Buffalo Bill’s Weird Warning OR, Dauntless Dell’s Rival

BY

Colonel Prentiss Ingraham

Author of the celebrated “Buffalo Bill” stories published in the Border Stories. For other titles see catalogue.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION

PUBLISHERS

79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Copyright 1908

By STREET & SMITH

Buffalo Bill’s Weird Warning

(Printed in the United States of America)

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.

IN APPRECIATION OF WILLIAM F. CODY (BUFFALO BILL).

It is now some generations since Josh Billings, Ned Buntline, and Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, intimate friends of Colonel William F. Cody, used to forgather in the office of Francis S. Smith, then proprietor of the New York Weekly. It was a dingy little office on Rose Street, New York, but the breath of the great outdoors stirred there when these old-timers got together. As a result of these conversations, Colonel Ingraham and Ned Buntline began to write of the adventures of Buffalo Bill for Street & Smith.

Colonel Cody was born in Scott County, Iowa, February 26, 1846. Before he had reached his teens, his father, Isaac Cody, with his mother and two sisters, migrated to Kansas, which at that time was little more than a wilderness.

When the elder Cody was killed shortly afterward in the Kansas “Border War,” young Bill assumed the difficult rôle of family breadwinner. During 1860, and until the outbreak of the Civil War, Cody lived the arduous life of a pony-express rider. Cody volunteered his services as government scout and guide and served throughout the Civil War with Generals McNeil and A. J. Smith. He was a distinguished member of the Seventh Kansas Cavalry.

During the Civil War, while riding through the streets of St. Louis, Cody rescued a frightened schoolgirl from a band of annoyers. In true romantic style, Cody and Louisa Federci, the girl, were married March 6, 1866.

In 1867 Cody was employed to furnish a specified amount of buffalo meat to the construction men at work on the Kansas Pacific Railroad. It was in this period that he received the sobriquet “Buffalo Bill.”

In 1868 and for four years thereafter Colonel Cody[2] served as scout and guide in campaigns against the Sioux and Cheyenne Indians. It was General Sheridan who conferred on Cody the honor of chief of scouts of the command.

After completing a period of service in the Nebraska legislature, Cody joined the Fifth Cavalry in 1876, and was again appointed chief of scouts.

Colonel Cody’s fame had reached the East long before, and a great many New Yorkers went out to see him and join in his buffalo hunts, including such men as August Belmont, James Gordon Bennett, Anson Stager, and J. G. Heckscher. In entertaining these visitors at Fort McPherson, Cody was accustomed to arrange wild-West exhibitions. In return his friends invited him to visit New York. It was upon seeing his first play in the metropolis that Cody conceived the idea of going into the show business.

Assisted by Ned Buntline, novelist, and Colonel Ingraham, he started his “Wild West” show, which later developed and expanded into “A Congress of the Rough Riders of the World,” first presented at Omaha, Nebraska. In time it became a familiar yearly entertainment in the great cities of this country and Europe. Many famous personages attended the performances, and became his warm friends, including Mr. Gladstone, the Marquis of Lorne, King Edward, Queen Victoria, and the Prince of Wales, now King of England.

At the outbreak of the Sioux, in 1890 and 1891, Colonel Cody served at the head of the Nebraska National Guard. In 1895 Cody took up the development of Wyoming Valley by introducing irrigation. Not long afterward he became judge advocate general of the Wyoming National Guard.

Colonel Cody (Buffalo Bill) died in Denver, Colorado, on January 10, 1917. His legacy to a grateful world was a large share in the development of the West, and a multitude of achievements in horsemanship, marksmanship, and endurance that will live for ages. His life will continue to be a leading example of the manliness, courage, and devotion to duty that belonged to a picturesque phase of American life now passed, like the great patriot whose career it typified, into the Great Beyond.

[5]

BUFFALO BILL’S WEIRD WARNING.

CHAPTER I. MYSTERIOUS DOINGS.

“What was that, Crawling Bear?”

“Ugh! Fire-gun make um big ‘boom.’”

“It was a fire-gun, all right, but where did the report come from? That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Two horsemen were riding along a bleak, desolate-looking cañon, on route to the mining-camp known as Sun Dance. One was a white man, and the other an Indian. The white rider was William Hickok, of Laramie, better known as “Wild Bill,” and his companion was a Ponca warrior.

Both Wild Bill and Crawling Bear had keen ears, and the muffled report of the rifle came to them distinctly—not from right or left, from ahead or behind, or above, but seemingly from the ground under their horses’ hoofs.

Another report reached them, coming from the same place as the first, and Wild Bill, with a puzzled look, drew rein and rubbed his hand over his forehead.

“Am I locoed, or what?” he muttered. “It’s a trick of the echoes, I reckon. Somebody is having a little gun-play in this vicinity, and the bottom of the gulch picks up the sound and throws it back to us.”

The Indian made no response, although from his actions[6] it seemed quite clear that he did not accept the white man’s explanation.

Wild Bill rode on, and a sharp turn in the cañon brought him upon something which led to a revision of his theory concerning the rifle-shots.

What he saw was an ore-dump, off at one side of the cañon. The mound of broken rocks was surmounted by a plank platform. Five horses were hitched to bushes, not far from the ore-dump, but their riders were not in evidence.

Wild Bill halted his horse, once more, and looked from the ore-dump to the horses, and then around the cañon. While his eyes were busy, there came a third rifle-shot.

“By gorry!” he exclaimed, and gave a low laugh. “This thing begins to clear up a little, Crawling Bear. There’s a mine here, and probably the mine has a drift running down the gulch. The shots we heard really came from under us, but they came from the bottom of the mine.”

“Ugh!” grunted the Ponca. “Why Yellow Eyes make um shoot in mine? No got um game in mine.”

“Now you’re shouting, my redskin friend. What there is to shoot at, in that mine, is a conundrum that your Uncle William is going to work out. Maybe there’s no game to shoot at down there, but there’s a game being pulled off that needs looking into.”

Wild Bill tossed his bridle-reins to the Ponca and slipped down from the saddle.

“You go down in mine, huh?” queried Crawling Bear.

“That’s my intention,” was the answer.

“Five ponies, five Yellow Eyes down in mine. Mebbyso Crawling Bear better go with Wild Bill.”

[7]

A smile curled about Wild Bill’s lips.

“Any old day the odds of five to one make me take a back seat,” said he, “I hope some friend will hand me a good one and tell me to wake up. I’m going to hide my hand, Crawling Bear. This is a case of find out what’s doing, and then make a get-away on the q. t.—in case I can’t help some unfortunate in distress. You look out for the horses; and, if I can’t take care of myself, then I’m ready to be planted, for it will be high time.”

With that, Wild Bill stepped to the foot of the ore-dump and climbed carefully to the plank platform.

An empty ox-hide bucket stood on the platform, off to one side, but there was no windlass for hoisting the bucket, and there did not seem to be any ladders for getting down into the shaft. All this contributed still further to Wild Bill’s perplexity, and at the same time increased his determination to investigate.

But, if there were no ladders for getting into the mine, there was a rope. The upper end of the rope was made fast to the edge of the opening in the middle of the platform.

The Laramie man peered down into the shaft. The blackness was intense, and he could see nothing, not even the gleam of a candle.

“Can’t tell whether the shaft is fifty feet deep or five hundred,” he muttered, “but it’s a cinch that none of the men who came here on those five horses are anywheres around the foot of the shaft. If they were, they’d jump a piece of lead at me. With my head over the hole, like this, I’m a good target. Now to go down.”

For an instant Wild Bill sat on the platform, his feet[8] dangling over the abyss; then, slowly letting himself down, he grabbed the rope and began to slide.

The shooting continued, the echoes booming louder in Wild Bill’s ears and increasing his curiosity. Wild Bill was down fifty feet before he touched bottom. The shaft was not so deep, after all.

Leaving the lower end of the rope, he groped his way around the shaft wall until he found the opening of the level. In traversing the level, he dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled.

The level crooked to right and left, and, after Wild Bill had covered something like fifty feet of it, he began to hear voices, and to see a glow of light in the distance.

Pushing his head and shoulders around a turn, he suddenly beheld a queer scene, right at the end of the level.

Five men were there, and four of them carried lighted candles. The fifth man had no candle, but was armed with a shotgun.

The men had all the earmarks of scoundrels, and each was heeled with a brace of six-shooters. The fellow with the shotgun had a belt about his waist, above his revolver-belt, filled with brass shells.

Just as Wild Bill came within sight of the group, the man with the shotgun was “breaking” the piece at the breach, ejecting an empty shell and replacing it with one that was loaded. Having finished the loading, the man threw the gun to his shoulder and shot the charge into the breast of the level.

“We’re blowin’ a hull lot o’ good stuff inter this bloomin’ country rock, Clancy,” growled a man with a candle. “Ain’t ye done enough?”

“I started in with fifteen shells,” replied Clancy, the[9] rascal with the gun, “an’ thar’s five left. We might jest as well close up the rock with what we’ve still got.”

“How do ye know ther feller’ll take his samples from the place ye’re puttin’ them loads?”

“He’ll git his samples from the breast o’ the level, won’t he?” struck in another man with a candle. “By the time we’re done, thar won’t be a patchin’ he kin pick at but’ll hev its salt. Cap’n Lawless’ll land him, an’ thar’ll be a hundred thousand ter pass around. The ‘Forty Thieves’ Mine is a played-out propersition, but the Easterner won’t find that out until arter us fellers git our hooks on ther money. Then we’ll hike.”

Clancy banged another load into the rocks.

“Why in thunder ain’t Lawless hyer?” asked another of the candle-bearers. “He ort ter be helpin’ us, seems like.”

“Don’t you fret none erbout Lawless, Tex,” replied Clancy. “He’ll be around afore long, ready ter do the fine work an’ land the lobster. We don’t need him fer this, an’ it’s a heap better fer him not ter show up in ther cañon while this job o’ salt is bein’ pulled off. If Lawless ain’t seen around hyer, he won’t be suspected o’ any crooked work.”

“What’s Lawless doin’, anyways?” queried the man who had spoken first.

“I dunno, but I reckon he’s watchin’ thet ole flash-light warrior, Buffler Bill. Ye see, Andy, Lawless ain’t anyways eager ter tangle up with Buffler Bill an’ his pards; not but what Lawless could put ther scout an’ his friends down an’ out—fer head-work, I backs Cap’n Lawless, o’ ther Forty Thieves, ag’inst all comers, bar none—but Lawless is jest startin’ inter this hyer profitable field, an’ he don’t want ter hev no interruptions.”

[10]

“Buffler Bill is workin’ fer ther gov’ment,” said Tex. “He won’t bother none with the cap’n.”

“Ye never kin tell about him, Tex,” averred Clancy. “Wharever Buffler scents any unlawful doin’s, he’s li’ble ter butt in; an’ we don’t want ter give him no chance ter git fracasin’ round with us.”

“But if he does,” said Tex, “we’re goin’ ter do him up?”

“We are,” declared Clancy; “him an’ his pards—Nomad an’ ther Injun kid, Leetle Cayuse. I’m close ter the last ca’tridge, Tex, an’ you an’ Andy better go up an’ have ther hosses ready. We won’t linger around ther ore-dump none, arter we come out.”

Wild Bill, screened by the corner of rock, had heard every word of this talk. The mysterious doings, in the light of the conversation among the scoundrels, was now clearly explained.

The five men were “salting” the worthless mine; that is, they had loaded the shotgun-shells with fine gold, and were blowing the gold into the breast of the level. When the intended victim came to take his samples of the vein, he would chip off pieces of the doctored rock, and when the rock was assayed, it would show the mine to be a heavy “gold-producer.” On this showing, unless the intended victim was warned, a hundred thousand dollars would change hands, and Captain Lawless, of the Forty Thieves, whoever he was, would be that much richer.

“I’ll nip this little scheme in the bud,” thought Wild Bill, as he drew back and crouched against the wall for Tex and Andy to pass.

The passing of the men, with their candles, was filled with considerable danger for Wild Bill. If the two ruffians saw him, there was bound to be a fight, for it would[11] not do to let Wild Bill get away with the information he had discovered.

Wild Bill drew his revolvers and made himself as small as possible. Had there been time, he would have hastened back to the shaft, along the level, and climbed the rope. But he knew he could not have gotten half-way up before Tex and Andy would have located him. It was better for Wild Bill to stay right where he was, and hope for the best.

The whole affair, as Wild Bill had planned it, was reckless in the extreme; but he was daring by nature, and rarely counted the cost before making a leap in the dark.

This must have been his evil day, and the beginning of a series of evil days, as will soon appear. Tex and Andy were stumbling past him, when the former, tripping on a stone that lay on the bottom of the level, fell sideways, dropping his candle and falling full on the man from Laramie.

The candle was extinguished, but Tex, encountering the intruder, gave vent to a wild yell of alarm. Wild Bill’s fist shot out, and Tex crumpled flat along the floor of the level; the blow was followed by another, which landed on the point of Andy’s jaw, and threw him against the hanging wall. His candle also dropped, and Wild Bill set his foot on the sputtering flame.

By then Clancy and the other three had started at a run to see what was the trouble. Wild Bill, berating his hard luck, rushed toward the shaft, but he was running in the dark—a circumstance which brought him many a bruise and bump. Behind him came three men with two candles, but Tex and Andy were temporarily out of the race.

[12]

From time to time, as he stumbled onward, Wild Bill looked backward over his shoulder. Suddenly he saw Clancy halt, lift the shotgun, and shoot along the level.

Quick as a flash, Wild Bill dropped flat. He had no desire to stop a charge from a brass shell, even though it was of gold.

The fine yellow metal whistled over his head. As the echo of the shot clamored in the level, Wild Bill sprang up and forged onward with a reckless laugh.

“They can’t salt me,” he muttered, “but I may be able to salt one of them with lead.”

He paused long enough to chance a shot from his six-shooter. A yell of pain came from Clancy. The shotgun clattered to the rocks, and he grabbed at his right arm.

The other two men thereupon began using their revolvers, accompanying their shooting with savage yells.

Wild Bill, pushing flat against the foot wall, deliberately snuffed the two candles that remained alight. His wrist had been grazed by one of the ruffians’ bullets, but it was a small injury, and he gave it scant attention.

As soon as the level was entirely plunged in darkness, he ran on to the shaft which, by then, was only a few feet away.

The time had passed for fighting. It was up to him to retreat, and to see how quick he could get to the top of the shaft, and out of it.

Jabbing his revolver back into his belt, he laid hold of the rope and started aloft, hand over hand.

Clancy and the rest, meanwhile, had not remained inactive. They must have been considerably in the dark as to the identity of their enemy, but they realized that he had caught them red-handed, and that the success[13] of their whole plot might hang on their capturing him. Therefore they pushed forward desperately, Clancy in a rage because of his wound. Tex and Andy, having revived sufficiently from the sledge-hammer blows they had received, had joined the others.

“Don’t strike any matches,” Wild Bill heard Clancy yell, “and don’t light no candles. We don’t want the whelp ter make targets o’ us. Ketch him, thet’s all! Consarn his picter! he’s given me a game arm. I want ter play even fer thet, anyhow.”

Above him, Wild Bill could see a square patch of daylight as he climbed. His progress was slow, however, and he knew that when Clancy and the rest got to the shaft, they would see him swinging in mid-air between them and the lighted background.

As Wild Bill looked up, he saw the head of Crawling Bear leaning over the opening and looking down.

“Cover that hole, Crawling Bear!” roared Wild Bill. “They’re after me, the whole five of ’em. Look alive, now.”

The Ponca was quick-witted, and must have realized the situation. His head vanished from the patch of light the instant Wild Bill ceased speaking.

Climbing hand over hand was slow work. Wild Bill’s arms were strong, and he did his best, but his best did not carry him upward nearly so swiftly as he could have wished.

Sounds of scrambling feet came from below him, followed by the voice of Tex.

“Thar he is! See him squirm, will ye? Pepper him! Turn loose at him!”

Just then the hole above suddenly darkened. Wild Bill was still a target, but not so plain.

[14]

The shaft echoed with a patter of reports. A sharp, stinging blow struck the heel of Wild Bill’s boot, the broad brim of his hat shook, and he was raked along one side as by a red-hot iron.

“Wow!” he muttered; “if they put a piece of lead into one of my arms——”

And just then that is exactly what they did. It was Wild Bill’s left arm. The strength went out of the arm in a flash, and Wild Bill only saved himself from dropping back to the bottom of the shaft by a fierce grip on the rope with his right hand.

How could he climb now? The outlook was anything but reassuring.

All this time the Laramie man felt a movement of the rope, as though Crawling Bear, at the top of the shaft, was tinkering with it under the cover he had placed over the opening.

“I reckon he ain’t climbin’ no more,” roared the voice of Clancy, from the depths. “Lay holt, thar, Tex, an’ see if ye kain’t crawl up an’ haul ther whelp back. He’s winged, mebby, an’ kain’t climb.”

This, as we know, was Wild Bill’s condition. He had twisted the rope about one of his legs, and was able to maintain his place, but, if he did not drop downward, neither could he move upward an inch.

Tex, evidently, had grabbed the rope, for it tightened cruelly around Wild Bill’s leg.

The Laramie man’s arm did not seem to have been very seriously injured. So far as he could judge, what the arm was suffering from, more than anything else, was the shock of the bullet.