QuantLib Python Cookbook pdf download

https://ebookgrade.com/product/quantlib-python-cookbook/

Get Instant Ebook Downloads – Browse at https://ebookgrade.com

More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Python Cookbook

https://ebookgrade.com/product/python-cookbook/

ebookgrade.com

Modern Python Cookbook

https://ebookgrade.com/product/modern-python-cookbook/

ebookgrade.com

Implementing QuantLib

https://ebookgrade.com/product/implementing-quantlib/

ebookgrade.com

Python machine learning cookbook 2nd

https://ebookgrade.com/product/python-machine-learning-cookbook-2nd/

ebookgrade.com
Python Data Visualization Cookbook 2th edition

https://ebookgrade.com/product/python-data-visualization-cookbook-2th-
edition/

ebookgrade.com

Qt5 Python GUI Programming Cookbook 1788831004

https://ebookgrade.com/product/qt5-python-gui-programming-
cookbook-1788831004/

ebookgrade.com

Qt5 Python GUI Programming Cookbook sbhukya

https://ebookgrade.com/product/qt5-python-gui-programming-cookbook-
sbhukya/

ebookgrade.com

Python Deep Learning Cookbook Indra den Bakker

https://ebookgrade.com/product/python-deep-learning-cookbook-indra-
den-bakker/

ebookgrade.com
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
 The two guards stepped forward, and over the head of each
prisoner placed a noose. Then the judge opened the Bible and read,
just why Buffalo Bill did not know, the story of Daniel in the den of
lions. This he followed with the Ten Commandments. Three hundred
voices then sang the Doxology, and the judge arose, and, locking his
arm in Buffalo Bill’s, led the way to Hangman’s Gulch.
The guards and their prisoners followed, the twelve men who
were to draw the doomed men into mid-air, each grasping the rope
of their respective victim.
A slow and solemn step was kept to Hangman’s Gulch, the many
lanterns casting flickering shadows, as they marched along. At last
the place was reached, already dotted with the graves of many men
who had thus been tried and executed.
Into the dark weird place they filed, and soon approached the
gallows where so many others had died.
The two prisoners were moaning, like men in physical pain, for
they were cowards at heart. Then they began to plead for mercy.
But as well might they have appealed to the cliffs about them as to
that crowd, for while some there were doubtless merciful, they were
too greatly in the minority to dare speak what they felt.
The ropes were thrown over the beam, which was greased, and,
at a signal from the judge, the twelve men upon each line drew their
victims up into mid-air, silencing their cries for mercy.
Then, back from Hangman’s Gulch surged the crowd, laughing and
talking as they went over the affair, and it was generally agreed that
Pocket City would be the better for the hanging.
The Vigilante captain felt that he had done his duty, so repaired to
his store in a very self-satisfied humor, while Buffalo Bill
accompanied him for a short time, and began, in a quiet way, to
question him about Bonnie Belle.
All he could learn was the fact that not a man in Yellow Dust
Valley was there to say one word against her, all holding her as
above reproach. Nothing was known of her antecedents, and there
was not the slightest suspicion that she was connected in any way
with the road-agents under Silk Lasso Sam.
She had gone East upon some business of her own, the
storekeeper said, and Deadshot Dean, the miner, had been her
escort, and, not aware that the latter was a married man, Scott
Kindon hinted that he believed there was a strong feeling of
friendship between the two. This might result in marriage, and the
“judge” hoped that it would, as the miner was a splendid fellow in
his opinion.
Then, learning that the driver of the stage-coach was in Pocket
City that night, Buffalo Bill sought him out. He found him at the
Devil’s Den, having just won all the money at poker which his
adversary had.
He greeted the scout pleasantly, said that he had come in a couple
of hours before, and was glad to feel that the trail was free of
outlaws.
“I wish to ask you, Pard Sandy, something about Bonnie Belle?”
said Buffalo Bill.
At once Sandy was all attention.
“Waal, pard, what kin I tell yer?”
“You took her in your coach when she went East?”
“Sure.”
“And the miner?”
“Deadshot Dean?”
“Yes.”
“He went along, too.”
“Where did you leave them?”
“Waal, she left me at the trail junction.”
 “And the miner?”
“He went on East on the regular coach.”
“And Bonnie Belle?”
“She took the upper branch trail via Omaha.”
“East?”
“Yes.”
This answer caused Buffalo Bill to ponder deeply.
Bonnie Belle surely started East. Why then did she leave Deadshot
Dean at the Overland junction and take the upper trail which led her
through Chicago? Why did she turn back unless she had received
some word from the fort, where her brother was a prisoner?
Texas Jack, he recalled, had gone off on a special mission, which
had not been reported to him. He would inquire if Texas Jack had
been to Pocket City. So he asked Sandy if he had seen Texas Jack.
“Oh, yes.”
“Where?”
“He came to Pocket City, and then followed on after the coach.”
“Why?”
“He had a letter for Bonnie Belle.”
“From where?”
“The fort.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he overtake the coach?”
“Yes.”
“Did he deliver the letter?”
“He did, pard.”
 “And receive an answer?”
“Not a written one, pard.”
“A verbal answer?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it was?”
“I heard her say, ‘Tell him simply that I will.’”
“Ah! and then?”
“Texas Jack went back on the trail, and I drove on with my
passengers, Deadshot Dean leaving me by one trail at the junction
and Bonnie Belle going by the upper trail.”
“And you did not hear of her passing back over the trail?”
“See here, Buffalo Bill, you is chief of scouts at Pioneer Post I
knows well, and you has a right ter ask all questions of me, but I
wants ter say if it’s ter get Bonnie Belle inter trouble, I’ll be a dumb
man, sart’in, and don’t you fergit it.”
“Pard Sandy, that little woman has no better friend than I am, and
I would protect, rather than do one act to cause her trouble; but I
am on a secret trail, which I wish to see the end of, and you can
help me by answering my questions and perhaps save much trouble,
for I believe there is a plot on hand to rescue Silk Lasso Sam and his
men by force, and you surely do not wish to see those devils again
turned loose upon the trails more revengeful than ever?”
“I does not, and I thanks you for being square with me, Buffalo
Bill. The fact is I did not hear of Bonnie Belle’s going West ag’in, but
I happen to know thet she did go, and that’s all I can tell you.”
“Well, I’ll ask no more, Sandy, to-night at least. Good night,” and
Buffalo Bill remained in the Devil’s Den while the driver left it with
his winnings in his pocket.
The scout was the cynosure of all eyes as he leisurely strolled
about the gambling-saloon, going from table to table, risking a few
dollars at faro, and winning, then being equally as lucky at roulette,
rouge-et-noir, and dice-throwing, when he received a challenge from
a miner to play him a game of cards.
“Oh, yes, I’ll play if you wish, though I had not intended to when I
came in,” said the scout.
“Waal, I plays for big stakes, and don’t you forgit,” was the answer
of the challenger.
Buffalo Bill took his measure in a steady look at him. He thought
that his face was familiar, but he was not sure, for he could not
recall where he had seen him before.
He was a man even larger than the scout, for he was more
brawny, weighing over two hundred pounds and as hard as iron. His
face was bearded, his hair worn long, and he carried no knife in his
belt, but instead four revolvers, two in front and one on each hip, so
that no matter where he dropped his hand it must fall upon the butt
of a “gun.”
He wore no superfluous clothing, either, his miner’s shirt, corduroy
pants, top-boots, and slouch-hat, pulled down over his eyes about
making up his wardrobe.
The carrying of four revolvers had gained him the name of
“Pistols,” and that he knew how to use them, too, several graves
upon Sunset Hill gave testimony.
He was peacefully inclined when not drinking, but when under the
influence of liquor his best friends avoided him religiously, and those
who saw him challenge Buffalo Bill to play cards felt that the scout
had made a mistake in accepting, for they discovered that Pistols
was drinking, and that meant a row they were certain.
In answer to the remark of the man that he played for big stakes,
Buffalo Bill asked in his quiet way:
“What do you call big stakes, pard?”
“What does I call big stakes?”
 “Yes, that is the question I asked.”
“Waal, I call a game without a limit big money.”
“Are you able to stand a game without a limit?”
“Is I? Ask my pards if I can’t call yer at a thousand and pay if I
loses.”
“Oh, a thousand is your limit, then?”
“Can you match me?”
“If I could not I would not play with you; but when you said
without limit, I wished to know what you meant, as you can size my
pile at a thousand. Now you know what I can do, so say whether
you will play or back down?”
“Back down?” yelled the miner savagely.
“Yes,” was the perfectly calm response.
“I never backs down agin’ any odds.”
“Then play,” said Buffalo Bill, in the coolest manner possible.
The interest in the games going on in Devil’s Den very quickly
were centered in the match between Buffalo Bill and Pistols.
“I’m out for scalps,” the miner had said, in a voice that was heard
all over the saloon.
At this Buffalo Bill looked him squarely in the face and there was
something in the look that controlled the man, and he said:
“I see now that you have been drinking. Had I suspected this I
would not have played with you, for I never play with a drunken
man. Behave yourself now, or quit before trouble follows.”
There was that in the words and look which mastered the man,
for he made at first no reply; but then he said:
“What did I say to make you mad?”
 “Nothing, for I am not angry; but you said you were out for
scalps, and I wish you to understand that I take the same trail when
there is need for it.”
The man appeared cowed, for he said:
“We don’t want trouble, Buffalo Bill, so shall I git a fresh pack of
cards, and will yer take a drink?”
“Thank you, I do not care to drink, and you take my advice and let
it alone. But get the cards.”
An angry gleam came into the eyes of Pistols. He made no reply,
and walked to the bar after a fresh pack of cards.
“Shuffles, give me a fresh pack and some whisky, too,” he said.
“Here’s the cards, Pistols, but take my advice and don’t drink any
more, for Buffalo Bill is a stranger here,” said Shuffles.
“Waal, he wants ter git better acquainted with ther folks. Whisky, I
said, straight, strong, and blistering.”
Had Bonnie Belle been there he would have refused. But to do the
best he could he took a half-empty bottle, hastily poured water into
it, and set it before the man, hoping to have him get but half the
quantity. The miner suspected, held it up to the lamp, and looked at
it.
“Is this pale sherry, Shuffles?”
“It’s whisky.”
“You lies, for you have drowned it with water, so you kin hev it.”
Quick as a flash he dashed the stuff full into the face of poor
Shuffles, who, blinded and maddened, drew his revolver and fired a
shot at random. It was the last act of his life, for he dropped dead
with a bullet in his brain, while Pistols called out:
“He put water into my whisky, pards, and then shot at me, so I kilt
him. Thar he lies ahind the bar.”
 To put water in whisky was a criminal offense which the miners of
Yellow Dust Valley could not forgive or forget, and so Shuffles lost
the sympathy of the crowd by his heinous act, while Pistols rose in
their estimation for visiting just punishment upon one who would do
such a thing.
“Now, Pard Studley, I wants some whisky,” and Pistols turned to
the bartender nearest, who quickly placed a fresh bottle before him,
while the miner took the other which had caused the trouble, and,
dashing it against the wall at the rear of the bar, shivered it to
atoms.
“Yer sha’n’t p’izen no one else with watered whisky,” he said.
Then, turning to those who had gathered about him, he said:
“J’ine me, folks, in a lettle beverage, for I’m bettin’ high it will be
ther Simon-pure article. Does yer catch on?”
They “caught on” with alacrity, and with the upturned face of
Shuffles, the eyes wide open staring into his own, Pistols poured his
glass full to the brim and dashed it down his throat.
A hush had fallen upon the crowd during this scene, and a few of
the timid ones, or, rather, those who wished to avoid being in a row,
silently withdrew from the building.
There were several who felt that Buffalo Bill was making a sad
mistake in having accepted the challenge of Pistols, while others
knew that had he not done so, a row would have been precipitated
at once, for he would certainly have insulted the scout then and
there.
A few now hastened to tell Buffalo Bill, who had not risen from his
seat, that Pistols had just killed Shuffles, and had then taken a
tumblerful of whisky, so was in a dangerous mood.
“He didn’t have quite enough ter brace him fer trouble with you,
pard, for he has heerd o’ you, as we all has, and that’s why he got
more. He’s primed now, and will go off like a hair-trigger,” a miner
said.
 “Yaas, so jist go out and let him alone,” another added.
Buffalo Bill smiled serenely. It was a smile that some who saw it
felt boded mischief. Then he said complacently:
“I never seek trouble, gentlemen, unless I am after a man I know
needs running down, and duty compels me. I sought no trouble with
your comrade, and merely accepted his challenge, so he can turn it
into any game that suits his humor best.”
“Here he comes now,” cried a voice, and just then Pistols was seen
approaching the table where Buffalo Bill sat, a cigar between his
teeth.
With a lurch Pistols dropped into his chair and glared at Buffalo
Bill.
“I has come back!” he said.
“So I see.”
“There’s ther pack o’ cards,” and he tossed them upon the table.
Buffalo Bill picked them up, glanced at them, and said:
“Yes, they are all right.”
“Did yer think I’d git any as wasn’t?”
“Not being acquainted with you I didn’t know.”
“Waal, we’ll git better acquainted, I’m thinking.”
“Perhaps.”
“Come, don’t git skeered, fer I ain’t goin’ ter shoot, only I hed ter
kill a feller over that, just now, and I is loadin’ my gun ag’in.”
“You are very wise.”
“Yer see he insulted me.”
“I can hardly believe that possible.”
There were a number who heard this reply who appreciated its
sarcasm. Pistols felt that there was a meaning in it he could not
fathom, so he did not try, and said:
“Yes, he put water in my whisky.”
“Did he not know you?”
“Yaas, only he tried to play a underhand game on me. We has
been mighty good friends, Shuffles and me, for he has twice saved
my life, and he meant well toward me, I is sart’in, fearin’ I sh’u’d git
too much, so he put water in my whisky, and I’d kill my brother fer a
insult like that.”
“I can believe you; but may he not have been only wounded?”
“Yer don’t know me, pard, for I never wastes powder and lead,
but shoots to kill. I is sorry my poor pard Shuffles committed suicide,
for he should have know’d me well; but he’s out o’ misery now, and
I’ll pay all ther expenses of ther funeral and give him a beautiful
send-off on ther trail ter glory, an’ put up a stone over him with a
inscription as a warnin’ to them who puts water in whisky, which I
drinks ter git all o’ ther leetle devil out of it I kin. Does yer tumble?”
“Oh, yes; but do you still wish to play with me?”
“Does I?”
“Yes.”
“Why, pard, I is in fer a game o’ anything with you.”
“Then let us begin.”
The words were so quietly uttered, the look of the scout was so
calm, that it checked the devil gaining the ascendency of the man
for a minute.
“All right, pard, I is ready.”
The cards were shuffled, cut for the deal, and Buffalo Bill won.
Then the game was begun.
All who watched the two men, and they were all who could crowd
about them, saw that the scout was as cool as an icicle, showing not
the slightest dread of what any one who was near felt sure must end
in a deadly encounter between the two players.
Buffalo Bill serenely smoked his cigar, his face remaining
impassive, and yet those who watched him closely saw that his eyes
were rather upon his adversary than his cards.
The game was played more carefully by Pistols than those who
saw him believed possible, for he was cautious in all he did and
leered maliciously at Buffalo Bill when he gained a point. At last he
seemed to brighten up and said:
“A hundred on my hand, Buffalo Bill.”
“Mine is worth twice that sum.”
“I’ll add that more to mine.”
“So will I,” was the quiet response.
“I calls yer.”
“Four aces,” and Buffalo Bill laid the cards upon the table.
“Durn yer,” said the miner without showing his hand, and the
scout pocketed the money.
That Pistols felt his loss was evident to all, for his face grew darker
and an uglier look came into his eyes.
“Well, how much is your hand worth, Mister Pistols?” asked the
scout, when the climax of the second game came around.
“It’s worth a hundred,” and Pistols appeared confident, then.
“No more?”
“Well, what is your hand worth?”
“Just five hundred dollars, no more no less.”
The miner started. Could it be possible that the scout held a better
hand than he did this time? No, it could not be. The lightning would
not strike twice in the same spot.
 “I jist says show up to ther tune of five hundred.”
Buffalo Bill put up the money he had just won, adding more to it,
and said:
“There, match that with five hundred.”
The miner drew out a greasy buckskin bag and took out a roll of
bills. He counted out very slowly five hundred dollars, and it could be
seen that very little remained in the bag.
“Thar she goes, and yer needn’t squint at ther bag, fer thar is
more whar thet come from. Now I’m thinkin’ your money is mine, so
show yer hand.”
“Four aces,” said the scout, without the change of a muscle.
“Four aces!” roared the miner. “Four aces agin’ my four kings! How
comes that?”
“You dealt, pard, and were more generous to me than to yourself,”
and Buffalo Bill very quietly put the money in his pocket, while he
said:
“I’ll play you another game to give you a chance to win back your
money, or lose more, if you wish it.”
“There’s only one more game I’ll play with you, Buffalo Bill, and
that’s with these,” and the miner quickly leveled his revolvers.
 C H A P T E R X I V.
T U R N I N G T H E TA B L E S .

The miner’s words and act at once cleared a lane behind Buffalo
Bill and himself between the crowds that had gathered around.
But the act did not appear to disturb the scout. If caught off his
guard by the sudden drawing of his revolvers by Pistols, Buffalo Bill
remained as cool as before, and said:
“Then you are willing to play a square game with me with
revolvers, are you?”
“I is going ter play a game with you, yes, but there’s others in it
besides, for I has something to say to you, Buffalo Bill.”
“Talk fast then, old man, for life’s short, you know.”
“Oh, it’ll be short enough to you, when I tells what I knows agin’
you.”
“What do you know?”
“I knows that you was ther cause o’ havin’ two innocent men
strung up in Hangman’s Gulch this night. I only wish I’d been at ther
hangin’, for them wouldn’t hev been ther men thet got choked.”
“I am listening.”
“But me and my pard, Dave Dunn, got in too late ter save them
poor murdered men, and when I heerd what had been done, says I,
thet as Buffalo Bill will hev ter die ter-night, I’ll jist be his heir by
winning his money fu’st. So I axes yer ter play me.”
“And I did?”
“Yaas, for sure.”
“And I became your heir, as you put it.”
 “So far.”
“Well, what else?”
“A heap, for I wants ter let ther folks know thet Dave Dunn and
me were up in ther range and seen you breakin’ inter ther cabin’ o’
Deadshot Dean.”
A murmur went through the crowd at this, while Buffalo Bill said
indifferently:
“Is that all?
“Why, I feel relieved, for I was afraid you were going to accuse me
of cheating you.”
“Oh, no, yer played square enough, for I was a-watchin’ yer; but
we seen yer breakin’ inter Deadshot’s cabin, and Tom and Jerry
caught yer at it. But you was too soon for them, got them under
ther muzzle of yer gun, and trotted them off as house-breakers
when you was the thief.”
“Why did you not at once come to their rescue?” asked Buffalo
Bill, when the uproar which these words created had in a measure
subsided.
“We was up in Eagle Nest Mountain, and it took us a long time ter
git down to ther valley and up to Pocket City. Then we found thet
ther folks hed believed you, Buffalo Bill, agin’ them men, and it were
too late. So we talked it over, and thar is jist a large-size community
here ter-night as says you has got ter hang, too.”
“Why not make it by unanimous consent, Mister Pistols, for it
would sound better when reported at the fort to Colonel
Dunwoody?”
The crowd gave vent to a murmur of admiration at the scout’s
pluck. He did not appear to be in the least degree disturbed by the
danger he most certainly was in.
“Oh, I knows yer is game, and I has just seen thet yer kin bluff,
but thet don’t go now.”
 “What does?”
“Ropes is trumps.”
“You intend to hang me, then?”
“We does.”
“Without judge or jury?”
“We have set on your case, and it is agin’ yer.”
“When am I to be hanged, please?”
“Afore dawn.”
“Isn’t that crowding matters a little?”
“No more than you crowded it agin’ them two poor boys as was
hanged to-night.”
“And you saw me break into Deadshot Dean’s cabin?”
“I did.”
“And the other witness?”
“Was Dave Dunn.”
“I do not believe anybody here who has common sense will
believe any such charge against me,” said the scout, while, with his
elbows resting upon the table at which he sat, Pistols held his
revolver, covering the heart of the scout.
“Yer don’t believe it?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Pards, does I tell the truth?”
In his excitement the miner turned his head, and in that instant
his revolver was struck upward and knocked from his hands by
Buffalo Bill, who now held him covered with his weapon.
“A turn about is fair play, Mister Pistols.”
 Some laughed at this, but Pistols swore roundly, yet dared not
move, for he saw he was caught, the left hand of the scout lying
upon his own weapon where it had fallen upon the table, the right
holding his revolver within a foot of his eyes.
But the words of the miner had been answered by a savage
chorus of voices, crying:
“You is right, Pard Pistols, for Buffalo Bill is the guilty man.”
Still, the pluck of the scout did not desert him, and he never
changed expression at the outburst. Encouraged by the cries of his
comrades, though under cover of the scout’s pistol, the miner said:
“See here, Buffalo Bill, you has half a hundred guns on you, but
we don’t intend ter shoot yer, but hang yer, as you got poor Tom and
Jerry strung up, so up with yer hands, mighty quick, says I.”
“Yes, up with your hands, Buffalo Bill!” shouted the crowd
savagely, while scores of revolvers covered the scout as he still sat at
table, facing the ringleader, whom he yet held his revolver upon, the
muzzle within a foot of his eyes.
It certainly did look bad for Buffalo Bill, and for two reasons. First,
the charge of Pistols, backed by Dave Dunn, a reputable miner,
seemed to be believed by a great many of those present.
Second, the crowd that backed Pistols was not only numerous, but
composed of the very worst element in the mines. This shut off
many, who felt that the accusation was utterly false, from lending
any aid.
Pistols was certainly in danger of instant death at the hands of the
scout, but the latter was equally in danger of sudden death from the
backers of his accuser. Thus the situation rested until Buffalo Bill
broke the silence with:
“See here, Pistols, I recall that ugly face of yours, now that I get a
better look at it, and I remember you as one of Powder Face Pete’s
gang who ambushed me some time ago, under pretense that I was
Silk Lasso Sam. You wished to get rid of me then, because I make
this country too hot for just such men as you and your ilk.
“Now, what are you going to do about it, Mister Pistols, for if I am
facing death, you are just as close as I am to it, so begin business
when you please, and you’ll find that I’ll never hang, and dying, will
take company along, so as not to get too lonesome on the trail
across the Dark River.”
The splendid pluck of Buffalo Bill, at bay against a crowd,
delighted many present. But those who surrounded him were his
foes, and the better element hung back, feeling that a terrible scene
must follow the first shot fired.
Pistols felt his situation keenly. The danger had sobered him. His
desire was to see Buffalo Bill hanged by the crowd, and it began to
look as though he would not be there to witness it. He felt how
certain death was for him if his comrades pushed the scout to
extremes.
Such was the situation, and the suspense to all was fearful,
especially to Pistols and the scout, though the latter was, as a miner
expressed it to a pard:
“Beautifully serene.”
The crowd was becoming restless, and there were those who did
not love Pistols and would push matters to a climax to get him killed
that they might then hang the scout.
But, just as it seemed that in another instant must come a crash,
a loud, stern voice rang out with:
“What does this mean, holding a government officer under your
guns? Room here, men!” and, hurling men right and left by his giant
strength as though they were children, the Surgeon Scout strode to
the side of Buffalo Bill, who still sat at the table, covering the miner
with his revolver.
A perfect yell of joy burst from many in the crowd, who thus gave
vent to their pent-up feelings as they saw the splendid form of Frank
Powell, the Surgeon Scout, in uniform, stride into the midst of the
scene.
“Ah! doc, just in time to keep me from killing this gent, and being
made a target of myself for half a hundred bullets,” said Buffalo Bill,
still unmoved.
“It seems that I am just in time, Bill, and if I mistake not there are
men in this crowd who will dangle at a rope’s end for this work, if
they harm a hair of your head. What does it mean?”
The ugly element in the crowd was still paramount. It had only
received a temporary check by the coming of the Surgeon Scout.
The greatest number of the miners present were now, however,
decidedly upon the side of law and order, but the devil in the nature
of the others was destined to lead them on to trouble.
They did not care whether Pistols died or not at the hands of
Buffalo Bill. They hated Bill and his body-guard because they were
the foes of the bad element in the mines. They hated the army,
because it put down lawlessness.
Here was a chance to wipe out the chief of scouts and Surgeon
Powell, of both of whom they stood in the greatest awe.
This ugly element were sixty to two, and they had nothing to lose.
The army would sweep down upon the Yellow Dust Valley, of course,
but who could be found who was guilty, who could be punished?
Thus the men who had backed Pistols argued, and with a desire
for a row, a wish to sacrifice Buffalo Bill and the Surgeon Scout, and
enough whisky in them to make them reckless of consequences,
they began to crowd closely upon the center of attraction, where
Cody sat still covering Pistols, and with the Surgeon Scout by his
side, a revolver in each hand.
It was a most critical moment, for the officer and the scout saw
that the authority of the latter was going to be defied.
 “Men, don’t mind what Brass Buttons says, for, as he’s chipped
inter the game, he goes with Buffalo Bill. Don’t shoot, for that means
innocent men hurted, but capter them two gamecocks alive and
hang ’em. Does I say right?” and the burly ruffian who had
constituted himself leader gazed at the crowd with a look that
demanded recognition.
The yell that greeted his words showed the temper of the crowd,
which began to sway to and fro wildly, preparing for a rush upon the
two men now at bay.
“I am sorry you came, Frank, for it only brings you into a tight
place,” said Buffalo Bill, in a low tone to the Surgeon Scout, and he
at once drew a second revolver from his belt to have it ready,
though he did not take his eyes off of the miner whom he covered.
“I don’t mind it, Bill, and I’m always ready to die, if need be, for a
comrade. If they make a rush, kill that man, then stand back to back
with me and let us make a record before we go under,” was Frank
Powell’s response.
“I’m with you, Frank,” rejoined Cody, and he added, addressing
the miner:
“You started this circus, Mister Pistols, but you won’t see the end
of it.”
“Cuss you, I’ll call ’em off if you’ll call it quits,” returned Pistols
eagerly, now thoroughly terrified when he saw another leader in the
field who meant to precipitate matters independent of him.
“Pard, you talk in your sleep, for you could no more call off that
pack than you could tell the truth. No, you set the tune and the song
must be sung through.”
In the meanwhile, the Surgeon Scout was watching the wildly
swaying crowd, which were gradually drawing closer about them,
and he was just about to open fire when there suddenly rang out a
clear voice above the noisy hum:
“Hold! What does this mean, I should like to know?”
 Instantly there was silence, intense in that it followed such an
uproar.
Then hats were doffed, the crowd swayed apart, and toward the
table where Buffalo Bill still held the miner under cover of his
revolver, and the Surgeon Scout stood at bay by his side, glided
Bonnie Belle.
She was dressed in a blue dress, trimmed with silver braid, wore a
slouch-hat with a heavy sable plume, and carried a revolver in each
hand. Behind her came Sandy, the driver of the Overland, and then
Scott Kindon, the captain of the Vigilantes.
But, Bonnie Belle neither needed aid nor asked it. Her simple
presence commanded respect.
They had deemed her far away in the East, and like an apparition
she had glided through the door she always entered by, and her
white face, now stern and threatening, showed that she was in no
humor to trifle with.
“Ah! Surgeon Powell, it is you, and you also, Buffalo Bill, whom
these roughs hold at bay? And for what?”
“I was scouting, Bonnie Belle, and came upon two men, Tom and
Jerry they called them, breaking into Deadshot Dean’s cabin. I made
them prisoners, brought them here, and the Vigilantes hanged them.
To-night this man, whom I have covered, accused me of breaking
into the cabin, and he was not long in getting willing hands to hang
me, and, but for the coming of Surgeon Powell, it would have been
over ere this.”
“And I only checked the trouble for a few minutes, Bonnie Belle,
as the men turned upon me, also. I took Buffalo Bill’s trail and
followed him here, for somehow I feared he might need aid. You
have saved us both by your timely coming, unless these gentlemen
wish to push their quarrel to a conclusion.”
But the gentlemen did not seem to be so inclined, or, if they did,
the words of Bonnie Belle checked them, for she said sternly:
 “No, there will be no trouble here, for the man who raises a
weapon against you I will kill. As for you, Pistols, if you ever enter
my hotel or this saloon again, I will see that you do not do so a
second time. Shuffles, do you hear what I say about this man?”
A silence followed, and, as no answer came, Bonnie Belle called
again:
“Shuffles!”
“If you are calling your man left in charge here, Bonnie Belle, he is
dead,” said Buffalo Bill, as no one else seemed to care to speak.
“Shuffles dead?” she repeated, with a start.
“Yes.”
“When did he die?”
“To-night.”
“Ha! he was killed?”
“Ask one of your men here to tell you about it, Bonnie Belle.”
She called a bartender and was told the story. She listened in
silence, making no comment, and then turned to Scott Kindon and
asked:
“Captain, is this not a case of murder?”
“It looks so, Bonnie Belle.”
“This man Pistols has been carrying too high a hand for the safety
and comfort of the good citizens in Yellow Dust Valley, and it appears
to me that he needs disciplining by the Vigilantes.”
“Say the word, Bonnie Belle, and he travels the trail to Hangman’s
Gulch,” the Vigilante captain said very decidedly.
Bonnie Belle was lost for a moment in thought, while Pistols gazed
at her with a look of pleading and despair commingled. At last she
spoke:
 “No, Captain Kindon, I will not say the word, for I wish no man’s
life upon my conscience, where it can be avoided. The mines will be
the better for the taking off of those men, Tom and Jerry, and it
would make it more respectable to rid us of this man Pistols. He has
no mine or claim here, carries his fortune with him, I believe, so give
him until sunrise to get out of the camps, while, that he may not be
lonesome, let this man who was leading the attack upon Surgeon
Powell and Buffalo Bill go with him.
“Shall it be so, comrades?” and Bonnie Belle glanced over the
crowd which answered with a yell that nearly raised the roof.
 C H A P T E R X V.
A M I D N I G H T I N T E R V I E W.

Pistols was too happy to escape with his life to grumble at

anything that might be put upon him, and he was only too anxious
to get away from the saloon and start upon his exile, feeling that
there was safety only in placing many miles between himself and
Yellow Dust Valley.
Dave Dunn, the other alleged witness against Buffalo Bill, had
been led into making the charge by his comrade Pistols, and, seeing
how matters were going, had slipped out of Devil’s Den and
hastened to his cabin to prepare for an immediate farewell to Pocket
City.
The burly fellow who had made himself a leader against Surgeon
Powell would have been glad to have escaped the notice of Bonnie
Belle. But her words had brought the eyes of the Vigilantes upon
him, and he was anxious to get away, and so with Pistols skulked
out into the darkness.
They had hastened to their respective quarters then, making an
agreement to meet at Dave Dunn’s in half an hour’s time, and when
the sun rose the two were making tracks down the valley, carrying
their belongings upon a pole slung between two of them, and with
all the wealth they possessed in their pockets.
“I would like to see you and Buffalo Bill, Surgeon Powell,” Bonnie
Belle had said, in a low tone.
“We are going at once to the hotel.”
“I will see you there,” and Bonnie Belle circled about the room,
greeted everywhere with the most cordial welcome.
 In the meanwhile Surgeon Powell and Buffalo Bill were
congratulated on all sides by those who had not had the nerve to
come to their rescue.
But they received all that was said coldly, gaging it at about what
it was worth, and passed out of the saloon on to the hotel.
The scout already had a room there, and the surgeon was given
one next to him, and so they repaired to them at once.
“It came over me, Bill, to follow you, believing I might be of
service. I am not superstitious, as you know, but I had a dream in
which I saw you in a close place with Indians about you, and when I
awoke it was all so vivid to me that I wrote the colonel a note and
started upon your trail without waiting until dawn. I went on to the
end of Horseshoe Ned’s run, and he told me you were going down to
Pocket City, so here I came.”
“And just in time, Frank, to save my life.”
“It seems so. I was told you were here, so I went over to the Den
and saw what was going on, so chipped in. But, though I postponed
matters for a while, we both would have been food for coyotes at
this present time had not Bonnie Belle arrived as she did.”
“And how did she come?”
“I do not know.”
“She started East from the Junction.”
“Well, she came here instead, fortunately for us—— Come in!”
A Chinese servant entered and said:
“Misses say ’Melican man come with Chinaman.”
This invitation was promptly accepted by the surgeon and the
scout, and they were led by the Chinaman to the private quarters of
Bonnie Belle. There she had a supper spread out for them, though it
was after one o’clock, and, receiving them cordially, said: