The Mountain Divide Part 10

Bucks ventured to urge that he intended no insult.

"Don't insult me!" bellowed Levake in violent tones.

Again Bucks attempted to protest. It was useless. Levake insisted with increasing wrath upon hugging the insult to himself, while Bucks struggled manfully to get it away from him. And as Levake's loud words did not attract as much attention up and down the street as he sought, he stamped about on the sidewalk. Bucks's efforts to pacify him made matters momentarily worse.

Meantime a crowd such as Levake desired had gathered and Bucks found himself a target for the outlaw's continued abuse, with n.o.body to take his part. Moreover, the expressions on the faces about him now made him realize his peril quite as much as anything in Levake's words. It was becoming painfully evident that the onlookers were merely waiting to see Levake shoot him down.

"No man in Medicine Bend can insult me and live," cried Levake, winding up a tirade of abuse. "I'm known from one end of this street to the other. n.o.body can spread lies in it about me."

He drew and flourished a revolver as he spoke. None in the crowd interfered with so much as a word. But even before the outlaw had finished what he was saying, a man of medium size and easy manner elbowed his way quietly through the circle of spectators, and, taking Bucks by the arm, drew him back and faced Levake himself. It was Bob Scott.

"What's all this about, Levake?" demanded Scott gently.

Levake had no alternative but to turn his wrath upon the Indian scout.

Yet those who knew him perceived that it was done without much stomach for the job. Instead of growing momentarily greater the violence of his abuse now grew steadily less, and the thunder in his tones rolled further and further from the subject.

Half-turning to Bucks, Scott laid his hand on his arm again. "Excuse me," said he, deliberately and quietly, "but you are wanted quick at the station. They are waiting for you. Go right along, will you?"

Only too glad to get away and comprehending Scott's ruse, Bucks exclaimed, "Why, of course, certainly," and stepping quickly into the crowd walked away.

Turning again to Levake, Scott made no effort to check the torrent of his words. In consequence, the gambler found himself embarra.s.sed by the prospect of talking himself out. This would not have been so bad except that his circle of admirers would, when he stopped talking, expect him to do something and he was now at a loss to decide just what to do. To shoot down Bucks was rather a different matter from a pistol duel with Scott.

None of the street loafers about the two men knew Scott, nor did any of them know that Levake had a prudent respect for Scott's trigger. As for Scott himself, a smile of contempt gradually covered his face as he listened to Levake's outbreak. He only waited patiently for the moment, which he knew must come, when Levake should cease talking.

"Your tongue, Levake," returned Scott at last, "is longer than a coyote's. Why do you stand here and bellow about being insulted? What is all this noise about, anyway? These fellows," a contemptuous nod indicated the men standing around, "all know, if you don't. You've been talking loud so you could get a crowd together and advertise yourself by shooting an unarmed boy, haven't you?"

The desperado broke out in fresh denials and curses, but he feared the ridicule of the Indian would bring the laughter of his admirers down on him. Nor was he keen to try a pistol duel. He remembered too well the attack he had once headed on an emigrant train that Scott was guarding, and from which the outlaws with Levake had carried away some unexpected and unwelcome bullets.

Scott, now taunting Levake openly, stepped directly in front of him.

But the latter waved him away. "I'll settle my differences with you when I'm ready," he muttered. "If that fellow," he added, indicating Bucks, who was making record time across the square, "behaves himself, I'll let this go. If he doesn't, I'll fill him full of lead."

"When you do," retorted Scott, "remember just one thing--that I'm going to fill you full, Levake. Don't forget that."

Scott stepped backward. The crowd parted to let him through and Levake walked sullenly toward the cigar store.

Bucks wiped the perspiration from his forehead when he reached the station and drew a long breath. He waited until Scott crossed the square and joined him. The Indian only laughed when Bucks tried to thank him. "It is nothing," he said, "you are getting experience. Only don't tackle that man again till you give me notice beforehand."

The next morning Bucks installed himself at Goose Creek.

Goose Creek was a mere operating point and besides the rough wooden station, with an attic sleeping-room for the operator, boasted only a house for the section crew--six men taken care of by a China boy cook.

East of the station stood an old road ranch belonging to Leon Sublette. For this, freight was at times unloaded and an Indian trail to the south led through the sand-hills as far as the Arickaree country. North of the river greater sand-hills stretched as far as the eye could reach. The long, marshy stretches of the Nebraska River lost themselves on the eastern and the western horizon and at times clouds of wild fowl obscured the sun in their flight across the sky.

Dancing came down to the new station to complete the instalment of the instruments and this broke for a day or two the loneliness of the new surroundings. Indeed, there was hardly time to be lonely. The constant round of interest attending the arrival of trains with their long halts, visits from trappers living at the ranch who were always ready to talk, and occasional calls from friendly p.a.w.nees from the south, together with abundance of time for hunting the geese and ducks, made the days go.

But one early summer morning Bucks woke to an adventure not upon his daily programme. He walked downstairs after dressing, and as he stepped out on the platform the sand-hills touched by the rising sun shone in the northwest like mountains of gold. Looking at them he saw to his surprise they were covered with black objects that appeared to be moving.

Indians were first in his mind, and in his alarm he ran all the way to the section-house where the foreman, after a hasty study of the hills, explained that the suspicious-looking objects were buffaloes.

This information only added to Bucks's excitement. The China boy cook, Lee Ong, at the section-house appeared equally stirred at the situation and, after running in and out of the kitchen with much fluttering of cue and clattering of wooden shoes, promised Bucks a buffalo steak for dinner if he would bring in a hindquarter.

By the time Bucks had finished breakfast the whole country to the north was black with buffaloes. For hours they poured over the divide to the delight of the astonished boy, and after a time he wired Baxter at Medicine Bend that a herd of at least one million buffaloes was crossing the railroad at Goose Creek. As the grave despatcher seemed not greatly excited by this intelligence, Bucks followed up the story at intervals with vivid details. A wag on the wire in Medicine Bend played upon his enthusiasm by demanding frequent bulletins, even going so far as to ask the names of the leading buffaloes in the herd. When he had got all the laughs possible for the office out of the youthful operator, he wired Bucks that if the herd should linger too long on the right-of-way he must notify them that they would be held as trespa.s.sers.

This message had hardly reached Goose Creek when the China boy came running into the telegraph office. His eyes were staring, and his face was greenish-white with fright. "Indians!" he exclaimed, running to Bucks's side and das.h.i.+ng back again to the west window.

Bucks sprang to his feet. "Where?"

Lee Ong pointed to the northern sand-hills. Riding the broad slopes that led toward the river, Bucks saw a long string of braves, evidently a hunting party. The cook, beside himself with fear, ran out of the station before Bucks could stop him.

"Hi there, Lee," cried the operator, running after him. "Where are the section men?"

"Gone," cried Lee Ong, not ceasing to run, "all gone!" He pointed, with the words, to the east.

"Tell them to bring the hand-car down here!"

"Too much gone," shouted Ong. "Omaha!"

"Lee! Stop! Where are you going?"

Lee stopped only long enough to throw his right arm and forefinger with an excited gesture toward the west.

"San Francisco, San Francisco!" he cried.

"Why, Lee," exclaimed Bucks running after him, "hold on! You are crazy! San Francisco is fifteen hundred miles from here." This information did not visibly move Ong. "Indian no good," he cried, pausing, but only long enough to wave both hands wildly toward the sand-hills. "San Francisco good. No some more cook here. Indian come too quick"--Ong with his active finger girdled the crown of his head in a lightning-like imitation of a scalping knife--"psst! No good for Ong!"

It would have seemed funny to Bucks if he had not been already frightened himself. But if the section men had fled with the hand-car it meant he would have to face the Indians. Lee Ong, running like mad, was already out of hearing, and in any event Bucks had no wish to imperil the poor China boy's scalp with his own.

He turned an anxious eye toward the sand-hills. Then realizing that on the platform he was exposing himself needlessly, he hastened inside to his key and called up Medicine Bend. It was only a moment, but it seemed to the frightened operator a lifetime before the despatcher answered. Bucks reported the Indians and asked if there were any freight trains coming that he could make his escape on.

The despatcher answered that No. 11, the local freight, was then due at Goose Creek and would pick him up and carry him to Julesburg if he felt in danger. Bucks turned with relief to the east window and saw down the valley the smoke of the freight already in sight. Never had a freight train looked so good to his eyes as it did at that moment. He hailed its appearance with a shout and looked apprehensively back toward the sand-hills.

The activity in that direction was not rea.s.suring. The Indians, too, apparently had noticed the smoke of No. 11 trailing on the horizon. A conference followed, ill.u.s.trated by frequent pointing and violent gesticulating to indicate the coming train. Then with a sudden resolve the whole party rode rapidly out of the hills and down toward the railroad.

Bucks's heart misgave him as he watched. But the cotton-woods growing along the river hid the Indians from his eyes and he could not surmise what they were doing. The information all went to the despatcher, however, who, more experienced, scented serious mischief when Bucks's bulletins now came in.

"Watch close," he wired. "It looks as if they were going to attack the train."

The operator's anxiety rose with the intimation. He ran out of doors and down the track, but he could neither hear nor see a thing except the slow-moving train with the smoke puffing from the awkward, diamond-stack locomotive moving peacefully toward the cotton-woods that fringed the eastern sh.o.r.e of Goose Creek. The very silence seemed ominous. Bucks knew the Indians were hidden somewhere in the cotton-woods and felt that they could mean nothing but mischief. He ran back to his key and reported.

"They will surely attack No. 11," he wired. "I will run across the bridge and warn them."

"Where are the Indians?" demanded the despatcher.

"In the timber across the creek. I am starting."

"Don't be an idiot," returned the despatcher, with an expression of Western force and brevity. "They will lift your hair before you get half-way to the train. Stick to your key as long as you can. If they start to cross the creek, leg it for the ranch. Do you get me?"

Bucks, considerably flurried, answered that he did, and the despatcher with renewed emphasis reiterated his sharp inquiry. "Do you understand, young fellow? If they start to cross the creek, leg it for the ranch or you'll lose your hair."