Lahoma | Page 4

spoils on the game, and Brick Willock is in a
fair way to win it, that I admit, but in comes this here spy--"
The prisoner in a frenzied voice disclaimed any purpose of spying. That
morning, he had driven the last wagon of the train, containing his
invalid wife and his stepdaughter--for the child lying on the table was
his wife's daughter. At the alarm that the first wagon had been attacked
by Indians, he had turned about his horses and driven furiously over the
prairie, he knew not whither. All that day he had fled, seeing no one,
hearing no pursuing horse-beat. At night his wife, unable, in her weak
condition, to sustain the terrible jolting, had expired. Taking nothing
from the wagon but his saddle, he had mounted one of the horses with
the child before him, and had continued his flight, the terrific wind at
his back. Unaware that the wind had changed, he had traversed
horseback much of the distance traveled during the day, and at about
two in the morning--that is to say, about all hour ago--seeing a light, he
had ridden straight toward it, to find shelter from the storm.
The prisoner narrated all this in nervous haste, though he had already
given every particular, time and again. His form as well as his voice
trembled with undisguised terror, and indeed, the red and cruel eyes
fastened contemptuously on him might have caused a much braver man
than Gledware to shudder visibly.
"Well, pard," said the leader of the band, waiting until he had finished,
"you can't never claim that you ain't been given your say, for I do
admire free speech. I want to address you reasonable, and make this
plain and simple, as only a man that has been alleged to be something

of an orator can accomplish. My men and me has had our conference,
and it's decided that both of you has got to be shot, and immediate. The
reasons is none but what a sensible man must admit, and such I take
you to be. I am sorry this has happened, and so is my men, and we wish
you well. It's a hard saying, pard, but whatever your intentions, a spy
you have proved. For what do you find on busting open our door? Here
we sit playing with our booty for stakes, and our Indian togs lying all
about. You couldn't help knowing that we was the 'Indians' that gutted
them wagons and put up the fight that left every man and woman dead
on the field except that there last wagon you are telling us about. You
might wish you didn't know the same, but once knowed, we ain't going
to let you loose. As to that wagon you claim to have stole away from
under our very noses--"
A skeptical laugh burst from the listeners.
Gledware eagerly declared that if he had the remotest idea in what
direction it had been left, he would be glad to lead them to the spot. He
could describe it and its contents--
"You see, pard," Red Kimball interposed, "you are everlasting losing
sight of the point. This here is 1880, which I may say is a recent date.
Time was when a fellow could live in Cimarron, and come and go free
and no questions asked--and none answered. But civilization is
a-pressing us hard, and these days is not our fathers' days. We are
pretty independent even yet in old Cimarron, but busybodies has got
together trying to make it a regular United States territory, and they
ain't going to stand for a real out-and-out band of highwaymen such as
used to levy on stage-coaches and wagon-trains without exciting no
more remarks than the buffaloes. You may be sorry times is changed;
so am I; but if times IS fresh, we might as well look 'em in the face. Us
fellows has been operating for some years, but whatever we do is
blamed on the Indians. That there is a secret that would ruin our
business, if it got out. Tomorrow, a gang of white men will be
depredating in the Washita country to get revenge for today's massacre,
and me and my men couldn't join in the fun with easy consciences if we
knowed you was somewheres loose, to tell your story."
Again Gledware protested that he would never betray the band.
"Oh, cut this short," interposed Kansas Kimball, with an oath.
"Daylight will catch us and nothing done, if we listen to that

white-livered spy. We don't believe in that wagon he talks about, and as
for this kid, he brought her along just to save his bacon."
"No, as God lives!" cried Gledware. "Can't you see she is dead for
sleep? She was terrified out of