“The chap tuk on so, that we all thought that he told the truth, but, (would you believe it?) I arterwards larnt that he war the very same chap that I had heered talkin’ with Black Bill ’bout robbin’ the cap’n. He kind o’ thought that we might know something ag’in him, an’ he carried on in that way to make us b’lieve that he war really an enemy of Black Bill. In course we didn’t know this at the time. If we had, he’d soon been a pris’ner too. But, supposin’ him to be tellin’ the gospel truth, we felt sorry fur him, an’ promised that Black Bill shouldn’t ever be let loose to do meanness ag’in. While the fuss war goin on, the trader come out; an’ when we told him what happened—how the pris’ner an’ one of his friends, that we didn’t know, had been layin’ a plan to do robbery an’ killin’; an’ that the chap he called Bosh Peters war none other than Black Bill the outlaw—I never seed a man so tuk back in my life. It skeered him purty bad. He had allers looked upon Black Bill as one of the honestest men in the expedition; an’, when he found that he war a traitor, he didn’t know who to trust; an’ he tuk mighty good keer not to be alone durin’ the rest of the arternoon.
“Wal, when it growed dark, the fellers began to come in from their day’s work, some loaded with furs, an’ others with a piece of bar or big-horn, which they had knocked over for supper. As fast as they come in, we told ’em what war up, an’ they didn’t take it very easy, now, I tell you.
“The idee that Black Bill, arter doin’ so much badness—robbin’ lone trappers an’ leadin’ wild Injuns ag’in wagon trains—should come into one of our forts, an’ stick his name down with those of honest, hard-workin’ trappers, when he knowed that every one of ’em had plenty ag’in him, I say it war hard to b’lieve. But thar he war, tied to a tree, an’, when the boys come to look at him close, they wondered that they hadn’t knowed afore that he war a villain.
“Wal, we waited a long time for all of our fellers to come in; but thar war three of us missin’, an’ that war the only thing that saved Black Bill. We didn’t want to pass sentence on him without lettin’ all the boys have a chance to say somethin’; an’ as they might come in some time durin’ the night, we thought we would keep the varlet till morning. So we tied him, hand an’ foot, and laid him away in one of the cabins. The cap’n’s darkey made him a bed of hemlock boughs, an’ laid him on it, abusin’ him all the while like all natur’, an’ goin’ in for shootin’ him to onct. It would have been well for one of us, if we had put that darkey in there as a pris’ner too. But we didn’t know it, an’ afore we got through he cost us the life of one of the best men in our comp’ny. The fellers then all went to bed except me. I guarded the varlet till the moon went down, and then, arter calling my chum, who war to watch him till daylight, I went into my quarters an’ slept soundly all the rest of the night. When it come mornin’, I awoke, an’, in a few minits, all our boys war up. The fellers had all come in durin’ the night, an’ ole Jim Roberts—my chum’s ole man—who war our leader, called a council. Black Bill didn’t seem to have a friend among us, for the last man of us said as how the law must be lived up to.
“‘Who guarded him last night?’ asked the ole man.
“‘I did,’ I answered, ’till the moon went down, and then Ned tuk my place.’
“‘Wal, Ned, bring out the pris’ner,’ said the ole man. ‘But whar is Ned?’ he asked, runnin’ his eye over the camp. ‘Ned! Ned Roberts!’
“I had all along s’posed that Ned war still guardin’ the pris’ner; but when he didn’t answer, I knowed in a minit that somethin’ had been goin’ wrong ag’in, an’ the others knowed it too, fur men who have lived in danger all their lives aint long in seein’ through a thing of that kind. So we all rushed to the cabin where we had left the outlaw, an’ there lay my chum—stark an’ dead—stabbed to the heart! The pris’ner war gone. Thar war the strips of hickory bark we had tied him with, an’ thar war the knife he had used—but Black Bill had tuk himself safe off. We stood thar, not knowin’ what to say or do. Ole Jim war the fust that could speak.
“‘Another gone,’ said he; ’an’ it’s my only son; an’ now whar’s the traitor?’
“He looked from one to the other of us as he said this, but no one answered.