Chapter XI: The Retreat

Hurrying along at a pace that left the cabin rapidly behind, Buffalo Bill soon was made aware that some one was in front of him. His thought on making this discovery was that the desperadoes had got ahead of him and were trying to cut him off. He stopped, and the noise ceased when he came to a standstill.

Having stood without motion for several minutes the scout heard a sliding sound.

“Ah! One of the scoundrels is trying to slip on me!” was his thought, and he stared through the gloom, and finally saw a human form crawling softly over the grass toward him.

When it was close up he dropped down on it. There was a smothered exclamation, which he recognized as coming from Michael Flynn.

“This you, Flynn?” he said.

“I dunnaw who I am. L’ave me go! Who’s this that’s shpakin’?”

“Cody.” Buffalo Bill released the Irishman, who rolled over, puffing and grunting.

A timid voice sounded in the darkness.

“Dat you, Marse Cody?”

“So you’re here, too, Cudjo? Flynn, I hope I haven’t hurt you. We’ve got to be moving! Why did you leave the island?”

“’Twas the nagur’s fault that the prisoner got away, and thin we heard the shootin’ and thought mebbe you was in nade. So, that’s why we come. Begorra, I think you’ve cracked me windpipe! But it’s betther yez did it than anither.”

The young Irishman sat up, breathing heavily. Cudjo slid into view out of the gloom.

“Thank Heaven, Marse Cody, dat you’s livin’! When I heerd dem guns goin’ I ’lowed dat you was dead sho’ ’nough.”

“I got into a little scrimmage down there, which I’ll tell you about in a minute. Just now we’d better hustle along. You are all right, Flynn?”

“I think me neck is cracked, but it’s shtill hangin’ togither. Wurra! But ye’ve got fingers of iron! Yis, I’m ready to go an. It’s back to the island, I suppose? The canoe is right off there undher the bank.”

“The island will be a dangerous place, since Benton got away, though he is now wounded. He returned to the village. We’ll have to abandon most of the goods on the island, I’m afraid. But I’ve got to risk something to get my clothing. That disguising served me no good turn whatever. Lead the way to the canoe, Flynn.”

They were soon in it and paddling quietly up the stream.

When they gained the island they were sure none of the desperadoes had been there yet, for everything was undisturbed.

The scout threw his clothing into the canoe, and they tumbled into it such things as they did not wish to lose, and then paddled across to the mainland.

As they drew the canoe up under the bank there they heard some of the outlaws coming up the stream in a boat. The boat landed on the island and the occupants went ashore. It was plain they were under the leadership of Jim Benton.

“Now!” whispered the scout. “We’ll get out of here while they’re crashing round over there.”

So saying, he turned the nose of the canoe upstream, and they paddled on close by the bank, screened by the darkness.

They pulled inshore a mile above. There they drew the canoe out of the water, and tried to hide it securely under some willows. Then they took what things they had brought and climbed ashore, where the scout changed clothing.

Sitting in the darkness, Buffalo Bill told his story, which drew wondering comments and exclamations from his hearers.

All sounds from the village and the island had died away, or were lost in the distance.

“We must first find a place to cache these things,” said the scout, when he had finished his story. “And we want a place in which we can hide. There’s no good cover along the stream, so I suggest that we strike for the high cliff wall. As we saw it to-day, it is not far from here; and my binoculars showed many bushes and trees there.”

As they pushed on, they talked of Klamath John, whom they had thought dead; of the girl whom the scout had seen, and of Red Reynard. When they came close up to the wall which was their objective point, they heard something moving there.

“Wan av the divils lukkin’ f’r us here!” whispered Flynn. “Begorra, he’s thraveled fast!”

Cudjo’s eyes rolled in the direction of the sound.

“Marse Cody, dat sounds like de ’gator. Dem creeturs travels on lan’ sometimes.”

“Keep quiet a minute, while I see what it is.”

The scout put down his bundle and stole away. Soon they heard him laugh, and then heard a quick trampling of heavy feet.

“I’ve got the ’gator, Cudjo!” he called softly. “Come on, now, I won’t let it bite you.”

They discovered that he had captured a horse, that was saddled and bridled and had apparently but lately escaped from its rider.

“This is a good find!” he said. “I shall return to that village on his back. It will get me there quicker.”

Cody tied the horse with the lariat that was attached to the saddle, and when he had done that he began to search for a secure hiding place. The capture of the horse had determined him suddenly to return to the cabins, leaving Flynn and Cudjo in hiding at this point.

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