my first job, arter i war sartin that the comanche war done for, war to light the torch an’ examine the cave. first makin’ sure that thar war no more injuns about, i crawled along up the passage that led to the top o’ the hill, where i found that the log which covered the hole had been moved, an’ i knowed in a minit that that war the place where the comanche had come in. i didn’t care ’bout showin’ myself much, ’cause i didn’t know how many more o’ the savages there might be about; so i pulled the log over the hole agin’ an’ crawled back into the cave. i stuck my torch in the ground, an’ arter movin’ the comanche up in one corner out of the way, i pulled over a pile of hemlock-boughs, that had many a time served me an’ ole bill for a bed, an’ found a kag o’ spruce beer, an’ enough jerked meat to last a month. me an’ bill allers took good keer to leave plenty o’ provender at the cave when we left, so that if we should get hard pressed by the injuns, or game should get scarce, we would know where to go to find good livin’. as i hadn’t had a good meal since we lost the train, i eat a heap o’ that jerked meat, an’ then lay down to sleep, hopin’ that when i woke i should find ole bill with me. i warn’t much anxious about him, ’cause i knowed he war on as good a hoss as ever tracked a prairy, an’ war too ole in injun fightin’ to be ketched easy; an’ i went to sleep, sartin that he would turn up all right afore daylight.
“wal, i slept like a top until ’arly the next mornin’, but didn’t see nothin’ of ole bill. arter a breakfast on jerked meat an’ spruce beer, i smoked a pipe, an’ crawled up the passage to the top o’ the hill, pushed off the log, an’ settled down to listen. for two days, i kept watch at that hole, listenin’ an’ peepin’, but there war no signs of ole bill. on the second arternoon, i heered the tramp of a hoss in the creek, an’ a’most at the same minit a big comanche poked his head over the bushes not ten foot from where i war, an’ looked toward the place where the sound come from. how the rascal got there without seein’ me, i didn’t stop to think; but, risin’ to my feet, i chucked my tomahawk at him, an’ there war one injun less in them woods. nigher and nigher come the trampin’ o’ the hoss, an’ i war sartin it war ole bill; so when he got within yellin’ distance, i give the gobble of a turkey, jest to let him know that there war danger ahead. the ole man heered it, for the trampin’ o’ the hoss stopped, an’, for a minit, the woods war as still as death; but all to onct i heered the crack of a rifle, follered by the death-screech of a comanche, an’ then the clatter of hoofs an’ a loud laugh told me that the ole man war retreatin’. i knowed there warn’t no use o’ watchin’ any more, so i pulled the log over the hole agin, crawled back into the cave, an’ went to sleep. it war night when i woke, an’ takin’ my rifle, i crawled out into the gully an’ lay down in the shade o’ the bushes. i lay there till near midnight without hearin’ any thing, an’ had a’most made up my mind that ole bill warn’t comin’, when the low hootin’ of an owl come echoin’ down the gully. i answered it, an’, in a few minits, up come bill an’ crawled into the cave.
“‘here i am,’ said he, ’an’ i had mighty hard work to get here, too—the timmer’s chuck full o’ the outlyin’ varlets.’
“‘where’s my hoss?’ i asked.
“‘he’s down in the bushes, all right side up with keer, an’ hid away where the rascals will have to hunt a long time to find him. he’s worth his weight in beaver-skins, that hoss is.
“ole bill eat his supper in silence; but, arter fillin’ his pipe, said:
“‘dick, them ’ar comanches have got my hoss, an’ i’m goin’ back arter it.’
“now a feller would think that, arter what bill had gone through, he wouldn’t be in no hurry about goin’ back among the injuns agin. but sich scrapes warn’t no new thing to him; an’ when he said ‘go,’ in course i warn’t goin’ to stay behind. so, arter takin’ another smoke, the ole man tuk the knife and tomahawk o’ the injun i had killed in the cave, an’ led the way out into the gully. as he had said, the timmer was full of injuns, an’, as we crawled along on our hands an’ knees, we could hear ’em talkin’ to each other all around us. but we got past ’em all right, an’ as soon as we got out o’ the gully, the ole man rose to his feet and said:
“‘that hoss knows that there’s somethin’ wrong; he hasn’t moved an inch; he knows a’most as much as a human man, he does;’ an’ pullin’ aside the branches of a thicket of scrub pines, i see my hoss standin’ as quiet an’ still as could be, jest as bill had left him. he seemed mighty glad to see me agin, an’ rubbed his head agin my shoulder, as i fastened on the saddle an’ jumped on his back.
“it war a good two weeks’ work to get back to that camp, for the prairy an’ woods war full o’ comanches huntin’ around for bill, an’ sometimes we had to go miles round to get out o’ their way.
“when we reached the camp, we found it nearly deserted by the braves; still, there war enough left to ketch me an’ ole bill, if we should be diskivered. wal, we lay round in the woods until dark, but not a glimp could we get o’ the ole man’s mustang. the critter might be in the camp, but more ’n likely as not he war carryin’ a comanche on his back, an’ scourin’ the prairy in search o’ bill.
“as soon as it war fairly dark, the ole man stuck out his hand, and said:
“‘dick, i’m goin’ now. good-by.’
“i never before felt so bad at partin’ from him. somehow i knowed that somethin’ mighty onpleasant war goin’ to happen; but it warn’t no use to try to keep him from goin’; so i bid him good-by, an’ he commenced crawlin’ through the grass toward the camp. i watched him as long as he war in sight, an’ then settled back agin a tree, an’ waited to see what would turn up. for two hours i sot there listenin’, an’ thinkin’ of all the fights me an’ ole bill had been in, an’ wonderin’ when the time would come when we must part—not as we had now, for a little while, but forever—when all to onct i heered the barkin’ of a dog in the camp. in course the hull village war aroused to onct, an’ a loud yell told me that ole bill had been diskivered. the yell was follered by the crack of a rifle, an’ the ole man come gallopin’ out o’ the camp on his own hoss, shoutin’:
“‘come on now, dick, i’m even with the rascals. there’s one less comanche in the world.’
“the injuns were clost on to bill’s trail, an’ come pourin’ out o’ the camp on foot an’ on hossback; an’, seem’ one big feller far ahead of the others, i hauled up for a minit, sent him from his saddle, an’ then, jumpin’ on my hoss, started arter the ole man. in course the yellin’ hounds war soon left behind, ’cause there warn’t no hosses on them prairies that could hold a candle to ourn; an’ we war beginnin’ to grow jolly over our good luck, when, the fust thing we knowed, crack went a couple o’ rifles, an’ bill throwed his arms above his head an’ fell from his saddle.
“we had run chuck into a party o’ comanches who had been out huntin’ the ole man, an’ had give up the chase, an’ were ’turnin’ to camp. the minit ole bill fell i war by his side, an’, while i war liftin’ him from the ground, the rascals charged toward us with loud yells, sartin that they had now got both of us in their power.
“‘dick,’ said the ole man, a’most in a whisper, ‘i’ve sent a good many o’ them screechin’ imps out o’ the world, an’ it’s my turn to go now. they have finished me at last. you can’t help me—so save yourself; but remember that every comanche that crosses your trail falls, to pay for this. leave me.’
“‘bill, me an’ you have been together too long for that. when i leave you it’ll be arter this, said i, an’, liftin him in my arms, i got him on my hoss, an’ started off agin. the way that little mustang got over the ground carried us ahead of all except two o’ the comanches, who kept bangin’ away at us as fast as they could load their rifles. if i hadn’t had ole bill in my arms i would have put an eend to their shootin’ an’ yellin’ in a tarnal hurry.
“it war no light load that hoss had to carry, an’ i knowed that we must come to closer quarters soon, ’cause he couldn’t stand that gait long. but he carried us five mile ’bout as quick as i ever traveled, an’ then, all to onct, commenced to run slow. he war givin’ out fast. the yellin’ varlets kept comin’ nearer an’ nearer, an’ i had only one chance for life, an’ a poor one at that. i would stick to the hoss as long as he could step, an’ then try it on foot. so i turned toward a strip o’ woods which lay ’bout a mile off, but he hadn’t made a dozen jumps when one o’ the pursuin’ injuns sent a ball through his head, an’ we all come to the ground together.
“the minit i touched the prairy i dropped ole bill an’, at the crack o’ my rifle, one o’ the injuns fell; the other then commenced circlin’ round me, ’fraid to come to clost quarters. but i kept my eye on him, an’ jest as he war goin’ to fire, i dropped behind my hoss, and kept dodgin’ ’bout till i got my rifle loaded, and then i settled matters to onct. i war safe—but ole bill war dead. i tuk him up in my arms agin, and carried him into the woods, where i rolled a log from its place, an’ arter scoopin’ out some o’ the ground, i put him in, an’ pulled the log back over him. it war the best i could do for him, an’ arter swearin’ above his grave that a comanche should fall for every har on his head, i shouldered my rifle, an’, jest as the sun war risin’, struck out acrost the prairy, which i knowed i must now tread alone.
“is it a wonder, then, that i hate an injun? the bones of many a brave that lay scattered ’bout the prairy can tell how well i have kept my oath. of all the injuns that have crossed my trail since ole bill’s death, the three that camped in this shantee that night ar the only ones that ever escaped. i am not done with ’em yet; an’ when i go back to the prairy, the comanches will have further cause to remember the night that see the eend of ole bill lawson an’ the black mustang.”
