_ CHAPTER XIX
From Bismarck to Bozeman--The Trail Growing Warmer--Duncan Buys a Pony--A Long Stage Ride.
The distance from Bismarck to Miles City is about three hundred miles, and as Manning left the former place early in the evening, he secured a couch in the comfortable sleeping car, and shortly afterward retired to rest. It seemed almost incredible the giant strides which had been made in a few years in the process of civilization in our western country. But yesterday the ground which our operative was now traveling in comfort, was overrun by the Indian and the wild beasts of the forest, and to-day along his entire route were rising up substantial towns and villages, bringing in their wake the enlightening influences of education and morality. The railroad, that mighty agent of civilization, is rapidly forging a chain of communication between the two great oceans, and travel in the western wilds, formerly fraught with hardships and dangers unspeakable, is now performed with rapidity, comfort and safety. In the morning the train stopped at Little Missouri, where the passengers were refreshed with breakfast, then on again past Sentinel Butte, they left the boundaries of Dakota and entered the great territory of Montana. On again like the rush of the wind, until about five o'clock in the afternoon, they arrived at Miles City, where the train was to remain nearly two hours, before continuing their journey.
Miles City was another striking illustration of the wonderful growth of American towns. Less than a year ago, a barren waste marked the spot where now was growing a thriving city. The railroad, as in other localities, had played an important part in awakening this uninhabited region to life and activity. The trackless, boundless prairie had been reclaimed, and was now a flourishing city, full of bustle and vigor. Making his way to a neat and comfortable hotel, which bore the rather euphonious title of St. Cloud, Manning partook of a substantial meal and then set about his investigations. He soon found news of the object of his inquiries. From the proprietor of the St. Cloud, he learned that Duncan had remained here two days, and upon the register he saw the now well-known signature of Tom Moore of Chicago. He had informed the inn-keeper of his intention of going to Bozeman, a town lying to the north of the Crow Reservation.
Manning resolved, therefore, to press right on, and he returned to the railroad station, where the train was still waiting. Purchasing a ticket for Billings, he started again on his way, and at nearly midnight he arrived at his destination, where he secured quarters for the night.
Billings was, at this time, the terminal point of the Northern Pacific railroad, and as the detective sought the open air on the following morning, he was amazed at the scenes that were presented to his view. The place was literally swarming with people. Prospectors, land-buyers, traders, merchants, and a miscellaneous army of railroad men were everywhere. No time had been afforded in which to build suitable structures for housing the ever-increasing population, and the town presented the appearance of a huge encampment; nearly one-half of the city being composed of canvas tents. In the hotels, on the corners of the streets, and in the places of business, the universal topic of conversation was the phenomenal growth of the city, and the grand prospects which the future had in store for this embryotic western metropolis. Along the railroad, a perfect army of workmen were assembled, awaiting their orders for the day. Graders, tie-men, track-layers and construction corps, were already on the spot, and they too seemed imbued with the same spirit of enthusiasm which filled their more wealthy and ambitious neighbors in the city. As may readily be imagined, crime and immorality followed hand in hand with the march of improvement. The gambler and the harlot plied their vocations in the full light of day, and as yet unrebuked by the ruling powers of a community, too newly located to assume the dignity of enacting laws.
The detective made his way through the streets, mentally noting these things, while his efforts were directed to finding some trace of Thomas Duncan. He made a systematic tour of the hotels, or more properly speaking, the boarding-houses with which the town was filled, and after numerous disappointments, was at last successful in learning something definite of the movements of his man. At a hotel called the "Windsor," he found the unmistakable signature he was looking for, and was convinced that Tom Moore of Chicago had preceded him but a few days. Exhibiting his talismanic photograph to the proprietor, he was informed that Duncan had been there some ten days before, and after remaining a day or two, had gone over to the military cantonments, some four or five miles distant, where a detachment of United States soldiers were quartered.
Procuring a horse, Manning started for the cantonment, where he was kindly received by Major Bell, the officer in charge, who informed him that Duncan had been there some days before, and that he had remained about the camp for several days, playing cards with the soldiers and enjoying himself generally. During his stay he had purchased a pony from a Crow Indian, and while he was at the cantonment he rode into Billings and bought a Sharp's repeating rifle, after which he had mounted his horse and rode off in the direction of Fort Custer. He had remained away several days when he again returned to the cantonment, and after remaining there one night, he had started on horseback for Bozeman and Helena.
This was authentic and gratifying intelligence. Manning had received not only reliable information as to the movements of Duncan, but the distance between them had been materially lessened by the fugitive's long detention at the cantonment. The burglar was now but a few days ahead of him, and if nothing transpired to delay him, he would soon overtake the man, who, from all indications, was entirely unsuspicious of the fact that a detective was upon his track who had followed his trail as closely and as unerringly as the Indian follows the track of the beast through forest and stream. As an additional means of identification, Manning secured a full description of the horse purchased by Duncan, and with this increased fund of information, Manning returned to Billings. On the following morning, seated beside the driver on the top of the stage-coach, and behind four dashing bay horses, Manning rattled out of the pushing little town of Billings on his way to Bozeman.
He now indulged in high hopes of soon overhauling Duncan, and all along their way, whenever the stage stopped to change horses, he was gratified to receive the information that the man and the pony which he described had passed over the same route a few days in advance of him.
The road from Billings to Bozeman led them part of the distance along the Yellowstone river, and through a country wild and picturesque in the extreme. Sometimes winding around the sides of a huge mountain, from which they obtained a magnificent view of the rugged and beautiful scenery below, and again descending to the valleys, they swept along between the mountains which towered aloft on either hand, their rugged sides forming a marked contrast with the emerald-hued verdure skirting their base. Occasional ranches presented the evidences of cultivation and profitable stock-raising. Broad fields and luxuriant pastures were spread before the view, and hundreds of sleek cattle were scattered over the country, either sleeping quietly in the sun or browsing upon the rich, tender herbage which abounds. At these ranches the horses were frequently changed, and the mail was delivered, much to the gratification of these hardy pioneers, who were otherwise shut out from the busy actions of the world beyond them.
The country through which they passed was exceedingly rich in an agricultural point of view, the resources of which cannot be overestimated, and the atmosphere was dry and pure. Inhaling the invigorating air as they rode along, Manning suffered none of the discomforts which are naturally consequent upon a journey by stage of more than one hundred and fifty miles. At noon, they stopped at a ranch station, and here they were regaled with a repast which would have tickled the palate of an epicure. Broiled trout from a mountain stream near by, roast fowl and a variety of dishes, made up a feast well worthy of the lusty appetites of the travelers. Here, too, Manning received tidings of the fleeing burglar. His horse, which was a fine one, and peculiarly marked, had been noticed particularly by the ranchmen, so there was no doubt that he was upon the right road to overtake him.
After the dinner, and a good resting spell, they resumed their journey. Now their road ran along the fertile valley, and again passing through a sharp defile in the mountains, and finally winding its way along a narrow ledge of rock, where the slightest turn to left or right, a single misstep of the sure-footed animals, or an awkward move of their driver, would have hurled them into an abyss hundreds of feet below, where instant and horrible death awaited them.
No accident befell them, however, and just as the sun was going down in a blaze of glory, behind the towering mountains into the west, they arrived at a ranch for supper and rest.
In the evening the moon came out, illuminating the landscape with a soft enchanting beauty, as its beams fell upon the tall mountain and the level plain, lighting up tree and flower, and flashing upon the river like a myriad of polished gems. As they rode along, song and story enlivened the journey, and a draught or two from a wicker-covered flask which the detective carried, soon produced an era of good feeling between the outside passengers and the burly, good-natured driver.
"Have you ever been bothered with robbers or highwaymen along this route?" asked Manning of their driver during a lull in the conversation.
"Well, we used to be," answered the fat fellow, with a quiet chuckle, as he cracked his whip unpleasantly near to the flank of the off leader, who was lagging a little; "but of late we haven't seen anything of the kind."
"Ever had any adventure with them yourself?" asked Manning in a coaxing tone, as he fancied he could see that the old fellow had a story which he could be induced to relate.
"Yes," he answered, puffing quietly away at a cigar which Manning had given him. "About a year ago I had a little experience up near Thompson's place, which we will reach about ten o'clock, if we have no bad luck."
"Let us hear it, won't you?" asked one of the other passengers, now becoming interested.
"Well," answered the driver, evidently pleased at finding himself an object of interest, "wait until we round this spur here, and then we'll have a tolerable straight road ahead. I don't suppose, though, that you'll find it very interesting."
In a few moments they passed around the spur of the mountain, and the whole landscape was lighted up with a blaze of moonlight that flooded the scene with a radiance beautiful to behold. No living habitation was within sight, and the rumble of the coach was the only sound that broke the stillness that brooded over the scene.
The driver settled himself back in his seat, and after a few preparatory coughs, and a swallow of brandy, to clear his throat, began his narration. _