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Updated: June 22, 2025
Gideon yielded the leadership to Nick Undrell, a man of blemished reputation, a drunkard, a desperate gambler, and a convicted thief, but a magnificent horseman, a capable scout, and the hero of many an Indian fight. Nick knew where the Indian village was situated, and which way Broken Feather was most likely to take. "They're plumb sure ter pass through One Tree Gulch," he declared.
Have you arrested him?" "Nick's vamoosed," resumed the sheriff; "an' that goes against him. He was sure in Laramie Saturday night even in Brierley's saloon. He knew about Sanson T. Wrangler's pile o' money bein' fixed up in the safe. He wasn't anyways friendly disposed to Sanson T. neither. Thar's a heap of evidence pointin' straight to Nick Undrell.
He left the yellow threads from your woollen vest where they would serve as clues pointin' to you an' you alone and at the same time he was most careful to leave no trace or sign of his own identity." "The skunk!" muttered Nick; "the greasy, low-down skunk?" "Say, Kiddie," interposed Rube Carter, "thar's one thing you ain't asked Nick Undrell t' explain.
No, Rube, my boy, your idea isn't worth a whole lot, come to analyze it. Even if I suspected Nick Undrell of shooting that arrow, the fact remains that when I started on that ride I left him in Fort Laramie, that he had no relays of ponies, as I had, waiting ready along the trail, and that he couldn't anyhow have got to Medicine Creek in front of me. It wasn't humanly possible.
Nick Undrell glanced at them and shook his head. "Them's just toy smokes," he objected. "Gimme some sensible, strong pipe terbacco an' I'll thank you; but I got no use fer aristocratic playthings like them. What you got in th' bag?" Kiddie afterwards had an important reason for remembering Nick Undrell's contempt for cigarettes.
The rider's face was hidden under his wide hat, but as he raised his whip hand there was the gleam of a yellow and black striped vest. Kiddie gripped his lariat ready to throw, but he did not throw it. Instead, he whistled loud and shrill, and, as the horseman came abreast of him, he called out "Nick Nick!" Nick Undrell drew rein, and, swinging sharply round, rode up to Kiddie.
"That's so, Isa; that's so," agreed Kiddie. "Say, Sheriff," interposed Rube; "have you gotten any news ter tell us about that Sanson T. Wrangler business that brought you t' our camp t' get Kiddie's advice?" "No." The sheriff shook his head. "No, it all turned out just as Kiddie said, in every particular." "And Nick Undrell had nothin' whatever to do with it?" questioned Kiddie.
Nick Undrell pulled himself together. "It's a steep proposition," he murmured. "But I guess I ain't no coward. Yes, Kiddie," he answered resolutely. "I promise; I promise faithful. You're blazin' the trail for me, an' I'm shapin' ter foller it true."
"The very man I wanted to see," said Kiddie, dropping his lariat, and seizing the hunter's palpitating muzzle in his hands. "Where is he, Nick?" "He?" echoed Nick Undrell, with a laugh. "Well, if your lordship's referrin' ter Broken Feather, he's a prisoner in my shack, wearin' handcuffs an' a pair of my boots, an' with two o' my boys standin' over him with loaded revolvers.
"Knowin' as you're kinder int'rested in the moral regeneration of Nick Undrell, Kiddie," he went on, "I've hesitated ter issue a warrant for the man's arrest. I concluded that before goin' to extreme measures I should be wise ter take your advice. I'm here now for that purpose." Kiddie smiled.
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