Look at
those things. They are only waiting for us to leave, so
that they can swoop down upon the body.”

He pointed as he spoke. On all sides of them fluttered
great, unclean birds, buzzards, the shadows of their slant-
ing wings on the ground. Here and there could be seen
a raven, and farther off, sitting solemnly and. watching,
were two or three coyotes, the thieves of the West.

None of the cowboys could repress a shudder as they
looked at the great evil birds, swooping in the air above
them, or perched here and there on the sand a little dis-
tance off. . f ;

“We'll have to pile stones on the body after we bury
it,” said Bud; “that is the only way to keep the coyotes
from digging it up.”

Ted Strong and Ben Tremont raised the body and laid
it into the grave. Then they all removed their hats and
s.ood by with the sun beating on their heads. Ted

repeated a few verses which he remembered out of the’

burial service. He had heard it read many times over
the graves of fallen comrades in Cuba and in the Philip-
pines, but never, he thought, under such terrible and awe-
Inspiring circumstances as this.

When he had finished, Ben Tremont threw in a few
handfuls of sand, and the others followed his example.
Presently the body was hidden from view. Then re
labored for a long time piling over it heavy stones whic
they picked up here and there on the barren soil so that
it might not become the prey of the birds and beasts.

' At length the grave was filled up and a heap of stones
was piled above it to mark the spot. There was no way
of placing an inscription above it, for there was not in

' that barren waste a piece of wood big enough to carve

the name of the dead man upon it. The boys worked in
silence, and when they had completed their solemn task
the sun was dropping down toward the horizon, a great
ball of yellow fire. The wind was rising and sending
whirling columns of dust into the air. Night was com-
ing on over the Land of Little Rain.

Bud stooped down and raised a belt from the ground.
It had belonged to Speed when he was alive. It was
lined with pockets, and the pockets were well filled with
gold coin and bills.

“Just before he died,” said Bud, “an’ I expected to die,
too, pretty soon, he seemed to come to his senses a bit.
He had been ravin’ sorter from the effects of ther thirst
an’ ther heat, but a little while before death came ter
him he was quiet, an’ stopped beggin’ me ter shoot him
an’ put him out of his agony. He took his belt offen him
an’ give it to me. He told me that three hundred dollars
in there belonged rightfully ter himself, an’ asked me,
if I ever. escaped alive out o’ here, ter send it ter his
mother in ther East. The other money he said as how
he had won at poker from the poor vaqueros who worked
under him at the Las Palomas Ranch. He asked. me
ef ever I got outen here to give it ter them. I didn't
expect ter live much longer nor him, but he was dyin’,
an’, though he did kill my brother, all ther hard feelin

was over then.- I promised him, an’ I’m goin’ ter do |
it.”

“That’s right, Bud,” said Ted; “and now we might_as
well treat the whole thing as past and done for. Our
next move is to get supper, and then we must plan to
get back out of the desert. We are on the edge of Death
Valley, 0 damks
eo knows the country pretty well about here,” said

It. .

“Pretty well,” said Bud; “I don’t know it as well as
Speed did. Just as he was dyin’, he tried ter tell me

ther location of some springs on ahead. He said that”

they weren’t so very fur away.”
“Did he: tell you?” asked Ben.
Bud shook his head. -
“He was just a-goin’ to tell me, when ther death rattle

BILL WEEKLY. 2 25

ae in his throat. He didn’t speak no more after
nat.

“This is mournful talk,” said Ben. “Let’s get about
getting something to eat. My, but it gets cool here at
night! I can feel a cold wind coming up already, and
a little while ago I was just burning up.” oo

Kit shivered. j fa

“It does get cool,” he said; “I suppose that out on —
some of the higher mesas it’s cold enough to freeze by.
night and hot enough to roast by day.” : oe

“That’s about the climate here,” said Ted. ‘“We’ve got
ee along, luckily, and we won't suffer from the
cold. o

“The only thing we're liable ter suffer from is thirst,”
said Bud; “it’s a long way back, an’ there ain’t so very
much more water left on ther backs o’ them there burros.
You fellers used a whole lot of it up bringing me to.”

“We'll track back to-night, if possible,” said Ted. “You
can ride one of the burros, Bud. So much water has
beeneused already that we can load all we have on the
back of one of the mules.” a

“We ought to lose no-time about it, either,” said Ben
Tremont; “I heard, as we left Boulder, that a party of
Shoshone Indians were dancing the scalp dance. They
might cross back.of us and cut us off.” ue

Ben had been collecting fuel for a fire, and now.

blaze was started, over which the coffeepot was soon hum-
ming merrily. :
_ Supper, consisting of canned meat, canned beans, and.
hardtack, was soon ready, and they all tackled it with a
good, hearty appetite.
' Ted was silent during the meal. Ben’s remark about
the Indians had called to his mind that he had seen Indian.
trails, and he was a little worried.

After supper the boys went back to look at the four
small barrels in which they had brought their drinking
water. Ted tilted up one of them. There was a very
slight splash of water inside. Ted’s face grew grave. _

“What's the matter, Ted?” asked Kit.

“There’s not much water in this barrel,’ said Ted; “I
thought that it was about full. It’s pretty near empty.
There must be a leak in it somewhere.” a

Ben Tremont seized the barrel in his big hands and
rolled it over. eee

“Humph!” he said at length; “one of the staves is.
sprung. “That makes our water supply pretty © short.
There’s scarcely enough to wet your tongue in this.” .

There was a silence for a few moments, all being afraid.
to speak, They knew what it meant to be without water
in the Land of Little Rain, and they knew that there
was very little. water in the other barrels. Ted turned
suddenly and ‘spoke to Bud Morgan sharply. His face ©
had grown a shade paler in the moonlight and his brows
were knitted.

“How far do you suppose we are from: Boulder, where
we started from?” he-asked. “You know this country
pretty well.”

Bud ran his fingers through his yellow hair and scratched
his head. :

“TJ make it about a hundred and fifty miles,” he said.

Ted said nothing. There was a terrible sinking at his .
heart. One hundred and fifty miles! That was the dis-
tance to Boulder, the nearest point at which there were
any water springs on the map. To go forward in the,
other direction meant to cross the terrible windless sink
of Death Valley, to go a much greater distance. Ted’s
mind held many pictures at that moment. He saw the
animals falling over, parched with the thirst. He saw
his dear friends listless and weary, sinking in the desert
sands, dying a slow, agonizing death. He could not bear .
to think of such things. Such thoughts would unseat
the sanest understanding. He turned to Bud. again. :

“We'll have to get on the move again, quick,’ he said; —
“there’s only a half barrel of water left. 1 don’t want to
lose the horses or the burros. You say that Speed spoke —
of water not so far away.”

Bud nodded his head. He was still weak and. faint
from the terrible experience he had gone through in his

- chase for Jim. Speed.

“There’s water somewhere not so far off,” he said.
“Speed tried to tell me, but, as I was a-sayin’, he died

  
 

26 NEW BUFFALO

with the words on his lips: Jumpin’ sandhills! We've
got to find it! We've got to find it!”

“Did he gave you indications of any kind as to the
direction?” ‘asked Ted.

“I dunno,” said Bud; “ye see, | was kinder gone myself,
alone with him in the desert. I don’t seem to remem-
ber: very well yet. I guess my mind began ter sorter
“Teave- ‘me when I saw ther buzzards a-drawin’ near ter

feast on our bodies.”

.. “Pull yourself together,” urged-Ted. “Think, and think
hard. You must have learned something from Speed.”
“Ted was speaking very sharply on purpose. He thought
that in this way he might help Bud to collect his thoughts.
‘Bud stood silent, with a. frown on his face, for what
-seemed. a. long time. The moon. was rising over the
desert, and it showed the faces of the five cowboys, all
“pale: and serious. Every. eye was bent on Bud. At last
the latter began to speak slowly and uncertainly.
wo “tL dunno,” he began. “It’s kinder hard fer me. ter
_ recollect durin’ thet time I was alone with. Speed .in ther
sand, bound ter him with ther handcuffs. But it seems ter
me thet he said somethin’ about Indians—somethin’ about
“ther Shoshone Indians hereabouts, an’ somethin’ about
them knowin’ where there was water ter be found near
hereabouts. I dunno—it’s kinder hard ter remember—

there was—-somethin’—somethin’ he said ahout a

Bud became silent, but, paying attention to a warning
gesture from Ted Strong, no one else spoke. As for
Ted himself, he seemed to be trying to help Bud remem-
- ber with the force of his own will. His brown eyes. were
Axed on Bud’s, his jaw was set hard, hts brows ‘were
knitted,-and his whole face wore an expression of strain
and. intensity. After another long silence Bud went on
again.. It almost seemed to the others as if Ted had
: hypriotized him and he were speaking from. a state of
“trance.

“L seem te remember now,’ he said. “Speed tole me
somethin’ —somethin’ about a sign—a sign made by ther
Injuns—a water sign, he called it—I dunno—he said as

“how I-was to look fer a water sign. Thet’s all I kin re-
“mémber,.I guess.’ aes

Again he “became silent. None ie the others spoke for
a ‘long time, but Bud could remember nothing more. Ted
urged him to try and think, and Bud did his best, but He
‘fitally° gave it up as a bad job. —

“Well,” said Ted at lensth, “we have at least. some-
thing to. go by.. We have.the information that there’s
some sort of a sign to be looked for. ‘We don’t know
exactly what, but we know enough now to be on the look-

- out”
Alt ish? be any sort of sign,” said Ben Ar eeene.
“How do. we know what to look for? We might march
right. past this sign, whatever it is, without ever knowing
it was there.”

“T ‘guess not,” said Ted; “‘this-is a pretty flat,. lonely
sort of country, and anything. out of ‘the ordinary, even
if it is only a mesquite bush that is a little bigger than
the others about it, is sure to attract our attention. If
there’s a sign of some kind, and we come anywhere near
it, you may rest assured that we shall see it. We'll have
our eyes open, When Speed spoke of a sign, there is no
doubt’ that he meant something ‘that ‘could “be seen easily
and which would attract notice when it was seen.”:
...°That’s all right,” said Kit Summers; “but how. are
we to know in which direction to look for’ this water
sign? - We have all the four points of the compass to
turn to. We might march north; and the water and the
water sign. might be.due south from here—in fact,. it
_might . be in any direction, and we can't explore the coun-
try all about here for miles.”

“T don’t believe that we'll have to explore the country
‘all about here for miles,” said: Ted; “if it came to that,
we might attempt it, but that won’t be necessary. At
least, 1.don’t believe ‘that it will be necessary.’

“Well, if you mean just to strike out in some given
direction by guesswork, my idea is that we would be
‘likely to take any direction but the right one. The odds
would be greatly against our taking the right direction if
we just guessed blindly, because there are a great. many
points to the compass, any of which we might head for,
but there is only one right direction. But do you think
that we will have to strike out by guesswork?”

 

‘said Kit Summers;

-'There’s a bright moon now.

BILL WEEKLY.

“Jumpin’ sand hills!” said Bud; “I don't see ae
else for it,”

“Tt’s the only way we can do, so far as I can see.’

Kit scratched his head and looked puzzled. ~ :

“Have you any other suggestions to offer?” said Ted,
turning to Ben ‘Tremont,

“Search me,” said Ben, with a light manner, but with
a serious face. “loam up a tree, and I suppose that iI
might as. well confess it.”

‘ “Vou seem to have something up your. sleeve, ed: y
“have you thought of something
else?”

“T have thought of Ce else,” said Ted;. “but it’s
something that you fellows would doubtless have thought
of if you had given yourselves a little more time. I've

‘thought of a way to ascertain in just about the direction

we ought to go.

“You have!’ exclaimed Kit. "TPs more ‘than I could

think of if I took all the time in the world!”

- “Jumpin’ sand hills!” said’ Bud; “I shore hope ye hev
thought out somethin’ good. I allers did; {hevi a great
respect fer yore head, Ted. Ever since thet. first day we
went out a-riding tergether, an’ ye made ther .bullet.carom
against a rock, “ikke yer was playin’ billiards with rifle
balls, an’ wounded ther feller as were behind the rock—
ever since thet time I allers thought ye hed about as
level a head as any feller I ever kept tabs on.’

“You boys are only joshing,” returned Ted, smiling;

“but-about that water sign, it’s just this way: We know

that Jim Speed was looking for it.”

“Sure we do,” said Bud Morgan; “so are we lookin’
fer it: Fhet don’t help us much, I’m thinkin’,”

“But. it will help us,’ said Ted. “Speed knew where

_it was unquestionably, for he had evidently been here
‘before, and seen it.”

“But Speed’s dead and buried now,” argued Kit;
can’t ever tell us.” 5
said Ted.

“Can’t he, though?”

“he

‘Perhaps his footsteps

-can. All we hove: to do is to look i his trail and ascer-

tain the direction he was taking when Bud overtook him.
‘Then we have only to imagine “ourselves Jim Speed.”:

“A: pretty durned hard thing,” said Bud. . a

“Imagine ourselves in his place, anyway,” persisted
Ted, “and follow along in the direction he would have
taken had not Bud stopped him. ‘We can easily find out
how he was traveling from his. trail, if there are any”
vestiges of it left, and I think that there are. All we
have to do is to keep on traveling in the same direction.
Then, if I’m not very much mistaken, I think that we'll
come upon this water sign unless we make some mistake.
It's cool, and we can see
just as well as by daylight. All we have to do is to keep
our eyes open for the water sign. Saddle up, Kit and
Ben. Bud and I will step back and look for eva? old

trai!

“Tt’s our only chance,” said Kit Summers. .

“Tt’s a wise scheme ter foller,” said Bud Morgan. “Ted,
ye shore hev a great head on yer shoulders,” !

“My head’s all right, and so is yours,” said Ted, with
a merry laugh. “Come on, Bud, and we'll look for this
trail, and never mind my head.”

. That laugh of. Ted’s, in the ge of the horeinte. cir-

-cumstances in which they were placed, sounded so happy

and: light-hearted and good to the other boys. that it
cheered them up wonderfully. All of them had been pale-

-faced and gloomy, for: they knew what it meant to be

lost. in Death Valley, but now they started to their. tasks
with ready alacrity that showed that Ted’s words and,
still more, his confident manner had a good effect on them.

It is this quality of inspiring confidence in those follow-
ing that makes a leader of men. To do so, the leader
must have confidence in himself, believe in himself thor-
oughly, and be possessed of a steady courage, that is never
shaken, even in the most. trying circumstances. When a
man has these qualities in him, he can inspire a whole
regiment of men to deeds that they would not have been
capable of without his influence, and can fill them with a
steadiness and courage that can stand any shock. The
leader, however, to be a really great leader must be un-
selfish in his motives.

TO BE CONTINUED,

 
 

27

2UL NEWS OF THE WORLD.

 

‘ Dog Is Grief-stricken.

The heart of a yellow-and-white terrior dog is slowly
breaking in Detroit, and those who have looked upon his
grief feel that death would be kind. Buster, the little,
brown-eyed dog of no particular breeding or ancestry,
that was the pet of Edgar Vinton, the actor, and Ed Vin-
ton, the man, was rather forgottén for the moment while
the news spread swiftly behind the scenes that his master
was dead.

Buster-stood about the wings and tried his best to get
to the side of the man who lay so still beneath the
hot glare of the stage lamps. He did manage to touch
a nose to the loved one’s fingers, and then they took him
away, whimpering.

All night he whimpered, and his slender brown head
twisted eagerly from side to side, the big, soft eyes seek-
ing something that seemed to wait in the shadows be-
yond. He trembled when a step sounded, and a little,
soundless bark rose in his throat. '

Once he sprang to his feet and rushed to the length of
his chain, for the distant step sounded like his master’s;
and when it proved to be but.a stage hand,-he sank flat
on the floor, and, with his paws before him, laid his nose
across them and once more took up the long watch.

Morning came, and they loosed him from his chain.
Breakfast he scorned, and with a bound he was up the
stairs and about the dusty wings, the strange hodge-podge
of stage properties, the ropes and lights and props. He
sought in vain. He looked out over the silence and dark-
ness of the big auditorium, and touched gingerly the
footlights as if minded to call them to the se glow
he had known so many seasons.

Then he walked slowly to the middle of ae stage, and
crouched, a forlorn, lost, and lonely little yellow heap
of sorrow, and through the shadows and the vastness
of the stage and the theater there rang the long, low
wail of grief that sent little shivers up the backs of the
stage hands, and caused an actor or two who happened
there to look at one another with silent dread. They
had known the love and companionship of a pet on the
long trail they call ‘#he road.”

And from then on Buster has moved slowly, de-
spondently, with downcast head, the eager, searching look
gone from his eyes, and his slender tail drooping just as
his whole body seems to droop. He is still the polite
and well-mannered creature he always has been, and to
overtures of kindness he tries to respond, but he knows

_ the master has gone, and, knowing, grieves as few humans

can grieve. Those who know dogs say he will die.

Heavyweights Fight Over Girl.

Two brothers, living in Kinston, North Carolina, well
over six feet tall and weighing more than three hundred
pounds, fell out in the dead hours of the night, recently,
because of a woman they both loved, and fought until
both were helpless. George Warwick had warned his
brother Dan to keep away from the girl, and Dan re-
sented it, replying in kind. Words led to blows. Both
men were equally strong. Seeing that neither could get

¢

the better of the other, both turned for other weapone at
the same time.

George grabbed a hoe and Dan got the gun, which he.
fired point-blank at his brother. George turned as the
gun fired, getting the load of small birdshot in the small
of the back. He then used the hoe with telling effect,
beating Dan until he was unable to stand, and getting
a lick across the hedd from the gun in Dan’s hands at
the same time.

Next morning a neighbor found them, one lying on
top of the other; unconscious. They were rushed to the
nearest hospital in a critical condition. As soon as they
regained consciousness, each made a sworn’ statement
absolving the other.

Students Convict Boy”of Tteason.

Leon Blumberg,. blasé and twelve, began to feel the
weight of his years at the Nineteenth Street school of
Chicago. Leon yawned, and, with wondrous precision,
caught Abe Fishberg on the ear with an eraser. Abe
made inarticulate gurgling. Leon was given a back seat.
Study .over, the class rose and sang “The Star-spangled
Banner.” That is, everybody but Leon. He explains that

it was because he had been ordered to sit down for the

remainder of the day.

Be that as it may, Leon: was tried by a jury of his
schoolmates. And the charge was treason. Viola Hall
was. the judge. The prosecuting attorney was Leo Share,
and the bailiff Herman Jacobson. Leon chose Lester
Doroshaw for his attorney. The jury consisted of seven
girls and five boys.

Leon pleaded not guilty... He was supported by Miss
Catherine Stokes, the teacher, who relegated Leon to the
back seat. The jury found Leon guilty, eleven votes to
one. While such a verdict was not strictly “legal,” Leon,
after some discussion by court, spectators, and jury,
was sentenced to remain indoors during the morning re-
cess, and salute the flag, sentence to continue for the dura-
tion of the war. Miss:S. Wilkinson, in charge of the class,
tatified the verdict.,

’ Tricky Hotse Attemps Suicide,

“Buff,” so named because of his color, has many times
demonstrated that he is no ordinary horse, so far as
equine, intelligence goes: Indeed, some of Buff’s displays
of what might be called “horse sense” are almost uncanny.
Being a draft horse of excellent muscular proportions,
Buff is used by the Baraga Lumber Company, of Baraga,
Michigan, to pull tram cars loaded with lumber out from
the mill to the lumber pilers. The tram teamster usually
hooks a chain on the car, and the horse takes the car
away, and he knows just where it. ought to go, without
the teamster or any one else showing him. However,
Buff is also. known for his shyness—and his tricks; for,
when no one is watching him, he will sneak away and
hide in some shelter where the mill men cannot find
him.

Becoming tired of hunting for Buff when needed, ae
teamster recently “put a spoke in his wheel” by building ~

 
28 NEW BUFFALO
a fence around the lower part of the tram, and evi-
dently it almost broke Buff’s heart to see an end: put to
the only chance he had for any fun. The horse stood
for this new order of things until two p.m. on a recent
afternoon, when his sense of humor gave way, and he
decided to “end it all” by committing suicide.

There is a place, it should be explained, where the tram
crosses over a slip, through which boats pass with their
loads of lumber: Buff, having seen the boats many times,
finally decided—as further developments make it appear
—that this was the best place for his tragic end. There-
upon he walked to the edge of the tram and stepped off.
His fall would have been about forty feet if the chain
that hitched him to the car had not held him suspended
between the top,of the tram and the water beneath.

The teamster, having eaten his lunch, returned to his
work. When he walked out on the tram, and reached the
car that was to be moved, there was no horse in sight.
The car was there, but to all appearances Buff had evapo-
rated. Then, just as he was about to halloo for some of
the pilers, he heard a noise below him. Looking over the
side of the tram, he could hardly believe his eyes—for
there was Buff, dangling in mid-air and kicking spasmod-
ically with all his fours.

Excitement was soon at highest pitch. All hands came
with a rush and with all manner of suggestions as to how
to save the horse. Buff decided the puzzling problem by
slipping out of his harness and into the water below.
Changing his mind about committing suicide, Buff lost
no time in swimming boldly for the shore, which he
reached safely.

One of the company’s:teams was brought, and Buff was
pulled up and onto the dock. Poor old Buff! He knew
he was defeated, and he surely looked it as he was led
away: He didn’t even play lame or resort to any other
of his old tricks.to,avoid being put back to work. How-
ever, the mill hands are watching to see what Buff will
do next, and more than one prophesies, with Dick Mathes,
that whatever it is it will be even more desperate than
his attempt at suicide.

4

Complications Follow Baby Substitution.

A baby was placed in an incubator at a San Francisco
hospital on February 8th. Since then this incubator baby
has been born, raised, brought to Nebraska, died, re-
vived, and finally come home for the first time to its be-
reaved parents. The final chapter in the remarkable story
of this incubator heroine took place recently when Mr.
and Mrs. R. J. Wyman, of Grand Island, Nebraska, went
to Denver to receive their baby.

It was nearly six months ago that the baby was born.
Along with other almost lifeless ones, it was placed in
an incubator. It soon came to life, was nurtured, and two
months later its mother decided to take it home. Being
forced to leave rather suddenly, as she explains, she did
not give her name at the hospital, where she was a
frequent visitor, but merely asked for “her baby.” Evi-
dently incubator babies are like young chickens—very
much alike. Evidently they are not labeled.

Mrs. Wyman arrived in Nebraska. For several weeks
the father and mother lavished time, love, and care upon
their little daughter. Then one day the child became
ill. Doctors were called. All was futile. The baby

died. A few days later the bereaved parents received a
telegram, stating that a mistake had been made, and advis-

 

BILE WEEKLY.

ing Mr. and Mrs. Wyman that their daughter was still
at the institution.

A San Francisco nurse, with a carefully guarded bane
was met at the Denver station not long afterward. More
explanations, and the disconcerting little heroine merely
gurgled as she clasped the black veil which her mother
had not yet had time to discard.

Sticks Pin in His Stomach,

Eleven-year-old James Haslet, of Philadelphia, Penn-
sylvania, was the victim of a unique accident when he
bumped into a corner of the kitchen table at his home,
and inserted a pin which he had in his hand into the
lining of his stomach. The victim was: first treated by
a near-by physician, who later had him removed to the
Samaritan Hospital. There it was found the pin had
worked its way so far into the boy’s anatomy that an
operation would be necessary to remove it.

Noted Gun Toter Has Passed Beyond.

Clay Wilson is dead. Perhaps you don’t recall him, for
Wilson is not an unusual name. But step quietly to the
side of some veteran officer of the Denver police force
and whisper this in his ear: “Clay Wilson, king of bunko
steerers,” and he will give a start. He may reach to his
hip and half draw a. pistol before he collects himself,
for Clay Wilson furnished spectacular flashes in all the
cities of the United States. And Clay Wilson didn’t pass
Denver up in his list. He died a few weeks ago in San
Francisco. He had “retired” for some time. His grow-
ing years were heavy on his shoulders, and though he
fought gamely against the a of death, he lost, but
passed out with his “boots on’

It was in 1881 that Clay Wilson shot and killed Jim
Moon, notorious gunman, in the old Arcade saloon, on
Larimer Street, near Sixteenth. Detective Sam Howe,
of the Denver force, remembers Wilson when the latter
was at his height of unpopularity as a “bad man.” ‘Howe
says the killing of Moon created more excitement and
comment than anything of a similar nature that has, ever
been “pulled off” in Denver.

They knew Moon as a “killer.” When he walked into
a bar, the white-aproned men trembled in their. boots
and the drinkers left off their stories and their songs. He
had a casual, confident, easy way, that earned respect of
his right hand. He was quick to draw, and seldom “pulled
the rod” without “letting her speak in certain terms.” He
could snuff a candle at thirty paces, but his marks were
seldom tallow wicks.

Moon was always picking a quarrel, say the old story .
tellers. He found one when Wilson “blew in” and started
to encroach upon the former’s “preserves.” Moon issued
a threat that he would get Wilson on sight. Wilson was
“the real McCoy” when it came to hustling out the “one-
eyed scribe” himself in time of trouble. They met in
the Arcade. There was a rapid draw, and the shelling:
began. When the smoke cleared away, there was Wil-
son, standing beside Moon’s riddled body. A grim smile
played on his lips, and he gave himself to the police. He
had no trouble in establishing a case of self-defense, and
the jury acquitted him.

Wilson “worked” in Denver until the lawless element
began to find breakers ahead. He then departed for more
unrestricted territory. Of all the “bad men” who made
that city a headquarters in the early days, Wilson was

 

 

 
 

 

NEW BUFFALO

regarded as the king-pin. He carried a smooth line of
talk in driving one of his numerous “bargains,” and, when
backed into a corner, had a strong argument in his hip
pocket. He was a dance-hall favorite.

Recently, at the age of seventy years, Wilson completed
a term of imprisonment in the Ohio State Penitentiary
for swindling a Philadelphia broker out of fifteen thou-
sand dollars in a “mining deal.” Prison life, the years of
hardship, made of him a physical wreck, and he couldn't
“come back.” Working out of New York City, he went
to the penitentiary for a mining swindle committed in 1909.
He was not arrested until June, 1910, in Rochester, New
York, under the alias of H. G. Mason. It was the first
blemish on his career as a crook par excellence, a period
extending over thirty years. His “graft” was always an
open secret, but so skillful was his work that all his
arrests were paths that led again to freedom. He car-
ried on operations through a partner, Charles E. Duncan,
known to the police as “Doc” Baggs.

For fifteen years after he left Denver, Wilson was a
familiar figure along Broadway. He put up at the best
hotels and was always well groomed. His partner,
Duncan, lived in the country, in a residence that was
worth at least thirty thousand dollars, and entertained
lavishly.

Wilson grew careless in his methods, and when he pro-
cured money from L. H. Taylor, Philadelphia mining
broker, in 1900, he neglected to secrete a code memoran-
dum book. , The code meaning was discovered by an acci-
dent, and the arrest followed. It contained a history of
all the swindles perpetrated by himself and partner. It
is said of Wilson that he “never fleeced any one in the
home town of the victim.” ‘

A general breakdown of nerves and health caused the
“bunko king’s’ death. Just before lapsing into uncon-
sciousness, Wilson muttered: “‘Put on my boots; it’s time
for me to go.” :

Wife Saves Husband from Shark.

Wallace J. Pierpont, junior, son of Mayor Pierpont, of
Savannah, Georgia, was attacked by a shark in the waters
of Calibougua Sound while he was out fishing with his
wife and children. The shark closed its jaws on Pier-
pont’s right arm, and almost severed it. His wife saved
his life. Pierpont stopped the boat in what he believed
was shallow water, to permit the children to bathe. He
leaped into the surf, but immediately was seized by the
sea terror. Mrs. Pierpont then pulled in the painter line
with all her strength, bringing her husband to the sur-
face and helping him crawl into the boat. She made
bandages of her skirt, and tied up the torn arm. On
their arrival in Savannah, Pierpont was hurried to the
Oglethorpe Sanitarium.

Munition Workers Get Cordite Habit.

Drink is not the only temptation to which overstrained
munition workers are exposed. Quite recently it has been
discovered, in English plants, that a good deal of the
“drunkenness” attributed to women and comparatively
young girls is due to another and hitherto unsuspected
cause—the chewing of cordite, the smokeless explosive
used in the shell of cannon and the ammunition of small
arms. The fact that cordite has a pleasant taste, tending
to sweetness, has been a real discovery to many of the
women workers and the primary source of their danger.

 

BILL WEEKLY. 29

“I did not know at all what the stuff was made of,”
said a woman who had been handling cordite for six
months or more. “But one day I happened to put a
little bit of it into my mouth and to begin chewing it. It
tasted nice. Then I began to be a bit lively. I could not
understand what the thing meant. After tea, I chewed
a bit more, and it was nice, too. Next day I did the
same thing, and then I got a fright. I began to feel
headachy and—well, drunk. That was the end of it; yes,
for me it was. But my mate—well, she just laughed; but
when she took a bit home with her, and chewed it hard,
she gave us a time and a half, that she did.”

The explanation of all this is, of course, simple enough.
Cordite, when chewed, has all the exhilarating effects of
a highly stimulating drug, and cannot be tampered with,
except at great risk. Its effects on the nervous system
are immediate, and ultimately deadly. Besides, like all
such drugs, it has to be taken in increasing quantities if
the exhilaration is to be maintained. And herein lies the
great peril of the worker in cordite who forms the chew-
ing habit.

How far the habit has spread .it is difficult to say.
Equally difficult is it to ascertain whether the authorities
have become alive to the fact that the peril exists. In
the North, it is understood that several cases have had to
be sharply dealt with. But quite obviously there is need
for greater caution on the part of workers and stricter
supervision on the part of factory managements. The
ministry of munitions should nip the evil in the bud, if it
is not already past that stage. On its action much may
depend, not only for the worker, but for the maintenance
of an essential feature of national efficiency.

The effect of cordite as an “intoxicant” was first dis-
covered during the South African War. Some British
soldiers found, to their surprise, that by eating cordite
they could get all the excitement of the most powerful
narcotic—and all the terrible effects, too.

Cordite consists roughly of about fifty-eight parts of
nitroglycerin, thirty-seven parts guncotton, and five parts
of mineral jelly.. Each cartridge contains sixty cylindrical
strands of cordite, and when Major Jennings, D. S. O.,.
learned that the men were eating these, he experimented
on himself by sucking a strand. He found that it tasted
sweet, pleasant, and pungent, but it resulted in giving
him the most racking, splitting headache, and it lasted for
thirty-six hours.

Will You Take Him?

’ Chicago is a lonely place for a delicate, artistic soul,
opposed to work, but fond of luxury. So, at least, it was
found by Clarence B. Pointer, some time of Brmingham,
Alabama,’ but now of East Huron Street, Chicago. He
came, he struggled, and then, as a last desperate attempt
to attain his dreams, he bared his heart in this advertise-
ment which he asked the newspaper to print:

“Young man of refinement, in his twenties, wishes to |
become adopted son of New York or Chicago millionaire .
or multimillionaire—martied couple, widow, widower, or:
bachelor; seeks home in which refinement and culture
are the watchword; is of quiet, lovable disposition, and
one who at all times wishes to avoid notoriety; A-1 cre-
dentials; of good, sound mind from birth; in good
physical condition; will present physician’s certificate as
to physical condition; can keep secrets; capable business
man, now at work; not wealthy, but of wealthy ancestry;

, ‘ =
s & : Pee e rei leditgeete . eu =

 

 
 

BON NEW BUFFALO
of esthetic temperament, literary turn of mind, and fond
of travel; utmost secrecy maintained regarding this ad;
correspondence and consultation solicited.”

*Tis a thrilling tale, indeed, of heart throbs, esthetic
anguish, and disillusionment which he thus disclosed. Its
beginning dates back to the time, a year ago, when Clar-
ence packed his Gladstone bag, tucked a lavender-scented
handkerchief in his breast pocket, kissed his mother
good-by, brushed away a furtive tear, and turned his
face northward.

Chicago was the city of his dreams. Or, at least, he
expected to acquire sufficient wealth to enable him to
retire to some secluded spot, and there recline on a silken
cushion and partake of delicate viands, while he indited
tender verses in perfumed ink, or anon gazed dreamily
upon a tranquil landscape—his to do with as he chose.
Such was his dream. The reality was crushing.

From the moment his train rolled through the South
Side, bringing to him in his Pullman seat the subtle scent
of the Union Stock Yards, until he beheld the mad scram-
ble for money in the cqngested Loop, his esthetic tempera-
ment was dealt one staggering blow after another. For

here was none, of the things which his rose-colored fancy ~

had pictured. Here was only work—and not particularly
clean work, either. And Clarence didn’t want to work—
and doesn’t now. He’s too esthetic, too temperamental,
too fastidious by far. He says so himself. He admits it.
More than that, he boasts of it.

“Why, just the bare thought of such toil,” said he; with
a delicate wave of his lily-white hand, “fills me with ab-
horrence. I loathe the unclean work such as your average
wealthy Chicagoan grows rich upon. It grates upon my
- finer sensibilities. Briefly, I am too proud to work. I
come of proud people. My family is the very flower of
ante-bellum aristocracy. None of my people ever nee
Neither shall I.”

But he did. Hunger is a relentless master, ane he
went to work in the accounting department of the Chi-
cago & Eastern Illinois Railway so that he might eat.
‘Every day his artistic soul was revolted by his commer-
_ cial milieu, and-rebellion surged within him. And then
“at last came the brilliant thought which resulted in the
ad.

And there you are. Clarence wants some multimil-
lionaire to adopt him. He’s twenty-eight years old; he’s
a pacifist; he’s willing to give up his family name for a
life of ease, and he’s unalterably, emphatically, opposed
to work. It is his philosophy that no man who works
can be a gentleman. Who wants Clarence? Don’t all
answer at once.

This Clock Has Ninety-five Faces.
Petrograd boasts what is in many respects the most
wonderful clock in the world. It has ninety-five faces.
It indicates simultaneously the time of day at thirty dif-

ferent spots on the earth’s surface, besides the movement

of the earth round the sun, the phases of the moon, the
“signs of the zodiac, the passage over the meridian of

more than fifty stars of the Northern Hemisphere, and :

the date according to the Gregorian, Greek, Mussulman,
and Hebrew calendars. The works took two years to.
put together after the clock had been sent in detached
pieces from Switzerland to Russia.

A Glasgow watchmaker tells about a watch that was
brought to him for repairs and surpassed in interest all

~ according to records of administration.

BILE WRERLY.

others that he had seen during his forty-two years of
business. It was self-winding. The case was that of the
regular hunting watch, and every time it was opened, i
partly wound the watch by the closing of the lid.

‘Where the lid joined the, watch there was a little
lever, to the free end of which was joined a scythe-shaped
rack, which worked into a wheel with ratchet-shaped
teeth. Instead of the ordinary fly spring, there was a
spring fixed to the plate, and attached by means of a
short chain to the lever. As this spring pulled the cover
open, the teeth of the scythe slipped over the teeth of
the winding wheel, and, by closing the cover, the wheel
was partly pulled round. To wind it completely, the watch
had to be opened and closed eight or nine times a day.

Two Widows Claim Estate.

Who is the real widow of the late Thomas W. Davis,
railroad contractor, who died at his home in Milwaukee,
Wisconsin, on September 3, 1913, from injuries received
while employed by a Milwaukee railroad? After Davis’
death, his supposed. widow, Alice L. Davis, received
twenty-five hundred dollars from the railroad company,
Mrs. Davis was
declared the heir.

And now comes Elizabeth A. Davis, who, in presenting
her case to Judge Karel, claims she is the rightful widow,
and that Davis married Alice Davis before he was di-
vorced from her. The marriage .certificates. show that
Elizabeth Murphy married Davis on January 5, 1871, in
Eau Claire, and that Davis married Alice Shivers on
June 21, 1907, in Milwaukee.

Boy Hermit Found Starving.

How Max Factor, aged eight, eked out a remarkable
existence almost a month, after becoming separated from
his parents, with whom he recently came to California,
was told by the boy at police detective headquarters in
Los Angeles recently, when Patrolman Boland turned
him over to the juvenile authorities.

The boy hermit left the new home of his parents some
time ago, and, after visiting the business district, was
unable to find his way back. When night fell, he perched
on the East Seventh Street Bridge, watching the crowds
returning to their homes from work. He said that he
believed his father might see him. But darkness found
him alone, unclaimed. Hungry and tired, Max says that
he returned to the bright lights of the streets and gath-
ered up discarded newspapers. This took many hours.

Being an honest boy, Max sold the papers to late way-
farers, but always explained that they were old papers
and not neatly folded. He gathered up a few pennies,

enjoyed a meager midnight lunch, and slept in a barrel ©

in an alley of the wholesale business district.

He renewed his search the fellowing morning, and
when he failed to find the slightest trace of his parents,
he resumed selling papers. That night he gathered up
several gunny sacks and established a hermit’s camp in
Boyle Heights, not far from the Los Angeles River.

There he slept and tried to keep warm during the long,
cool nights. On Sundays he washed his clothing in the
river, after making a few cents selling papers on the
streets.

Such was the life of the little hermit until the police
found him. Shortly before dawn, he approached Off-

 
iis

‘you get mé something to eat?

. boy was after his unusual experience.

_railroad built a new. Walters'‘upon the hill.

 

A)

NEW BUBPALO.

“Won’t
I am very hungry.”

Boland took the boy to a réstaurant, and furnished him
with-a tall stack of pancakes. They then went to the city
jail. Officers who gathered about the little hermit were
surprised when they noticed how immaculately clean the
He had fifteen
cents in his pockets—his savings during his experience as
nomad.

The child’s resourcefulness is considered remarkable, in-
asmuch as he had always had the comforts of a home,
had never worked, and was never without his parents.

cer Boland at Third and Main Streets, and said:

"Towns Move with Prospetity’s Ebb or Flow.

Every little while a whole town moves its location in
Oklahoma. Industrial conditions, the developing of new
regions, the advance of the railroads to places where there
were untamed cattle and horses before, have ‘instilled the
moving-day spirit. A man from the little and practically
unknown village of Staunton said, not long ago:

“Well, we had a meetin’ the other night, and it was
the consensus of opinion that Staunton ought to move.
She'll never do any good where she is at. We can’t ex-
pect any railroads, and it looks like they ain’t an oil well
in ten miles of us. One of these days all that is to be
seen of Staunton will be seen no more.”

Just the day before this meeting, the inhabitants of
Staunton heard that the post office at the neighboring vil-
lage of Healdton had been moved to John Ringling’s new
town, named New Healdton. Staunton is in the woods,
far from where the train toots, and for twenty years they
have had no ambition to establish a thriving metropolis.

But Healdton moved, and seemed to better itself... Cor-
nish, once an outpost of civilization when Indians were
bad and cowboys: little better, also moved, and. so did
Hewitt, for many years a prosperous country village in
the Bayou. country of Carter County. Nearly all the
neighbors of Staunton moved, and the indications are
that a majority of those who moved prospered. At any
rate, they became citizens of railroad towns, where there
were new blood and new energy and new ambition.

There was a Walters down on Beaver Creek. The

tween the towns ensued, grew bitter and more bitter. At
last a compromise was effected, and the railroad won.
There was a Bottsford in the new country. The railroad
built a new town near it, and called it Temple, and old
Bottsford was abandoned.

There are many more instances. Every time the Rock
Island built a new line into that country, it trespassed
upon the aspirations of the people of prosperous country
villages that had to be abandoned. ‘

Bat Women as Caftiets.

Women cannot serve as rural mail carriers. The post-
office departtnent has laid down this rule in the case of
Mrs. George Hammond, of Bristol, Colorado, who had
made application to take the examination.

Cows Felled by Giant Hailstones.

Hundreds of chickens were killed, vegetation was laid .

waste, roofs were damaged, and-live stock was injured
in the worst hailstorm of years, which swept the vicinity
of Holland, Michigan. It is claimed by farmers whose

A fight be- -

BILL WEEKLY. : a

word is said to be good that in some instances cows
were knocked down by hailstones. John van Loo, of Zee-
land, near Holland, received a cut in his head from one e of
the stones.
Machinery Strips Man of Clothes.

Earl N. Montague, twenty-one, a mechanic employed at
a welding and machine works at Fifth and Water Streets,
Sioux City, lowa, was completely disrobed, with ‘the ex-
ception of shoes and socks, by a machine shaft in the
workshop. His injuries are not serious. Mr. Montague
was working of a “rush, job” when the accident occurred.
The rapidly rotating shaft caught his trousers first, and
removed them and wound them in a ball; then his shirt
was taken off. Lastly, the greedy shaft caught his under-
wear, and wrapped it in the ball along with the shirt
and trousers. Mr. Montague was held to the steel rod
so tightly that he received séveral friction burns. Other
meh in the shop were unable to give him aid until all
his clothes were wound on the shaft.

Snakes Anxious to Be Captured, i

Ordinarily, the snakes of New Jersey Have little. use
for strangers, but when word went around in the snake
colony near Bloomfield that the Reptile Study. Society,
of New York, was on its way, sixty strong, to make an
inspection, the serpents for miles around. wriggled their
wavy way in dozens to the reception marsh, hoping. for
the capture, that means a future life of plenty of flies
and mice for feed and a warm spot in an apartment in
which to. bask. .

For the Reptile Study Society,*be it known, is a i
of the snake. The principal purpose of its existence <is
to .convert persons to the idea that the snake is the ©
best. little garden guardian in’ the world—and now -that
gardens are extremely stylish, why not. make snare
equally so?

Their slogan” is:
garden?”

Among those who attended the quest for snal kes, which
is the second of the season, were Gayne T. K. Norton,
author; Allen Samuel Williams, scientist; George von
Behren, who has forty species of snakes at his home in
the Bronx;*Doctor Frederick H. Wilson, Doctor J. B.
Pardoe, P. W. Snyder, of Bloomfield; Ralph Mellen,
who.came from Philadelphia for the fun; L. P. Lindsay
and Martin MeWhoord, who is the Newark authority
upon all kinds of snakes’ except the alcoholic brand.

Mathew Schon, of New York, caught the first snake,
and Gayne Norton bagged the second. Cortland Ogden,
ten, who caught the biggest snake on the first trip, and
incidentally got the biggest snake bite on the same trip,
was equally successful this time, and tumbled the reptiles

“Have you a little snake in your

_ into the stocking he used for a receptacle in a fashion

that warmed the hearts of the old-timers. Reverend
F. K. Shields went along, too, and bruised the serpents’
heads in a thoroughly approved Biblical style.

In all, fifty snakes succeeded in -getting themselves
caught alive. All of them were of the garter ‘species.
Of course, some of the searchers, in their eagerness, al-
lowed themselves to be bitten, but that was mainly in
order to demonstrate to the amateurs of the club how

harmless isa snake bite. First-aid treatments were slapped

on. and the merry chase went on.

Only one member went home disappointed. Frederick

Pa

 
  

ee NEW

 

Bebe, of Newark, had promised his young wife that he
would take home a pretty rainbow-colored snake, but all
day long his luck was bad, and at night the club members
left him searching for a snake store, where he might
purchase a snake and cover up his day’s fruitlessness in
the eyes of his family.

Slapped His Dog, and Got Gold Piece.

When Patrick O’Connor greeted his Boston terrier
Queenie in her kennel on top of a hotel_in New York,
Queenie leaped about gayly and rubbed her crumpled
nose against his trouser legs and coughed dismally.
O’Connor, much alarmed, slapped her vigorously, and
Queenie, with a final distressed cough, emitted a five-
dollar gold piece, which went riffling across the sanded
roof top.

Queenie’s owner picked up the gold piece, then he took
his dog and held her upside down, but to no avail. The
one five-spot was evidently her sole capital. O’Connor’s
amazement was quickly turned to disappointment by the
appearance of a youthful messenger boy employed at
the hotel. The messenger boy, with a gloomy face,
asked him if he knew how to get money out of Queenie.

“I’m flipping the coin in the air,” he explained, “when
up leaps the pup and swallows it. Now, how do I eat?”

The dog’s owner slowly pulled the gold piece out of
his pocket and handed it to the messenger. Then he
turned to Queenie.

“You almost had me believing in miracles,” he said.

Science Approves of Stilted Heels,

Chicago physicians, dancing experts, and society women
rallied promptly and vigorously to the support of shoe
manufacturers and dealers who are opposing the enact-
ment of the Kirby bill by the Illinois legislature to limit
the height of heels to one and three-eighths inches. And,
-as a result, the bill was killed.

“Low heels and flat chests go together,” said Doctor
Paul B. Magnuson, who has made a specialty of spinal
troubles. “Flat heels make women waddle. They de-
velop flat backs and sunken chests. High-heeled shoes
_ give women a graceful carriage, support the body prop-
erly, and produce the poise which gives natural curve to
the spine. The height of the heel should depend upon
the amount of curve there is to the spine. A straight
back does not need the support of high heels. The
curved spine of the woman does.

“Scientific study shows that low heels throw the weight

of the body in a manner that ‘lattens the curve of the
back, and often produces serious spinal trouble. The
proper heel is the one that gives the greatest support to
the arch of the foot, and is broad enough at the base to
walk upon comfortably, without danger’ of turning the
ankle.

“The French heel is best, but should have a broader
base to walk upon. Both the French and Cuban heels,

used on pumps, put the feet into a toboggan slide and-

jam the toes into the tip of the shoe. Low shoes;should.

have a support over the instep to prevent the foot from |

slipping down into the toe of the shoe. :
“The Cuban heel is objectionable because all of the

support goes to the back part of the foot, leaving a long

distance between heel and toe without proper support,

and overstraining the instep.:

“The high French heel, with broad base, would be the

BUFFALO

. self,” she said.

BILL WEEKLY.

ideal type for women to wear. The legislators might as
well try to. pass upon the brands of cigars men smoke
as to limit the height of heels. They are out of their
province, and the more the politicians talk on the sub-
ject, the more fully they convince those who have studied
the subject that they don’t know what they are talking

about.”

High heels also found a champion in Doctor Meta E.
Franke, who admits a personal partiality for several
lifts.

“T wear them higher’ than an inch and three-eights my-
“I know some of the women physicians
in the city disagree with me, and insist the heel should
not be higher than an inch; but, for my personal comfort,
I want them an inch and a half or more. I know many
women who, like myself, need the high heel.”

Enraged Deer Trees Official.

John P. McCaffery, Anaconda, Montana, deputy county
clerk and recorder, recently went through as exciting and
hazardous an experience as has befallen a person in these
civilized times.

Mr. McCaffery made a trip to his mining claims. After
spending an enjoyable day handling some real gold found
in his claims, he heard the whistle of the train which
was to carry him back to the city. With but a few min-
utes to make the locomotive, he dashed rapidly down a
ridge and up another, when he was terrified to see that
he was pursued by a big buck deer.

Upon discovering that he was pursued, McCaffery ex-
tended all his energy, for it was a dash for life and
not for a train. According to the unlucky deputy, he had
spent his last ounce of strength, and the enraged buck
was close upon him, when he spied a tree, and, as a last
chance, he shinned up the ragged trunk just in time to
escape a lunge from a fine set of prongs.

McCaffery states that the deer stood pawing the earth
by the tree, and he had a wonderful vision of the ex-
perience of the young lad who was treed by a moun-
tain lion and the horrors of an all-night position on the
limb of a tree. But the animal became tired, according
to McCaffery, and of a sudden dashed off into the moun-
tains. He declares that it was a long time before he
ventured down, and that when he did, he ran some more,
and followed the railroad track home.

Heave-ho! Bend Alf Oars to This.

One evening the tub /sabelle tied up at the dock at
Brewerton, New York, for the night. There being a high
pressure of steam in the boiler, the fireman blew it off
before banking the fire. The exhaust pipe is just above
the water line of-the tug; therefore, hot steam shot across
the water for some distance. :

When the steam was shut off, members of the crew
saw a large fish flopping in the water near the boat. They
procured a net and landed the fish on the deck. In-
vestigation revealed that the fish was scalded about the
head. vot -

-The members of the crew express the opinion that
the fish jumped from the water just as the fireman started
to blow off the steam, and the scalding steam caught the
fish squarely in the head. The fish, a pickerel, weighed
eight pounds, and was dressed and served for supper
to members of the crew.

   
   
 

 

 

 

     
 
ew Buffalo Bill
wes Weekly 225

There is no need of our telling American readers how interesting the stories of the adventures of Buffalo Bill,
as scout and plainsman, really are. These stories have been read exclusively in this weekly for many years, and are
voted to be masterpieces of Western adventure fiction.

Buffalo Bill is more popular to-day than he ever was, and, consequently, everybody ought to know all there is
to know about him. In no manner can you become so thoroughly acquainted with the actual habits and life of this
great man, as by reading the New Buffalo Bill Weekly.

We give herewith a list of some of the back numbers in print. You can have your news dealer order them or
they will be sent direct by the publishers to any address upon receipt of the price in money or postage stamps.

 

 

 

40—Buffalo Bill's Cold Trail. 115—Buffalo Bill's Gold Hunters. 191—-Buffalo Bill and the Quaker.
41—-Buffalo Bill’s Iron Fist. 116—Buffalo Bill and the Wolf Master. 192—Buffalo Bill's Package of Death.
42—Buffalo Bill’s Race with Fire. 117—Buffalo Bill’s Message from the Dead. 193—Buffalo Bill’s Treasure Cache.
43—Buffalo Bill's Florida Foes. 118—Buffalo Bill's Desperate Dozen 194—Buffalo Bill's Private War.
44—Buffalo Bill’s Grim Climb. 119—Buffalo Bill's Whirlwind Chase. 195—Buffalo Bill and the Trouble-hunter.
45—Buffalo Bill’s Red Enemy. 120—Buffalo Bill Haunted. 196—Buffalo Bill and the Rope Wizard.
peu Bill on a Traitor’s Track. 121—Buffalo Bill’s Fight for Life. 197—Buffalo Bill’s Fiesta.
47—Buffalo Bill’s Terrible Odds. 122—Buffalo Bill and the Pit of Horror. 198—Buffalo Bill Among the Cheyennes.
48—Buffalo Bill’s Air Voyage. 123—Buffalo Bill in the Jaws of Death. 199—Buffalo Bill Besieged.
49— Buffalo Bill's Death Thr ust. 124—-Buffalo Bill's Dance With Death. 200—Buffalo Bill and the Red Hand.
50—Buffalo Bill’s Kiowa Foe. 125—Buffalo Bill's Hidden Gold. 201—Buffalo Bill’s Tree-Trunk Drift.
51—Buffalo Bill's Terrible Throw. 126—Buffalo Bill's Outlaw Trail. 202—Buffalo Bill and the Specter.
52—Buffalo Bill’s Wyoming Trail. 127—Buffalo Bill and the Indian Queen. 203—Buffalo Bill’s Secret Message.
53—Buffalo Bill’s Dakota Peril. 128—Buffalo Bill and the Mad Marauder. 204—Buffalo Bill and the Horde of Her-
54—Buffalo Bill’s Tomahawk Duel. 129—Buffalo Bill’s Ghost Dance. mosa.
55—Buffalo Bill’s Apache Round-up. 130—Buffalo Bill's Peace Pipe. 205—Buffalo Bill's Lonesome Trail.
56—Buffalo Bill’s El Paso Pard. 131—Buffalo Bill’s Red Nemesis. 206—Buffalo Bill's Quarry.
57—Buffalo Bill's Rio Grande Feud. 132—Buffalo Bill's Enchanted Mesa. 207—Buffalo Bill in Deadwood.
58—Buffalo Billin Tight Quarters. 133—Buffalo Bill in the Desert of Deata. 208—Buffalo Bill’s First Aid.
-59—Buffalo Bill’s Daring Rescue. 134—Buffalo Bill's Pay Streak. 209—Buffalo Bill and Old Moonlight.
60—Buffalo Bill at the Torture Stake. 135—Buffalo Bill on Detached Duty. 210—Buffalo Bill Repaid.
61—Buffalo Bill’s Treasure Train. 136—Buffalo Bill's Army Mystery. 211—Buffalo Bill's Throwback.
62—Buffalo Bill Among the Blackfeet. 137—Buffalo Bill's Surprise Party. 212—Buffalo Bill's ‘‘Sight-Unseen.”’
63—Buffalo Bill’s Border Beagles. 138—Buffalo Bill’s Great Ride. 213—Buffalo Bill’s New Pard.
64—Buffalo Bill and the Bandits in Black. 1389—Buffalo Bill's Water Trail. 214—Buffalo Bill’s Winged Victory.
65—Buffalo Bill on the Deadwood Trail. 140—Buffalo Bill's Ordeal of Fire. 215—Buffalo Bill's ‘‘Pieces-of-Eight.”
66—Buffalo Bill in the Cafion of Death. 141—Buffalo Bill Among the Man-eaters. 216—Buffalo Bill and the Eight Vaqueros.
67—Buffalo Bill and Billy, the Kid. 142—Buffalo Bill’s Casket of Pearls. 217—Buffalo Bill's Unlucky Siesta.
68—Buffalo Bill and the Robber Ranch. 143—Buffalo Bill’s Sky Pilot. 218—Buffalo Bill’s Apache Clue.
69—Buffalo Bill in the Land of Wonders. 144—Buffalo Bill's Totem. 219—Buffalo Bill and the Apache Totem.
70—Buffalo Bill and the Traitor Soldier. 145—Buffalo Bill's Flatboat Drift. 220—Buffalo Bill’s Golden Wonder.
71—Buffalo Bill's Dusky Trailers. 146—Buffalo Bill on Deck. 221—Buffalo Bill's Fiesta Night.
72—Buffalo Bill’s Diamond Mine. 147—Buffalo Bill and the Bronchobuster. 222—Buffalo Bill and the Hatchet Boys.
73—Buffalo Bill and the Pawnee Serpent. 148—Buffalo Bill's Great Round-up. 223—Buffalo Bill and the Mining Shark.
74—Buffalo Bill’s Scarlet Hand. 149—Buffalo Bill's Pledge. 224—Buffalo Bill and the Cattle Barons.
75—Buffalo Bill Running the Gantlet. 150—Buffalo Bill's Cowboy Pard. 225—Buffalo Bill's Long Odds.
76—Buffalo Bill’s Leap in the Dark. 151—Buffalo Bill and the Emigrants. 226— Buffalo Bill, the Peace Maker.
77—Buffalo Bill's Daring Plunge. 152—Buffalo Bill Among the Pueblos. 227—Buffalo Bill’s Promise to Pay.
78—Buffalo Bill’s Desperate Mission. 153—Buffalo Bill’s Four-footed Pards. 228—Buffalo Bill’s Diamond Hitch.
79—Buffalo Bill’s Ghost Raid. 154—Buffalo Bill's Protégé. 229—Buffalo Bill and'the Wheel of Fate.
80—Buffalo Bill’s Traitor Guide. 155—Buffalo Bill Ensnared. 230—Buffalo Bill andthe Pool of Mystery.
81—Buffalo Bill’s Camp Fires. 156—Buffalo Bill’s Pick-up. ee Buffalo Bill and the Deserter.
82—Buffalo Bill Up a Stump. 157—Buffalo Bill's Quest. 232—Buffalo Bill’s Island in the Air.
83—Buffalo Bill’s Secret Foe. 158—Buffalo Bill’s Waif of the Plains. 233—Buffalo Bill, Town Marshal.
84—Buffalo Bill’s Master Stroke. 159—Buffalo Bill Baffled. 234—Buffalo Bill’s Ultimatum.
85—Buffalo Bill and the Skeleton sorse- 160—Buffalo Bill Among the Mormons. 235—Buffalo Bill’s.Test.
man. 161—Buffalo Bill’s Assistance. 236—Buffalo Bill and the Ponca Raiders.
86—Buffalo Bill and the Brazos Terror. 162—Buffalo Bill's Rattlesnake Trail. 237—Buffalo Bill’s Boldest Stroke
87—Buffalo Bill’s Dance of Death. 163—Buffalo Bill and the Slave Dealer 238—Buffalo Bill's Enigma.
88—Buffalo Bill and the Creeping Terror 164—Buffalo Bill's Strong Arm. 239—Buffalo Bill’s Blockade.

Buffalo Bill and the Brand of Cain. 165— Buffalo Bill’s Girl Pard. 240—Buffalo Bill and the Gilded Clique.
90—Buffalo Bill and the Mad Millionaire. 166—Buffalo Bill’s Iron Bracelets. 241—Buffalo Bill and Perdita Reyes.
91—Buffalo Bill’s Medicine Lodge. 167—Buffalo Bill's ‘‘Paper Talk.” 242—Buffalo Bill and the Boomers.
92—Buffalo Bill in Peril. 168—Buffalo Bill’s Bridge of Fire. 243—Buffalo Bill Calls:a Halt.
93—Buffalo Bill’s Strange Pard. 169—Buffalo Bill's Bowie. : 244—Buffalo Bill and the Ke-Week Totem.
94—Buffalo Bill in the Death Desert. 70—Buffalo Bill and the Forty Thieves. 245—Buffalo Bill’s O. K.
95—Buffalo Bill in No-Man’s Land. 1—Buffalo Bill’s Mine. 246—Buffalo Bill at Cafion Diablo.
96—Buffalo Bill’s Border Ruffians. 2—Buffalo Bill's Clean-up. 247—Buffalo Bill’s Transfer.
97—Buffalo Bill’s Black Eagles. 3—Buffalo Bill’s Ruse. oe ee Bill and the Red Horse Hunt-
98—Buffalo Bill’s Rival. 4—Buffalo Bill Overboard. rs
99—Buffalo Bill and the Boy Bugler. 5—Buffalo Bill’s Ring 249— Buffalo Bill’s Dangerous Duty.

100—Buffalo Bill and the White Specter. 6—Buffalo Bill’s Big Coliia de . 250—Buffalo Bill and the Chief's Daughter.
101—Buffalo Bill’s Death Defiance. 7—Buffalo Bill and Calamity Jane. 251—Buffalo Bill at Tinaja Wells.
8—Buffalo Bill’s Kid Pard. 252—Buffalo Bill and the Men of Mendon.
103—Buffalo Bill. the Desert Hotspur. 9—Buffalo Bill's Desperate Plight... 253—Buffalo Bill at Rainbow’s End.
104—Buffalo Bill’s Wild Range Riders. 80—Buffalo Bill’s Fearless Stand. 254—Buffalo Bill and the Russian Plot.
105—Buffalo Bill’s Red Retribution. 181—Buffalo Bill and the Yelping Crew. 255—Buffalo Bill's Red Triangle.
106—Buffalo Bill’s Death Jump. 182—Buffalo Bill’s Guiding Hand. 256—Buffalo Bill’s Royal Flush.
107—Buffalo Bill’s Aztec Runners. 183—Buffalo Bill’s Queer Quest. Dated August 11th. 1917.
108—Buffalo Bill’s Fiery Eye. 184—-Buffalo Bill's Prize ‘“Get-away.” 257—Buffalo Bill’s Tramp Pard.
109—Buffalo Bill’s Gypsy Band. 185—Buffalo Bill's Hurricane Hustle. Dated August 18th, 1917.
110—Buffalo Bill's Maverick. 186—Buffalo Bill's Star Play. 58—Buffalo Bill on the Upper Missouri.
111—-Buffalo Bill, the White Whirlwind. 187—Buffalo Bill’s Bluff. Dated August 25th, 1917
112—Buffalo Bill in Old Mexico. 188—Buffalo Bill’s Trackers. 59—Buffalo Bill’s Crow Scout.
113—Buffalo Bill’s Flying Wonder. 9—Buffalo Bill’s Dutch Pard. Dated September ist, 1917.
114—Buffalo Bill’s Ice Chase. 190—Buffalo Bill and the Bravo. 60—Buffalo Bill's Opium Case.

102—Buffalo Bill and the Barge Bandits.

Feeh fed pend, bead fat feed bak pk foe fn fe
AAA AAA 1-41

 

PRICE, SIX CENTS PER COPY. If you want any back numbers of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your news
dealer, they can be obtained direct from this office. Postage stamps taken the same as money.

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Ave., New York City