Wild Bill's Last Trail Part 5

It was Addie Neidic.

And then he turned his eyes upon the black horse and rider. The animal, completely under control, though flecked with foam, came down the street slowly and gently, bearing his rider with an air of pride rather than submission. As he pa.s.sed the German restaurant, the rider raised his hat in salutation to Willie Pond, who stood in his window, and said, in a cheerful voice:

"Remain in your room. I have news for you and will be there soon."

Without checking his horse the rider kept on until he was within half a length of the horse of Wild Bill, then checking the animal, he said, in a mocking tone:

"You spoke to me just as I rode away. I've come back to hear you out."

What was the matter with Wild Bill? He stood staring wildly at the Texan, his own face white as if a mortal fear had come upon him.

"Where have I seen that face before?" he gasped. "Can the dead come back to life?"

The Texan bent forward till his own face almost touched that of Wild Bill and hissed out one word in a shrill whisper:

"Sister!"

It was all he said, but the instant Wild Bill heard it, he shrieked out:

"'Tis him--_'tis him I shot at Abilene!_" and with a shuddering groan he sank senseless to the pavement.

In an instant Bill's friends, who had looked in wonder at this strange scene, sprang to his aid, and, lifting his unconscious form, carried it into the saloon where Bill had met Californian Joe, Captain Jack, and the rest of their crowd.

Left alone, the young Texan said a few words to Addie Neidic, then dismounted and told the stable-keeper to keep that horse saddled and bridled, and to get his own Texan mustang ready for use.

"I must be out of town before sunrise, or Wild Bill and his friends may have questions to ask that I don't want to answer just now," he said.

And then, he walked a little way with Miss Neidic, talking earnestly.

But soon he left her, and while she kept on in the direction of her own house, he turned and went to the German restaurant.

Entering the room of Willie Pond, he said, abruptly:

"If you want to go to the Black Hills with me on your own horse we'll have to leave this section mighty sudden. Wild Bill has set his mind on having the horse I bought and broke for you, and he has a rough crowd to back him up."

"If I had known Bill wanted the horse so badly I could have got along with another," said Pond, rather quietly.

"What! let _him_ have the horse? Why it hasn't its equal on the plains or in the mountains. It is a thoroughbred--a regular racer, which a sporting man was taking through to the Pacific coast on speculation. He played faro, lost, got broke, and put the horse up for a tenth of its value. I got him for almost nothing compared to his worth. On that horse you can keep out of the way of any red who scours the plains. If you don't want him I do, for Wild Bill shall never put a leg over his back!"

"I'll keep him. Don't get mad. I'll keep him and go whenever you are ready," said Pond, completely mastered by the excitement which this young Texan exhibited.

"Well, we'll get the horses out of town and in a safe place to-night.

And for yourself, I'll take you to the house of a lady friend of mine to stay to-night and to-morrow, and by to-morrow night I'll know all I want to about the movements of the other party, and we can move so as to be just before or behind them, as you and I will decide best."

"All right, Jack. I leave it to you. Are you sure the horse will be safe for me to ride?"

"Yes. A horse like that once broken is broken for life. They never forget their first lesson. A mongrel breed, stupid, resentful, and tricky, is different. Be ready to mount when I lead him around, I will send for your traveling-bag, and you will find it at the house where we stop."

"I will be ready," said Pond.

The Texan now left, and Pond watched him as he hurried off to the stable.

"The man hates Wild Bill with a deadly hatred!" he murmured. "I must learn the cause. Perhaps it is a providence that I have fallen in with him, and I have concluded to keep his company to the Black Hills. But I must call the landlord and close up my account before the other comes back with the horses."

The German was so put out by the sudden giving up of a room, which he hoped to make profitable, that he asked an extra day's rent, and to his surprise, got it.

CHAPTER VI.

OFF TO THE HILLS.

It was some time before Wild Bill became fully conscious after he was carried into the saloon, and when he did come to he raved wildly about the red-haired man he shot in Abilene, and insisted it was his ghost, and not a real man, he had seen.

Bill's friends tried to cheer and rea.s.sure him, and got several stiff draughts of liquor down his throat, which finally "set him up." as they said, till he began to look natural. But he still talked wildly and strangely.

"I told you, Joe," he said to his old friend; "I told you my time was nigh up. This hasn't been my first warning. That Abilene ghost has been before me a thousand times, and he has hissed that same word, '_sister,_' in my ear."

"Bah! old boy. What's the use of your talking foolish. You've seen no ghost. That red-haired chap was as live as you are."

"He did have red hair and blue eyes, then?"

"Yes; but there are lots of such all over the world. Red hair and blue eyes generally travel in company. But he was nothing to scare you. You could have wiped him out with one back-handed blow of your fist, let alone usin' shootin' irons, of which there wasn't 'casion, seein' he didn't draw."

"Where is he now?"

"I'll go and see. I suppose he is over at the stable."

Joe went out, but soon returned to say that the Texan had just ridden off, after paying his bill; the stable-keeper did not know where.

"Let him go," murmured Bill. "If he _is_ a man, and not a ghost, I wouldn't raise a hand to hurt him, not for all the gold in the Black Hills. He was so like--_so_ like the chap I dropped in Abilene!"

Bill took another drink, but it seemed as if nothing could lift the gloom which weighed down his heart. Only once did his face brighten.

That was when Sam Chichester said there was no use hanging on at Laramie any longer for a bigger crowd; they were strong enough now, and would start for the Hills inside of four-and-twenty hours.

"That's the talk for me!" cried Bill. "I want to get out of here as soon as I can, Joe, and pick me out some sort of a horse. I don't care what, so it'll carry me to the Hills, I can't breathe free any longer where there's such a lot of folks."

"I'll get you a first-chop horse, Bill," said Joe. "There's some half-breeds in a corral just out of town, as tough as grizzlies, and heavy enough for your weight or mine."

"I don't weigh down, as I did," said Bill, with a sigh. "I've been losin' weight for six months back. No matter. It'll be less trouble to tote me when I go under. Remember, boys, when I do, bury me with my boots on, just as I die."

"Stop your clatter about dyin', Bill. I'm sick o' that kind of talk.

It's time enough to talk of death when its clutch is on you."

"I can't help it, Joe, old pard. It keeps a stickin' in my throat, and if it didn't come out, I'd choke."

"Let's go to camp," said Chichester. "Can you walk now, Bill?'

"Yes."

And the party rose, took a parting drink with the landlord, and started for camp.