Buffalo Bill's Spy Trailer: or, The Stranger in Camp. Ingraham Prentiss

and warmly greeted, for the scout had always liked the young soldier, who had been given his discharge on account of a severe wound received in an Indian fight, which it was thought would render him lame for life.

      "Well, Harding, I am glad to see you, and you deserve credit for the plucky ride you have made. How is the old wound getting on now?"

      "All right, Bill, for I am not at all lame, I am glad to say."

      "And you are getting rich, I suppose?"

      "Well, no, but I have laid up some money in mining, only I cannot stand upon my wounded leg long at a time, and so I am going to ask you to take me on as a scout under your command, if you can do so."

      "Harding, you are just the man I want, and you are in that very place where I need you, so you can return to your mine, and pretend to work as before, for there is where I wish you to serve me, since I received this letter from Doctor Dick."

      "Thank you, Pard Cody, for your kindness, and will be glad to do as you wish; but may I ask a favor?"

      "Certainly."

      "It is that no one knows that I am in your service, not even Landlord Larry or Doctor Dick, for I can work better, I am sure."

      "It might be a good idea to have it so, and it shall be as you wish, for you can do better work as a spy, and I have full confidence in you, Harding. But we will talk over just what it is best to do when I have reported to Major Randall the holding up of the coach and killing of Dave Dockery and the others."

      Buffalo Bill then left the courier and went to headquarters, where he held a long conversation with the commandant of the post.

      Returning to his own quarters he said to Harding, who was awaiting him:

      "Well, pard, the major has heard the whole story, and he has left it to me to go in my own way about running down these road-agents, for, though only one was seen, there were evidently more at the hold-up."

      "I do not doubt that, for one man would be a bold one to alone make an open attempt to hold up a coach with Dave Dockery on the box, and knowing that he had passengers with him."

      "Well, Harding, you are to return to Last Chance, and give letters I will write to Landlord Larry, and I wish you to go to work in my service, and secret service it must be, for what you do must be underhand, no one knowing that you are doing else than carrying on your mining as before. I will give you a paper which will protect you, for Major Randall will endorse it officially, and you can use it in case of trouble, or necessity; not otherwise."

      "I thank you, friend Bill, and I'll be discreet, I promise you; but now there is another thing I wish to tell you, and to ask what you think of it."

      "Well, what is it, Harding?"

      "Do you believe that Sergeant Wallace Weston is dead?" was the query, in a low, earnest tone.

      Buffalo Bill started at the unexpected question asked him, and gazing intently at Harding, asked:

      "Why do you ask such a question, Harding?"

      "I will tell you when you answer my question, Mr. Cody."

      "Whether I believe Sergeant Wallace Weston dead?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "I do."

      "You have good reason for believing it, then?"

      "I have."

      "Please tell me what it is."

      "As you have some motive above curiosity in asking, I will do so, Harding," and Buffalo Bill told the whole story of Sergeant Weston's escape from execution, and the finding of a body in his uniform upon the desert, and burying it. But he added:

      "I confess, Harding, after a talk with Doctor Dick upon the subject, I was led to doubt to a certain degree the death of the sergeant, and even followed a trail which I supposed was his."

      "With what result, sir?"

      "That we found the trail led to a mine which had caved in and crushed the cabin home of those who dwelt there!"

      "When was this, sir?"

      "Only a short time ago."

      "Do you mind giving me the date?"

      Buffalo Bill took a note-book from his pocket and gave the exact date.

      "Now, Harding, you have some knowledge upon this subject; a secret to tell."

      "Yes, sir."

      "Out with it."

      "You will keep it in confidence, between us two?"

      "Certainly."

      "You know that the sergeant was my friend, that he had saved my life twice in battle, and I loved him as I did a brother?"

      "I remember."

      "No man knew him better than I did in the fort, for we were boon comrades for over a year, and I knew his features perfectly, as well as other marks of identification."

      "Yes."

      "The sergeant had one mark that he was sensitive about, and kept hidden from all, though I saw it several times."

      "What was it?"

      "He had a peculiar way of dressing his hair, with a curl hanging over his forehead."

      "I remember it."

      "Beneath that curl, sir, was a birthmark."

      "Ah!"

      "It was a red cross an inch in length, and perfect in shape."

      "Indeed?"

      "Yes, and I saw that same mark on a man's forehead a few days before the date you say that Sergeant Weston, if it was he, was buried in the caved-in mine."

      "Ah! and where did you see it?"

      "I had gone to Wingate by coach, sir, to collect some money due me from several soldiers there, and in the sutler's store I saw a man whose face I was sure I had seen before.

      "He wore his hair and beard long, and seemed to stoop badly, or was round-shouldered, but the form otherwise was the same, so were the eyes and shape of the head, and he had a round gold filling the size of a pin's head in one of the front teeth.

      "Reading a letter that seemed to impress him, he took off his hat and pushed his hair back, and I saw the red cross on his forehead. I went up to see him as though to attract his attention, but he looked at me as though he had never seen me before, yet his face flushed and paled as he looked.

      "Now, Mr. Cody, that man was Sergeant Weston, and I'll swear to it, but I would not tell any other man than you, for if he escaped death no one is more glad of it than I, unless – "