CHAPTER VI
JIM THURSTON'S SUBSTITUTE
At half-past four on the following morning, Kiddie stood alone on thetrail with his saddled pony, waiting in the darkness outside the depotof the Express in Fort Laramie, and listening for the thumping sound ofhoofs which should tell him that the westward bound mail wasapproaching.
He was earlier than it was necessary he should be, but he was awarefrom long past experience that when there was an especially importantdispatch among the mails, the riders taking up their successive relaystried to gain a few minutes on their time.
And this was what now happened, for he had been waiting less than aquarter of an hour when he heard the expected sound from afar. Shortlyafterwards the incoming rider dismounted at his side, breathing heavilyafter a ride of two hundred and forty miles.
"You've saved seventeen minutes on schedule time, pardner," Kiddie toldhim. "Guess I shall improve on that, if my ponies are all up to themark an' ready at their stations."
He seized the two satchels, transferred them to his own saddle,mounted, and with a wave of the hand started off to the westward.
Not a moment had been wasted in making the change, and his trained ponybroke at once into a full gallop which would be continued while thetrail was level until the next station was reached, some thirty milesaway, where a fresh pony would be awaiting him.
His first relay station was at Hot Springs, and it took him less than aminute to change mounts. He rode eight different ponies on this trip,and each of them satisfied him. Their pace depended upon the nature ofthe ground.
Where the trail was good, as across Laramie Plain, and could be takenat the gallop, the speed was something like twenty-five miles an hour,but where the way was rugged, as among the Porcupine Mountains,fifteen, or even ten miles in an hour was considered good going.
When Kiddie reached the station at Sweetwater Bridge he had gained bysix minutes. Gideon Birkenshaw had come down from the homestead togreet him, and the fresh pony was held by young Rube Carter. Kiddie'sHighland deerhound, Sheila, was also on the trail. As he dismounted,she raised herself on her hind feet and put her paws on his shouldersto lick his chin.
"Down, Sheila, down!" commanded Kiddie, drawing away from her. "I'm onduty. I've not come home to you."
Sheila walked majestically apart from him.
"Amazin' wise, that animal is," said Gideon, taking the bridle of thetired pony, and watching Kiddie leap to the saddle of the fresh one."Built same's a racehorse, she is. Them long legs of hers, they'dcover a heap o' ground, eh? What kinder work did she do in her owncountry, Kiddie? Huntin'?"
"Yes, deer hunting," Kiddie answered. "She could race anystag--outdistance any horse. Has a pedigree as long's your arm, Gid.She's quite an aristocrat."
"Splendidest dog I ever see in my life," commented Rube, patting thehound's shaggy head. He seized her collar and held her in a firm gripwhile Kiddie started. She strained against him as her master wentfarther and farther away.
Rider and pony were quickly out of sight in a fold of the trail, butagain they appeared on the farther rise. Sheila pulled harder now, butRube dug his heels in the ground, and dragged her back.
"No, you ain't goin' ter foller him," he protested.
But with a sudden strong wrench the hound broke away, and bounded offalong the trail, sending Rube flying backward into the bushes. Rubescrambled to his feet.
"Look! look, Boss!" he cried, excitedly. "Gee! did y'ever see acritter run like that? My! jus' look! Kiddie may well say she c'doutdistance any hoss. D'you reckon a railroad train c'd go faster'nthat, Gideon!"
"Dunno," said Gideon, watching the animal racing at full stretchthrough a cloud of dust. "I ain't just certain 'bout that railroadtrain; but I sure never seen a critter go along quicker'n that hound'sgoin' now. Why, she'll overtake Kiddie inside of half an hour, for allhis long start of her!"
Kiddie, indeed, had not gone half a dozen miles before the deerhoundwas galloping at his pony's heels. The pony's ears were twitchingnervously, and there was a change in the measure of its headlongstride. Kiddie felt instinctively that he was being closely followed,yet there were no hungry wolves about at this time of year.
An impatient yelping bark reached him. He glanced round over hisshoulder. The dog soon came level with him.
"Go back--back, Sheila!" he called.
But Sheila only slackened her pace, and dropped behind, where he couldneither see nor hear her.
At a bend in the trail, where it entered a deep gully, overshadowed bytrees, Kiddie looked round to assure himself that the hound had obeyedhim. To his surprise he saw her still following him closely. He drewrein, dropping from a swift gallop to an easy canter. Still Sheila wasclose behind. Kiddie began to scold her, but, as this had no effect,he pulled up to a halt, and dismounted.
"Now, do as you're told, Sheila," he said, half gravely, halfcoaxingly. "Go back home, you're not to come with me. I'm going toofar. Go home, now; there's a good girl."
The hound seemed to understand, for she turned away a few steps andthen looked at him pleadingly, standing with her jaws open, and herlong dripping tongue working like a piston over her white fangs.
Suddenly she lifted her head, and looked sharply into the shadow of thetrees. Her ears were raised as if she had heard some strange,suspicious sound.
Kiddie, preparing to re-mount, listened also. He heard the breaking ofa twig far in among the thickly-growing trees. At the same instantsomething like the buzz-z of a mosquito passed by his ear. An arrowflashed across the trail between him and the dog, striking against astout tree trunk on the farther side. Then a second arrow, aimedhigher, rattled among the upper branches.
Now, Kiddie had his mail bags to think of. He had already lost severalprecious moments dealing with the hound, and he could not afford towaste time in trying to discover what possible enemy was lurking in thewoods with the evident purpose of taking his life.
Drawing his revolver, he fired two shots in the direction from whichthe arrows had come. Then he turned to Sheila.
"Seek him, Sheila--seek him! After him--quick!" he ordered, pointingout the way; and as the deerhound plunged into the woodland he snatchedup the nearer arrow, ran to his pony, and, re-mounting, renewed hisbroken journey.
At Three Crossings, which was his next relay station, he showed thearrow to the man who met him with the fresh pony.
"Say, Hoskin, how's that?" he questioned. "Some skunk hidin' in thetimber this side of Medicine Creek, figured ter do me in with it.Poisoned, ain't it?"
Hoskin took the weapon and critically examined its barbed point.
"Yep," he nodded meaningly, handing it back. "It's sure poisoned. Ascratch with it would kill you right away. Got any partic'lar enemyamong them Injuns hangin' out along your way? What about the lot aswas at Birkenshaw's t'other morning? You was thar, I hear. What aboutBroken Feather?"
"Broken Feather could hardly know that I'm takin' this trip with thePony Express," Kiddie demurred.
"Um!" Hoskin shook his head. "I ain't so sure 'bout that, Kiddie," hesaid. "He has spies planted all along the trail. He knows 'mosteverything. You'd best be keerful."
Late on that same day. Rube Carter was crossing the trail, carrying aload of material for Kiddie's building operations, when he saw Sheilalimping towards him over the bridge. He dropped his load, strode up toher, and was putting his arms about her neck in welcome when he noticedthat there was blood on her chin and throat. He searched for an openwound, but found none.
"Looks as if you'd bin gettin' back to yer old business of huntin'stags," he said. "Wait, though," he added, seeing a nasty tear in theskin over her shoulder. "Stags don't carry no knives along of 'em, an'if that ain't a knife stab on your shoulder, then I sure ain't fit t'be called a scout."
Rube was very much perplexed concerning Sheila's condition. Itappeared to him that, after all, she had not overtaken her master; thatnotwithstanding Kiddie's confidence in her running
powers, she hadproved that a Highland deerhound was not the equal in speed of awell-trained prairie pony.
Rube blamed himself for having allowed her to break away from him. Hewas glad, however, that she was not lost, and that her injury was notserious. But where had she been? What had she been doing?
He at once began to exercise his scoutcraft in the endeavour to puzzleout the mystery.
The blood marks on her chin and throat might very well be accounted foron the supposition that, instead of following her master, she had goneaside from the trail to give chase to some large animal--a mountaingoat or a big-horn antelope, and that she had attacked and perhapskilled it, as she had been trained to do when out deer-stalking in hernative Highlands of Scotland.
She might very easily have been wounded in the encounter by a backwardprod of an antelope's sharp horn; even as she might have got the stainsabout her mouth in licking the bleeding wound.
But, unfortunately for this simple theory, the wound in the hound'sshoulder was not of a kind to suggest the stab of a goat's horn or ofan antelope's sharp-pointed antler. It was clearly and unmistakablythe cut of a knife; not round, but thin and straight, and it was toofar forward and too high over her shoulder for her to turn her head andget at it with her tongue.
Moreover, some of the bristles that had been cut by the knife remainedthere loose among the congealing blood, showing that it had not beenlicked. Rube's obvious conclusion was that it was not an animal, but aman she had attacked; that she had bitten him severely, and that he hadused his knife in defending himself. But who that man might be, or whythe hound should attack him, Rube could not even conjecture.
It was a dark night, and Rube was sound asleep in his bunk, when Kiddiechanged ponies at Sweetwater Bridge on his eastward-bound trip; butKiddie made time to ask Abe Harum if Sheila had returned.
Abe told him that she was then in her kennel, but added nothing abouther condition. On the following day, however, when he returned homefor a spell of rest, it was Rube who met him on the trail.
"Seems Abe told you as the hound had come back," began Rube. "It wasmy fault she followed you. I couldn't hardly help lettin' her loose.Thar was no holdin' her in. She got up t' you, then? How long was shegettin' abreast o' you? I guess you hadn't gotten far, eh? Gee! howshe did cover the ground!"
"Why," Kiddie answered, "she was alongside o' me inside of six milesfrom here. Good going, wasn't it?"
"Sure," agreed Rube. "But she didn't come back so quick, Kiddie,nothin' like it. Did yer know she'd a cut on her shoulder?"
"Eh--a cut?" Kiddie started in vexed surprise. "Is it bad?"
"Oh, no," Rube assured him, "makes her limp some. But I've doctoredth' wound, an' it's gettin' along all right. Come an' have a squint atit."
He brought the dog out, giving no expression to his own theory. Kiddieexamined the wound.
"Cut of a knife," he decided immediately.
"Thar was blood on her mouth," said Rube. "I washed it. 'Twasn't herown blood."
"Then they sure got to close grips," concluded Kiddie, "and I guess hegot as much as he gave. She'd make for his throat, but I'm figurin'that he'd put up an arm to protect himself. His left arm, most like,as he'd use his right for the knife. We gotter keep our eyes open fora man with a lame left arm, Rube."
"Didn't yer see him, Kiddie?" Rube questioned.
"No."
"Then how d'you know anythin' about it? How d'you know it was a man asdone it? How d'you know she didn't kill him outright, same's she'dkill a stag? An' why did she go for him, anyway?"
"She went for him because I sent her into the forest after him," Kiddieexplained. "The scoundrel shot a poisoned arrow at me. And, havingmyself no time to spare, I left the business to the dog, see?"
"An arrow!" exclaimed Rube, "a poisoned arrow! Well, 'twas sure aInjun done it. Any one else 'ud have used a gun."
"Might have been a white man, for all that," resumed Kiddie. "Anarrow's a silent weapon, and if it's poisoned, as this one certainlywas, then a mere scratch would be fatal; whereas the victim mightrecover from a bullet wound. Whoever it was, however, Sheila must surehave left the mark of her fangs on him."
"How d'you know she didn't kill him?" Rube persisted. "How d'you knowhe ain't lyin' there dead, right now?"
"Because," Kiddie rejoined, "on my return trip--knowing exactly wherethe thing happened--I went into the forest and searched. I found spotsof blood. I found signs of the struggle; that was all. There wasn'tany dead body lyin' around."
"P'raps th' other Redskins carried his body away," conjectured Rube.
"But he was alone," pursued Kiddie. "I'm plumb sure there was nobodywith him."
"See the marks of his moccasins?"
"No. He wore nailed boots, which left scratches on the root of acotton wood tree."
"Boots, eh? A Injun would have wore moccasins that wouldn't leave noscratch, even on the soft bark of a tree root. Y'see, a white manmight wear moccasins, same's I do; but I never knew a Redskin shove hishoofs inter hob-nailed boots. Wait, Kiddie, wait! I've gotten a idea."
"Let's hear it, then, Rube. I'm glad to find that you're exercisingyour powers of reasoning. What's your idea?"
"This," declared Rube, with a knowing headshake. "I was figurin' thatthe low-down scoundrel as fired that poisoned arrow might be--well,_might_ be Nick Undrell. I never told you before, Kiddie, but that daywhen your outfit was attacked by the Injuns, I heard one of Nick'schums say ter him--time you was ridin' alone in advance of thewagons--that now was the chance if Nick had a mind ter put a bulletinter you an' vamoose wi' the boodle."
"Yes," smiled Kiddie, "and your idea is that because one of his chumssaid such a thing as that, Nick went miles and miles out of his way tohide himself in Medicine Creek Forest and try to do the trick byputting a poisoned arrow into me, eh? And what d'you reckon might havebeen his motive?"
"Dunno," answered Rube. "Never thought of that."
"Because," pursued Kiddie, "if it was robbery, an experiencedfrontiersman like Nick Undrell wouldn't calculate on finding muchboodle on a Pony Express rider. He'd find it a heap more profitable todo the robbery right here where all my valuables are. Besides, Nick istoo slick a hand with the pistol to have any truck with an Injun's bowand arrows. No, Rube, my boy, your idea isn't worth a whole lot, cometo analyze it. Even if I suspected Nick Undrell of shooting thatarrow, the fact remains that when I started on that ride I left him inFort Laramie, that he had no relays of ponies, as I had, waiting readyalong the trail, and that he couldn't anyhow have got to Medicine Creekin front of me. It wasn't humanly possible. Any other solution tersuggest, Rube?"
Rube shook his head decisively.
"No," he answered. "I'm just more puzzled than ever. Can't straightenit out nohow. Can't think who it could be, or why he did it. Thar'sonly one thing t' be said, Kiddie, an' that's this: the man as triedter take your life was either a Injun wearin' white man's boots, orelse a white man usin' a Injun's bow an' arrow. Beyond that, I'mmakin' up my mind ter look out fer a individual--red or white--goin'around with his left arm in a sling."
"Don't hold too tight t' th' idea that it was in the arm he wasbitten--" Kiddie cautioned. "Sheila might have seized on any otherpart of his anatomy. My own notion is that the hound herself will spothim sooner'n you or I could do."
"Thar's a lot in that notion," Rube acknowledged. "Guess I'll keep myeye on the hound all the time. An' when I sees her bristles rise an'her teeth showin' an' hears a growl rumblin' up from her throat, Ishall sure know that the skunk ain't a far way off."
Kiddie the Scout Page 6
