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"Hurrah! Pawnee has killed him." "Talk about yer bull fighters! They ain't in it with Pawnee!" "Yer saved my life," exclaimed Clemmer, who had risen. "I shan't forget yer, Pawnee," and he held out his broad hand for a shake. The bull dead, Pawnee Brown called Buckley up and gave him a lecture for not having killed the vicious beast long ago.
Soon Rasco was tearing over the prairie, followed by Humpendinck, Delaney, Clemmer and by Dick, who borrowed a horse from another boomer. The trail left by Yellow Elk was easily followed to the vicinity of Honnewell, but here it led away to the southwest and was swallowed up among the bushes and rocks leading down into the ravine previously mentioned.
He had scarcely spoken when a loud cry rang out, coming from the lower end of the camp. "Buckley's bull has broken loose! Look out for yourself, the beast has gone mad!" "Buckley's bull!" muttered Pawnee Brown. "I ordered him to slaughter that vicious beast. Why, he's as fierce as those the Mexicans use in their bull fights!" "He's a terror," answered Clemmer.
"I think that spy can clear up much of this mystery concerning Mortimer Arbuckle, if he will." "It ain't likely he'll open his trap," answered Clemmer. "By doin' thet he'd only be gettin' himself in hot water." "We'll make him speak," was Pawnee Brown's grim response. An hour of hard riding brought them to the spot where Dick had been left. Not a single trace of the lad could be found.
"Catch the rope!" suddenly came from Clemmer, and a noose whizzed in the air and fell close beside the pair. Both Pawnee Brown and Dick did as requested, and the cowboy boomer began to haul in with all the strength at his command. It was hard work, but Clemmer was equal to it, and presently those in the water came close enough to gain a footing, and then the peril was over.
The trustworthy correspondent of the Independent, Mary Clemmer, looked at the proceedings with a woman's eyes and, in her weekly letter, thus vented her indignation: A few read the petitions as they would any other, with dignity and without comment; but the majority seemed intensely conscious of holding something unutterably funny in their hands. They appeared to consider it a huge joke.
"Alone?" ejaculated Clemmer. "Yes if you want to join Pawnee." "By gosh, but that boy's nervy fer a city chap!" cried the cowboy boomer, in admiration. "Well, you know there's a girl in this, Cal," rejoined Pawnee Brown, dryly. "And I reckon she's a girl well worth going through fire and water for." At this Dick blushed. "I want to find out about Rasco, too," he hastened to say.
Hungering, that day, for gifted women, I called on Alice and Phebe Cary and Mary Clemmer Ames, and together we gave the proud white male such a serving up as did our souls good and could not hurt him, intrenched, as he is, behind creeds, codes, customs, and constitutions, with vizor and breastplate of self-complacency and conceit.
Suddenly an inspiration came to Pawnee Brown. "How foolish! Why didn't I think of that before?" he muttered. At his belt had hung a lariat, placed there when the wagon train started, in case any of the animals should attempt to run off in the darkness. The boomer could use a lariat as well as Clemmer or any of the cowboys.
Hooker wrote: "There were congratulations without stint; but Sumner, grandest of all, approaching us said in a deep voice, really full of emotion: 'I have been in this place, ladies, for twenty years; I have followed or led in every movement toward liberty and enfranchisement; but this meeting exceeds in interest anything I ever have witnessed." In her weekly letter to the Independent, Mary Clemmer wrote of this convention: I am glad to say that it was not mongrel in part a dramatic reading, in part a concert, and in part an organ advertisement; but wholly a convention whose leaders, in dignity and intellect, were fully the peers of the men whose councils they besieged and arraigned.
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