As stated, this was the plan; but after receiving the contralto's message, Mr. Kelly decided upon amendments. It would be safer, when all was said, to let Mr. Pepin hear of the contralto and her coming. Mr.

Pepin was a frail man; a sudden joy might strike him dead. Mr. Kelly had heard of such cases. Not to invite any similar catastrophe in the fragile instance of Mr. Pepin, Mr. Kelly took him aside and told him of the happiness ahead. He was ten minutes in the telling, rolling the blessed secret beneath his tongue, until the last possible moment, like a sweet morsel.

Mr. Pepin, rendered mute by his peril, said never a word. He read the contralto's message and then fell into a chair-glazed of eye and pale of cheek. Mr. Kelly poured whiskey down Mr. Pepin, laying his faintness to bliss. Mr. Pepin was at last so far recovered that he could walk. But his eyes roved wildly, like the eyes of a trapped animal, and how he fiddled through the night he never knew.

Nature preserves herself by equilibriums. He who will stop and think must see that this is so. Wherever there is danger there is defence, a poison means an antidote and the distillery and the rattlesnake go hand in hand. The day of Mr. Kelly's headlong breaking into the domestic affairs of Mr. Pepin, was the day upon which the Lone Wolf came into Dodge. The Lone Wolf lost no time, but sought out Mr. Masterson. His ragged blanket and blackened face must be explained, and the Lone Wolf told Mr. Masterson of his lost "medicine." Moreover, he set forth his design of presently potting that p.a.w.nee or Sioux, and sequestering, _de bene esse_, the dead person's "medicine."

Mr. Masterson spoke against this latter scheme; to carry it out would betray the Lone Wolf into all sorts and fashions of trouble. The Lone Wolf's Great Father in Washington objected to these unauthorized homicides, and would send the walkaheaps or the pony-soldiers from the Fort upon the trail of the Lone Wolf.

As against this, the Lone Wolf showed that he was even then in all sorts and fashions of trouble by reason of his lost "medicine," and nothing the Great Father did could add to it. What was he, the Lone Wolf, to do?

He must have a "medicine." He could not make a new one, for the Great Spirit had pa.s.sed commands against it. He could not buy one, for every Indian urgently needed his "medicine" in his own affairs, and when he died it must be buried with him since he would then need it more than ever. There was no other solution. He must knock out the brains of that p.a.w.nee or Sioux of whom he was in pursuit. There would then be an extra "medicine" on earth, and he might claim it.

Mr. Masterson owned a fertile intelligence; a bright thought came to him. He told the Lone Wolf that he knew one who was the chief of all medicine men, and master of the mightiest "medicines." This personage, by a most marvellous chance, had an extra "medicine." Mr. Masterson was sure that if the need were properly presented, his friend the Lone Wolf could buy this "medicine." The Lone Wolf would then, in that matter of a "medicine," to quote from Mr. Masterson, "have every other Cheyenne too dead to skin."

Mr. Masterson conveyed the Lone Wolf to Mr. Peac.o.c.k's Dance Hall, and called his attention to Mr. Pepin, who, made desperate by the peep into a contralto-filled future which the kindness of Mr. Kelly had afforded him, was fiddling as he n'er fiddled before. The Lone Wolf gazed planet-smitten. Even without the spotless word of Mr. Masterson, he would have known by the hump on his shoulders-that especial mark of the Great Spirit's favour!-how Mr. Pepin was a most tremendous medicine man.

Neither was it needed that Mr. Masterson instruct him as to the prodigious qualities of the resounding "medicine" which Mr. Pepin fondled. The Lone Wolf could hear the wailing and sobbing and singing of the scores of ghosts-as many as four screaming at once!-that dwelt therein, and whose sensibilities Mr. Pepin worked upon with the wand in his right hand.

Between dances, that gentleman being at leisure, Mr. Masterson made Mr.

Pepin acquainted with the Lone Wolf, and set forth-winking instructively the while-the sore dilemma of his Cheyenne friend. Mr. Masterson explained that he had told the Lone Wolf about an extra "medicine"

whereof he, Mr. Pepin, was endowed. Would Mr. Pepin, from his charity and goodness, sell this priceless "medicine" to the Lone Wolf, and lift him out of that abyss into which he had fallen?

Mr. Pepin owned an extra violin, that was not a good violin and therefore out of commission. It abode in a black, oblong box, like a little coffin. Being the kindest of souls, he declined the thought of sale, and said that he would give it to Mr. Masterson's friend, the Lone Wolf. He took it from its case, which on being opened displayed an advantageous lining of red. The Lone Wolf received it reverently, smelled to it, peered through the slashes in its bosom, placed it to his ear, and then with a kind of awe turned to Mr. Pepin. Was this "medicine" also full of ghosts? Mr. Pepin took it and bowfully showed him that it was a very hive of ghosts.

The Lone Wolf declared that he would receive this inestimable "medicine"

from Mr. Pepin. To simply handle it had given him a good heart. Its mere touch, to say nothing of the voices of those ghosts imprisoned in its cherry coloured belly, cheered him and thrilled him as had no other "medicine." He would return to his people, and scowl in every man's face. His squaws should again hold up their heads, his pappooses cease their crying. His dogs' tails should proudly curl aloft, and his ponies snort contempt for the broncos of feebler folk. Altogether the Lone Wolf pictured for himself a balmy future. In conclusion, the grateful Lone Wolf set forth that, while he was proud to take this wondrous "medicine"

as a gift, he must still bestow those pack ponies, with their cargoes of robes and furs, upon Mr. Pepin, who was his heart's brother.

The Lone Wolf told Mr. Masterson that he would put in the balance of the evening in Mr. Peac.o.c.k's Dance Hall. He desired to sit by the side of his heart's brother and listen to the talk of his "medicine." Mr. Pepin instructed the Lone Wolf how he might bind that precious fiddle-case to his shoulders with straps, and wear it like a knapsack. The Lone Wolf, being thus adorned, gave himself a new t.i.tle. He was no more the Lone Wolf; he had lost that name in the Beaver with his old "medicine." He had become "The-Man-who-packs-his-medicine-on-his-back."

After the Dance Hall revels were done, being alone together, the Lone Wolf and Mr. Pepin fell into closer talk. Two days later, no one could have found Mr. Pepin with a search warrant. The Lone Wolf, too, had disappeared.

When Dodge realised the spiriting away of Mr. Pepin, a howl, not to say a hue and cry, went up. In the woeful midst of the excitement, Mr. Kelly informed the world of his negotiations with the contralto. This news created the utmost consternation.

"It was that which run him out o' camp," said Cimarron Bill, referring to the departed Mr. Pepin. "You've stampeded him by sendin' for his wife."

Dodge could not but look coldly upon Mr. Kelly for his foolish header into the household affairs of Mr. Pepin. And there was a serious side: the contralto had said she would start for Dodge in a week. When she arrived, and Mr. Kelly could not produce Mr. Pepin, what would be her course? Dodge could not guess; it could only shudder. In her resentment the contralto might marry Mr. Kelly. Cimarron Bill expressed a hope that she would. He said that such an upcome would punish Mr. Kelly as well as offer safety to Dodge.

"For that lady's disapp'intment," said Cimarron Bill, "is goin' to be frightful; an' if ever she turns loose once, thar'll be nothin' for Dodge to do but adjourn _sine die_."

Mr. Kelly had lived long on the border and was a resourceful man. He saw the dangers that surrounded him, and appreciated, as he phrased it, that he "was out on a limb." He must act without delay, or there was no measuring the calamities that might overtake him. Thank heaven! the contralto would not start for three full days. There was still time, if Mr. Kelly moved rapidly. Mr. Kelly wired the contralto:

"Your husband dropped dead with joy on hearing you were coming.

You may keep the money."

Mr. Masterson, to whom he read this message, approved it, and said that it did Mr. Kelly credit. At Mr. Masterson's suggestion, Mr. Kelly added the inquiry,

"Shall I ship body to New York?"

as calculated to allay doubts.

Both Mr. Kelly and Dodge breathed more freely when the contralto replied, expressed her tearful thanks, and said that, as to shipment suggested, Mr. Kelly needn't mind.

"An' you can gamble, Bat," observed Mr. Kelly, solemnly, "it's the last time I'll open a correspondence, that a-way, with another gent's wife."

It was during the frosts of a next autumn that Mr. Masterson, in his official character, was over on the Cimarron looking for stolen horses.

He decided upon a visit to Bear Shield's band, since stolen horses among the Cheyennes were not without a precedent.

In the earlier hours of an evening full of moonlight and natural peace, Mr. Masterson came into Bear Shield's village through a yelping skirmish line of dogs. As he rode leisurely forward, he could hear above the howling of the dogs the "Tunk, tunk!" of a native drum, which is not a drum but a tomtom. As he drew slowly nearer, the "Hy yah! hy yah! hy!"

of savage singing taught an experienced intelligence that the Cheyennes were holding a dance. This was not surprising; the Cheyennes, when not hunting nor robbing nor scalping, are generally holding a dance.

And yet the situation was not lacking in elements of amazement. The "Tunk! tunk!" and the "Hy yah! hy yah! hy!" Mr. Masterson could explain, for he had heard them many times. But over and under and through them all ran a thin, wailing note which would have been understandable in a hurdy-gurdy, but fell strangely not to say fantastically upon the ear when heard in an Indian village among the cottonwoods, with the whispering soft rush of the Cimarron to bear it company.

Full of curiosity, and yet with a half guess, Mr. Masterson threw himself from the saddle and made his way through the circle of spectators that were as a frame for the dance. There, in good sooth! sat Mr. Pepin, flourishing a tuneful bow. He was giving them the "Gypsy Chorus," while an Indian drummer beat out the time on his tomtom. Back of Mr. Pepin were squatted a half dozen young squaws, who furnished the "Hy yah! hy!" It cannot be said that these fair vocalists closely followed the score as written by Mr. Balfe; but they struck all about him, and since time was perfect the dancers skated and crouched and towered and leaped and crept thereunto with the utmost eclat.

Mr. Masterson moved into a position where he might have the moonlight full upon Mr. Pepin. That lost genius was indeed a splendid spectacle!

His hair exhibited a plumy bristle of feathers, while the paints on his face offered a colour scheme by the dazzling side of which the most brilliant among the Cheyennes dwindled into dreary failure.

After the dance, Mr. Masterson talked with Mr. Pepin. It was as Mr.

Masterson had surmised; in his despair at the threatened coming of the contralto, and having advantage of the Lone Wolf's new friendship, Mr.

Pepin had thrown himself upon the Cheyennes. They received him most decorously, for the Lone Wolf made a speech that opened their eyes. The Lone Wolf had exhibited his new "medicine," and requested Mr. Pepin to make the ghosts talk, which he did. The hunch on Mr. Pepin's back was also a mighty endors.e.m.e.nt. It was as the signature of the Great Spirit, and bespoke for him an instant Cheyenne vogue. Bear Shield became his friend; the Lone Wolf continued to be his heart's brother. He was given a lodge. Then Bear Shield bestowed upon him his daughter Red Bud to be his wife.

Mr. Pepin confessed that he might have hesitated at this final honour, but the thoroughgoing Bear Shield accompanied the gift of the blooming Red Bud with a fine elm club. The two went ever together, Bear Shield said, and explained the marital possibilities of the elm club. Mr. Pepin had always heard how there was a per cent. of good among every sort and sept of men. He could now bear witness that the Cheyennes nourished views concerning matrimony, and the rights of husband and wife, for which much might be said.

Mr. Pepin did not wish to return to the whites; the Indians were devoid of contraltos. The Lone Wolf filled his lodge with buffalo beef and robes. By way of receiving return, he came once a week, and asked his heart's brother to make the ghosts in his "medicine" tell him their impressions. Under Mr. Pepin's spell the ghosts were sure to talk hopefully and with courageous optimism. Their usual discourse took the form of "Johnny Comes Marching Home," or "The Girl I Left Behind Me."

These never failed to make the Lone Wolf's heart both bold and good.

Mr. Masterson presently met the Lone Wolf. That warrior was wearing his fiddle-case "medicine" on his back, after the manner of a squaw carrying her pappoose. The Lone Wolf had a prideful look which he held was one of the beneficent effects of his "medicine." He confided to Mr. Masterson that Mr. Pepin's Cheyenne name was a rumbling procession of gutturals that, translated, meant "The-toad-that-sings-like-a-thrush."

CHAPTER X

THE INTUITIONS OF MR. ALLISON

For a moment the signs promised hugely of smoke and flying lead and sudden death, and the interest of Dodge was awakened. Later, when the episode had been thoroughly searched, it grew to be the popular conclusion that the affair was wholly of the surface. Mr. Allison himself said that he was saved in a manner occult, and not to be understood, and explained how his intuitions warned him of a pending peril. Had it not been for those warning impressions, which he insisted came from guardian spirits interested for his safety, Mr. Allison held that the business might have taken on a serious not to say a sanguinary hue.

Cimarron Bill declined the theory of guardian spirits as maintained by Mr. Allison; he took the blame of that gentleman's escape upon himself.

"Clay never got no speritual hunch," said Cimarron. "Which it was my own ontimely cur'osity that give him warnin'. I'm in the Long Branch at the time, an' nacherally, after gettin' Bat's word, I keep protroodin' my head a whole lot, expectin' every minute's goin' to be Clay's next; an'

he ups an' notices it."

Mr. Short joined with Cimarron, and expressed a skepticism as to Mr.

Allison having been bucklered by disembodied influences.

"I never did go a foot," concluded Mr. Short, "on speritualism, with its table-tippin' an' its ghost-dancin'. Cimarron's argument sounds a heap more feasible. In my opinion, Clay saw thar was a hen on by Cimarron's face."