Chapter XXXVI: Hemmed in

Under the direction of Buffalo Bill, a hiding place was found at length in a notch of the hills, and in it the scout and the Yankee sought refuge. Buffalo Bill would not have stopped in the notch but for the fact of his extreme physical weakness. He needed time in which to recuperate.

In addition to the wide opening in front, which was screened by scrubby bushes and tall cactus, there was a narrow pass leading to the rear, and the sides of the ravine were jagged and notched, so that, if closed in on from both ends of the ravine, there would still be a good chance to escape.

Before this two of the horses had been abandoned, on Buffalo Bill’s advice, as he thought they were likely to be an encumbrance.

The releasing of these horses, really good animals, and their loss with their accouterments, was a sore grief to the close-fisted Yankee.

“It sorter seems like throwing away money,” he said, as the horses were left behind, and, with a backward look, he saw them browsing by the trail. “I was allus taught never to throw anything away, never to let go of anything that might be used, and never to be wasteful. The one what does them things, I was allus told, will never git rich. It seems a sin and shame to let ’em go. They’d fetch good money, if we had ’em at any market.”

Buffalo Bill smiled at the covetous Yankee’s observation.

“We’ll be better off without them. Yet, if you choose to take them yourself, and are not going far with me, it’s not my place to object to your doing what you please with them. But I know that my movements would be only hampered by them. They’re good horses; but I’m willing that the Mexicans, to whom they belong, shall have them.”

“Waal, I’ve got a fine critter under me, in place of the one I lost,” was Spalding’s consoling answer.

When they had stowed themselves securely in their retreat, the Yankee brought forth the writing in Spanish he had taken from the pocket of one of the Mexicans, explaining at the same time where he had obtained it.

Buffalo Bill glanced at the paper and his eyes brightened when they took in the writing, which was as follows:

“The American scout must be killed. It will never do for him
to find Prince Mogador. Do not hesitate to slay him as if he
were but a wolf. Everything depends on it. When you have
succeeded, ride at once to San Paz Hacienda.

“LEON RUIZ.”

The signature of Leon Ruiz was what caught the eye of the scout quite as much as the nature of the contents. It was the signature attached, also, to the mysterious note which had been in the handle of the dagger. It seemed to him that the handwriting was the same, too; but as he had not possession of the other note he could not be sure of this. He had replaced that note in the handle of the dagger, and there it had been when he was shot down and the dagger was taken from him.

Whether the men who now had the dagger knew of that receptacle in the handle he could not tell, of course. He hoped they did not, and that knowledge of it would be kept from them.

This new note made him anxious to start on for San Paz Hacienda.

It was the only place which answered to the description given in the dagger note as that of the prison of the writer, and this second note hinted that Prince Mogador was held there.

The first note had been written with the end of a bullet or cartridge, which tended to prove that the writer was a prisoner, not in possession of pencil or pen, and the material on which it had been written showed the same thing. The note produced by the Yankee was written on ordinary paper, with a lead pencil.

“What’s it say?” asked the Yankee. He had doubled his long frame up like a jackknife, and, with his arms on his sharp knees, he had rested his chin on them, and was thus looking curiously at the scout. “It looks like hen tracks tew me.”

Buffalo Bill translated it for him.

“I want tew know!” he exclaimed. “Where is this San Paz Hacienda?”

Buffalo Bill told him.

“I ain’t heerd your story yit, yeou know. You recollect I said I’d wait till yeou was better able tew tell it. I cal’late it may be int’restin’.”

“I’m sure I can trust you.”

“Yeou’ll hev to, I guess, ef yeou tell it, though trustin’ is mighty pore bizness. Trustin’ come nigh to bustin’ me onct, up in Varmount; trustin’ goods aout of my store, I mean. Ef I had all the money owin’ tew me by the farmers raound Spalding’s Corners I’d be a sight richer’n I am to-day.”

“I think I can trust you, I’m sure of it. You risked your life to save mine, and that’s all the credentials I want, to show me that you’re a man whose heart is in the right place. I’ll tell you my story.”

This Cody did, giving Enos Spalding a clear idea of why he was in that section, and what he had discovered since coming into it.

“I want tew know!” said Spalding, who throughout the telling had sat with his mouth dropped open, like the mouth of a fish out of water. “I reckon that yeou and me aire both on a huntin’ trip daown this way—yeou huntin’ fur this furrin prince and me huntin’ fur my niece! An’ so yeou know Miss Fernald, tew! It’s a curious coincidence, I may say, and it would be funnier than time ef we should find that aour steps p’inted in the same direction.

“It begins tew look tew me as if there’s a good deal of abductin’ goin’ on daown here. That is, jedgin’ by what you think. You don’t believe this furrin’ prince is dead, and I ain’t willin’ tew believe that my niece is dead. Suppose we splice teams and hunt together? I’m not much good at it myself, but I mightn’t be sech bad shakes, ef I had yeou to lead. I’d try to do my part.”

His long, lank face looked at the scout solemnly, but in his blue eyes there was a fire which showed that he had a good deal of courage and spirit.

“If I could, I should be glad to help you in this matter of your niece,” said the scout, wondering how Emily Fernald could have met with dangers and difficulties again, so soon after being taken home by Lieutenant Butler. “As soon as I’m able I shall go on to the Hacienda of San Paz. The letter in that dagger handle described the San Paz Hacienda, and this note in Spanish, signed also by Leon Ruiz, directs his men to ride there as soon as they have finished me.”

The Yankee’s face broke into a dry smile.

“Ef they dew that, I reckon yeou won’t be goin’ to this hacienda, unless they kerry yer body there on their hosses.” His face sobered again. “But ef yeou do go there, I’m guessin’ yeou’ll be runnin’ into whole heaps of danger and trouble. If them men what aire trying to git ye here find yeou raound that haciender they’ll try tew kill ye there. I allaow ’twon’t be healthy fer either of us in that vercinity, sense I laid aout that Mexican and wounded the other one. They’d be wantin’ my hair abaout as bad as they do yourn.”

“That’s true, too,” said the scout. “If those men happen to meet you they’ll try to punish you for what you did. But you’re a man of courage. I’ve seen that. And you can shoot a revolver.”

The Yankee grinned solemnly. “My courage was kinder of the shakin’ order, when I popped intew ’em frum that tree,” he admitted. “Ef it hadn’t been a needcessity I’d never done it. But when a lot o’ heathen Mexicans tries tew hang an American citerzen, then I’m under obligations as an American tew chip in and help him all I kin. ’Twouldn’t be becomin’ in an American not to.

“And,” he added, “I learnt haow to shoot a pistol when I was constable up in aour taown, a good many years ago, and I ain’t furgot it. I used to practice pistol shootin’ reg’lar, aout behind the woodhouse, in them days. Zenas Dane was a leetle better shot than me, but sometimes I even beat Zenas. I’ve noticed that when a man learns anything, whether it’s pistol shootin’ er something else, he never fergits it intirely. But my hand was shakin’ a putty considdable when I pulled daown on them Mexicans. Otherwise, I allaow I’d ’a’ got the third man, tew.”

“As I said, I’m going to ride to San Paz Hacienda, as soon as I feel strong enough to undertake the journey. If you will accompany me, I shall be glad to have you do so,” replied Cody. “If your niece and Emily Fernald are held prisoners down here anywhere, we might possibly get some information there; no one can tell. Of course, it seems the merest chance.”

“I’ll go ’long with yeou,” said the Yankee, his face brightening. “One place is as good as another, so long’s I don’t know no more than I dew now. Yeou’ll cut aout before dark?”

“Perhaps so.”

Thus they talked, discussing their plans and their situation.

Buffalo Bill began to feel much better, and was trying to get some sleep, when the Yankee aroused him.

“I swan tew man, somebuddy’s comin’ this way!” he whispered.

Buffalo Bill was wide awake and alert instantly. Then he discovered that some of the men the Yankee called Mexicans were already in the little pocket and were making a search through it.

“Gosh all hemlock!” whispered the Yankee excitedly. “They struck them hosses, and naow they’ll find us! It’s fight, I cal’late.”

So saying, he drew his revolver.

“Don’t fire, don’t be hasty!” Buffalo Bill caught his arm. “Just slide back here behind these bushes; there’s a hole that will hide us.”

“They’ll trap us in there!” said Enos, but he obeyed the scout, nevertheless, and slid back into the hole.

The Mexicans had found the two horses, and they were talking of their discovery in such high whispers that the words reached the men in concealment.

“What they sayin’?” the Yankee demanded.

“They think that we’re near, or the horses wouldn’t be where they are.”

“Good guessin’! There’ll be some fightin’, ef they nose us aout.”

He lay flat behind the bushes, clutching his revolver, his breath coming heavily.

The hole in which he and the scout sprawled was dark, and bushes were thick around it.

“They may find our tracks, if they’re experienced men,” whispered the scout. “If they do we’re in for trouble.”

“Let it come!” said the Yankee, his eyes beginning to blaze. “We’ll fight the hull of ’em.”

They heard the Mexicans beating about in the bushes, and caught sight of one of them as he walked through the lower ground, not a dozen yards off.

Closer and closer drew the searchers.

Suddenly the bushes in front of the hole were shaken. Then they were drawn aside, and a dark face peered in. The face paled to a sickly tallow color when the man saw that he was looking into the muzzle of a revolver. Before he could draw back, the scout had caught him by the leg, thrown him down, and jerked him back into the hole, and, with the scout’s revolver muzzle pressed against his breast, he feared to cry out.

“Too much curiosity often gets men into trouble,” Buffalo Bill said in Spanish. “Cry out, and you’re a dead man!”

The threat was sufficient; the man made no sound, but lay trembling, with a piteous appeal for mercy in his face.

“How many men are out there?” the scout whispered.

“More than a dozen, señor.”

“They think we are in here?”

“Si, señor.”

“Watch him,” said the scout, speaking in Spanish for the man’s benefit, “and if he so much as moves, shoot him dead.”

Cody repeated it to the Yankee in English.

“By gosh! I’d jes’ like to send a bullet rippin’ through him!” the Yankee whispered. To show that he meant “business,” he sat on the Mexican’s arm, and pressed the muzzle of the big revolver against the prisoner’s breast. “Ef yeou so much as wink an eye yeou git this bullet!” he threatened.

Buffalo Bill crawled along and tried to see out.

The other men were not far off.

After hunting round and round a while they began to call to their missing comrade.

“Nuncio!” they yelled.

“What has become of that villain Nuncio?” one of them was heard to ask a little later.

“Hast looked behind those bushes, Perez?” said another.

Perez was heard coming up the slope. He parted the bushes, saw the face and the revolver of Buffalo Bill, and, with a cry, threw himself backward before the scout could catch him. His yell as he rolled down warned his comrades; the next minute he was telling them of his discovery.

A crackling fire of revolvers followed instantly, and the bullets came through the bushes. Nuncio uttered a groan. One of them had struck him in the breast.

“Down!” said the scout to the Yankee.

“Come out of there, you American dogs!” was the shouted command from below.

Buffalo Bill answered, in Spanish, without exposing himself:

“We have captured your friend Nuncio, and have him here, and we are using him as our shield. Already you have wounded him. If you fire on us again you are likely to kill him. We will not surrender, and if you try to take us it will but result in the death of your friend.”

The men were heard to retreat, and then there sounded, farther off, the hum of their voices. One of them came back and shouted:

“We do not believe you. If you have Nuncio, let him speak.”

Buffalo Bill pointed his revolver at the head of the suffering man.

“Answer them!” he commanded. “Tell them they shot you, without harming us, and that if they fire again they’re likely to kill you.”

Nuncio answered, coughing out the words, for he was in great distress.

“If you love me, do not fire again!” he begged. “Already I am badly wounded.”

Again the hum of voices was heard.

“Surrender, for you cannot escape,” said the spokesman. “We have you corralled. We will treat you well, if you surrender without giving us trouble.”

“We do not trust you,” said Buffalo Bill, “and we refuse to surrender; and, if you crowd us, we will kill your friend.”

“We will starve you out!” was shouted back. “You cannot get away, and we will starve you out.”

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