Wild Bill's Last Trail Part 2

"You're right. Your money is safe. As to my name, call me Jack. It is short, if it isn't sweet. Some time I'll tell you the rest of it."

"All right, Jack. Take your own time. And now get all ready to start either ahead or just behind the other party."

"We'll not go ahead. Where will you stay to-night?"

"Wherever you think best."

"All right. This old Dutchman keeps rooms for lodgers. You'd better stay here, and if you don't want Bill to see you, keep pretty close in doors.

He'll be out in the Black Hillers' camp, or in the saloons where they sell benzine and run faro banks. Bill is death on cards."

"So I've heard," said Mr. Pond, with a sigh.

Jack now went out, and Pond called the Dutch landlord to him and engaged a room.

CHAPTER II.

PERSIMMON BILL.

As soon as the auburn-haired man who called himself Jack had left the German restaurant, he went to a livery-stable near by, called for his own horse, which was kept there, and the instant it was saddled he mounted, and at a gallop rode westward from the town.

He did not draw rein for full an hour, and then he had covered somewhere between eight and ten miles of ground, following no course or trail, but riding in a course as straight as the flight of an arrow.

He halted then in a small ravine, nearly hidden by a growth of thick brush, and gave a peculiar whistle. Thrice had this sounded, when a man came cautiously out of the ravine, or rather out of its mouth. He was tall, slender, yet seemed to possess the bone and muscle of a giant. His eyes were jet black, fierce and flas.h.i.+ng, and his face had a stern, almost cla.s.sic beauty of feature, which would have made him a model in the ancient age of sculpture. He carried a repeating rifle, two revolvers, and a knife in his belt. His dress was buckskin, from head to foot.

"You are Persimmon Bill?" said Jack, in a tone of inquiry. "Yes. Who are you, and how came you by the signal that called me out?"

"A woman in town gave it to me, knowing she could trust me."

"Was her first name Addie?"

"Her last name was Neidic."

"All right. I see she has trusted you. What do you want?"

"Help in a matter of revenge."

"Good! You can have it. How much help is wanted?"

"I want one man taken from a party, alive, when he gets beyond civilized help, so that I can see him tortured. I want him to die by inches."

"How large is his party, and where are they now?"

"The party numbers between twenty and thirty; they are in camp in the edge of Laramie, and will start for the Black Hills in a few days."

"If all the party are wiped out but the one you want, will it matter to you?"

"No; they are his friends, and as such I hate them!"

"All right. Get me a list of their numbers and names, how armed, what animals and stores they have, every fact, so I can be ready. They will never get more than half way to the Hills, and the one you want shall be delivered, bound into your hands. All this, and more, will I do for her who sent you here!"

"You love her?"

"She loves me! I'm not one to waste much breath on talking love. My Ogallalla Sioux warriors know me as the soldier-killer. Be cautious when you go back, and give no hint to any one but Addie Neidic that there is a living being in Dead Man's Hollow, for so this ravine is called in there."

"Do not fear. I am safe, for I counsel with no one. I knew Addie Neidic before I came here, met her by accident, revealed myself and wants, and she sent me to you."

"It is right. Go back, and be cautious to give the signal if you seek me, or you might lose your scalp before you saw me."

"My scalp?"

"Yes; my guards are vigilant and rough."

_"Your guards?"_

Persimmon Bill laughed at the look of wonder in the face of his visitor, and with his hand to his mouth, gave a shrill, warbling cry.

In a second this mouth of the ravine was fairly blocked with armed and painted warriors--Sioux, of the Ogallalla tribe. There were not less than fifty of them.

"You see my guards--red devils, who will do my bidding at all times, and take a scalp on their own account every chance they get," said Persimmon Bill.

Then he took an eagle feather, with its tip dipped in crimson, from the coronet of the chief, and handed it, in the presence of all the Indians, to Jack.

"Keep thus, and when out on the plains, wear it in your hat, where it can be seen, and the Sioux will ever pa.s.s you unharmed, and you can safely come and go among them. Now go back, get the list and all the news you can, and bring it here as soon as you can. Tell Addie to ride out with you when you come next."

Jack placed the feather in a safe place inside his vest, bowed his head, and wheeling his horse, turned toward the town. Before he had ridden a hundred yards he looked back. Persimmon Bill had vanished, not an Indian was in sight, and no one unacquainted with their vicinity could have seen a sign to show that such dangerous beings were near.

No smoke rose above the trees, no horses were feeding around, nothing to break the apparent solitude of the scene.

"And that was Persimmon Bill?" muttered the auburn-haired rider, as he galloped back. "So handsome, it does not seem as if he could be the murderer they call him. And yet, if all is true, he has slain tens, where Wild Bill has killed one. No matter, he will be useful to me. That is all I care for now."

CHAPTER III.

A WARNING.

When Wild Bill and Sam Chichester entered the saloon alluded to in our first chapter, they were hailed by several jovial-looking men, one of whom Wild Bill warmly responded to as California Joe, while he grasped the hand of another fine-looking young man whom he called Captain Jack.

"Come, Crawford," said he, addressing the last named, "let's wet up! I'm dry as an empty powder-horn!"

"No benzine for me, Bill," replied Crawford, or "Captain Jack." "I've not touched a drop of the poison in six months."

"What? Quit drinking, Jack? Is the world coming to an end?"

"I suppose it will sometime. But that has nothing to do with my drinking. I promised old Cale Durg to quit, and I've done it. And I never took a better trail in my life. I'm fresh as a daisy, strong as a full-grown elk, and happy as an antelope on a wide range."

"All right, Jack. But I must drink. Come, boys--all that will--come up and wet down at my expense."

California Joe and most of the others joined in the invitation, and Captain Jack took a cigar rather than "lift a s.h.i.+ngle from the roof," as he said.