“Put up the horses, my lad,” said he calmly to Dunbar, “and then come in and we’ll do some figuring. Keep your nerve, Nate. If you go to pieces, you won’t be able to give me the help I need.”
While the cowboy was taking care of the horses, Buffalo Bill surveyed the interior of the cabin. The fine softening touch of a woman’s hand was everywhere visible. Over a table hung a book rack with a little treasury of well-worn volumes.
A lamp stood on the table, and on the side of the table nearest the lamp a rocking-chair was overturned. An open book lay on the floor.
The scout picked up the book, and found that it was a copy of “Paul and Virginia.” He laid the book on the floor where he had found it.
There were yarn mottoes on the walls, framed in pine cones: “God Bless Our Home,” “Haste Makes Waste,” and “The Lord Loveth a Cheerful Giver.”
Something in those trite and homely sentiments touched the scout’s heart. The books and mottoes bespoke character—character that seemed out of place in that rough country—character that should not have been entangled in such a web of treachery and violence as had been thrown about the Perrys.
The scout opened one of two doors that were in the rear of the room, and carried the lamp into the kitchen. Here everything was in apple-pie order. Dishes were neatly arranged in a crude box cupboard, and the floor was as clean as a hickory-splint broom could make it. He tried the kitchen door, and found it locked.
Returning to the living room, he found Nate Dunbar standing in the middle of it and looking around dejectedly.
“They’ve been run off,” he declared hopelessly; “that’s what’s happened! If any harm comes to Hattie,” and here his voice fell husky and murderous, “I’ll camp on Lige Benner’s trail—and I’ll get him.”
“Don’t try to take the law into your own hands, Nate,” said the scout. “We’ll dig up all the information we can here, and then we’ll lay our plans. Who does most of the reading in this cabin?”