Title: The Missing Pocket-Book - Tom Mason's Luck
Author: Castlemon, Harry
Language: English
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       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE SHERIFF AND THE CATTLEMEN.]



THE MISSING POCKET-BOOK OR _TOM MASON’S LUCK_


  BY HARRY CASTLEMON

  AUTHOR OF “THE GUNBOAT SERIES,” “ROCKY MOUNTAIN
  SERIES,” “WAR SERIES,” ETC.

  PHILADELPHIA
  HENRY T. COATES & CO.

       *       *       *       *       *

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY PORTER & COATES.



CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER                             PAGE

      I. RIGHT IN THE MIDST OF IT,       1

     II. MR. DAVENPORT’S SECRET,        22

    III. ’RASTUS JOHNSON,               40

     IV. ELAM’S POOR MARKSMANSHIP,      59

      V. THE WEST FORK OF TRINITY,      79

     VI. MR. DAVENPORT’S POCKET-BOOK,   99

    VII. TOM HAS AN IDEA,              119

   VIII. TOM’S LUCK,                   139

     IX. HENDERSON IS ASTONISHED,      159

      X. OFF FOR AUSTIN,               179

     XI. HENDERSON IN NEW BUSINESS,    198

    XII. HE DOES NOT SUCCEED,          219

   XIII. HENDERSON MEETS COYOTE BILL,  239

    XIV. PROVING THE WILL,             261

     XV. TOM GETS SOME MONEY,          282

    XVI. A RAID BY THE COMANCHES,      303

   XVII. MY FRIEND THE OUTLAW,         325

  XVIII. CONCLUSION,                   346

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MISSING POCKET-BOOK; OR, TOM MASON’S LUCK.



CHAPTER I. RIGHT IN THE MIDST OF IT.


  CATTLEMEN AND FARMERS READY FOR WAR.

  FORT WORTH, August 5, 18--. One hundred and seventy-five thousand
  head of cattle are being slowly drifted and driven from the
  drought-parched sections of Northwestern Texas into Jacks County,
  along the waters of the West Fork of Trinity. The herders who
  accompany them demand that they must have grass and water, or
  blood. The farmers, who will be greatly damaged by the passage of
  these immense herds, are arming and say the cattle shall not come
  in--that they must be driven back at all hazards. To permit them to
  pass means fences destroyed, crops ruined, and the meagre supply of
  water exhausted; to turn them back means death to the cattle and
  financial disaster to the men who own them. To-day the news was
  carried from house to house, and the farmers are turning out to a
  man, resolved to rendezvous on Bear Creek and forbid the driving of
  the cattle through their lands. Large squads have gone to the front,
  and they are well-armed and desperate. Sheriff Reins will be on hand
  to-morrow, and so will a company of militia under command of Captain
  Fuller. Several conflicts, involving the loss of six or seven lives,
  have already taken place between the cattlemen and the farmers, the
  particulars of which have not yet found publicity.

Of all the boys into whose hands this story may fall, and who make it
a point to read the daily papers, I venture to say that not one in a
hundred will remember that he ever saw the above despatch, which was
flashed over the wires one bright summer morning a few years ago;
but if those boys had been on the ground as I was, and witnessed the
thrilling and affecting scenes that transpired before and after that
despatch was written, they would have seen some things that time could
never efface from their memories.

If ever I saw suffering cattle or determined, almost desperate, men,
who were fairly spoiling for a fight, it was on that sweltering August
day when a big brown-whiskered man, a wealthy farmer of Jacks County,
accompanied by the sheriff and two deputies, rode up to the wagon and
demanded to see “the boss.” Around the wagon were gathered a weary and
dusty party of men and boys, who had come there to slake their thirst,
and John Chisholm, the man to whose enterprise and push the great Texas
cattle trade owed its existence, was just raising a cup of the precious
fluid to his lips. I say “precious” because our supply was limited, and
the nearest stream far away.

“It tastes as though it had been boiled for a week,” said he, after he
had moistened his parched mouth, “but every drop of it is worth its
weight in gold. Touch it lightly, boys, for there is no telling when we
shall be able to fill the cask again. Have any of the scouts come in
yet? If we don’t find a pool pretty soon we shall all be ruined. Just
see there!” he added, waving his hand toward the back trail. “A blind
man could easily follow our route, for every rod of it is marked with
dead beeves.”

It would have taken something besides a “pool” of water to quench the
thirst of that multitude of cattle, which were drifting along a mile
or so in advance of the wagon, almost concealed by the suffocating
cloud of dust that hung over them and pointed out their line of travel.
Just how many of them there were in the herd the most experienced
cattleman could not guess, for the flanks of the drove as well as its
leading members were far out of sight. There were more than a dozen
outfits mixed up together, no attempt having been made to keep them
apart; nor was there any effort made to control their movements beyond
keeping them headed toward the West Fork of Trinity, the nearest point
at which water could be obtained. The suffering beasts complained
piteously as they plodded along, and now and then deep mutterings of
challenge and defiance, followed by a commotion somewhere in the herd,
would indicate the spot where perhaps a dozen of the half maddened
animals had closed in deadly combat. It was little wonder that the
sixty bronzed and weather-beaten men who accompanied them were in
fighting humor, and ready to resist to the death any interference with
their efforts to find water or grass. They were almost consumed with
thirst themselves. Every drop of water they drank was brought along in
the wagon, and there was so little of it that no one thought of taking
more than a swallow at a time. Scouts had been sent out early in the
morning with instructions to search everywhere for a water-course, and
it was as Mr. Chisholm enquired about them, and handed back the cup he
had drained, that the sheriff rode up and asked to see “the boss.”

“’Pears to me as if this outfit was bossing itself,” replied Mr.
Chisholm, facing about in his saddle and looking sharply at the
newcomers. “You can see for yourself, without looking, that all we can
do is to keep the critters pointed toward the West Fork. But you don’t
belong on our side of the house. Where might you hail from?”

“I am sheriff of this county, and came out to tell you that you must
not trespass on the grounds of our farmers,” answered the officer.

“Well, then, what do you come to us for?” enquired Mr. Chisholm, while
the men around him scowled savagely and played with the locks of their
rifles. “Go and serve your warning on the critters. Can’t you see that
some of them are miles ahead of us? How are we going to turn them back
when our horses are nigh about as ready to drop as the cattle are? I
tell you it can’t be done!”

“Don’t you know it means ruin to us farmers if we allow those famishing
cattle to get into our fields?” demanded the brown-whiskered man, who
seemed quite as ready and willing to fight as the cattlemen were. “They
will break down our fences and eat up the very crops on which our lives
depend. Besides, there are no more grass and water in the country than
we want ourselves.”

“I’m powerful sorry to hear you say that, but I don’t see what we are
going to do about it,” said Mr. Chisholm. “We’ve got to go somewhere
now that we have started.”

The sheriff opened his lips to speak, but the brown-whiskered man was
too quick for him.

“You don’t know what you are going to do about it, don’t you?” he said,
with a savage emphasis. “Well, I will tell you. When you get to the top
of that swell yonder you will see, a couple of miles off, a long line
of willows.”

“Now, if that isn’t the best piece of news I have heard for a week I
wouldn’t say so!” exclaimed the cattleman. “Where there’s timber there
is water, of course. I thought the critters were a-travelling along a
trifle pearter than they were a while back. Sam, you drive on ahead
with the wagon and fill up the cask, and the rest of us will kinder
scatter out on the flanks and head the critters toward the willows our
friend speaks of.”

“Will you let me get through with what I have to say?” shouted the
farmer, his face growing white with anger. “You go near those willows
if you dare! There are more than two hundred men hidden among them, and
if our pickets can’t turn your cattle back they’ll shoot them!”

“Will, eh?” exclaimed Mr. Chisholm, his face wearing a good-natured
smile, that was very aggravating to the brown-whiskered farmer. “I hope
not, for if you shoot our stock we’ll have to shoot you to pay for it.
Look a-here,” he added, turning his horse about and riding up close to
the man he was addressing, “I tell you once for all, stranger----”

“Hold! I command the peace!” cried the sheriff, seeing that the men and
boys around the wagon were moving up to support their leader. “Keep
back, all of you!”

“The peace hasn’t been broken yet,” replied Mr. Chisholm, “and I assure
you that I and my friends have no intention of breaking it; but our
watchword is, ‘Grass and water, or blood!’ and it is for you to decide
which it shall be. We are not the men to stand by with our hands in
our pockets and see our stock perish for want of something to eat and
drink, and you misjudge us if that is the kind of fellows you took us
for. You farmers were very kind to yourselves when you ran your fences
along every water-course in the State, so’t we cattlemen could not get
to it. Water’s free and we want our share of it.”

“But our land has been paid for, and you have no right to come upon it
after we have told you to keep off,” said the farmer.

“Some of you have paid for the land you raise crops on and some are
squatters the same as we cattlemen are,” answered Mr. Chisholm,
becoming earnest, but still fighting to keep down his rising anger.
“There are miles and miles of these streams been fenced in and shut off
from us stock-raisers without any warrant of law, and now we are going
to walk over some of them same fences.”

“If you attempt it we shall shoot you down like dogs!” said the farmer
fiercely, and as he spoke he lifted his rifle an inch or two from the
horn of his saddle, as if he had half a mind to begin the shooting then
and there.

“Easy, easy, Mr. Walker,” interposed the sheriff, laying his hand upon
the angry man’s arm. “We’ve got the right on our side and the whole
power of the State behind us, and there’s no need that you should get
yourself into trouble by taking matters into your own hands. I warn you
to turn back,” he continued, addressing himself to Mr. Chisholm. “I am
an officer of the law, and if you do not pay some attention to what I
say I shall be obliged to arrest you.”

The cattleman laughed, not loudly, but heartily and silently.

“I reckon you’re a new man who has just been put into office,” said he,
as soon as he could speak. “If you were an old hand at the business you
would know that it would take pretty considerable of a posse to arrest
any man in this outfit. I wouldn’t try it if I were sheriff.”

“Well, you have heard my warning,” said Mr. Walker, “and the blame for
whatever happens will be on your own head. Nearly all the farmers in
the county have assembled to resist your advance, and they sent me out
here to tell you that you have come far enough. Now, will you turn back
or not?”

“I aint got much patience with a man who has two good eyes in his head
to keep on asking such a question as that. Of course we’ll not turn
back! We can’t!”

“Then we shall drive you back,” said Mr. Walker. “That’s all there is
about it. Because the drought has ruined your business you need not
think we are going to let you ruin ours.”

The farmer rode away, shaking his head and muttering to himself, and
paying no sort of attention to the sheriff, who spurred to his side
and tried to reason with him. After a while the sheriff came back to
expostulate with the leader of the cattlemen; but the latter waved him
aside.

“I don’t blame you, Mr. Officer,” said he. “You have done nothing but
duty in warning us not to trespass on them farmers’ grounds, but you
see how we are fixed, don’t you? We can’t stop where we are. All the
cowboys in Texas could not turn the critters back now that they have
got a sniff of the water that is flashing along sparkling and cold
behind them willows, and what is there left for us but to go on? All we
ask of you and your posse is to keep out of the way. We cattlemen know
how to take care of ourselves.”

“But don’t you see that I can’t keep out of your way?” demanded the
sheriff. “As an officer it is my duty to oppose your further progress!”

“Then it will be my duty to ride over you rough-shod,” said the
cattleman cheerfully. “I don’t want to do that, for you seem to be a
good sort, even if you are an officer. If you will be governed by the
advice of one who knows more about this country and the men who live
in it than you are ever likely to learn, you will ride down to the
willows and tell them farmers to fall back and give our perishing stock
a chance at the water. If they will listen to you there will be no
trouble. Me and my friends will camp nigh the stream to-night, hold a
council of war in the morning, and like as not we’ll come to some sort
of an understanding. But I can’t spend any more time with you. If you
or the farmers are going to force a fight upon us, we must get ready
for it.”

So saying Mr. Chisholm waved his hand to the officer and rode away,
leaving us three boys from the North, who had ridden up close to hear
this consultation and the threats it contained, in a state of dreadful
uncertainty. We had come from our homes, somewhere near Denver, which
at that time was little more than a sprinkling of miner cabins, with
no such thoughts as this in our minds, and here we were right in the
midst of it--civil war! We had come down there to invest a few hundred
dollars in cattle. We thought we could make something by it. By keeping
far to the eastward, along the banks of the Red River, we had got
beyond reach of the Comanche and Kiowas and other Indians who felt
inclined to steal everything we had, and then by turning rapidly to the
west had found ourselves right among the cattlemen almost before we
knew it.

You remember that there were three of us boys--Elam Storm, now no
longer moody and reticent, but hail fellow well met with everybody,
for we had found the nugget of which he had been in search for so many
years; Tom Mason, who went by the name of “Lucky Tom”; and myself,
Carlos Burton, upon whom devolves the duty of writing this story. We
had seen some adventures during our long ride, some that I would gladly
like a chance to relate; but they differed so widely from the scenes we
passed through among those cattlemen that I am glad to pass them by to
tell this story of “Tom Mason’s luck.” Tom was a lucky fellow, that’s a
fact, and for a runaway boy he had a good deal of pluck. I don’t know
that he thought of making any money at the time he was working with us,
but at the same time he took the right way to get it. You know he was
trying to scrape together five thousand dollars, the amount he stole
from his uncle--a large sum for a boy of his age to make; but he had
that amount and more too when he went home. I will tell all about it
when I get to it.

At length, when we had been so long on our journey that Elam and Tom
declared that I had missed my way, we ran across a fence, and that
night we struck the farmer’s house. I noticed that there was corn on
the other side of the fence, and that instead of being healthy and
green and thrifty-looking, it was stunted and its leaves were beginning
to turn yellow. It looked as though it was all ready to gather, only
there was not the sign of an ear on any of the stalks that we could
see. I found out the reason for this when we put up at the farmer’s
house that night,--the first house we had stayed in since leaving
Uncle Ezra’s,--when he told us that there had not been a drop of rain
in that part of Texas for sixteen months. Water was beginning to get
scarce, and the worst of it was, the grass on the school-lands, miles
away where all these cattle were pastured, was burning up, and they
expected every day to find an army of famishing cattle coming down upon
them.

“And that’s something we can’t stand,” said the farmer. “We have only
a little grass and water for our own use, and those cattle will use
up all we have got. More than that, they will break down our fences
and ruin our crops so that we shan’t have a thing to go on. That’s one
thing we have to contend with in Texas--long droughts.”

That was one thing I hadn’t thought of, and when we started the next
day I took particular notice of the grass and water and found that they
were tolerable scarce, every little mud hole in which there was water
being fenced in to keep their stock away from it. I had never been in
that part of Texas before, and I found that water was hard to get at,
we having to fill our bottles to last us all day; but I supposed it
was characteristic of the country. Of course the little stock that the
farmers had was thrifty and fat, as well they might be, for they had
water enough, only not as much as they wanted; but the farther we went
into the country the worse grew the situation. We often had to beg for
water, and it was the first time I ever did such a thing in my life.

At last we got beyond the range of the farmers, and then we found what
suffering for water meant. We were generally able to find a mud hole
or two in which water had been, and which was not entirely dry, and by
digging down in it would get enough to quench our thirst, and there we
would stay until the next morning to enable our horses to gain strength
enough to carry us; but there was no grass for them to eat. Everything
was dried up. Two nights we spent without water. We had enough in our
bottles for ourselves, but our poor horses were obliged to go thirsty.
Elam I knew was all right. He would keep on until I gave the word to
go back, and if his horse played out, he would shoulder his pack and
go ahead on foot, but I looked for a complaint from Tom. It is true he
looked pretty glum when his horse came up to him in the morning and
said as plainly as he could that he was thirsty, and Tom could count
every bone in his body, but never a word of protest did I hear from
him. He would get on and ride as if nothing was the matter.

One afternoon we came within sight of a long line of willows which we
knew lined a stream, the first we had seen for many a day, and near
them was a large herd of cattle ranging about and trying to find enough
to eat. A little nearer to us, on a little rise of ground, we saw a
horse, his rider having dismounted to give him a chance to browse. He
saw us as soon as we did him, and shaded his eyes with his hand and
looked at us. Then he picked up his rifle and held it in the hollow of
his arm.

“What is he going to do?” said Tom. “Is he going to try to keep us away
from that water?”

“We will soon know,” I replied. “I never knew a cowboy to be armed
with a rifle before. It proves that there has been somebody here after
his water, and he wants to be prepared to meet them at long range.”

It was four miles to where he was, and it took us all of an hour to
get up there. It seemed as if our horses couldn’t raise a trot to
save their lives. As we made no move to raise our weapons, he finally
dropped his to the ground and leaned upon it.

“How-dy!” said I, as soon as we got within speaking distance. That is
the term that Western men always use in addressing one another. “I’m
almost dead for a drink, and have come here to see if you would give us
some.”

“You are alone, I take it?” said the cowboy.

“We are alone,” said I.

“There’s nobody behind you with a big drove of cattle, is there?”

“Nobody at all. We came down here to buy stock, but I don’t believe we
want any now.”

“You can have all we’ve got,” said he, with a smile. “We’ll sell ’em
to you at a dollar apiece.”

I looked around at the walking skeletons he was willing to dispose of
at so meagre a price. They were too far away for me to see much of
them, but still I could tell that they were gaunt and scraggy in the
extreme. Some of them were lying down flat on their sides, with their
heads extended, and when a steer gets that way he is in a bad fix.

“I had no idea that your steers were in such shape,” said I. “Are some
of them dead?”

“Oh, no; there’s plenty of life left in them yet. You will find plenty
of water on the other side of those willows. You see some cattlemen
came up here the other day from the same direction you came from,
looking for grass and water, and said they were going to come in at all
hazards; that’s what made me pick up my rifle when I saw you.”

“We aint seed no cattlemen down this way,” said Elam. “We aint seed
anything but farmers.”

We were too thirsty to waste any more time in talking, and so we rode
down on the other side of the willows to find the “plenty of water”
the cowboy spoke of. Well, there was plenty of it, such as it was,
but it was scattered along the creek in little holes, and had been
trampled in by the cattle until it was all roiled up; a filthy place
to drink, but boys and horses went at it, and by the time we had got
all the water we wanted there wasn’t much left in that hole. We filled
our bottles, saw our horses drink all they needed, and then mounted and
rode back to where we had left the hospitable cowboy.

“I don’t call that plenty of water,” said Tom, who nevertheless had
been a good deal revived by the hearty swig he had taken. “I wish you
had some of the water that was overflowing the Mississippi valley when
I left it. It was enough to flood this whole country.”

“Well, pilgrim, it is enough for us, situated the way we are now. I
have seen the time when that bayou down there was booming full, and
you would have to wait for a week before you could cross it. I suppose
you would like a roof to shelter you to-night, wouldn’t you?” said the
cowboy. “Well, if you will follow the creek up about ten miles, you
will find the ranch of Mr. Davenport, my boss. He will give you plenty
to eat and a shakedown, but your horses will fare hard for grass.”

“Thank you! We would like something a little different from the bacon
and crackers we have been living upon so long,” said I. “Mr. Davenport
isn’t so hard up as his cattle?”

“Oh, bless you, he’s got plenty. He got a whole wagon load of things
last night.”

Thanking the cowboy again for his kindness in showing us the water,
we rode away. The route we followed took us directly through his
cattle, and I was not much surprised when I remembered what the cowboy
had said about selling them for a dollar apiece. I never saw such
poverty-stricken cattle in my life. Even the bulls paid no sort of
attention to us, and we told one another that we thought our trip to
Texas had not amounted to anything, and that we would have to wait
until the next spring before we could take any cattle home with us.
While we were talking the matter over, Tom pointed out in the distance
the whitewashed walls of Mr. Davenport’s ranch.



CHAPTER II. MR. DAVENPORT’S SECRET.


The nearer we approached to the ranch the more like a home place it
looked to us, the only thing that did not appear natural being the
hayracks that were usually piled up for the horses. These were all
gone, thus proving that the ranchman had not been able to provide any
more for the benefit of his steeds that were to carry him and his
cowboys during all sorts of weather. Of course there could be no hay
while the grass that was to furnish it was all burned up. As we drew
nearer we discovered a man and a boy sitting on the porch. They did
not wait for us to speak to them, but the boy got up with his face
beaming all over with smiles, while the man, who seemed to be a sort of
invalid, kept his chair.

“Strangers, you’re welcome to Hardscrabble,” said he. “Alight and
hitch. Your horses won’t go very far away, and so you can turn them
loose.”

“Thank you,” said I. I was expected to do all the talking. “Do we
address Mr. Davenport?”

“That is my name,” returned the invalid. “And I see you are boys, too.
Bob will be glad of that. Come up here.”

It did not take us very long to remove our saddles and bridles from
our horses and carry them up on the porch. Then we shook hands with
Mr. Davenport and his son Bob, and took the chairs that were promptly
brought out to us.

“You are very young men to be travelling around this way,” said the
invalid. “I shouldn’t think that your parents would permit it.”

“Well, I don’t know that we have any parents to say what we shall do.
We are alone in the world, with the exception of Tom here, who has an
uncle in Mississippi. We have come a thousand miles to buy some cattle;
but I don’t think, from what I have seen of your cattle, that we shall
want any.”

“Oh, this drought is simply awful,” said the invalid, rising up in his
chair. “We haven’t had a drop of rain for sixteen months, and if it
keeps on much longer we shall all die in the poor-house. The route you
came led you through a portion of my herd. I want to know if you ever
saw such a sorry looking lot of cattle as they are?”

This seemed to be the opportunity that Mr. Davenport was waiting for,
and he began and told us all about those troublous times in Texas
during the past two years, and he said that the drought and the farmers
were to blame for it. There had been a period in the history of the
State when the stockmen had things all their own way; when their herds
roamed over almost two thousand square miles of territory, going
wherever grass and water were most abundant, and attended by only a few
Mexican vaqueros, whose principal business it was to see that their
employer’s outfit did not become mixed up with cattle belonging to
somebody else. But, of course, this state of affairs could not continue
forever in a country like ours. The soil of Texas was as well adapted
to agriculture as it was to stock raising, and it was not long before
people began to find it out.

When the tide of immigration begins setting toward any State or
Territory, it is astonishing how quickly it will become filled up. In a
very short time the farmers grew to be a power in the cattle lands of
Texas. Of course they settled along the water courses, or as close to
them as they could get, and when they selected their land they fenced
it in and turned it up with the plough, thus depriving the cattlemen of
just so many acres of pasture, and in some instances shutting them off
from the streams.

Of course, too, bad blood existed between these two classes from the
very first. The cattlemen saw their limits growing smaller day by
day, and they did not take it very much to heart when their half wild
cattle broke through the fences and ruined the fields upon which the
farmers had expended so much labor; but they got fighting mad when the
farmers sued them in the courts and were awarded heavy damages for
their crops. Neighborhood rows and civil wars on a small scale were
of common occurrence, and during this particular summer the long to be
remembered drought came, and I could rest assured of one thing, and
that was, matters were going to be brought to a climax. It was surely
coming, and the farmers would find out one thing, and that was, that
Mr. Davenport, even if he was half dead from consumption, could shoot
as well as anybody.

For long months not a particle of rain fell upon the parched soil, and
when the school-lands, on which large numbers of cattle grazed, were
utterly barren of verdure and rendered worthless for years to come, and
all the little streams went dry, the ranchmen saw ruin staring them in
the face. The sufferings of the walking skeletons, which represented
every dollar they had in the world, were terrible in the extreme, and
grass and water must be had at any price. The nearest point at which
these could be had was on the West Fork of Trinity. It was true that
the most, if not all, of the land in that vicinity had been turned into
farms and fenced in, but what did the desperate cattlemen care for
that? Grass and water were the free gifts of Heaven, and, if necessary,
they were ready to fight for their share.

What it was that induced Mr. Davenport to say all this to me, an entire
stranger, I cannot imagine, unless it was because he was so excited
by the financial distress which he saw hanging over him that he must
tell it to somebody. Sometimes during his narrative he would get up
out of his chair and pace back and forth on the porch as if all his
old strength had come back to him. His eye would kindle, until I made
up my mind that if all the ranchmen were like him there would be some
shooting before the summer was over. For myself I heartily wished I was
safe back where I belonged.

“Do you own this land where you are located?” I asked, feeling that I
must say something.

“No, nor does anybody else. We are squatters. My neighbors tell me that
there was a time, not so very long ago, when this ranch was located at
least a hundred miles to the east of where it is now; but the farmers
kept coming in until I am where I am now. You can’t keep cattle where
there is land fenced in.”

“What makes you think that you are going to drive your stock away from
here toward Trinity?”

“Because there were a couple of men here from the lower counties, not
three weeks ago, to see if I would join in,” answered the invalid.
“You see my cattle would get all mixed up with others and there is no
telling when we would get them apart. That will make it necessary for
me to hire some more men, and as you haven’t got anything to do, why
can’t you hire out to me?”

“That’s an idea,” said I. “I will speak to my companions about it and
see what they have to say. We would rather not have any shooting----”

“Oh, you will see plenty of it if you stay around with us,” said Mr.
Davenport. “The minute we get near Trinity it will commence. Why, there
must be as much as one hundred and seventy-five thousand head of cattle
that need watering. It’s all farms up that way too.”

“I was about to say that we would rather not have any shooting around
where we are,” I continued. “But if there is going to be any we would
rather be where we can have a hand in it.”

“That’s the trouble, is it?” said Mr. Davenport, with a smile.

“Yes, sir. And as far as paying us anything--why, we are here with you
now, and if you will give us board it is all we ask.”

I looked at Tom and he nodded his head. I glanced around for Elam, but
he and Bob had disappeared. They had got into conversation and had gone
off to look at something.

“That’s all right,” said Mr. Davenport. “That boy has been confined
here on the ranch and he has not seen a companion before. I have been
afraid to let him out of my sight. By the way, this man whom you have
just introduced to me is all right?”

“Who? Elam? Oh, yes! You can trust him anywhere.”

“I mean he wouldn’t let harm come to Bob without making a fuss about
it.”

“No, sir,” said I, rather astonished at the proposition. “I don’t see
that any harm can come to him out here.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Mr. Davenport, with a heavy sigh, which told
how heavily the matter bore on his mind, “I don’t know.”

Not to dwell too long on incidents that are not connected with this
story, I will simply say that we were presented to two of the cowboys
that night at supper time as the fellows Mr. Davenport had employed to
help him drive his cattle north, our duties to begin on the day the
march commenced. I took a great notion to the two men--tall, rawboned,
and rough, and the simple and earnest manner in which they agreed with
their employer on all questions concerning the conduct of the farmers,
in keeping his cattle out on the barren prairie where there was neither
water nor grass to be had, made me think that their hearts were in the
matter.

During the next week I noticed that Bob and Elam went off somewhere
immediately after breakfast and did not get back before night. That
was all right to me, but I wanted to make sure that Elam knew what he
was doing, so one day when I got a chance to speak to him in private I
said:

“What do you and Bob do when you are gone all day?”

“Sho!” said Elam, with a laugh. “He just makes me lay under the trees
and tell him stories.”

“You are sure no harm comes to him?”

“Harm? What is going to harm him out here?”

“I don’t know and his father doesn’t know; but if you are wise you will
keep your eyes open.”

“Harm!” repeated Elam. “Well; I should like to see somebody harm him.
He’s got a good heart, that boy has. Be they going to shoot him?”

“I don’t know what they are going to do, I tell you. If his father ever
tells me I will tell you.”

During all this time Mr. Davenport kept Tom and me close to himself.
It was a companionship that was entirely new to him in that country,
and he wanted to make the most of it. Before I had been acquainted with
him twenty-four hours I could see that he was different from most men
who made stock raising a business, that for years he had been out there
where he had nobody to talk to, and I was sure he had some secret to
tell us. One day it all came out, as I knew it would, if we let the
matter alone and did not trouble him with it. It was a hot day during
the first of August and we were sitting there on the porch, trying to
raise a little breeze by fanning ourselves with our hats. It was after
dinner, and the Mexican cook had gone somewhere to sleep and we were
there alone.

“I haven’t always been what you see me now,” said Mr. Davenport,
settling back in his chair as if he had resolved upon his course. “I
have a secret which I want to tell Bob, but I don’t know how to go
about it. It isn’t anything of which I am ashamed,--many men have done
the same before me,--but somehow I have let it go so long that it has
become a task to me. I want to ask your advice about it. You are
comparative strangers to me, but somehow I have taken to you and want
to trust you. I haven’t had anyone around me to whom I was willing to
confide it, and now I know that I am not long for this world I want to
see Bob have his rights.”

With these words the invalid began his story. It was short, but we
could both see how great an effort it cost him.

Mr. Davenport was an old “forty-niner.” He spent a few successful years
in the gold mines and then returned to the States, and established
himself as a wholesale merchant in St. Louis, his native city, and
soon became known as one of its most enterprising business men. The
only relatives he had in the world, except his son Bob,--who was not
his son in reality,--were an unmarried uncle, who went to Texas and
became a ranchman, and a half brother, who was not a relative to be
proud of. Too lazy to work, this half brother, whose name was Clifford
Henderson, gained a precarious living by his wits. He gambled when he
could raise a stake, and borrowed of his brother when he couldn’t. He
was more familiar with the police court than he was with the interior
of a church, and when his generous brother’s patience was all exhausted
and he positively refused to pay any more of his debts, he left that
brother’s presence with a threat of vengeance on his lips.

“I will get even with you for this,” said he. “Bob is not your son, and
I will see that you don’t adopt him, either. Whenever I see a notice of
your death,--and you can’t live forever,--I will hunt that boy up and
make him know what it is to be in want, as I am at this moment.”

The fact that Bob was not his son ought not to have weighed so heavily
with the invalid as it did, but still he could not bear to enlighten
him. He was the son of a friend in the gold mines, who, dying there,
left Bob alone, and Mr. Davenport took him up. He christened him
Davenport, and the boy always answered to his name. There never had
been any doubt in his mind that Bob would some day come in for all his
money, until this Clifford Henderson began his threatenings; and even
after that Mr. Davenport did not wake up and attend to things as he
ought.

In process of time Mr. Davenport’s unmarried uncle died, and in
his will he made him executor and heir to all the property he had
accumulated in Texas. In the hope that a change in the climate might
prove beneficial to his health, as well as to leave that miserable
Clifford Henderson and all his threatenings behind, Mr. Davenport moved
to Texas and took possession of his legacy, bringing Bob with him. In
fact, the two did not act like father and son, but like two brothers
who could not bear to be separated. All they found when they reached
Texas was a rather dilapidated old house, which was very plainly
furnished, and presided over by a half-breed Mexican cook, who was so
cross and surly that one could hardly get a civil word out of him. The
rest of the help--there were four of them in all--were cowboys. They
spent the most of their lives on the open prairie, looking out for the
safety of Mr. Davenport’s cattle.

“I have got everything----”

Mr. Davenport suddenly paused and put back into his coat the large
pocket book which he had been in the act of showing to us. Then he got
upon his feet and carefully closed the door leading into the cabin, and
walked cautiously to one end of the porch and looked around the house,
then to the other end, but came back without seeing anybody.

“One has to be careful,” said he, in explanation. “I am as afraid of my
help as of anything else.”

“Of your help!” I exclaimed. “If there is anybody here that you are
afraid of, why don’t you discharge him?”

“Because I want to see what he is here for,” said the invalid. “He
works for nothing at all, but yet he always seems to have plenty of
money. You know ’Rastus Johnson?”

Yes, we did know him, and he was one of the few people about the ranch
to whom I had taken a violent dislike. He was just the man to excite
the contempt of a Texan, because he couldn’t ride; but when he came
to Mr. Davenport’s ranch six months ago, and told a pitiful story
about the luck that had befallen him in the mines, he was given odd
jobs to do about the ranch for his board. There were two things that
struck Mr. Davenport as peculiar, or we might say three, and tempted
by something, he knew not what, he kept the man around the house as
much as possible and watched his movements. One was the care he took
of his six-shooters. He had a splendid pair, and when engaged in no
other occupation, he was always rubbing them up until they shone like
silver. The other was his story about the mines. He did not know that
Mr. Davenport was an old forty-niner, and he thought he could say what
he pleased to him and he would believe it. The nearest mines that Mr.
Davenport knew anything of were those located about Denver, the very
place we had come from; and the idea that anyone could walk a thousand
miles, right through a country settled up by cattlemen and farmers,
and be as poor as he was when he struck Mr. Davenport’s ranch, was
ridiculous. But Mr. Davenport kept this to himself. He had Clifford
Henderson in mind, and he resolved if ’Rastus attempted anything out
of the way he would expose him on the spot.

As ’Rastus grew more and more at home about the ranch, other qualities
developed themselves. He took to “snooping” around the house to see
what he could find there, and once, when Mr. Davenport entered the
ranch suddenly, he was certain that he saw ’Rastus engaged in trying
to pick the lock of his desk; but ’Rastus began tumbling up his bed,
and turned upon his employer with such a hearty good-morning that the
invalid was inclined to believe he was mistaken.

“Yes,” said I, in response to Mr. Davenport’s question; “I believe we
know something about ’Rastus. Some of the cowboys have told us a good
deal about him. Is he the one you are afraid of?”

“I’ve got the whole thing right here,” said Mr. Davenport, seating
himself in his chair and drawing a big fat pocket-book from his inside
pocket. “It contains my will, and also instructions in regard to
what I want Bob to do with the rest of our herd in case any escape
the effects of the drought. It also contains a full history of the
manner in which he came to me, and hints regarding those threats of
Henderson--whom I sincerely trust he may never see again. In short,
nothing that I could think of has been omitted.”

“You don’t think that Henderson would follow you down here, do you?”
said Tom.

“My dear boy, you don’t know anything about that man if you think he
wouldn’t follow me to Europe,” said Mr. Davenport sadly. “If he is
alive, Bob will hear from him; and that he is still alive I am forced
to believe from the actions of this man Johnson. I don’t expect to come
back here, and I want you two boys to swear to what I have told you.
You will, won’t you?”

Of course Tom and I agreed to it, and then we wondered what sort of a
man Clifford Henderson could be to scare his half brother so badly as
that.



CHAPTER III. ’RASTUS JOHNSON.


Having no wish to pry into Mr. Davenport’s affairs any further than
he was willing to reveal them to us, we did not question the invalid,
although there were some points in his story that I should have liked
to have cleared up. He seemed to know that ’Rastus Johnson was employed
by Clifford Henderson, and I wanted to know what reason he had for
thinking so; but he was sadly used up by his talking, and settled back
in his chair in a state of complete exhaustion. It was this state that
troubled me. I began to think that when his time came to go he would go
suddenly.

Presently Bob came up accompanied by Elam. I strolled off to find
’Rastus Johnson. You see I was as much interested in that pocket-book
Mr. Davenport carried in his coat as I was in anything else. ’Rastus
Johnson must have known that he carried it there, and if anything
should happen while the invalid was alone the pocket-book would be
found missing; and without a will where would Bob be? Henderson could
claim his property as next of kin, and Bob would be left out in the
cold. I knew that Tom understood all this as well as I did. At any rate
I would speak to him about it the very first chance I had, and arrange
it with him so as to keep Mr. Davenport under guard the whole time.

It did not take me long to find ’Rastus Johnson. The ranch stood on the
edge of a little grove, and there, under one of the trees, I found the
man of whom I was in search. His hat was pulled over his eyes, as if he
were fast asleep, and the belt containing his revolvers lay near him
on the ground. Evidently they had just received an extra rubbing. He
started up as he heard my footsteps and pulled the hat off his face.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said he, with a long-drawn yawn. “How-dy. What
does the old man have to say to you? He says more to you than he has
to me, and I’ve been on this ranch for three months.”

“Yes, he has had a good deal to say to Tom and me. He has been telling
us about the threats of Clifford Henderson. Seen anything of him
lately?” I asked, as if I didn’t care whether or not he answered my
question.

I asked this abruptly, as I meant to do, and the answer I got set all
my doubts at rest. The man was in the employ of Henderson--that was a
fact; and while he used his own time in getting his wits about him,
I busied myself in giving him a good looking over. He was a giant in
strength and stature, long haired and full bearded, and when he sat up
and looked at me, I knew I was looking into the eyes of a desperado
of the worst sort. His clothes were not in keeping with the story of
poverty he had told when he first came to Mr. Davenport’s ranch. They
were whole and clean, and his high-top boots looked as though they had
just come from the hands of the maker. There was something about the
man that made me think he was wanted somewhere else--that there was a
rope in keeping for him, if the parties who held it only knew where
to find him. He looked at me for fully a minute without speaking, then
rested his elbows on his knees and looked down at the ground.

“I don’t know the man,” said he, and he spoke so that anybody could
have told that he was angry.

“There is no need of getting huffy about it,” said I carelessly. “Where
is he now?”

“I tell you I am not acquainted with the man,” said he. “Henderson! I
never heard the name before.”

“No offence, I hope; but I thought from the way you acted that you
were in his employ. Be honest now, and tell me when you have seen him
lately.”

“How have I acted?” enquired the man.

“Oh, snooping around the ranch and trying to find out things that are
not intended for you to know,” I answered carelessly. “You know you
have been doing that ever since you have been here, and Mr. Davenport
is sorry that he ever consented to let you remain.”

“Did he tell you what I have done?”

“There is but one thing he could put his finger upon, and that was when
you tried to pick the lock of his desk.”

“I never----” began Johnson.

“If you had got into it you wouldn’t have made anything by it. The
man’s papers are safe.”

“I know he carries them on his person, and he’s got a little revolver
handy, bless the luck. There now, I have let the cat out of the bag!
There’s no one around who can hear what we say, is there? Sit down.”

I tell you things were going a great deal further than I meant to have
them. I had come out there on purpose to induce Johnson to drop a
hint whether or not he was in Clifford Henderson’s employ, but I had
succeeded almost too well. It looked as though the man was going to
take me into his confidence. It was a dangerous piece of business, too,
for I knew if I did anything out of the way, I would be the mark for
the bullets in one of Johnson’s shining revolvers.

“I don’t see why I should sit down,” I replied.

“Sit down a minute; I want to talk to you. You have had bad luck with
your cattle,” said the man, as I picked out a comfortable place to seat
myself. “You once possessed a large drove, but they were taken away
from you at one pop.”

“That’s so,” I said. “If I could find the men who did it, I wouldn’t
ask the law to take any stock in them. I would take it into my own
hands.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about that,” said the man. “I wasn’t
there, although, to tell you the truth, I have been in at the bouncing
of more than one herd of cattle that was all ready to drive to market.”

“What got you in this business, anyway?” I asked suddenly.

“What business?”

“Oh, you know as well as I do. A man of your education can make a
living a great deal easier than you do.”

“Look a-here, young fellow, I did not agree to make a confidant of you
in everything. Perhaps I will do that after a while. What I want to get
at now is this: Are you willing to work with me to have this property
go where it belongs?”

“Where does it belong?”

“You mentioned the name of the man not two minutes ago--Clifford
Henderson.”

“Aha! You do know that man, don’t you?”

“Yes; and now you know my secret, for I have got a secret as well as
the old man,” said Johnson; and as he spoke he reached out and pulled
his six shooters within easy handling distance, turning the butt of one
up, so that he could catch it at a moment’s warning.

Now, I suppose some of my readers will think I was in no danger about
that time, but I knew I was. My life hung upon the words I uttered
during the next few minutes. If I had refused I would never have known
what hurt me. Johnson would have shot me down and then reported to Mr.
Davenport that I had insulted him; and as there was no one present to
overhear our conversation, that would have been the last of it. Law
was not as potent then as it is in Texas in our day, and Johnson’s
unsupported word would have been taken, there being no evidence to the
contrary. I tell you I was in something of a fix.

“How does it come that Henderson has so much interest in this
property?” I enquired.

“Why, Bob is no relative of Davenport’s at all. He picked him up in the
gold mines,--where his father died and left him,--named him Davenport,
and the boy has been brought up to believe that he has an interest in
all his stocks and bonds. I wish I had known a little more about that
when I came here. I told the old man some funny stories about my being
in the gold mines,” he added, with a laugh.

“And Henderson doesn’t want him to have it. It seems to me that it
would be the part of policy for Henderson to come here and live with
Mr. Davenport.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t do at all!” exclaimed the man hastily. “He used
to live with him in St. Louis, but they had an awful row when they
separated, and he is afraid the old man will go to work to adopt the
boy. I tell you he don’t want him to do that!”

“It seems very strange that Mr. Davenport hasn’t adopted him before
this time.”

“I lay it to his illness as much as anything. Like all persons who are
troubled with an incurable disease, he thinks something will happen
to take him off the minute he adopts Bob, and I tell you it’s a lucky
thing for us. Well, what do you say?”

“I don’t propose to go into this thing until I know how much there is
to be made out of it,” I answered, as if I had half a mind to go into
it. “How much are you going to get?”

“I am not going to take my pay in half-starved cattle, I tell you,”
said Johnson emphatically. “The old man has a few thousand dollars in
bonds in some bank or another,--I don’t know which one it is,--and when
I get that pocket-book in my hands I shall get some of those bonds. I
won’t let it go without it. He ought to give you as much as he gives
me.”

“How much are you going to get?” I said again.

“Twenty thousand dollars; and what I want more than anything else is
that pocket-book. He has got his will in there, and I must have that
before anything is done. Now, if you can steal that pocket-book and
give it to me, I’ll see that you are well paid for your trouble. If
Henderson gives you five thousand dollars it would go a long way toward
straightening up your cattle business.”

“Well, I want some time to think about it. It is a pretty dangerous
piece of work.”

“Take your own time. We shall not go off until next week. You won’t say
anything to Bob or the old man about it?”

“Never a word,” I replied, hoping that he wouldn’t ask me to keep
still where Tom and Elam were concerned. I couldn’t possibly get
along without taking them into my confidence, for although it was new
business to them, I felt the want of a little good advice.

“Because if you do--if I see you riding off alone with either one of
those fellows I shall know what you are up to, and then good-by to all
your chance of getting any money.”

“You need have no fear,” said I, getting upon my feet. “I shall not say
a word to either one of them.”

I walked slowly toward the ranch, feeling as if I had signed my own
death warrant. There was no bluster about Johnson, he wasn’t that
sort; but I knew that I not only would lose all chances of getting any
money by going off riding with Mr. Davenport or Bob, but I would lose
my chance of life. I would be shot down at once the first time I was
caught alone, and, with all my practice at revolver drawing,--that
is, pulling it at a moment’s warning,--I would not stand any show at
all. These Texans are a little bit quicker than cats when it comes to
drawing anything.

“Of all the impudence and scandalous things that I ever heard of,
that ’Rastus Johnson is the beat,” I soliloquized as I walked toward
the house, wondering what I should do when I got there. “A man comes
out to steal a will from another man and pitches upon me, an entire
stranger, because I have had ill luck with my cattle. Of course I have
no intention of doing anything of the kind, but if something should
happen to get this fellow into serious trouble---- By gracious! if this
man was lynched he could take me with him.”

When I reached the ranch and mounted the steps that led to the porch
I found Tom and Elam sitting there alone. Mr. Davenport had talked
himself into a state of complete exhaustion and had gone in to take a
nap, taking Bob with him as guard. In order to secure the quietness he
wanted they had closed the door after them. I felt that now was my only
chance. I saw by the look of surprise on Elam’s face that Tom had been
hurriedly whispering to him what Mr. Davenport had told us.

“Where have you been?” enquired Tom. “We have been waiting half an hour
for you.”

“Is it a fact that this Johnson has been working for Clifford
Henderson?” exclaimed Elam. “If I was in Davenport’s place I would
drive him off the ranch.”

“Sh--! Don’t talk so loud,” I admonished him. “I’ve been gone half an
hour, and during that time I have heard some things that will astonish
you. I have learned that Johnson is in Henderson’s employ, and that he
wants me to act as his accomplice.”

I uttered these words in a whisper, thinking of the listening ones
there might be on the other side of that door, and when I got through I
tiptoed first to one end of the porch and then to the other to keep a
lookout for Johnson. I was afraid of the “snooping” qualities that the
fellow had developed, and if he had suddenly come around the corner of
the house and caught me in the act of whispering to my friends I would
not have been at all surprised at it. Tom and Elam were both amazed at
what I had told them, and looked at one another with a blank expression
on their faces.

“Tom, he wants me to steal that pocket-book Mr. Davenport showed us
to-day,” I continued. “He says the will is in there and he can’t
do anything without it. He says the property rightfully belongs to
Henderson.”

“If I were in your place I would go right straight to Mr. Davenport
with it,” said Tom, speaking in a whisper this time.

“And be shot for your trouble,” chimed in Elam, waking up to the
emergencies of the case.

“That’s the idea, exactly,” I went on. “He would shoot me down as
soon as he would look at me, and then report to Mr. Davenport that I
had insulted him; then what could anybody do about it? You fellows
would have to shoot him, and that would end the matter. I promised I
wouldn’t say anything to Bob or his father about it, but I had a mental
reservation in my mind when it came to you. Now I want to know what I
shall do about it.”

“Tell us the whole thing, and then perhaps we can pass judgment upon
it,” whispered Tom. “I don’t know that I understand you.”

With that I began, and gave the boys a full history of my short
interview with Johnson. It didn’t take long, for I did not hold a very
long conversation with ’Rastus; and when I came to tell how readily
he had included me in his plans I saw Elam wink and nod his head in a
very peculiar manner. Then I knew that I had hit the nail squarely on
the head when I made up my mind what ’Rastus would do to me if things
didn’t work as he thought they ought to. I tiptoed to the end of the
porch to see if I could discover any signs of him, and then I came
back.

“You see he knows that I have had bad luck with my cattle, and he takes
it for granted that I am down on everybody who has been fortunate with
theirs,” I said, in conclusion. “He thinks I want to steal enough to
make up for my lost herd.”

“The idea is ridiculous,” said Tom. “How in the world does he suppose
Mr. Davenport had anything to do with your loss?”

“That aint neither here nor there,” said Elam. “That feller has stolen
more than one herd of cattle, an’ I’ll bet on it. I shouldn’t wonder if
he was one of them desperate fellows--what do you call them----”

“Desperadoes,” suggested Tom.

“I know he is,” said I. “And he is a man of education. He doesn’t talk
as the Texans do at all, and I told him that a person of his learning
could make a living easier than he did.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He said he didn’t agree to make a confidant of me in everything. He
might do it after a while. He acknowledged that he had been in at
the stealing of more than one herd that was all ready to be driven to
market. Now, fellows, what shall I do about it?”

This was too much for Tom, who settled back in his chair and looked at
Elam. Our backwoods friend arose to the emergency, and I considered his
advice as good as any that could be given.

“You can’t do nothing about it,” he said, after rubbing his chin
thoughtfully for a few minutes. “Let him go his way, an’ you go yours.”

“Yes; and then see what will happen to me if I don’t do as he says.
Suppose he thinks I have had time to steal that pocket-book? If I don’t
give it over to him, then what?”

“Tell him that Mr. Davenport keeps a guard over it all the while,” said
Elam, “an’ that you can get no chance. Heavings an’ ’arth! I only wish
I was in your boots.”

“I wish to goodness you were,” said I. “What would you do?”

“I’d let him go his way, an’ I’d go mine. That’s all I should do.”

“I guess that’s the best I could do under the circumstances,” said I,
after thinking the matter over. “By the way, I think it is about time
you two went out on your ride. I am of the opinion that it will be
safer so. Leave me here alone, so that when Johnson comes up---- I do
not believe his name is Johnson; do you?”

“’Tain’t nary one of his names, that name aint,” said Elam
emphatically. “His name is Coyote Bill.”

“How do you know?” Tom and I managed to ask in concert.

“I aint never seen the man; I aint done nothing but hear about him
since I have been here, but I know he is Coyote Bill,” replied Elam
doggedly. “At any rate that’s the way I should act if I was him.”

Coyote Bill was emphatically a name for us to be afraid of. We had
done little else than listen to the stories of his exploits since we
had been in Texas. He didn’t do anything very bad, but he would steal
a herd of cattle,--it didn’t make much difference how many men there
were to guard them,--run them off to a little oasis there was in the
Staked Plains, and slaughter them for their hides and tallow; and when
the story of the theft had been forgotten, two of his men would carry
the proceeds of their hunt to some place and sell them. He never killed
men unless they resisted, and then he shot them down without ceremony.
Many a time have we sat on the porch after dark when the cowboys were
there, listening to the stories about him, and if this man was Coyote
Bill he must have been highly amused at some things that were said
about him. We were both inclined to doubt the story of his identity. No
one had ever seen Coyote Bill, and how could Elam tell what he looked
like?

“Elam, you are certainly mistaken,” said I; and the more I thought of
his story the less credit I put in it. “If you had seen Coyote Bill I
should be tempted to believe you; but you know you have never met him.”

“And then just think what he has done?” added Tom. “He comes up here
and agrees with Carlos, a man whom he had never seen before, to go
in cahoots with him. The idea is ridiculous. And how did Clifford
Henderson fall in with him?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” returned Elam, as if his mind
was fully made up. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll bet that Carlos
dassent call him Coyote Bill to his face!”

“You may safely bet that, for I aint going to do it,” said I, looking
around the corner of the house. “Here he comes, boys. You had better
get on your horses and make tracks away from here.”

The boys lost no time in getting off the porch and to their horses,
which they had left standing close by with their bridles down, so that
they would not stray away. They swung themselves into their saddles
with all haste, and I sat down to await the coming of Coyote Bill, if
that was his real name, and to think over what I had heard.



CHAPTER IV. ELAM’S POOR MARKSMANSHIP.


“Coyote Bill!” I kept repeating to myself. That name had probably been
given to him by the Texans on account of his being so sneaking and
sly--so sly that none of the men he had robbed had ever been able to
see him. What his other name was I didn’t know. While I was turning
the matter over in my mind Bill came around the corner. I confess
he did not look like so dangerous a fellow, and if I had met him on
the prairie and been in want, I should have gone to him without any
expectation of being refused. He looked surprised to see me sitting
there alone.

“Where are they?” he asked, in a whisper.

“Whom do you mean?” I enquired, being determined, if I could, to answer
no questions except those he had on his mind. How did I know whom he
referred to when he spoke of “they,” and wanted to know where they
were?

“I mean the old man and Bob, and all the rest of them,” he added. “I
thought they were here with you.”

“Tom and Elam have gone off riding,--there they go,--and Mr. Davenport
and Bob have gone into the ranch to have a nap. I can’t steal the
pocket-book now, even if I wanted to, for Bob is keeping guard over it.
It is true he don’t know what there is in it, but he is keeping watch
of his father all the same.”

“Look here, Carlos,” said Bill, coming up close to the porch, “do you
ever have charge of the old man in that way?”

“In what way?”

“Well, I haven’t been able to do any business in almost a year, and I
am getting heartily tired of it.”

“What business do you mean?”

“Aw! Go on, now. You know what I mean. I can’t steal cattle that are
half starved, for I wouldn’t make anything out of them if I did. I am
getting impatient, and my boss is getting impatient, too.”

“Well?” said I, when he paused.

“I want you to see if you can’t secure possession of that pocket-book
by to-morrow night,” said Bill, in a quiet way that had a volume of
meaning in it. “You see, it isn’t the will that Henderson cares for.
The cattle are pretty well gone up, and there won’t be a third of them
left when we get to Trinity. What he cares most about is the bonds. If
he can get them in his hands he will be all right.”

“Why, Coyote Bill----” I began.

I stopped suddenly, with a long-drawn gasp, for I had done the very
thing I was willing to bet Elam I would not do. Bill started and looked
at me closely, and one hand moved to the butt of his revolver. My heart
was in my mouth. Coyote Bill’s face was a study, and I was sure my slip
of the tongue had hit him in a vital spot. Understand me, I didn’t
speak his name knowing what I was doing, but because I couldn’t help
myself. The idea that I was to steal that pocket-book at twenty-four
hours’ notice was more than I could stand, and I blurted out the
first words that came into my mind. I never had had much practice
in studying out the different emotions that flit across a person’s
mind, but I was sure that in Coyote Bill’s expression both rage and
mirth struggled for the mastery--rage, that I had suddenly found out
his name since I had left him; and mirth, because I, an unarmed boy,
should stand there and call him something which he didn’t like too well
anyway. So I resolved to put a bold face on the matter.

“See here, Bill----” was the way I began the conversation.

“Who told you that was my name?” he asked.

“Why, Bill, I have done nothing but hear about you and your doings
since I have been here,” I answered. “You certainly do not pretend to
say you are not what I represented you to be?”

“Well, that’s neither here nor there,” said he, taking his hand away
from his pistol. “You are a brave lad; I will say that much for you,
and you ought to be one of us. What’s the reason you can’t steal the
pocket-book by to-morrow night?”

I drew a long breath of relief. The worst of the danger was passed,
but the recollection of what might be done to me after a while made me
shudder. I had half a mind to slip away that very night, but I knew
that Elam would scorn such a proposition. He meant to stay and see the
thing out. I tell you I wished he stood in my boots, more than once.

“Because Bob is keeping guard over it,” I said. “He don’t know what
there is in it, I tell you; but he has been made to understand that
there is something in it that concerns himself, and so he is keeping an
eye on it.”

“Does he know that he is in danger of losing it?”

“Yes, he does; but he don’t know where the trouble is coming from.”

“Well, you have got hold of my name, and I wish you hadn’t done it,”
said Bill, looking down at the ground and kicking a chip away with his
foot. “Be careful that you don’t use it where anybody else can hear it.
Perhaps I can find some other way to get it. Do you sleep very sound?”

I don’t know what reply I made to this question, for it showed me that
Bill was about to attempt something after we had retired to rest. I
made up my mind that he would try it too, but whether or not he would
succeed in getting by Elam was a different story altogether. I made it
up on the spur of the moment to take Elam into my confidence. He was
a fellow who could remain awake for three or four nights, and in the
morning he would be as fresh and rosy as though he had enjoyed a good
night’s sleep.

“You want to sleep pretty soundly to-night, whatever you may do on
other occasions,” said Bill, in a very decided manner. “I shan’t be
here in the morning.”

He went off, whistling softly to himself, and I went back to my chair
and sat down. They told us, when we first talked of going to Texas,
that we would find things very different there, and indeed I had found
them so. In Denver, if a man had betrayed himself in the same careless
manner that Coyote Bill had done, he would have been shot on sight;
but here were three boys who knew what Bill had done, some of whom
had the reputation of being quick to shoot, and they were afraid to
do a thing. It was the man’s fame as a quick shot that stood him well
in hand. When I came to think of it, I was disgusted with myself and
everybody else. If anyone had told me that I would turn out to be such
a coward I would have been very indignant at him.

The hot day wore away, and presently I saw Tom and Elam coming back.
They could not stay away when they knew that something was going on
behind their backs. Mr. Davenport and Bob came out; the cook began to
bestir himself, the dishes rattled in the kitchen, and in a little
while they told us that supper was ready. Of course we had to be as
neat here as we had anywhere else, and Elam and I found ourselves at
the wash-basin. There was no one in sight.

“Elam,” said I, in an excited whisper, “whatever you do, you mustn’t go
to sleep to-night!”

“Sho!” answered Elam. “What’s going on to-night?”

“Coyote Bill has made up his mind to steal that pocket-book. He says
that the bonds are all he wants out of it. He means some mining
stocks, I suppose.”

“Well,” exclaimed Elam, burying his face in the towel, “how is he goin’
to work to get it?”

“He intends to come in after we are all asleep and feel under the
pillows for it. He asked me if I slept rather soundly at night, and I
don’t know what answer I made him; but I thought of you and concluded
you could keep awake. I have found out, too, that his name is Coyote
Bill, just as you said it was.”

“What did I tell you?” said Elam, delighted to know that he had found
out something about the man. “I knowed that was the way I would act if
I was him. What did he say when you told him?”

“He told me I was a brave boy and ought to be one of ‘us,’ as he
explained it. Does he mean that I ought to belong to his gang and help
him steal cattle?”

“Sure! You couldn’t be one of him and help do anything else, could you?
How do you reckon he is going to come in?”

“I don’t know. You will have to keep wide awake and find out.”

“I’ll bet you I don’t sleep a wink to-night. If he thinks he can get
away with that pocket-book let him try it; that’s all.”

“But I don’t see why he should pick me out as a brave boy and want me
to join his gang.”

“Well, Carlos, I will say this fur you,” said Elam, putting the towel
back on its nail and rolling down his sleeves: “You have a most
innercent way of talkin’ when you get into danger, an’ a man don’t
think you know that there is danger in it.”

“Nonsense! I have been afraid that Bill would shoot at any minute. I am
really afraid of him.”

“Old Bill doesn’t know it, an’ that’s what makes him so reckless. I
will go further an’ say you have a sassy way of talkin’. Now, you
finish washin’ an’ I’ll go in an’ set down. Remember, I shan’t go to
sleep at all to-night.”

I was perfectly satisfied with the assurance. You see it would not do
for me to lie awake and halt Bill when he came in for fear that he
would accuse me of treachery; but with Elam, who wasn’t supposed to
know anything about the case, it would be different. I didn’t think
that Elam’s explanation amounted to anything at all. In fact, I did not
see how I could have talked in any other way. If I had become excited
and reported the matter to Mr. Davenport there would have been hot work
there in the cabin, for I didn’t suppose that any of my companions
would have let Coyote Bill work his own sweet will on me. Having
finished washing I went into the cabin and sat down. Bill was there,
and he was devoting himself to the eatables before him like any other
gentleman. I was astonished at the man’s nerve.

Supper over, we went out on the porch, lighted our pipes, and devoted
two hours to talking. The most of the conversation referred to the
time when the cattle would be along and we should get ready to march
to Trinity. Everybody suspected that there was going to be a fight up
there before our cattle would be allowed water, and we were a little
anxious as to how it would come out. We expected to fight the sheriff
and his posse and all the Texas Rangers that could be summoned against
us; and we knew that these men were just as determined as we were. They
were fighting for the crops upon which they had expended so much labor,
and it wasn’t likely that they were men who would give way on our
demand.

“Let them take a look at our cattle,” said Bob. “That will stop them.
The man has yet to be born who can resist the sight of their terrible
sufferings.”

“Those men up there would look on without any twinges of conscience if
they saw the last one of our herds drop and die before their eyes,”
returned his father. “Here’s where we expect to catch them on the fly:
We shall be a mile or so behind our cattle, which will be spread out
over an immense amount of prairie, and when those cattle get a sniff
of the fresh water, fences won’t stop them. It is the momentum of our
cattle that will take them ahead.”

I certainly hoped that such would be the case, for I knew there would
be some men stationed along the banks of that stream who were pretty
sure shots with the rifle. I didn’t care to make myself a target for
one of them.

The conversation began to lag after a while, and finally one of the
cowboys remarked that sleep had pretty near corralled him and he
reckoned he would go in and go to bed; and so they all dropped off,
Elam giving my arm a severe pinch as he went by. There was one thing
about this arrangement that I did not like. Bill always made his bunk
under the trees in the yard. He preferred to have it so. He had been
accustomed to sleeping out of doors in the mines, and he was always
made uneasy when he awoke and found himself in the house, for fear that
he would suffocate. When it rained he would gladly come into the ranch
and stay there for a week, if it stormed so long. He gathered up the
blankets and the saddle which Mr. Davenport had loaned him for a bed,
bade us all a cheerful good-night, and went out to his bunk. There were
three of us who knew better than that. His object in sleeping out of
doors was, in case some of the men he had robbed found out where he
hung out, that he might have a much better chance for escape.

“He’s a cool one,” I thought, as I went in, pulled off my outer
clothes, and laid down on my bunk. “I’ll see how he will feel in the
morning.”

I composed myself to sleep as I always did, and lay with my eyes
fastened on the door; for I knew that there was where that rascal Bill
would come in. Both the doors were open, and Elam wouldn’t have the
creaking of hinges to arouse him. I laid there until nearly midnight,
and had not the least desire to sleep, and all the while I was treated
to a concert that anyone who has slumbered in a room with half a dozen
men can readily imagine. Such a chorus of snores I never heard before,
and what surprised me more than anything else was, the loudest of
them seemed to come from Elam’s bunk. Was my friend fairly asleep? I
sometimes thought he was, and was on the point of awakening him when
I heard a faint noise at the rear door--not the front one, on which
my gaze was fastened. My heart beat like a trip-hammer. Slowly, and
without the least noise, I turned my head to look in that direction,
but could see nothing. All was still for a few seconds, and then the
sound was repeated. It was a noise something like that made by dragging
a heavy body over the floor; then I looked down and could distinctly
see a human head. Bill had not come in erect as I thought he was going
to, but had crawled in on his hands and knees, intending, if he were
heard, to lie down and so escape detection. Slowly he crawled along
until he came abreast of Elam’s bunk and not more than six feet from
it, and then there was a commotion in that bunk and Elam’s voice called
out:

“Who’s that a-comin’ there? Speak quick!”

An instant later, and before Bill had time to reply the crack of a
revolver awoke the echoes of the cabin, and a short but desperate
struggle took place in Elam’s direction. Then the pistol cracked again,
and in an instant afterward the intruder was gone. It was all done so
quickly that, although I had my hand on my revolver under my pillow, I
did not have time to fire a shot.

“Elam!” I cried; “what’s the matter?”

“Well, sir, that’s the quickest man I ever saw,” stammered Elam. “I had
two pulls at him, but he knocked my arm out of the way and got safe
off.”

“Did you hit him?” I asked, knowing how impossible it was for him to
miss at that distance.

“No, I didn’t. He hasn’t had time to get fur away, an’ I say let’s
go after him. I wish he would give me another chance at him at that
distance. I’d hit him sure.”

By this time the whole cabin was in an uproar. All started up with
pistols in their hands, and all demanded of Elam an explanation. He
gave it in a few words, adding:

“I knew mighty well that the fellow didn’t come in here fur no good.
That’s the way I should have done if I had been him. He’s out there
now, an’ I say let’s go after him.”

“The villain was after my pocket-book,” said Mr. Davenport, in evident
excitement. “He wouldn’t have got more than five or ten dollars, for
that is all there is in it. Lem, I want you and Frank to listen to me,”
he added, seizing the nearest cowboy by the arm. “I have been keeping
’Rastus Johnson here until I could find out----”

“’Rastus Johnson! That aint ary one of his names,” shouted Elam. “His
name is Coyote Bill!”

That was all the cowboys wanted to hear. In the meantime we had thrown
off the blankets, and jumping to our feet followed the cowboys out of
the ranch--all except Mr. Davenport, who, knowing that the night air
wasn’t good for him, stayed behind to keep guard over his pocket-book.
I followed the cowboys directly to the place of Bill’s bunk, but when
we got there it was empty. He and his six-shooters were gone. I tell
you I breathed a good deal easier after that.

“Coyote Bill!” said Frank, leaning one hand against the tree under
which the fugitive had made his bunk. “I wondered what that fellow’s
object was in coming here and passing himself off for ’Rastus Johnson,
and now I know. Cattle is getting so that it doesn’t pay to steal
them, and he was here to get the old man’s pocket-book.”

“And how does it come that Elam knows so much about him?” asked Lem.
“You are a stranger in these parts, Elam.”

“I know I am; but that’s just the way I should have acted if I was
him,” returned Elam, who began to see that he had made a mistake in
claiming to know the man. “I said his name was Coyote Bill, an’ I
struck centre when I did it.”

“Mr. Davenport gave us the secret history of that pocket-book, and
wanted Tom and me to swear to what he told us,” I interposed, fearing
that things were going a trifle too far. “That man tried to hire me to
steal that pocket-book to-night, and that was the way Elam came to get
a shot at him.”

“I didn’t get nary a shot at him,” exclaimed Elam. “I pulled onto him
an’ he struck up my arm.”

“Let us go in and talk to Mr. Davenport about it,” said I, seeing that
all I said was Greek to the cowboys. “He will tell you as much of the
story as I can.”

“Did you know anything about this, Bob?” asked Frank.

“Not a word. I am as surprised as you are to hear it,” said Bob.

“Coyote Bill!” said Lem, gazing into the woods as if he had half a mind
to go in pursuit of the man. “What reason have you for calling him
that?”

“Because that’s the way I should have acted if I was him,” answered
Elam.

“It wouldn’t pay to go after him,” said Frank. “He has laid down behind
a tree and can see everything we do. Let’s go in and talk to the old
man about it.”

All this conversation was crowded into a very short space of time. We
hadn’t been out there two minutes before we decided that it would be a
waste of time to pursue the outlaw, and that we had better go in and
see what Mr. Davenport had to say about it, and I for one was very glad
to get away from his bunk. Of course Bill was in ambush out there, and
how did I know but that he had a bead drawn on me at that very moment?
We followed the cowboys into the house, and we found Mr. Davenport
sitting up on the edge of his bed.

“You didn’t get him; I can see that very plainly,” said he, as we
entered. “I wish I had never heard of him in the first place.”

“You have given us a history of that pocket-book, sir,” said I,
beginning my business at once, “and I beg that you will repeat it for
the benefit of the cowboys. Frank and Lem haven’t said much, but I
believe from their silence that they would like to know something about
it.”

“Elam, how did you find out that his name was Coyote Bill?” enquired
Mr. Davenport. “That name has been bothering me more than a little
since you went out.”

“Perhaps you will allow me to explain that,” said I. “When I told Elam
the history of that pocket-book, which I did as soon as you and Bob had
gone into the ranch to have a nap, he jumped at the conclusion. He said
there wasn’t another man in this part of the country who would have the
cheek to act that way.”

“Have I got to go all over that thing again?” groaned Mr. Davenport.
“Bob, my first word is to you. I shall have that off my mind, anyway.
You are not my son.”

It was dark in the cabin, but I could tell by the tones of his voice
how great an effort it was for him to say it. Then he went on and
told the story very much as he had told it to me, and when he got
through I did not hear anything but the muttered swear words which the
cowboys exchanged with each other. It was their way of expressing utter
astonishment.



CHAPTER V. THE WEST FORK OF TRINITY.


While Mr. Davenport was speaking I noticed that Bob got up and settled
down close by his father as he sat on the bunk, and placed his left arm
around his neck. He meant to assure him that any revelations he would
make would cause no difference with him. The man was his father, the
only father he had ever known, and as such he intended to acknowledge
him. I could see that Mr. Davenport was greatly encouraged by this.

“There is only one thing that I blame you for,” said Lem. “You ought to
have taken Frank and me into your confidence at once.”

“I tell you we would have made short work with him,” added Frank. “The
idea that this Coyote Bill could come around here and bum around as he
has! It’s scandalous!”

“I didn’t know that his name was Coyote Bill until Elam spoke it out,”
returned Mr. Davenport. “Where he got it, I don’t know.”

“Then, Elam, we’ll have to take you to task for that.”

“I didn’t know it until just as we were washing for supper,” explained
Elam, “an’ then Carlos told me.”

“What have you to say to that, Carlos?”

“I didn’t know it myself until Bill proposed that I should steal that
pocket-book before to-morrow night,” said I; and somehow I couldn’t
help feeling uneasy by the determined way the two cowboys plied their
questions. “He surprised me so suddenly that I spoke the first words
that came into my mind. I knew then that he was going to make an
attempt to steal it after we had gone to bed, and so I told Elam that
he would have to keep awake and stop it. That was the reason that Elam
got those two shots at him.”

“Well, it is a mighty funny thing how a man of that reputation could
come here and pass himself off for an honest miner!” said Lem.

“If you had the cheek that man’s got you could do anything,” I
continued. “He said I ought to be one of them. If he means by that,
that I ought to join one of his bands and make my living by stealing
cattle, he’s a long ways out of his reach.”

“You will find the boys all right, because I have confided in them,”
said Mr. Davenport. “And now I have confided in you. Don’t tell what I
have told you, please, and as soon as I get to Trinity I will ride down
to Austin and have this affair settled up. I did not suppose that man
would trouble me away out here in Texas.”

“Father,” said Bob, who had listened in speechless wonderment to all
the trouble he had caused, “you ought to have left me in the mines. You
have had lots of bother on account of me.”

“My dear boy, you have not been the least particle of bother,” said Mr.
Davenport hastily. “Now you know why it was that I didn’t want you to
go fishing or hunting without me. I was afraid Henderson might do you
some damage.”

“Did he want to kill me?”

“No, indeed! I was afraid he might abduct you. You haven’t seen him
since you were seven years old, and if he could have abducted you then,
and got you away where you could have signed the papers----”

“Why, father, my signature as a minor wouldn’t have amounted to
anything!” said Bob.

“No; but he could have kept you until you were twenty-one, and then
your signature would have amounted to something, I guess. But I will
talk to you more about this in the morning. I have talked so much that
I am fagged out. You are sure you don’t think any the less of me for
what I have done?”

“Indeed, I do not!” said Bob, gently assisting the invalid back upon
his bed. “If all the money you have should go to Henderson, I should
always think of you as I do now.”

“Well, I should think a great deal less of myself,” replied Mr.
Davenport emphatically. “Bob, you will get it all. I could not rest
easy in my grave if I knew you were to be cheated out of it. You five
boys will bear testimony to what I say? Thank you! Now, Bob, cover me
up from the night air. Good-night!”

Mr. Davenport sank back on his pillows and soon breathed the sleep
of exhaustion, while the rest of us, who couldn’t bear to think of
lying down, went out upon the porch. Of course I was glad to see that
the cowboys had got over their suspicions of Elam and me, and one
would have thought from some expressions they used that such a thing
had never been heard of, even in Texas. We lighted our pipes and sat
down to smoke on it, hoping that the thing would come clearer to us
under the influence of the weed. The only thing the cowboys blamed Mr.
Davenport for was that he did not expose Coyote Bill when he found out
what his intentions were. And how had Bill happened to get acquainted
with Henderson? That was one thing that they could not understand.

“This thing isn’t settled yet, by a long ways,” said Frank, who, having
emptied one pipe, filled up for a fresh smoke. “Just the minute
anything happens to the old man, that fellow Henderson will come on
here and lay claim to that pocket-book. But Bob will already have it
safe in his good clothes. I want to see the man that says it is his.”

“So do I,” said Lem. “He won’t say it a second time, I bet you!”

“Father spoke about his keeping me until I was twenty-one, and then my
signature would amount to something,” said Bob, when the conversation
lagged a little. “What would Henderson do? I guess I’d know more then
than I do now.”

“That would make no difference,” said Frank. “He could keep you on
bread and water until you would be glad to sign anything.”

“Would he shut me up?” exclaimed Bob, looking at me.

“He might put you into a lunatic asylum,” I answered.

“Great Scott! And all the time I would be as sane as he is!”

“That would make no difference, either,” said Frank. “There are plenty
of men who run an insane asylum who would be glad to take a patient on
such terms as he could offer. Ten or fifteen thousand dollars at the
end of six years would make him open his eyes. Before you had been with
him a week you would see all sorts of things.”

“Well, this beats me!” gasped Bob. “And I just as sane as anybody! Such
things aint right.”

“I know they are not right,” said Lem. “There are plenty of things that
happen in this world that you know nothing about, and money will do a
heap of things.”

“But Henderson has no ten thousand dollars to give such a man.”

“No, but he would soon get it. I tell you your father has done right in
watching you.”

We all smoked two or three pipes of tobacco and then Lem said he was
getting sleepy, whereupon we all followed him into the ranch and went
to bed. I don’t suppose that Bob slumbered a wink that night, but I
slept as soundly as though such men as Coyote Bill had not been within
a hundred miles of us; and yet he came back that same night and stole
the rest of his bedding. A little further examination showed us that
Mr. Davenport’s favorite riding horse was also missing, and then we
knew that if we ever caught him again salt would not save him. The man
had been guilty of stealing horses, and that was enough to hang him.
When I had made these observations I went back to tell them to Mr.
Davenport.

“Of course the man is plucky,” said he, “and it is going to get him
into serious trouble some day. Now, I want you boys to come here and
sign as witnesses to my signature. I take my solemn oath that I wrote
this myself,” he added, placing his forefinger upon his sign manual,
“and that everything in this will is just what I want it to be. Now,
boys, place your own signatures there. Now, Bob, you sign right there
as witness to their signatures. There, I guess it is all right. If
anything happens to me, get this pocket-book into your hands as soon as
possible.”

There was one thing that occurred to me right there, although I did
not say anything about it. Mr. Davenport seemed to be thoroughly
convinced that something was going to happen to him during his ride to
Trinity, and since he knew it, why didn’t he give his pocket-book up
to someone else? That, it seemed to me, would be the surest way, for
everybody who knew anything about the matter would know right where the
will ought to be found in case anything “happened” to the invalid. I
thought the matter over while I was getting ready for breakfast, and
concluded that Bob or somebody else would certainly see some misfortune
on account of that pocket-book. It stuck close to me, and somehow I
couldn’t get rid of it.

I pass over the next few days, during which nothing transpired that
is worthy of notice. We did nothing but talk about Coyote Bill, and
wondered where he had gone now and where we should be likely to meet
him again, for there were none of us who didn’t expect to see him once
more. He wasn’t the man to give up twenty thousand dollars because one
attempt to secure it had failed. And then what would he say to me? I
had been guilty of treachery to him, and that was a fact.

On the morning of the fourth day, after we had packed our wagon with
water and provisions, and got all ready for the start, the cattle from
the lower counties made their appearance. I tell you I never saw so
many head of stock before in my life. They covered the hills to the
right and left as far as the eye could reach, and as to how deep they
were I don’t know. If a man had all those cattle in good trim, he
would have nothing to do but sit in his rocking-chair and sell them. I
wondered how many of them would live to reach Trinity. Not one in ten,
I was satisfied. They flocked into our water-holes, and in five minutes
there wasn’t water enough left to wet your tongue with. The strongest
fences that could have been made would not have delayed them a minute.
Presently the leader of the movement appeared in sight, and came up
to the porch on which we were sitting. His name was Chisholm, and he
seemed the very personification of good nature. He looked at us boys
because he hadn’t seen us before, and greeted us in his hearty Western
fashion.

“How-dy!” said he. “Are you all ready to start? I hope you’ve got a
little mite of water laid by for us, for we haven’t had a drink in so
long that we don’t know how it tastes.”

“Oh, yes! we’ve got a drink for you,” said Mr. Davenport. “Go into that
building right there and you will find two barrels. Fill up your keg
with them.”

“By George! you are the right sort,” said Mr. Chisholm. “I was afraid
some of our beeves would drink it all up before we got here and not
give us any.”

“Have you lost many cattle coming here?” asked Mr. Davenport.

“Well, sir, the road is just lined with them,” answered Mr. Chisholm,
getting off his horse and slipping his bridle over its head. “If you
follow the dead beeves, you can go straight to my ranch. Nobody ever
heard of such weather as this before. It doesn’t look like rain in this
part of the country.”

“No, indeed,” said Mr. Davenport. “It has been dry and hazy every day
as long as I can remember. Do you think we will get up to Trinity with
any beeves?”

“Oh, we’ve got to. It is our only show.”

“Do you think we shall have a fight up there?” asked Bob.

“Certain! What would you do if you were in their place? They think
they are in the right, and we know we are, and the first one of our
cattle that goes down to the water in Trinity will be tumbled over. I
am afraid that they will outnumber us. The Rangers and the farmers and
the police--I don’t know. But our cattle must have water and grass; we
won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Do you know ’Rastus Johnson?” said Mr. Davenport suddenly.

“Yes, I know him,” said Mr. Chisholm, looking around. “What of him?”

“He stole my favorite riding horse this week.”

“Aha! That wasn’t all he did either,” said Mr. Chisholm, looking hard
at the invalid.

“No, it wasn’t,” replied Mr. Davenport, who took out the pocket book,
told what was in it, and of the attempt that had been made to steal
it a few nights before. When he mentioned the name of Coyote Bill Mr.
Chisholm almost jumped from his chair, and so did the men who had been
driving the wagon. They had obeyed orders and filled up their empty
barrel, took a good drink themselves, and brought along a cupful for
their leader. Then they sat down and waited until Mr. Chisholm got
ready to start, and listened to the story.

“Coyote Bill!” said Mr. Chisholm, in dismay. “I have wanted to find
that fellow for more’n a year, and here I’ve run up against him two or
three times during the last six months. It is a pity that boy didn’t
shoot him. What were you thinking of?” he added, turning fiercely upon
Elam. “Didn’t you know that it would put five thousand dollars in your
pocket?”

“No, I never heared of that,” replied Elam, somewhat startled to find
out that he had had a pull on a man worth that sum of money.

“Well, the stock-raisers down in our county would give that much for
him any day. You had a chance to make yourself rich and then went and
threw it away. Dog-gone such a shot!”

“Look here, friend,” said Elam, straightening up in his chair and
fastening his eyes upon Mr. Chisholm, “I didn’t shoot him because I
couldn’t; that’s why. What would you ’a’ done if a man had jumped on
you while you were flat in bed an’ seized the pistol, an’ turned it
t’other way? I done my best.”

“Well, maybe you did, but it sounds kinder funny to me. I wish he would
give me such a shot as that. Where do you think he is now?”

“I do not know,” answered Mr. Davenport. “He has gone off with that
horse, and he certainly won’t stop until he gets among friends. I am
willing to trust Elam with my life. There are not many of you can shoot
as he can.”

This went a long way toward cooling the hot temper of Elam, although I
noticed that during the first part of the time we were in the drive
he kept one eye fastened upon Mr. Chisholm the whole time. He didn’t
like the imputation that had been cast upon his prowess. If the leader
had been in Elam’s place, and had Coyote Bill’s grasp on his throat and
wrist, he might have been led to believe that the desperado had plenty
of strength as well as pluck.

Mr. Chisholm and his men slept at the ranch that night, and bright and
early the next morning we were on the move. We packed up in something
of a hurry when we got fairly ready to go, and I speak of it here
so that you may have no difficulty in understanding what happened
afterward. Not a single one of the herd was in sight. We followed along
the ground they had passed over, and it was as bare as your hand. Not
a blade of grass was to be seen. If it had not been for the grain we
had provided for our horses in the wagons, they would have fared badly,
indeed, and then they didn’t like the grain any too well. It was only
when they were about half starved that they would touch it.

I never knew what starving cattle were before, for although I had been
a week at the ranch, I had never been out to see what was going on. The
nearest herd was probably half a day’s journey distant. I stayed in
the ranch with Mr. Davenport almost all the time. I had not seen the
walking skeletons which were now shambling before us, but now I saw
them all too plainly. Every once in a little while we would come across
some stricken animal who had laid down, and was waiting for death to
come. And it was so all along our route. Whichever way you turned your
eyes you were sure to see some dead cattle.

“I’ll just tell you what’s a fact, Mr. Davenport,” said I, after
counting thirteen dead animals, who could not go any further. “If we
keep on losing cattle at this rate we’ll have to go at something else
when we get up to Trinity. There will be no need for the Rangers and
farmers to gather up there, for we shan’t have many animals to shoot.”

“It looks that way to me, I confess,” said the man, looking down at the
horn of his saddle. “But you know what Mr. Chisholm said. We must go
on; it’s our only show.”

For three weeks we were in the drive (the journey could have been
made in one week if the cattle had been in trim), seeing nothing
new--nothing but dead animals and a prairie that looked as hard as the
road. During all this time there was a little party of us that were
kept in a state of suspense, and it was all the more painful to us
because we could not say anything about it. Mr. Davenport was failing
rapidly; anybody could see that, and now and then some cowboy looked
pityingly at Bob. And Bob knew it all the while, and took pains to keep
it from his father, and from us, too. He would joke and laugh with him
all day, and when night came would roll over and cry himself to sleep.
No son ever tried harder to make a parent’s last days happy.

“I tell you I’d like to see that Clifford Henderson about now,” said
Tom Mason. “That boy has cried himself to sleep again. Bob hasn’t got
anything here anyway, and I’d like to see somebody come up and take
away his last cent from him. He shouldn’t get away with it.”

Things went on in this way until the wooded shores of Trinity were in
plain sight, and that brown-whiskered farmer came out in company with a
deputy sheriff to hold a consultation with Mr. Chisholm--“the boss,” he
called him. You all know what that “consultation” amounted to. It was
defiance on one side and threats to have our cattle shot on the other.
That brown-whiskered man must have been crazy, if he thought that our
small force of sixty men could turn those beeves back when they had
got “a sniff of that water” that was flashing along on the other side
of the willows, for they were already bearing down upon it with the
irresistible power of an avalanche. All the cowboys in the State could
not have turned them from their purpose. I looked at Mr. Davenport to
see what he thought about it.

“Well, boys, this begins to look like war,” said he, with an attempt at
a smile. He was very pale, but he clutched his rifle with the hand of
one who had made up his mind to die right there. “Two hundred against
sixty is big odds, but we must face the music. Our cattle must have
water, or we shall lose more than half we’ve got left before morning.
Go and water your horses, and then come back and see if you can’t
arouse some of these beeves. If you can only induce them to go ahead a
mile further they will have water enough.”

“You will remain close by the wagon?” enquired Bob.

“I will stay right here,” returned his father. “When you want me come
right back to the wagon.”

The events of the next quarter of an hour proved one of two things:
either that the farmers, when they saw the immense herd approaching
their ambush, realized how utterly impossible it was to stop them,
and that the attempt to do so would only result in a useless waste of
life, or else that the sheriff, acting upon Mr. Chisholm’s advice,
had prevailed upon them to fall back and give the famishing cattle
a chance at the water. At any rate, to Bob’s great relief, the shot
for which he was waiting and listening was not fired, and the cattle
dashed through the willows and almost buried themselves in the stream.
When Bob and his friends reached the bank,--and they were obliged to
ride at least a mile up the bayou before they could find a place to
water their horses,--the stream being literally filled with the thirsty
beeves,--they saw the farmers gathered in a body five hundred yards
away, and Mr. Chisholm and some of the other wealthy cattle-owners were
talking to them.



CHAPTER VI. MR. DAVENPORT’S POCKET-BOOK.


“It is too late for them to begin a fight now,” said Bob, with a
long-drawn sigh of satisfaction. “Here’s water enough in abundance
and grass enough to last the stock for a day or two; but where shall
we go and what shall we do after that? Who are those over there? More
farmers, I suppose, for if they were cattlemen they would not come from
that direction.”

As Bob said this he directed our attention to a long line of horsemen,
who, moving in a compact body, were rapidly approaching the place on
which the farmers stood. They moved four abreast and didn’t scatter out
enough from the ranks to be farmers, and therefore I knew them to be
something else.

“They are soldiers,” I said.

“Texas Rangers!” exclaimed Bob. “I am glad to see them, for they
won’t let us fight, anyway. Their object is to preserve order on the
frontier, and they will arrest anybody who doesn’t obey them. Let’s
wait a few minutes and see what they are going to do.”

We waited, and in a short time saw that the farmers were not as glad
to see them as we were. The column halted and the three officers in
command rode up to see what the trouble was about, and in two minutes
were surrounded by a wall of clenched fists, which were flourished in
the air. The farmers seemed bent on telling their story before the
cattlemen could get in a word, but presently we heard a loud voice
commanding silence, and after that everything became as quiet as could
be. One man had been called upon to tell what he knew, and the others
consented to wait until he got through.

“I guess there won’t be any fighting as long as the Rangers are here,
and so we will go back and see to the cattle,” said I. “We’re going to
have a hard time in getting them over the hill, so that they can see
the water, but if we can do that for even one it will be just so much
money saved.”

If anybody has tried to get cattle up when once they have laid down and
abandoned themselves to their fate, he will know what a time we had of
it. Whips didn’t do any good. The only thing we could do was to use our
lariats upon them and fairly drag them to their feet. In this way, by
taking two boys to each cow, we managed to get half a dozen of them to
the top of the hill, where they could see their companions, and by that
time it was pitch dark. We didn’t know whose cows they were, and that
made no difference. We saw several other men engaged as we were, and
when the last squad of them came along we joined them and rode toward
the wagon.

“Let the balance go,” said one of the cowboys. “If the cool night air
of the prairie don’t revive them nothing else will. I believe I would
like to have a drink of water myself.”

“We got along without a fight, didn’t we?” said Bob, who seemed to know
everybody on the plains.

“Of course; but it looked pretty blue for a while, I tell you. The
farmers can’t begin a fight now, anyway. They ought to have pitched
into us the moment we came in sight.”

“Does anybody know where our wagon is?” I enquired.

Nobody did. They were on the hunt for their own wagons themselves, and
the only thing they could do was to keep on going until they found
them. That seemed to be the only thing for us to do, too, so we rode
down to the willows, and every time we saw a team we sent one of our
number in to make enquiries. When it came my turn I went in and found
only two men, who were engaged in getting their supper.

“That’s Mr. Davenport’s wagon up there in the bend,” said one, pointing
up the river. “Do you belong?”

I replied that I did belong there, and that I was somewhat anxious to
find it, for I was in need of something to eat.

“I hope you aint any relative of the man who owns it,” said the cowboy.
“If you are you will find him as dead as a smoked herring.”

These words were all I wanted to hear. A queer pang shot over me when I
thought of Bob. How was I to break the news to him?

“Why, how did anybody find it out?” I managed to say at last.

“Oh, he’s there! They found him breathing his last on the plains, and
brought him in. Say, do you know what hold Chisholm has got on him? He
has got a guard over him, and won’t let nobody go nigh him.”

“It ’pears to me that he’s got some documents on him that he does not
want to give up,” said the other cowboy. “If you belong there, why, of
course, you will know all about it.”

I never had anything come quite so hard as I did in riding back through
those willows to the place where Bob sat on his horse, for I didn’t
know how in the world I could tell him of his father’s death; but when
I got within sight of him I found that Mr. Chisholm was ahead of me.
When he found that Bob didn’t come in with the rest of the cowboys he
had come out to find him, believing that he could tell him better than
anybody else. I saw that he had been very easy about it, but it was
all Bob could do to stand it. Elam Storm was his friend. He did not go
to anyone else, but rose up close to him and threw both his arms around
his neck.

“Oh, Elam! you’re the only friend I’ve got now,” said Bob, striving
hard to keep back his sobs.

Elam stammered and coughed, and looked all around for help. Finally he
glanced appealingly at me, but what could I say?

“He was brung in about half an hour ago,” said Mr. Chisholm, drawing
his hand hastily across his face. “And although we have had two doctors
at him, whom we found among the Rangers, they say it is too late to do
anything. They say it is something like heart disease.”

“Was no one near him when he was taken?” I asked, feeling that I must
say something.

“There were a dozen men near him,” was the answer. “They got to him as
quickly as they could, but couldn’t be of any use. And I’ll tell you
that he had his left hand tightly clasped on his pocket-book,” said Mr.
Chisholm, riding up closer to me and speaking in a whisper. “So that
is safe.”

I breathed easier after that, and fell in beside Mr. Chisholm, who led
the way slowly toward the wagon. We found it completely surrounded
by men--Rangers, farmers, and cowboys--who had come in to see about
it; for it was seldom that a loss like this happened during a drive.
But they paid no attention to us. Their gaze was fixed upon a man who
had attempted to go into the wagon, but the guard had stopped him. We
worked our way gradually through the crowd, and Bob, who gave little
heed to what was going on around him, threw himself from his horse, and
made his way into the wagon.

“Elam,” said he, “you must go with me. I feel safer when you are
around.”

The guard, prompted by a sign from Mr. Chisholm, allowed him to pass,
and nobody made any effort to stop him, but the man who was talking
with the guard was well-nigh furious.

“Who’s that who allows a stranger to go in to my brother?” said he,
turning fiercely upon Mr. Chisholm. “I guess I have got more right in
there than he has.”

“Who be you?” asked Mr. Chisholm.

“I am Clifford Henderson, if it will do you any good to know it,”
answered the man. “I haven’t seen my brother for eight years, and I
claim the right to go in to him.”

“That’s nothing more than fair, Aleck,” said one of the cowboys. “He
has as good a right to see him as anybody.”

So that was Clifford Henderson, was it? Mr. Chisholm turned and gave
him a good looking over, and Tom Mason and I did the same; and I was
forced to make the confession that, as far as resemblance went, Bob was
a long way off. Henderson was the very picture of the dead and gone Mr.
Davenport. He was a man of rather large size, dressed like the Texans
that stood around him; and, if he had allowed his whiskers to grow into
a goatee, instead of that flowing beard, he could easily have passed
himself off for his brother. I am free to say that I didn’t know enough
about law to know which way the property would turn, but then what did
these men care about law? Bob’s father’s signature, backed up by the
names of all of us, and witnessed by Bob himself, would bring him the
legal right to everything he owned. But there was one thing against
Henderson: He got mad when he was told that he could not see his
brother. Mr. Chisholm evidently noticed this and resolved to profit by
it.

“Well, sir, you are as like your brother as two peas,” said Mr.
Chisholm, at length.

“I know I am,” said Henderson, taking off his hat and turning around so
that everybody could see him. “I haven’t seen him in a long time, and I
demand the right to see him now.”

“All right! You shall have it,” said Mr. Chisholm, and riding up close
to the wagon he called out: “Bob, have you got that pocket-book?”

“Hold on!” exclaimed Henderson. “That pocket-book is just what I want.
There are some papers in it that relate to me.”

“Hand it out here,” said Mr. Chisholm, as Elam answered in the
affirmative from the wagon; and when his hands closed upon the
pocket-book, he put it into his inside coat.

“Now you can see your brother as soon as you please.”

“But I want that thing you put inside of your coat,” said Mr.
Henderson, and I didn’t blame him for showing anger. “All my future
depends on what you have there.”

“We’ll have some supper first; after that you can all come here and
we’ll listen to the different tales this book has got to tell.”

“Different tales?” ejaculated Henderson. “There’s only one tale it can
tell, and that is, that all his property belongs to me. Who is that
stranger whom you allowed to go inside the wagon? I want him out of
there when I go in.”

“Bob!” shouted Mr. Chisholm; “have you got through in there?”

“Yes, sir,” sobbed Bob.

“Why, a person would think that the dead man was some relative of his!”
said Henderson, in surprise. “To tell you the truth, I never saw the
boy before.”

“Well, then, come out,” said Mr. Chisholm. “Be careful to look in all
his pockets to see that you don’t miss anything.”

Elam and Bob came out in obedience to Mr. Chisholm’s instructions, and
it was plain to everybody standing around that there was no sham about
their feelings. Elam’s face looked as long as your arm, while Bob had
evidently been crying, and I took notice of the fact that it had an
effect upon the men standing around. Of course there were two sides to
the question. Some were in favor of Bob, while others believed that
Henderson had the right on his side; and still others were willing to
wait until the matter had been thoroughly investigated before they
inclined to either side. It was a big jury of four hundred men, and
somehow I didn’t feel at all uneasy.

“Now, sir, you are at liberty to go in as soon as you please,” said Mr.
Chisholm, waving his hand toward the wagon.

“Yes; and thanks to you these strangers have got everything they
wanted,” returned Henderson angrily.

“Look a-here, pardner, I am in favor of doing whatever is right,” said
our leader, throwing more emphasis into his words than I had seen him
use before. “This pocket-book has two tales to tell. If they speak in
your benefit you shall have it. Tony, catch up! Boys, I am going to eat
supper with you to-night.”

Henderson went into the wagon, the men turned away to hunt their own
wagons and get a bite to eat, and Tony began his preparations for
supper. Mr. Chisholm sat down on a little mound of grass, rested his
hands upon his knees, and looked thoughtfully at the ground; we boys
stood around waiting impatiently for him to speak, and all watched
for Henderson to come out of the wagon. He was gone a long time, and
during his stay in there he threw everything about in the greatest
confusion. He didn’t leave a single thing the way he found it, and he
was in so great a hurry to find something of which he was in search
that our fellows had to go to work and straighten up things. I knew he
wasn’t making any friends by his unceremonious conduct. He at length
appeared, and, if his looks indicated anything, he was madder than he
was when he went in.

“Things have come to a pretty pass, I must confess,” said he, and
he was almost boiling over with fury. “I must wait the pleasure of
strangers, till they get ready to let me have my brother’s things! What
kind of a law do you call that?”

“It’s the law in this State, whatever it may be elsewhere,” said Mr.
Chisholm.

“Upon my word, I never saw this boy before,” continued Henderson. “He
is some little upstart that my brother has seen since he came to Texas.
He wouldn’t have adopted anything like him, anyway.”

“Why, Clifford Henderson, I know you,” said Bob. “I remember when I
used to see you in St. Louis----”

“You never saw me before in your life,” returned Henderson, with a
scowl on his forehead that might have made Bob tremble if he had been
alone. “And I never saw you before.”

“Easy, easy!” exclaimed Mr. Chisholm soothingly. “It will all come out
when we have had our supper. Until then just rest in peace.”

Henderson started off with the air of a man who would have snatched
things bald-headed if he had only possessed the opportunity, and when
he was well out of hearing Mr. Chisholm continued:

“Bob, you want to keep mum and answer such questions as I shall ask you
by and by. These boys have all signed the will in your favor? Well,
that’s enough. Let’s see him get around that.”

“But I can’t help thinking that he has got something back of it,” said
Bob, between his sobs. “He goes about it so confidently that I am
really afraid of him. He denies that he ever saw me.”

“Of course. That’s to be expected. But you are sure that you have seen
him before?”

“Why, I knew him the minute I put my eyes on him,” said Bob, looking
up. “He was always the very picture of my father, and if father had
wanted his property to go to him he would have said so. He would
have told you so, Mr. Chisholm, while you were sitting on the porch
listening to his story. He would have told these boys so while he was
telling them the history of the pocket-book.”

“Well, take it easy. Things will come out all right in the end.”

There was silence around that camp fire while we were eating supper,
until Frank, the cowboy, came in and sauntered up for his share of it.
He was evidently big with news, for when he had helped himself to a
plateful and began looking around for a place to sit down, he said:

“Henderson’s got something that didn’t belong to him. He’s been
searching that body. He has got a hundred dollars in cash.”

“What did he say?” exclaimed Mr. Chisholm.

“I say, he’s got a hundred dollars in cash that he is going to put in
his pocket and keep there. He says he found it in the wagon, and don’t
mean to let anybody take it away from him.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Mr. Chisholm. “The money has got to go
where the pocket-book goes.”

After that there was more silence until we had all finished our
suppers, and got our pipes out, and then the men began to stroll in
one after the other. I noticed, too, that almost all the cowboys,
some of the farmers, and a good many of the Rangers appeared to side
with Mr. Chisholm, for they took particular pains to place themselves
pretty close to him. Henderson was one of the first to appear, and
when he seated himself on a log opposite our leader, he must have been
surprised at the meagre showing he had.

“Well, boys,” said Mr. Chisholm, knocking the ashes from his pipe,
“we are all here, are we? If you know of anybody that’s back send ’em
on, for we want this thing done up in order. I’ll appoint you all as
jurymen, and we’ll show some people out there in the settlements that
we can do some things as well as they can. The first thing that is
done when a man dies is to read his will; but first I must have every
article that belongs to him. You know it all goes where the will goes,
don’t you?”

Of course that was settled. All the boys standing around agreed to
that. But Mr. Chisholm wasn’t satisfied. He put it to a vote, and such
a sonorous “Aye!” as resounded through that grove of willows was never
heard there before.

“I have no business to act as judge, but I know a story which may
fit well into the case,” Mr. Chisholm hastened to explain, “and
consequently I shall put everything to a vote. It’s settled, then, that
I must have every article that belongs to Mr. Davenport. Henderson,
I’ll thank you to hand over that hundred dollars.”

“What hundred dollars?” enquired the man; but a person could see that
he was slightly uneasy. He did not like Mr. Chisholm’s way of talking.

“The hundred dollars you got while you were in the wagon,” returned Mr.
Chisholm. “You done something when you were in the wagon that you had
no business to do. You searched the body.”

“Well, I did it because I thought he had some papers about him that I
had more business with than anybody else,” said Henderson; and when he
uttered the words he looked at Mr. Chisholm as if to ask him what he
was going to do about it. “I knew I couldn’t get them while a stranger
was about.”

The man must have been crazy to talk this way in the presence of four
hundred men who were assembled as a jury to try his rights of property.
He was making enemies fast. I knew that around his camp fire he had
talked to fellows who were gathered there until he had brought them to
his own way of thinking; but they didn’t suppose that he was going to
act the dunce at the first opportunity.

“You say you won’t hand them out?” enquired Mr. Chisholm, and anybody
could see that he was getting mad.

“No, I won’t! The money is mine!”

“Hand ’em out here!” roared Mr. Chisholm.

“I tell you I won’t do it. It belongs to me!”

Our leader was a man who would not take this for an answer. He slowly
and deliberately arose to his feet, the cowboys, especially his own and
Mr. Davenport’s, drawing nearer to him, and when he got up the shining
barrel of a six-shooter was looking Henderson squarely in the face. The
man turned pale and stepped back. He gazed around at the cowboys, but
none seemed ready to help him. On the contrary, they all folded their
arms, and that was as good a sign as he wanted.

“What kind of a law do you call this?” said Henderson, putting his hand
into his pocket. “If I had a pack of Comanches to decide for me I would
stand just as much show.”

“Well, it is the law here, and you are a fool for bucking against it,”
said Mr. Chisholm, as the money was placed in his hands. It was a large
pile of money to contain one hundred dollars, and I was glad to see
that he spoke about it. “Judging by the contents of your pocket you got
rather more than a hundred dollars while you were about it,” he added,
with a smile. “So far so good! Now the next thing is the reading of the
will.”

Mr. Chisholm, who was the coolest man I ever saw to pass through such
an ordeal, seated himself on the grass hummock again, and produced the
pocket-book from inside his coat. He opened it and laid it upon his
knee, and of course we all strained our necks to get a glimpse of it.
The first thing that came into view was a little pile of letters, all
endorsed, and confined by a rubber band such as business men use to
keep their correspondence in one place. Mr. Chisholm pulled the topmost
one out and looked at it.



CHAPTER VII. TOM HAS AN IDEA.


“The first thing I have struck here is a receipt for $23.40 paid to
Lemuel Bailley, dated October 23, 18--. Why, that’s a long time before
the drought came,” said Mr. Chisholm, looking up. “Is Bailley here?”

“Here, sir,” responded Bailley, who was one of Mr. Davenport’s
cowboys. “I remember of giving Mr. Davenport that receipt. I wanted it
to--to----”

“Go on a spree with,” interrupted Mr. Chisholm. “Well, you got it,
didn’t you? The next is also a receipt. And so is the next one, and the
next one. In fact I don’t see anything but receipts here.”

Mr. Chisholm continued to call out the names of the payees of the
receipts, some containing money paid to the cowboys, some relating to
supplies of various kinds purchased at the store, handing each one to
some man who stood near him to see if he was right, until he had but
few papers left in the bundle. The longer he read the more astonished
he became, until finally he turned the pocket-book upside down to show
that it was empty.

“That’s all,” said he. “There is nothing but receipts in it. What is
your pleasure with the pocket-book? Shall it go to this man who has not
grieved any over Mr. Davenport’s death----”

“I don’t want it,” said Henderson, who was paler now than when he was
looking into Mr. Chisholm’s six-shooter. “The pocket-book I wanted
contains papers that relate to me. I have nothing whatever to do with
the receipts.”

“Or shall it go to the boy who has done nothing but mourn for him ever
since he was brought in?” said Mr. Chisholm, paying no heed to the
interruption. “Of course the money goes with it.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Henderson, brightening a little. “Give me
the money and let this boy have the pocket-book. It’s mine, and I
don’t see why you should want to keep it from me.”

“And you say you never saw this boy before?” said Mr. Chisholm.

“Never in my life,” returned Henderson. “When I saw that boy come by me
and go into the wagon I was dumfounded.”

“Bob, you say you have seen this man before?”

“I used to see him every day in St. Louis,” replied Bob, who was very
much cast down. “He used to live at our house.”

“He is very much mistaken. He never saw me. I have never been in St.
Louis in my life.”

“Seeing that Henderson is next of kin,” said one of the farmers,
stepping forward, “I think the money ought to go to him.”

“And the pocket-book to Bob?” added Mr. Chisholm.

“Why, in course. I think so.”

“Is that in form of a resolution?”

“Well, yes.”

“Can I get a second to it?”

The answer that came up from four hundred throats was enough to show
Bob that all his hopes of winning the money was gone, even before the
motion was put; but put it was, and it was carried unanimously.

“Now all opposed say ‘No’!” said Mr. Chisholm.

There was no one at all who answered. Those who didn’t vote wanted to
think the matter over before giving their decision. Mr. Chisholm had
placed his hand in his pocket and brought out the roll of bills, which
he gave to Henderson, and at the same time he laid the pocket-book
on Bob’s knee. The latter’s hands closed about it as though it had
contained the will he had expected to find there. He didn’t care a cent
for the money--he would have given it all to have his father back to
him, but the pocket-book was something that Mr. Davenport had handled.
He would cherish it as long as he lived.

“There’s somebody in camp who has removed that pocket-book that I
wanted to see,” said Henderson, as he clutched the bills and thrust
them into his pocket. “I know my brother well enough to understand his
business, and when he saw his end coming he didn’t let the matter drop
here. He has got a will somewhere.”

“Lem! Frank!” shouted Mr. Chisholm.

The two cowboys instantly stepped forward.

“You were the first to get to Mr. Davenport when he fell off his
horse?” continued our leader.

“We were,” answered the two cowboys, in concert.

“Did you watch carefully to see that nobody else touched him?”

“Yes, sir, we did. We knew he had that pocket-book.”

“Was the guard that was placed over him a reliable person?”

“There’s none better. Mebbe you’ll say we took it!” said Frank, seeing
that Henderson gazed at him with a smile of disbelief on his face. “You
say that once an’ you won’t say it again!”

“I am not saying anybody took it,” said Henderson. “I am simply saying
that it is gone. Anybody can say that, I suppose?”

“Yes; but you say what you had on your mind an’ see how you will come
out! We know a story worth a dozen of yours.”

“Easy, easy!” said Mr. Chisholm, catching Frank by the arm. “This
matter is settled for the time being. Now we will go to bed and sleep
on it. Maybe it will look different to us in the morning.”

Mr. Chisholm filled his pipe with great deliberation, and the four
hundred men who had stood around to settle the case, taking it for
granted that the court had adjourned until more evidence could be
obtained, strolled off to their own camps. I was glad to see that very
few of them went with Henderson. Although they had decided in his
favor, giving him the money and Bob the receipts, somehow they didn’t
feel right about it. But the question was, where was the will?

“Of all the mean, sneaking courts that ever I heard of----” began Frank.

“Now, Frank, that will do,” said Lem, taking him by the arm and leading
him away. “I know what you want to say, and whenever you get to talkin’
you let out some swear words that don’t sound well. Mr. Chisholm is
bossin’ this thing.”

“But he never asked us to tell our story,” continued Frank. “We uns
could have knocked that fellow’s case higher than the moon.”

“An’ he never told his own,” said Elam.

“What good would it have done to tell everything we knew when there
was no will to back it up?” said Mr. Chisholm, throwing back a brand
upon the fire with which he had lighted his pipe. “When we get the
will we’ll talk to him. Bob, did you ever know your father to have two
pocket-books like the one you have got in your clothes?”

“No, sir. I never saw him have but the one,” said Bob, taking out the
pocket-book and looking at it. “The man has got everything father
owned. But, believe me, I don’t care for that. I am young and can
easily make a living.”

Mr. Chisholm drew his hand hastily across his eyes, as I had seen him
do before, and started off for his own camp, while the rest of us sat
down to think the matter over. I never saw men and boys so completely
done up as we were, who were sitting around that fire, and I will
venture to say that Bob thought less about the money than we did. He
had been brought up in the belief that it was all his own, and now
he had lost it. I tell you I felt sorry for him. He sat gazing into
the fire for a short time, then spoke a few words to Elam, who went
off and returned with his blankets. He made up a bed under the wagon
and laid down there with Bob. Tom Mason was the second one who was
badly perplexed. He would gaze steadily into the fire, as if he there
hoped to find a solution to some problem he was working out in his
mind, and then at me, moving his lips, as he always did when anything
troubled him, and finally he arose and gave me a nod, which I readily
understood. I followed him through the willows, and finally stood on
the edge of the prairie, where the cattle, having got their fill of the
water, were lying down. There were no sentries out to-night. A stampede
was the last thing we had to fear.

“Say, Carlos, did you hear what Mr. Chisholm had to say to Bob about
his father having another pocket-book like the one he had in his
clothes?” he whispered, after looking all around to make sure that
there was no one within hearing. “Now, it has just occurred to me that
perhaps there is another one, and that Mr. Davenport put it into his
pocket.”

“But Bob says there isn’t any other,” said I, jumping at the
conclusion. That very same thing had been running in my own mind, and
I was anxious to hear what Tom thought about it. “It looks like the
pocket-book that he slammed in his hands when he told us his story.”

“That may be; but I tell you he has got another,” said Tom earnestly.
“The other one is hidden somewhere about the house.”

“I wish I was as certain of it as you are,” said I.

“Well, now, the only way we can find out is to go there and give
everything a good overhauling, when there is nobody there to prevent
us,” said Tom.

“Don’t you suppose that Henderson has thought of that already?”

“Let him. Who cares? We will go there and give things another
examination after he has left. I tell you, Carlos, it is our only
chance,” insisted Tom. “And with that pocket-book in our hands we can
carry the day, I bet you.”

“Do you mean to go without letting anybody know it?”

“Certainly. Henderson will wake up and find Bob here, and that is all
he cares for. I don’t suppose he has taken a single glance at us. Will
you go?”

“We’ll have to see Mr. Chisholm first.”

“Exactly. I don’t imagine that our horses can stand the trip----”

“They’ve got to stand it,” said I, for Tom was so anxious about the
matter that I began to feel some of his enthusiasm. “If Mr. Chisholm
thinks it safe I will go. But, Tom, we have men to deal with who
are just as cunning as we are. I’ll bet you that we find that ranch
overhauled when we get there.”

“They can’t travel faster than we can,” said Tom confidently.

“Yes, they can. They are working for money now, and they will travel
night and day.”

“Well, let’s go and see Mr. Chisholm. We can’t do anything as long as
we stand talking here. I don’t know where his camp is; do you?”

No, I didn’t know where the camp was, but that made no difference
to me. The only way I could find it was to look for it, and that I
proceeded to do, leaving Tom outside on the prairie. We walked along
the edge of the willows until we saw a light shining through them, and
then I walked in. It proved to be Mr. Chisholm’s camp. There were a
dozen men standing around in little groups talking about the incidents
of Mr. Davenport’s death, and a little apart from all of them sat Mr.
Chisholm, smoking, as usual.

“I guess Henderson didn’t feel very good over the decision we reached,
giving him the money and Bob the receipts,” said one of the men. “Five
hundred dollars is what he got, and that aint nothing to him. Where did
he come from, anyhow?”

“He’s a speculator,” said another. “He don’t do anything, but just
buys and sells cattle. He’s got a nice little thing in having Mr.
Davenport’s cattle, if they were only in good trim.”

“But that aint what he wants,” said a third. “Mr. Davenport has got
some money somewhere in some bank or another, and he wants authority to
draw it out.”

That was all I wanted to hear, so I stepped up to Mr. Chisholm and gave
him a friendly nudge. Then I walked off to the place where I had left
Tom Mason, and he followed along after me. I could see that he was very
much depressed, so after he had gone a short distance out of hearing of
the men who stood at the fire, I said:

“Mr. Chisholm, Tom Mason thinks there is another pocket book.”

“There now,” said he, and he stopped as suddenly as though I had aimed
a blow at him. “That thing has been running in my head, too. But what
made Tom think of it?”

“Here he is, and he can explain the matter for himself,” I answered.
“Now, Tom, give it to Mr. Chisholm just as you gave it to me.”

It did not take Tom long to do that. Tom was a good talker when he had
anything on his mind, and he had Mr. Chisholm with him from the start.
The man listened intently until he got through, and then gave Tom a
slap on the back that I thought would have driven him into the ground.

“Them’s the very points that I have been running over in my own head
ever since the court adjourned,” said he gleefully. “Now, how are you
going to work it? Do you intend to go off without letting anybody know
it? Remember that you have got some men to deal with that are just as
smart as you are. There’s something about that Henderson that I don’t
like any too well.”

“That is just what we intend to do,” replied Tom. “From some things I
have heard of the man I don’t like him too well myself, and we can get
to the house and give the things a thorough overhauling before he gets
there. If we can find the pocket-book we’ll come back and tell you of
it, and all you will have to do will be to go to that bank and stop the
money.”

“But I don’t know where the bank is,” said Mr. Chisholm. “That’s what’s
bothering of me now. It may be some bank in St. Louis.”

That was a set-back that Tom hadn’t thought of. He looked at me and
then looked down at the ground.

“Never mind. You go on up to the house and search high and low for
that pocket-book. Don’t leave a stone unturned that one can hide a
pocket-book under, and when you get through come back and tell me what
luck you have had. I guess if anybody can find it you can.”

“I think so too, Mr. Chisholm,” said I. “Tom’s the luckiest fellow I
ever saw. He found the nugget when we had almost given up the search.”

“The nugget?” repeated Mr. Chisholm.

“Yes, sir; the one that Elam Storm lost fourteen years ago. He knew it
was around there somewhere, but no one could tell him where it was. Tom
in poking around and following what he considered to be a blind trail,
stumbled onto it.”

“Why, I didn’t hear anything about that,” said Mr. Chisholm, casting a
glance of admiration upon Tom. “Was there much into it?”

“It was as big as he could lift,” I replied. “Elam has got the most of
it in a belt under his clothes. We came here to buy cattle, you know.”

“Well, I must hear all about that some day. Now you go and hunt for
that pocket-book, and don’t you come back without it. Take plenty of
grub along so that you will have something to eat, for if you don’t you
will be up a stump. Good-by, and good luck to you!”

Mr. Chisholm turned about and walked into the willows, and Tom and I
stood and looked at each other. He had wished us good luck the same as
if we were going on a day’s journey, and yet it would take us a week
to go back to the ranch, and another week to get back to camp, to say
nothing of the difficulties we would meet on the way. I didn’t mind it
in the least, but I saw that Tom didn’t know what to think about it.
When he got into a place that he could not think his way out of, he
turned to me.

“Is that all he has to say to us?” asked Tom.

“What more do you want?” I enquired. “He has bid us good-by and told
us to take plenty of provisions along, and that’s about all he can do.
Now, Tom, can you saddle our horses without arousing anybody? If you
can, I will go to the wagon and get some grub.”

Yes, Tom could do that, and he started off at once to carry out his
part of the programme. The horses were hitched in the outer edge of the
willows, and consequently he had nothing to do but to make two trips
to the fire after our saddles and weapons; while I had to work in the
presence of everybody, and there were two men around our camp fire that
I did not want to know anything about it. They may have been all right,
but Mr. Davenport had not taken them into his confidence and that made
me suspicious of them. When I got within reach of the circle of light
thrown out by our camp fire I moved with cautious footsteps, for Elam
and Bob were sleeping under the wagon, and threw aside the canvas
covering before I stepped in. Merciful Heavens, what a sight there was
presented to my gaze! Everything in the wagon had been pawed over, and
furthermore, some of the things had been thrown upon the body of Mr.
Davenport. It was some of that Henderson’s work, and showed how badly
he felt over the death of his brother! If I had been in the humor to
do it I could have had some shooting done in that camp inside of five
minutes, but instead of that I sprang into the wagon and removed the
articles of desecration, and placed the blanket evenly over the figure
as it was before.

“This is one thing I shall always blame myself for,” said I, under my
breath. “I ought to have brought Mr. Chisholm here at once, and showed
him what that man is capable of doing. I believe I could have turned
the tables in short order without the long ride that is before me.”

So filled with rage that I could hardly see, I proceeded to select the
grub that was to do Tom and me during our ride to Mr. Davenport’s ranch
and back: two slices of bacon and a bag to put them in, some meal, and
a little salt. That was all we took with us. I lowered them to the
ground and was about to follow them, when I saw that Frank was awake
and looking at me. Placing my finger upon my lips I walked over and
talked to him.

“Where are you fellows going?” he asked, in his ordinary tone of voice.
“One would think you were going to skip the camp.”

“And so we are,” I replied, in a whisper. “Tom Mason and I are going
after the missing pocket-book.”

“Carlos,” said he, in the same cautious whisper, “your head is level. I
tell you that man has a pocket-book----”

“I know he has, and we are going after it,” said I, anxious to bring
the interview to a close as soon as possible. “If we are missed don’t
you say one word. I say, Frank, that Henderson is a mighty mean chap.
When he went into the wagon looking for the pocket-book he threw the
things all about. He didn’t even take pains to see that they went on
the floor, either.”

“The blamed skunk!” said Frank, raising himself on his elbow. “You
don’t mean to say that he threw them on----”

“Yes, I do. He threw them all over him. But it is too late to remedy
the matter now. I put them off where they belong, and I only tell you
this so that you can make him shut his mouth if he begins working his
chin too much to-morrow.”

“Dog-gone you! why didn’t you tell me before you touched the things? I
would have made him take them off himself. Well, good luck to you! Look
everywhere for that pocket-book.”

If Tom had been there he wouldn’t have found any fault with Frank’s
parting, for he threw into his grip all the strength that a strong man
could. After I had received the assurance that he wouldn’t notice our
absence on the morrow, I gathered up the provisions and started for the
prairie. Tom was already there, and he was holding by the bridle the
two horses which he had saddled, and our weapons laid beside him on
the ground. When I told him what work Henderson had made in the wagon
he was utterly dumfounded.

“Why didn’t you tell somebody of it?” he asked.

“Because I put the things back where they belong,” I replied.

“Well, you ought not to have done it. That would have made me mad
enough for anything.”

“Well, keep still, and let us mount our horses and go on. You can say
more about it when we get further away.”

By this time I had given him some of the provisions, which I saw him
fasten behind his saddle. I did the same with the others, and when I
had gathered up my weapons we mounted and rode away into the darkness.
I was satisfied that no one but Mr. Chisholm and Frank knew of our
absence.



CHAPTER VIII. TOM’S LUCK.


It was just such a night as you would take if you wanted to go
a-fishing. The moon shone down on us through a thick haze, such as
we had seen many a night since our arrival on the prairie, and every
little sound that broke the stillness could be heard a long way off.
We could distinctly hear the Rangers talking, and their camp was
on the other side of Trinity. Everything that approached us on the
plains--even the cattle, which, having had a rest after their drink,
were beginning to crop the grass--loomed up on us to twice its natural
size, and everything betokened rain; but we had seen so many such
nights as that in Texas that we never gave it a moment’s thought. We
walked our horses until we could no longer hear the Rangers talking,
and then put them to a little faster gait.

“I can’t get over the way that man Henderson has acted,” said Tom. “It
seems to me that you ought to have told somebody of it.”

“How many men did you ever see killed in a fair, stand-up fight?” I
asked.

“None, I am glad to say.”

“I have, and that’s the reason I didn’t tell anybody what I saw.
Henderson wouldn’t have been alive now.”

“I guess, after all, you did for the best,” added Tom; “but I would
have been too mad to take a second thought. How do you suppose
Henderson knew that his brother was with this outfit?”

I replied that he didn’t know it at all. He was only a speculator, and
when the Rangers were ordered out to preserve the peace he came out
with them, to see if he could find something that was worth buying.

“And if we don’t find the will he’s got a fine lot now,” I said. “Just
think of the eight or nine thousand head of cattle he got from Mr.
Davenport. Now that he has got them here he can sell them for five
dollars a head, easy enough. That will be more than enough to put him
on his feet.”

“But I tell you that will is going to spoil his kettle of fish!”
answered Tom, as confidently as though he had the document in his
pocket. “You will see that we will have it in our hands when we come
back this way.”

I wished then that I felt as confident of it as Tom did, but somehow
I saw too many difficulties in the way. In the first place, there was
Henderson, who wouldn’t believe that that pocket-book was the only one
Mr. Davenport had, and would be equally certain to send someone to the
ranch to look for it. And if he found it, I wasn’t sure that we could
get it away from him. When a man pulls a loaded gun on you and tells
you to stand where you are, you had better stand. Then, again, there
was the invalid, with all his eccentricities of hiding things where no
one would ever think of looking for them; in fact, I didn’t believe
he could have found it himself if he had been going to the ranch with
us. Taking these two things into consideration, I thought we had
undertaken something of a scheme. But I said nothing about it, for I
did not want to discourage Tom. Everything depended on him.

For hours we rode along, talking over matters and things that had
fallen to our lot in Texas, and were beginning to look around for
a belt of post oaks, in which we could camp for the day, when Tom,
who was going on ahead, suddenly stopped and held up his finger. I
had heard the same sound, but didn’t think it best to speak of it.
Presently it came again, faint and far off, but there was no mistaking
it.

“It is thunder, as sure as I am a foot high,” said Tom, his face
brightening as if he had just discovered something.

“It is, for a fact! I heard it long ago, but you were so busy talking
that you didn’t notice it,” I replied. “I really believe it is going to
rain.”

“Grant that it may be a deluge. I will gladly swim from here to the
ranch if they will only send water enough. There is some timber
straight ahead, and the sooner we reach it the sooner we will be safe.”

It did look like rain, sure enough, and even our horses felt the coming
breeze and were not disposed to wait for the spur. One would have
thought there was a regiment of cavalry camped in the woods toward
which we were hastening, for the animals neighed to each other as fast
as they could take breath. The sky became overcast, after a while the
moon was completely shut out from our view, and then everything was as
dark as one could wish; but we were already headed for the timber and
did not care for that. At last we were fairly inside the protecting
branches, and then the storm came. What a deluge it was! It wasn’t a
“norther,” such as we would have expected a month or two later, but
a regular downpour of rain, and the lightning flashed incessantly.
Whatever it may have been for us--and we were as wet as drowned rats
before we had staked out our horses--we knew it was the life of half
our cattle in the drive. We whistled and sang as we took our saddles
off our horses and put them on the leeward side of the trees so that
we could keep out of the storm, and all the while it was so dark that
we couldn’t see each other. Let some of you who haven’t seen a drop of
rain for sixteen months, and the streams were all dry, and you had to
carry your water from a distance, imagine how good it seemed to us.
Every time the lightning flashed with unwonted fury, and it seemed to
us that one or the other of us had been struck, I would call out as
soon as I could make myself heard: “Tom, are you there yet?” and the
answer that came back was always a cheering one: “Yes, I’m here yet. A
man who was born to be hanged can’t be struck by lightning.”

To make a long story short the storm continued all that day and never
let up a bit; and Tom and I slept through it all. We picked out a
comfortable position on the side of the trees opposite the storm,
and wrapping up head and ears in blankets, went off into the land
of dreams. When we awoke the storm had passed and the moon was just
coming up, and our first thought was to get something to eat; for it
had rained so hard all day that any attempt to start a fire would have
been useless. Overjoyed as we were to see the rain, we still had sense
enough to take care of our provisions. Tom had the salt stowed away
inside of his coat so that the water could not get at it, and the meal
I had provided for. I had taken the bag that contained it in between my
knees and covered it over with my blanket, and although the outside of
the meal was wet, the inside of it was perfectly dry.

“Remember, now, that you are to get three meals in one,” said Tom,
handing out the salt and going out to attend to the horses which,
having eaten all the boughs within reach, now showed a disposition to
get at the grass. “I am as hungry as a wolf.”

It took an hour to get supper, and we did full justice to it. By that
time the horses had got their fill of the grass, and I never saw them
act so much like themselves as they did when we brought them in to put
the saddles on them. They acted as though they were impatient to be off.

“Now we are fairly afloat again,” said Tom, after we had ridden out on
the prairie and put our horses into a gentle lope. “I wonder if that
man Henderson has missed us yet?”

“You may be sure he has,” I replied. “And if he doesn’t send somebody
to head us off or come himself, I shall miss my guess. We mustn’t think
we are going to have this all our own way.”

“Oh, I don’t!” said Tom hastily. “But let me get the first pull at it
and I’ll find that pocket-book. My luck never went back on me yet.”

I had not been long on the plains before I became really amazed at the
sight that was presented to me. One, to have been with us, would have
thought that we had purposely left a good portion of our herd behind, a
prey for the wolves, for as far as our eyes could reach we saw cattle
that had been abandoned by us as unfit to go farther, deliberately
engaged in cropping the grass. The rain had revived them and they
were doing what they could to save themselves. There must have been
a thousand head within the range of our vision, and I knew that the
cattlemen would soon be out after them. I expressed this hope to Tom
and was surprised to find that he did not agree with me.

“You hope the cattlemen will come out after them?” said he, looking
amazed. “Well, I don’t! The men will be certain to see us----”

“They won’t be out for a day or two, and consequently we’ll be beyond
their reach,” I answered. “I am not afraid of the cattlemen. It is that
Henderson that I am afraid of.”

We were eight days on the road, and all the time our horses showed
signs of increased vigor, and at last we came across some things which
Tom remembered; and finally the whitewashed walls of the ranch came
into view. Then Tom began to look sober. It was easy enough to talk
about finding the pocket-book, but to _find_ it was a different thing.
We approached the ranch with fear and trembling because we didn’t know
who had been there since we left, but we found everything just as it
ought to be. We thought it necessary to stake out our horses because
the rain had started the grass so much that they would have strayed
off before we had left them an hour.

“Now, Tom,” said I, as I drove the picket-pin into the ground and
picked up my rifle and put it on the porch, so as to have it handy,
“come on and show us your luck. Your luck never went back on you yet,
and this is the time to prove it. Yes, sir; everything is just as we
left it,” I added, as I pushed open the door. “There has nobody been
here.”

Tom placed his rifle in one corner of the cabin and walked over to
Mr. Davenport’s bed as confidently as though he already felt the
pocket-book in his grasp, picked up the clothing one by one and shook
them out, placing the articles carefully on the floor, so that he
wouldn’t have to look at them again, and I sat down in the invalid’s
rocking chair and watched his movements. But not a thing happened to
come out. At last he came to the mattress, but here, too, his luck
was at fault. Slowly and by handfuls he took out the hay with which
the mattress had been stuffed, but not a thing in the shape of a
pocket-book did he find. Then he removed the wooden slats that held the
bed up and cautiously scrutinized every opening, and even looked under
the bed itself, but it was all in vain. Whatever else the invalid did
with his property, he certainly hadn’t hid it about where he lay.

[Illustration: THE SEARCH FOR THE MISSING POCKET-BOOK.]

“I declare, my luck has played me false for once in my life,” said Tom,
seating himself on the bed and giving up with blank despair. “I was
sure that pocket-book was hidden somewhere about his bed.”

“Well, then, I must take a hand,” said I, pulling over one of the other
beds. “Here are plenty of others to be examined. Let’s pull them all to
pieces.”

Tom went to work once more, but I knew we were on the wrong scent.
We pulled all the beds to pieces, and then I got a chair and devoted
myself to the rafters, especially all around the house where they came
down to the wall, and Tom got a sharp stick somewhere and pried up the
stones there were in the fireplace, but not a thing did we find. We
spent at least an hour on the inside of the ranch, and then, utterly
discouraged, we went out on the porch and I pulled out my pipe.

“My luck has gone back on me, too,” said I. “Where do you suppose Mr.
Davenport hid that thing?”

“I don’t believe he could tell himself if he were alive,” answered
Tom. “He must have felt very bad when he hid it, for he took the wrong
pocket-book. Do you imagine he hid it under the house?”

“I don’t know. We might as well look everywhere, now that we are here.
There is one thing about it,” I added, “he didn’t know but he had the
right one at the time he fell from his horse. When he fell he put his
hands on his pocket-book. Who are those coming there?”

I did not need to point out the direction of the three men who were
approaching, because they were in plain sight, and Tom saw them readily
enough. They were coming fast, too, as if they feared they might be too
late. Tom never changed his position, nor did he make an effort to pick
up his rifle.

“It is somebody coming to look for the pocket-book,” said he. “Let
them go on and see what sort of luck they will have. It wouldn’t
surprise me if they went straight to it.”

“No, sir; they can’t do that!” said I hastily. “We have been to every
spot in the ranch,--in the cupboard, the fireplace, the beds,--and I
would like to see them haul out a thing the size of that pocket-book
that we have missed. I declare, it is Henderson and Coyote Bill.
They’re there as big as life. Now, where did Henderson find Coyote Bill
so quickly? That is what I should like to know.”

I was in something of a trap; I could see that plainly enough. If
Coyote Bill should accuse me of treachery, there was only one thing he
could do with me. They came up as swiftly as their horses could foot
it, and I saw that one of them carried his revolver in his hand. We sat
there on the porch and looked at them. Coyote Bill was the first one
who spoke.

“Morning,” said he cheerfully. “Did you boys find it?”

“We found never the thing,” answered Tom. “We stayed here in hopes that
you would go straight to it. We have been in every place and it isn’t
there.”

“Well, you two can stand up and put your hands above your heads,” said
the stranger. “We’ll begin the search by going through you first.”

“Say, Pete, you won’t find anything there,” interposed Bill.

“I’m going through them to find out,” answered Pete. “I am going to
look in every nook and corner of the place before I go away. That
pocket-book is here and we are going to have it.”

With one accord Tom and I arose to our feet, extended our hands above
our heads, and Pete put up his revolver and proceeded to “sound” us
very thoroughly. He felt in all our pockets, and run his hand over the
seams of our clothing, to see if there was anything there to remind him
of papers that had been stowed away.

“You needn’t be so particular,” said I. “We have been here about an
hour before you came, and we haven’t had time to stow away any papers.
We wouldn’t be foolish enough to do that, anyway.”

“Never you mind,” said Pete. “I am going through you. Some of you boys
know where that pocket-book is, and I’m going to know too, before I get
through with you.”

“Holy Moses! Just look a-here!” said Coyote Bill, who just then entered
the house. “If the pocket-book was in here those boys have got it,
sure.”

“But I tell you we haven’t got it,” said I. “We are just as anxious to
find it as you are.”

“Are you going to give it up?” said Pete, once more drawing out his
revolver. “Where is it?”

“You can shoot if you please, but I tell you that you won’t make
anything by it,” I replied, looking him squarely in the eye. “That
pocket-book is hidden where no one will ever find it.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“No, I don’t! And that is the honest truth.”

“Aw! Pete, let him alone,” said Bill. He stood just on the threshold
with his hands against his hips, but making no effort to continue the
search we had begun. “He hasn’t got it. It isn’t here, and we might as
well go under the house. Have you boys looked up among the rafters?”

“Yes; we have looked everywhere.”

I wasn’t as thoroughly cowed as some boys might have been, for I saw
that Coyote Bill was disposed to be friendly toward me; so I had plenty
of time to study the expression on Henderson’s face. When he first
rode up to the ranch it wore a determined look which said that he knew
we had the object of which we were in search, and that he was bound
to have it; but when he watched the results of Pete’s examination,
and stood in the door and witnessed the confusion that Tom and I had
made in the cabin, the expression of serious resolve he had on his
countenance gave way to a look of intense and bitter rage. The ranch
looked as bad as the wagon did when he got through with it. If he had
been alone and held the power in his hands I wouldn’t have felt so much
at my ease.

“Well, you see it isn’t here, don’t you?” said Coyote Bill soothingly.
“I don’t believe the old man had any other pocket-book, anyway.”

“That’s my opinion,” said Pete. “If he had, where is it?”

This was enough to set Henderson fairly to boiling, but he dared not
show it.

“I say he did!” said he, striving hard to keep down his rising anger.
“What made Bob look so blue when the contents of this pocket-book were
read? I tell you that the old man had another, and it is somewhere in
this house.”

“I think he had another one, too,” I answered, wishing to keep on good
terms with Bill. Although he didn’t say much, I could see that he was
on the very point of using his revolver; and as I had seen something of
that kind once or twice before, I did not care to see another. “He has
got another pocket-book somewhere, but whether he took it in the wagon
with him or left it here in the house, I don’t know.”

“Where is it, then?” asked Bill.

“That’s more’n I know.”

“I don’t like to take such a ride as this for nothing, and I am going
under the house,” said Bill. “Come on, Pete.”

“But aint you afraid to trust these boys here alone?” asked Pete.

“No. I trusted one of them before I made any move; didn’t I, Carlos?”

“Yes, and he went back on you,” said Henderson. “If he didn’t you would
have got the pocket-book.”

“Did you go back on me, Carlos?”

“That’s a pretty question for a man to ask,” I answered, scowling
savagely at Henderson. “I knew you could shoot as well as anybody.”

“That’s what I knew, too. Come on, Pete! If Henderson is afraid to
trust them, he can stay here with them.”

But that was something Henderson was not prepared to do. He wanted to
be close to the men when they found that pocket-book, for there was
so much in it that he was afraid to trust them alone with it; so when
they moved off and crawled under the ranch, he went with them. Tom
and I returned to our seats on the porch, saying never a word to each
other, and for an hour listened to the movements of the men that were
under the house. Sometimes I was almost certain they had found it, but
when they came out after their search was over, I told myself that the
invalid had never hidden anything under there, for they were as dirty
as they could well be. They were all mad, but Coyote Bill brightened up
when he saw me.

“Well, Carlos, you think you won’t go with me?” said he.

“And steal cattle?” I exclaimed.

“Well, that’s what some folks call it,” said Bill, with a laugh.

“No, I think I will stay here and be honest. I find I can make a living
better that way than I can by stealing. Are you going to give up the
search?”

“We might as well. There is no pocket-book here, or if there is it is
hidden where no one will ever find it. So we may as well give it up and
go down there to Trinity.”

Henderson was not yet satisfied. He had given the under part of the
house a good overhauling, had prodded every little mound of earth that
looked as though it might recently have been thrown up, and now he was
going to try the upper part. He had brought a stick with him, and with
it he dug down in the fireplace until he went so far that the solid
earth resisted his efforts, and all the while the men stood by watching
him. After that he devoted his attention to the things we had taken
off the beds, throwing them into one corner, and when the last handful
of hay had been tossed aside he was obliged to confess that there was
nothing there.

“Are you satisfied now?” asked Bill. “If you are, we are going.”

“That pocket-book is somewhere about this ranch, and I know it,” said
Henderson. “I don’t like to give it up.”

But all the same, when he saw his companions mounting their horses, in
readiness to go away, he followed their example. They went away without
saying a good word to us. Tom settled back in his chair and crossed his
legs, while I filled my pipe and looked at him.



CHAPTER IX. HENDERSON IS ASTONISHED.


“Where is all your luck gone now, Tom?” I enquired.

“It’s gone,” said Tom disconsolately, “and I am left here flat on
my back. I could have taken my oath that the pocket-book was hidden
somewhere about that bed. What do you suppose made that Coyote Bill so
friendly with you? If there had been any other man than you here he
would have talked rough to him.”

“And perhaps have done something rough,” I added. “I don’t know what
made him act so, unless he had an idea that he was going to get me to
go off with him. He is going to see some trouble some day. But what
about breakfast? I am getting hungry.”

“Let us put some of these stones back where they belong and cook our
breakfast in here,” said Tom. “Somehow I don’t feel like going out in
the woods. That pocket-book is concealed around here, and I would like
to know where it is.”

I shrugged my shoulders, and seized a bucket to go out and bring some
water, and Tom, taking that as an answer that he could guess the matter
as well as I, went in to put some of the stones back in the fireplace.
I was not gone more than ten minutes, and when I came back I found Tom
on the porch fairly convulsed with excitement. He could hardly stand
still.

“Say, Carlos, where are the men that were here?” he stammered, as
plainly as he could speak.

“They have just ridden over that hill out of sight,” I replied. “Is
anything up?”

“There’s no chance for them to come back?”

“Of course not. They are gone.”

“There isn’t any of their party loafing around ready to come back and
see what we have found, is there?”

“Why, Tom,” I exclaimed, “have you found the pocket-book?”

“Come in here,” said Tom, seizing me by the arm and dragging me into
the ranch. “Now, there’s the pocket-book---- Well, it isn’t in plain
sight, but it is so near it that you will think those men ought to have
discovered it. See here!”

Tom seized a stick which one of the men had used and began poking
around in the ashes that covered the hearthstone. No one had thought of
moving that stone, for it was so large that the sticks which supported
the chimney came down on each side of it; but the dirt under the edges
of it had been thrown out, until it was found that there was nothing
there. The ashes which concealed it were those that had been left there
from the last fire Mr. Davenport had made, when he didn’t feel like
going out of doors, and there was scarcely enough of them to cover
a quarter of a dollar, let alone a good-sized pocket-book; but Tom
knew right where to go, and with the second prod he brought out the
pocket-book--the identical mate to the one that was now in camp. Mr.
Davenport had concealed it there on the morning after Coyote Bill had
made an effort to steal it, and had forgotten where he put it. The one
that contained the receipts he had placed under his pillow, and when
we got ready to start in the morning,--we packed up in something of
a hurry, you will understand,--he had taken that one with him! I was
profoundly astonished. I jumped forward and picked up the pocket-book,
giving it a slap or two in my hands to clear it of the ashes that clung
to it, and opened it.

“I tell you my luck hasn’t gone back on me yet,” said Tom, who was
overjoyed at his discovery.

“Why, Tom, how did you find it?” I asked. I couldn’t think of anything
else to say.

“I have been thinking about it all the time,” answered Tom. “And I
couldn’t think of any place in the house that had not been looked into
except these ashes, so I began to poke into them. At the second jab I
made, out came the pocket-book.”

I looked around until I found a chair, and then seated myself to
examine the pocket-book; for you will remember that we had taken a long
ride, and we did not want to take another with the same object in view.
The papers were all folded neatly away, and as I opened the first one
I came to, my eyes caught the words: “In the name of God, Amen.” That
was the will, and it was all right. I looked at the conclusion, and
there were the names of all of us as witnesses. The next paper I opened
was a letter of instructions to Bob, and told him how to carry on his
business if he wanted to make a success of it.

“I don’t want to look any further,” I said, folding up the papers.
“Tom, you’ve got it as sure as the world.”

Tom did not make any reply at once. He went out on the porch and all
around the ranch to make sure that there was no one listening to us.

“Say, Carlos!” he exclaimed, as soon as he came back, “I’ve found the
will, and now you have got to take charge of it. If you see anybody
coming toward us on the way home, just take out the pocket-book and
drop it into the grass, and then when they have gone we’ll come and
find it. How does that strike you?”

“That will do,” I replied. “Then we can say that we don’t know where
it is, only we’ll have to keep a close watch of landmarks to find the
place where we hid it. I wish I had your luck.”

“I wish you had too,” replied Tom, with a smile. “I notice that
everybody is poking fun at me on account of it, but I tell you
sometimes it comes handy. Now, if you will go out and cook breakfast
I’ll put everything back as I found it.”

The breakfast didn’t amount to much, for we were anxious to begin our
homeward journey to see what effect the result of our search would have
upon Bob. There was not one man in ten, who knew what we were going
to the ranch for, who would have predicted our success, and we were
equally anxious to hear what Lem and Frank would have to say about
it. I heard Tom strike up a lively whistle in the ranch while I was
gathering wood for the fire, and in a few minutes he came out.

“Say!” he exclaimed. “What will you bet that Henderson isn’t getting a
good going over by this time?”

“I am quite sure he is,” said I. “You know Pete said he didn’t believe
Mr. Davenport had another pocket-book, and Coyote Bill agreed with him.
But we knew a story worth two of that!”

“I know it. And to think that we should find it before they were fairly
out of sight of the building. Who--pee! My luck never went back on me
yet.”

Tom went back to his work, and when I had the bacon fairly under way
and the corn bread done, I invited him to come out and eat breakfast,
if his excitement would allow him to eat any. He had the things mostly
picked up. Two of the beds hadn’t been touched, and we would leave
them for the cowboys who wouldn’t have anything else to do. He came,
and the way the breakfast disappeared was a caution. He ate more than
I could have eaten to save my life, and I came to the conclusion
that the excitement was not all on his side. In half an hour more we
were on our homeward journey, and during the whole of that ride there
was nothing happened that was worthy of narration. We performed the
ride almost entirely by daylight. When we slept it was in a grove of
post-oaks, and any one who had come upon our camp would not have found
the pocket-book. I took particular pains to hide it before we turned
in, and when morning came it was always there. It rained for two days
during our journey, but we didn’t mind that, and it was not long before
we began to strike the advance guards of our cattle. No fight had
occurred between the farmers and our outfit, because the former were
men and knew just what they would do under the same circumstances. They
and the Rangers camped on the other side of Trinity to see that we did
not drive our cattle over, and when it rained the Rangers knew that
their work was done and started at once for home, while the farmers
remained a few days longer to guard their crops. Almost the first man
we saw was Clifford Henderson, who was out trying to sell his stock to
some cattlemen, but the cattlemen did not like the way he had come in
charge of it, and would not consent to buy. When he saw us approaching
he rode to meet us, accompanied by three or four of the men whom he had
been trying to induce to buy his cattle.

“I am glad I don’t feel the way I did when I last saw this stock,” said
Tom. “I tell you I was glum then, and didn’t know whether my luck was
going to stand me in hand or not. There comes Henderson, but he has got
some of our men with him, so that we need not be afraid. It beats me
how he can associate with fellows like Coyote Bill, and then hold up
his head when he gets among honest men.”

“He knows that we won’t tell of him until the proper time comes,” said
I. “I’ll bet you that by the time this business is settled you can’t
put your hands on him.”

“Where will he go?”

“He’ll put out. Just as soon as he finds the will in our hands he will
skip. You see if he don’t.”

But at this moment Henderson came along as though he had a perfect
right to be there. He was talking, and laying down some law to the men.

“I tell you that pocket-book was the only one Mr. Davenport had,” said
he. “When he was taken with that fit and fell from his horse, he placed
his hands upon it to be sure that it was safe. Here are the boys; you
can ask them. Did you find it?”

“Find what?” I asked; for I knew that Tom would expect me to do all the
talking.

“Find the pocket-book,” continued Henderson. “These men insist that
there is another one somewhere, and that I haven’t got any right to the
cattle. Now I want to know if you found it.”

“We looked over every place that you looked and didn’t find any,” I
answered. “Every place except under the house.”

“And I don’t blame you for not going there,” said Henderson, with a
laugh. “We went under there and got as dirty as so many pigs. You saw
me come there with two men, didn’t you?”

“You certainly did.”

“And I looked everywhere for the pocket-book and didn’t find it,” added
Henderson. “In fact I examined everything, and not a thing in the shape
of a pocket-book did I discover. I tell you, gentlemen, there is none
there. Now, I can sell you these cattle cheaper than you can buy them
anywhere else. I have got to go North on business, and I may not come
back; and I want to get rid of everything I have got down here.”

“Of all the impudence I ever heard, you are the beat,” I muttered, and
it was all I could do to keep from pulling out the pocket-book and
shaking it under Henderson’s nose; but I knew that wouldn’t do. I must
first place the pocket-book in Mr. Chisholm’s hands, and then I could
say what I had a mind to. While Henderson was talking he kept his eyes
fastened upon one man, and another in the group looked as fixedly at
me. I scowled at him repeatedly, and finally the man brightened up and
said slowly:

“I’d like to buy these cattle, because I can get them cheaper than I
can anywhere else; but I want to be certain that the man has got a
right to them before he lets ’em go.”

“All the will that was made was in that pocket-book,” said Henderson
impatiently. “And you all saw that there was no will at all. Being next
of kin I am entitled to all his property.”

“_But_,” continued the man, “the boys say they did not find anything
while you were there. Now I want to know if they found anything after
you left. That’s what’s a-bothering of me.”

I didn’t make any reply to this question, I wanted it to be put to me
before I answered. The men all looked at me, but I remained as dumb as
one of the cattle that were feeding around.

“You don’t answer that question,” said the man.

“Do you ask it of me?”

“Certainly I do. There is nobody else to answer it.”

“Then you have got me pinned down to a fine point, and if I reply to
the question I shall do so truthfully. I did find something after he
left--or rather Tom did, and it amounts to the same thing.”

“What was it?”

“A pocket-book.”

“Where is it?” shouted Henderson, his eyes blazing with excitement.
“Hand it out here!”

“It’s in my pocket, and there it will stay until I can give it into the
hands of Mr. Chisholm,” I answered, as firmly as I could. “In it is a
will which relates to Bob Davenport----”

“It is a fraud!” exclaimed Henderson, turning all sorts of colors.
“Hand it out here so that I can look at it! I am not going to be
cheated out of my cattle in this way.”

“The will is in Mr. Davenport’s own hand-writing, and to it are
attached our signatures, with Bob as a witness.”

“It’s a fraud--a clean and scandalous lie!” vociferated Henderson. “How
much do you boys calculate you are going to make out of this?”

“Not a red cent!” I replied indignantly. “But you can talk of making
some money out of it when you come to the ranch in company with such
men as----”

“That is neither here nor there,” interrupted Henderson, who saw in
a minute that I was about to expose him. “I want you to show me that
will. I can tell you whether or not it is genuine.”

“Well, boys, let’s go and hunt up Mr. Chisholm,” said one of the men,
who saw that we were getting down to a fine point. “He is the lawyer in
this business and will know exactly what ought to be done.”

“I am just as good a lawyer as he is, and I don’t need one; and
furthermore, I won’t have any!” declared Henderson. “I tell you I want
to see the will. I will know whether or not it is genuine. I am here
alone and you are five to my one. Let me see it, I tell you!”

Henderson was about as near crazy as a man could get and live, and if
we had been alone I should have objected to show him the pocket-book;
but there were two men there whom I was not afraid to trust. I looked
at one of them, and he said:

“As he is the next of kin I think he has a right to see the will. You
may show it to him without any fear that he will get away with it. Get
on the other side of him, boys!”

“If you are going to watch me in this way, you can keep your old will!”
said Henderson, as plainly as he could speak, which, owing to his
excitement and rage, might have been taken for something else. “You
will find that there is a surrogate in this county who has to have the
will proved, and I shall start in search of him before I am an hour
older. Keep away from that horse. What are you putting your hands on
him for?”

Two of the men, without paying any attention to what he said, “got
around on the other side of him,” one laying his hand upon his bridle
and the other drawing his revolver and resting it across the hollow
of his arm. I saw that Henderson was fairly cornered, and without
any further comments I pulled out the pocket-book and gave it to the
spokesman. When Henderson’s eyes rested upon it it was all he could do
to keep from snatching it.

“That first paper is the will,” said I. “It is signed by Robert
Davenport, who, when he showed us the will, said: ‘I take my oath that
this is my proper signature,’ or words to that effect. Tom Mason and I
signed it, while Elam Storm made his mark. He can’t write, you know.
Bob Davenport signed it as a witness.”

“I see you are all against me, but I want to see the will,” said
Henderson. “You had better mind what you are about, for they have a
queer way of dealing with men in this part of the country who swear to
a lie!”

“By gum! the boys have got it, sure enough,” said the spokesman, as
he ran his eye rapidly over the paper. “‘In the name of God, Amen! I,
Robert Davenport, being thoroughly convinced of the uncertainty of
life, do hereby give and bequeath to my son, Robert Davenport, all the
property of which I may die possessed, to wit:’ There you have it. Do
you want to see it?”

The man who held the revolver raised it to a level with Henderson’s
head, the man who had his grip on the bridle tightened it, and the
spokesman passed the will over to Henderson. My heart was in my mouth,
for I did not know but the man, in his rage, would kill himself; but
he did nothing of the sort. He ran his eye rapidly over the paper,
and I saw that he was trying to find the name of the bank in which
Mr. Davenport’s bonds were deposited for safe keeping, and then I
interfered.

“That’s enough!” I exclaimed. “He doesn’t want to get at the name of
that bank, because he may get there before we do. Take it away from
him!”

“You are too late, young man,” said Henderson, as he readily gave up
the will. “And now, I will bid you good-by. You are a pack of thieves,
the last one of you!”

He made an effort to spur up his horse, but the man who held his bridle
was not to be taken unawares.

“Take that back!” he exclaimed.

“Well, you want me to call you something, don’t you?” said Henderson.

I think he was the coolest man I ever saw. That was twice he had looked
into the muzzle of a revolver when the man who stood behind it was
just on the point of shooting, but he never changed color.

“Take it back!” said the man. “One--two----”

“Well, then, you are gentlemen, the last one of you,” said the culprit.
“Now, let me go, and when you get down to Austin you may be sure you
will find me there. There isn’t any law against that, I suppose?”

“No; you can go and come when you are a mind to; but you be sure that
you don’t come around our camp to-night!”

“You may be sure that I shall never come around there again. The next
time you see me I shall be backed up by law!”

The man who held his bridle released it, and we sat in our saddles and
saw Henderson gallop away, while the one who held the will folded it up
and returned it to me. Henderson evidently knew where he was going, for
he went in an awful hurry, and somehow I couldn’t get it out of my mind
that Bob was going to see trouble over the will after all. As we turned
about and went back to camp I said to our spokesman:

“Who is that officer who is going to examine the will? I suppose we
shall have to go to Austin with Bob?”

“The surrogate? Yes, he is called that in some States, but what in the
world he is called here I don’t know. I never had anything to do with
the proving of wills, but we will go and see Mr. Chisholm. He will know
all about it. By gum! you fellows got it, didn’t you? And you say that
he and two other men were there in the house and all over it and never
found it? Tell us all about it.”

It did not take me long to tell the cattlemen the history of our trip
to the ranch and back, but I left out all allusions to Coyote Bill.
I could do that and I knew that Tom wouldn’t betray me. When the
spokesman asked me who the men were, I could tell him that one was
Henderson and the other was ’Rastus Johnson. Who the other was I didn’t
know, for I had been on the ranch all the time, and my opportunities
for making acquaintances were very slight. I determined to tell Mr.
Chisholm all about it, for I assure you I did not feel like having
secrets from my friends.

“’Rastus Johnson! I never knew him, but his knowing something about
that pocket-book proves that he is a snake in the grass. I wonder if he
has anything to do with Coyote Bill?”

“There comes Bob Davenport!” exclaimed Tom suddenly. “He is more
interested in what we have to tell than anybody else.”

I never was so glad of an interruption in my life. It got me out of a
lie, plain enough. I looked around, and there was Bob waving his hat to
us. It seems that the loss of his cattle had not hurt him any, for he
had his coat off and was working with Mr. Chisholm’s men. When I saw
him coming I pulled out the pocket-book and waved it over my head.



CHAPTER X. OFF FOR AUSTIN.


What Bob Davenport thought when he saw me waving that pocket-book to
him, I don’t know. I held it extended in my left hand and tapped it
with my right as if to say, “Here’s your will,” until he came up, and
then I saw his face was whiter than it was when he thought he had lost
his cattle.

“You’ve got it! You’ve got it as sure as the world!” he exclaimed, as
soon as he came within speaking distance. “Is it mine?”

“Tom Mason found it for you, and it is all yours,” said I. “I don’t
know how much there is in it, because I haven’t read the will; but I
heard your father say that it was all yours.”

With hands that trembled Bob took the pocket-book and opened it; and
as he gazed upon the hand-writing of his father now laid away among
the willows, his eyes filled with tears. Mr. Davenport, I afterward
learned, had been buried near the scene of his death, and the cattlemen
had made a heavy box and loaded it with stones to protect it from the
wolves. Bob had not yet recovered from his father’s sudden death, but
Clifford Henderson was not at the funeral, and when remonstrated with
by the cattlemen for his want of sympathy for the fate of his brother,
said gruffly:

“Why should I want to see him buried? He drove me away from home by his
ingratitude eight years ago, and I have never got over it. He seems to
have one mourner there, and that is enough.”

Bob Davenport, we repeat, read the will from the beginning to the end,
also the letter of instructions, and we sat on our horses waiting for
him to finish. When he was through he folded up the letter, closed the
pocket-book, and handed it back to me.

“Why, Bob, it is yours,” I said.

“No,” he replied; “you fellows found it. I should never have seen it
if it hadn’t been for you, and I wish you to take and hand it to Mr.
Chisholm. When he says I may have it all, I will take it; not before. I
left him here at the wagon when I came up.”

We followed Bob back to the wagon, and there we found Mr. Chisholm,
smoking as usual. He knew there was something up, for we had waited
almost fifteen minutes for Bob to read the letter, but he said not a
word until I rode up and gave him the pocket-book. Then he opened it
and read the first line of the will, after which he folded it up and
placed it in his own pocket.

“Is it all right?” he asked.

“It is all there,” replied Bob. “I read the whole of it.”

“Which was the lucky fellow?”

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder toward Tom Mason, and in another
moment Mr. Chisholm had him from his horse.

“By George, Tommy, you did nobly!” said he, lifting Tom from the ground
with one hand and giving him a grip with the other that must have
brought tears of pain to his eyes. “I believe now that you found the
nugget, but I was not prepared to swallow it all when I first heard of
the story.”

“Course he did! Didn’t he find my nugget when it had been buried out of
sight longer than I can remember? Give us your grip, Tom.”

We looked up, and there was Elam Storm coming around the wagon. He had
his sleeves rolled up, and a person who knew him would have hesitated
about shaking hands with him; but Tom took it without ceremony. There
was genuine affection between the two boys, and it showed itself in the
way they greeted each other.

“Now, boys,” said Mr. Chisholm, who could not have been more delighted
if the will he had in his possession had deeded some property to him
instead of to Bob, “the next thing is something else. I wish when you
start out again that you would see every cowboy that you can, and tell
him to come to my wagon after supper, for I have got some things that
will interest them. I promised to do some more talking to them when I
got the will, and now I am in a condition to do it. Tell Henderson to
come along too.”

“Henderson won’t be here,” said our spokesman.

“Ah! Skipped out, has he?”

“Yes. He said we were thieves, the last one of us, and we asked him to
take it back and never show his face in our camp again. He left in a
mighty hurry, and I guess he was going somewhere.”

“Humph!” said Mr. Chisholm, with a sidelong glance at me. “Well, you
send all the boys up here. We have something here now that will put a
different look on the matter.”

“Now, Bob,” continued our spokesman, “we haven’t had a chance before to
tell you how pleased we are at your good fortune. Shake!”

“Oh, I took it for granted,” said Bob, accepting the cowboys’ hands,
one after the other. “You have been so good to me ever since I lost my
cattle that I knew you sympathized with me. I am glad to receive your
congratulations.”

We stood there at the wagon and saw the cowboys ride away and Elam
engaged in conversation with Tom, and then I motioned to Mr. Chisholm
to follow me off on one side. There were two things that I wanted to
speak to him about.

“You know when Henderson read that will, do you not?” I began.

“I thought I did,” he replied. “You had him cornered so that he
couldn’t get away or destroy it?”

“Yes, sir. He read it rapidly, much more so than I could have done if I
had had the paper, and he wanted to get at the name of the bank where
the money was kept on deposit--that is, where the bonds were kept. Then
I interfered and the men took the paper away from him.”

“Well?” said Mr. Chisholm.

“He said I was too late,” I continued. “And then he gave me to
understand that he had got all he wanted. He said that the next time I
saw him would be in Austin----”

“W-h-e-w!” whistled Mr. Chisholm.

“Yes. And then he would have the law to back him up. He would go to
the surrogate and challenge the will. Now, it seems to me that he could
make us a heap of trouble by doing that.”

Mr. Chisholm knocked the ashes from his pipe and filled up for another
smoke, all the while keeping his eyes fastened upon me. I knew he was
thinking deeply about something, and made no attempt to interrupt him.

“Well?” said he, when he had come to some conclusion.

“And there’s another thing I wanted to speak to you about,” I
continued. “I can’t help it because Coyote Bill should be so friendly
with me, can I?”

“Why--no; if you haven’t done anything to make him so.”

“Well, you know what Mr. Davenport told you, don’t you? He thinks
because I lost my cattle I am down on everybody who has not lost
theirs. Now, he was one of the party who came up there to search the
house.”

“That doesn’t matter. You couldn’t have kept him away from there if
he was a mind to come, and I confess I thought something was up when
Henderson came up missing the next morning.”

“But I don’t want to get these men down on me because he acts so. He
asked me if I was going with him and help him steal cattle, and I told
him I was not. He tried his best to get me interested in the matter
before he made any move, but I wouldn’t do it, and it was only by
taking Elam into my confidence that I was able to upset him.”

“Well, you just let Coyote Bill go and trust to me,” said Mr. Chisholm,
giving me his hand to shake. “If anybody says anything to you about it
send them to me. But I don’t know what to make of Henderson’s going to
Austin. If he should get the cattle thrown into the hands of a trustee,
and have some sort of an arrangement made by which he could keep the
bonds out of our grasp---- Who-pee! By George! We would be in a fix
then.”

“But could he do that?” I asked, alarmed at the proposition. “Just see
all the writings we would have.”

“He could do it if we had a thousand times as much. He could just
challenge the will, and by giving some little pettifogger money enough,
and promising him as much more if succeeded, he could have it thrown
into chancery and keep us out of it forever. He could do it easily
enough. I never did like that man Henderson, anyway.”

Of course Mr. Chisholm made things different from what they were, and
anybody could see that he didn’t know much about law; but it had an
effect upon me, as I didn’t know anything about the ins and outs of
the profession. I had never had any experience in it in my life, and
I was appalled by his story of what that bad man could do in the way
of contesting the will if he tried. It was Bob’s, and why couldn’t Bob
have it? In a new State like Texas, law was not considered to be of as
much use as it was in some older communities, and there was but one
thing I could think of to use in Henderson’s case, and that was, to get
him out of the way. I looked at Mr. Chisholm and could see that he was
thinking of the same thing.

“There is but one way out of it,” he continued, after he had thought
the matter over, “and that is a revolver shot. That will end all
difficulty. This thing that he has got on his side may be law, but it
is not justice.”

“There may be a better way than that,” I added, for I was disposed to
be a boy of peace, “and it won’t do any harm to try it, for it will
bring mischief to no one but Henderson. If we could prove that he was
in cahoots with Coyote Bill----”

“Set me down for a blockhead!” exclaimed Mr. Chisholm, once more
extending his hand. “But you are the very boy I want. You think of
everything before I do. Of course we can prove it, for didn’t you and
Tom Mason see him and talk with him when he came out there to the
ranch? Carlos, you be around to-night, for we are going to Austin.
We’ll take along sufficient men to keep Coyote Bill away from us if he
sees us on the way, and go down and prove the will. Now, keep mum, for
I don’t want any man around here to know it. So long!”

Mr. Chisholm and I returned to the wagon, and I invited myself to
the dinner which Elam had served up in great shape for Tom Mason.
Of course Bob was there and his face was radiant. I didn’t exactly
understand what Mr. Chisholm meant by saying that we would go down
to Austin to prove the will, but I was in for it. He seemed to think
there was going to be a fight before we got there, but when I looked at
Bob, so joyous now when he had been so distressed and cast down when
he thought he had lost all his father’s property, I told myself that I
was in for that too. There was one thing about it: Clifford Henderson
wouldn’t get those bonds, or the cattle either, by simply asking for
them.

“Tom Mason is the one you want to thank for finding that pocket-book,”
I said, as I sat down beside him. “Elam, have you got a slice of bacon
for me?”

“I know just what you both did and what you passed through when you
were there,” said Bob. “This is no place for me to thank you. I will do
that at some future time.”

For the first time it occurred to me that Bob might want to give Tom
some present for being so lucky, and I was strongly in favor of that.
For myself I didn’t want anything, for I had sold all my property to
Uncle Ezra, who still had some of my money left in case I should happen
to find him when dead broke; but Tom had suddenly taken it into his
head that he must return home with the amount of money he had stolen
from his uncle, and I was in favor of helping him out. When Bob got all
his cattle and bonds safe to himself, that would be the time for him to
act. I resolved that if he ever said anything to me, I would tell him
just what I thought about it.

Between joking and laughing and driving on the wagon to meet the
cowboys at nightfall, we passed the time agreeably enough. Just before
dark we came within sight of a grove of post-oaks which had been
selected for our encampment, and there we found a colony of wagons and
almost all the cowboys. Mr. Chisholm was there. He had ridden his horse
hard all the afternoon in the effort to find all the men attached to
his outfit to summon them to appear at this hour, and when we got up
there I found that there were two wagons missing. Everyone was glad
to see Bob. I never knew that boy had so many friends, especially when
Lem and Frank came up, whom Mr. Chisholm had found herding some cattle
on the furthest flanks. Of course they shook me warmly by the hand, but
devoted the most of their time and attention to Tom Mason.

“I knowed you would find it, pilgrim,” said Lem, holding fast to Tom
with one hand and patting him on the shoulder with the other. “Whenever
I lose anything I am going to send you after it.”

Supper didn’t take much time, for all hands were anxious to hear what
was in the will, so as soon as the motions had been gone through they
flocked up around the wagon to listen. The time came for Mr. Chisholm
to lay by his pipe, which he did, and drew out the pocket-book.

“I reckon we’ll find a little better reading in this one than we did
in the last,” said he, holding it up where all could see it. “Has our
friend Henderson come in yet?”

Although they all knew that the culprit was miles from there by that
time, they all looked at each other, but no one spoke.

“I reckon he’s skipped,” continued Mr. Chisholm. “’Cause he was allowed
to have the reading of these papers I hold here; and when he said we
were all thieves, our friends told him to be careful how he showed
his face in our camp to-night. The first paper I hold in my hand is
indorsed: ‘The last will and testament of Robert Davenport.’ I will now
read it.”

Mr. Chisholm took off his hat and laid it down beside him, and in a
much slower and more deliberate manner than he had used in reading the
contents of the other pocket-book, the one that contained the receipts,
he proceeded to read the paper he held in his hand. The testator made
Robert Davenport the heir to everything he possessed, horses, cattle,
and bonds, which were deposited for safe keeping in the Merchant and
Cattlemen’s Bank of Austin, with a few exceptions. To each of his
cowboys, “for services long and faithfully rendered,” he gave the
sum of one thousand dollars, and then came something I was glad to
see. To his half-brother, Clifford Henderson, “to show that he had
not forgotten him,” he gave the sum of one dollar, and he hoped that
before he got through spending it he would learn that honesty was the
best policy. The will was somewhat long, and I was pleased to note one
thing: the name of the bank in which the bonds were kept did not occur
on the first page, but on the second! and Henderson, when reading it,
had read all he wanted to see on the first page! By reading that and
going off in such a hurry he tried to play a bluff game on us. He did
not know the name of the bank at all!

After that followed the letter of instructions, which was so plain that
anybody could have understood it, and it wound up with the entreaty to
Bob to be honest; but having been brought up all his life in that way
the testator did not think that Bob would depart from it. Bob told me
afterward that the letter talked just as plainly as his father would to
him. Bob was very much overcome, and during the reading he sat with his
hands covering his face, and I could see the tears trickling through
his fingers. By the time Mr. Chisholm was through all the cowboys had
their hats off. He folded up the paper and waited for somebody to make
known his pleasure concerning it. It was a long time before anyone
spoke. They seemed to be as much affected by the reading of the will as
Bob was.

“The will seems to be all right, Mr. Judge,” said the oldest cattleman
at last, “and I move it be accepted by this meeting.”

“Second the motion!” shouted a dozen men at once.

The motion was put and carried (we knew that Henderson didn’t have a
friend among those cowboys), and then the pocket-book was laid upon
Bob’s knee. He was a rich man at last. There were fifty good rifles to
back him up, and if Henderson or any of Coyote Bill’s band had been
there to take exceptions to it, he would have been roughly handled. At
almost any other time they would have called upon Bob for a speech,
but instead of that they let him go. He passed the pocket-book back to
Mr. Chisholm, with a few words expressive of his gratitude, and begged
him to keep it for him until the matter was quite settled, and arose
and went off into the darkness. He wanted to be alone, and none of us
intruded upon him.

Mr. Chisholm was now prepared to carry out the rest of his programme,
and as soon as the cattlemen had gone away he called some of his
cowboys to him and told them he wanted them to take charge of Mr.
Davenport’s wagon on the following morning, for he was going to Austin.
He didn’t enter into any explanations, for a ride of a hundred miles
was nothing for their employer to undertake, but they agreed at once,
and he sent them away.

“Now,” said he, “the next thing is something else. All you boys who
have been remembered in Mr. Davenport’s will, sit up close around me,
for I have something to tell you. We must go to Austin as quickly as
we can, for we don’t know but that man Henderson has gone there to
challenge the will.”

“Will you allow me to say a word right there, Mr. Chisholm?” I asked.
“That man Henderson doesn’t know the name of the bank in which the
bonds are deposited.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he read only the first page of the will. If you took pains
to notice, the name doesn’t occur except on the second page, and
consequently he could not have seen it.”

“Well, by George! I never noticed that. Did any of you boys take notice
of it? But I have got the will in my pocket. We can easily satisfy
ourselves on that point. It is so,” he added, after referring to the
will, “and you are just the boy---- But look here! If Henderson knows
how, he can just go down there and challenge the will, anyway. He can
say he doesn’t like the way that property has been left, and so make us
some trouble on account of it.”

“Who will he have to go to when he challenges it?” I asked.

“Blessed if I know!”

“I’d just like to meet him to-morrow,” said Frank.

“Here too,” said Lem. “You wouldn’t have to do all your shooting alone,
I can tell you.”

“But you see you aint likely to meet him,” said Mr. Chisholm. “Now, I
think we had better go to Austin right straight, in order to get the
start of him. Catch up!”

“Do you mean that we are all to go?” I asked.

“Yes, I do mean all of you; everyone who is remembered in Mr.
Davenport’s will, and Bob and those of us who witnessed his signature.
Even Elam will have to go, for he made his mark. I know the president
of that bank down there, for he holds a thousand dollars or two of
my money, and perhaps a word coming from me will help straighten the
matter out. Lem, you and Frank get the grub together. Elam, you hunt up
Bob.”

And this was all the ceremony that was employed in getting under way.
In a few minutes more there were ten of us, all well mounted and armed
and with provisions enough to last us to Austin, who rode away from
the camp. I made up my mind to one thing, and that was if Coyote Bill
should discover us and try to get that pocket-book away, he would have
a good time in doing it.



CHAPTER XI. HENDERSON IN NEW BUSINESS.


“I will get even with you for this. Bob is not your son, and I will
see that you don’t adopt him, either. Whenever I see a notice of your
death--and you can’t live forever--I will hunt that boy up and make him
know what it is to be in want, as I am at this moment.”

I don’t suppose that when Clifford Henderson shouted this defiance at
his brother, on the day he left him, after Mr. Davenport had refused to
take any further steps toward paying his debts, that he really intended
to go to Texas, or, if he did, he never expected to meet Bob there. He
wanted to get away by himself and think over his misfortune; for he
considered it a misfortune when his brother, who was fairly rolling in
wealth, should decline to advance him the small sum when he was so much
in need of it. Henderson was in sore straits--that is, for him. He had
money, but he was anxious to get a little more, in order to go into a
speculation in which he was certain to lose all he had; and it was when
his brother declined to meet this demand that he went into a rage.

“Old Bob wants me to go to work,” said he, as he turned and shook his
fist at the house. “Not if I know it! I have seen him, when he was not
any older than I am, looking around for a chance to put his money at
interest, and he never would have anything to do with what I suggested
to him. Never mind; he is ’most dead with consumption, and I will see
what will become of Bob after that.”

When he got a little further along the street whom should he meet
but the man with whom he intended to go into the speculation. It was
buying waste land on the outskirts of the city, which might some day be
profitable enough, but which would take double the amount that he had
to improve it.

“Well, Clifford, did you try your brother?” he exclaimed, as soon as he
got within speaking distance. “I know you have, for a fellow would not
look as glum as you do who had met with any success.”

“Yes, I have tried him,” said Henderson, taking the opportunity to
whisper a few choice swear words. “I have tried him, and he can’t see
it. He had but a few dollars left, and he wants to invest that for Bob.
Bob! Everything is for Bob! I wish I could get rid of that boy.”

“You know I told you, when he came back from the mines and brought that
boy with him, that your cake was all dough,” said his friend, who was
about as disgusted as a man could well be. “Why did not you take my
advice and put him away long ago?”

“Because I was a fool--that’s why! You see I was afraid somebody would
get onto it.”

“They won’t if you do as I tell you. But it is none of my funeral. If
you can’t go into the speculation I must go and hunt up somebody else.
I must have some of those acres up there, for I know there is money in
them. Before I would be tied down by a little boy! Good gracious! Why
don’t you push him overboard?”

“I never have a chance to go fishing with him,” said Henderson.

“No matter. You could make chances enough, I dare say. How does the boy
feel toward you?”

“Friendly enough. I don’t think old Bob has mentioned my name to him
for a long time.”

“Does his tutor go with him everywhere?”

“Yes, everywhere. He can’t go out around the block without the tutor
sticks close at his heels. If he would only send the boy to school I
would have a better show.”

“Do you know where the boy sleeps?”

“I bet you I do, but I don’t intend to fool around there,” said
Henderson, growing alarmed. “He sleeps in a room opening off from the
tutor’s, and I tell you I wouldn’t take a hand in it. That tutor is a
big man and is a match for both of us.”

“Could he get away with a sand-bag?” said the friend, shutting one eye
and looking at Henderson with the other. “A man has to be wide awake
to meet such a thing as that.”

“You may try it if you want to, and I’ll give you half you make,” said
Henderson. “My brother is going to die in the course of a year or two,
and by the end of that time I shall have money enough.”

“You can if he dies without making a will; but how do you intend to get
around it if he names the boy as his heir?”

“If he doesn’t adopt him it is all right. I tell you that would make
me mad. In that case I should probably wake up and do something, and I
should find myself in jail before I was a week older.”

“Not if you manage rightly. But I must go on. I must have that land
before three o’clock or the fat will all be in the fire.”

The friend walked away and Henderson kept on his road down the street.
We can see from his conversation that he was not a bad man at heart,
but he ought to have been rich, and in that case he would in a very
short time have found himself penniless. His expectations ran greatly
ahead of his income, which at this time amounted to just nothing at
all. All he made aside from his brother’s allowance was what he gained
from little speculations, and, furthermore, he was in the hands of men
who generally called on him for everything they wanted, and with a fair
prospect of getting it. But now that Mr. Davenport had refused him
any more money,--he had told him in plain language that he would have
to pay his own debts in future,--their occupation was gone, and they
must look elsewhere. He sent for his clothing during the day, and took
up his abode at the hotel, where he tried to make up his mind what he
ought to do.

“I have my choice between two courses of action,” said he, as he
lighted a cigar and sat down in his room to think the matter over. “One
is, to shut Bob up in a lunatic asylum; and the other is, to go fishing
with him and shove him overboard. Now, if anyone can tell me which of
those two is the safest, I will be ready to listen to him. Nothing else
seems likely to happen to him.”

The worst of it all was, Mr. Davenport knew that something was about
to happen to Bob. Almost a year before, when Mr. Davenport had refused
to advance money for some of Henderson’s schemes, the latter had so
far forgotten himself as to make threats against Bob. It alarmed his
father, who at once took Bob out of school and placed him under the
protection of a private teacher, a stalwart man, a born athlete, and
ready to hold his own against all the men that Henderson could bring
against him. He slept, too, in a room adjoining Bob’s, so that the
boy was under his care night and day. And it was all done so quietly
that Bob never suspected anything. Wherever he went his tutor was
ready to go with him; he was a man whom he liked, and he supposed that
everything was just as it should be.

“That was a bad thing for me,” soliloquized Henderson, knocking the
ashes from his cigar. “If I had kept still about that I might have got
rid of Bob, and no one would have been the wiser for it, but now he is
lost to me.”

Of course his determination to push Bob overboard when he went fishing
with him was knocked in the head by this arrangement, and so was his
desire to steal him away and lock him up. This last, which was the
idea of the man he had left but a few minutes ago, held out brighter
promises than anything else; and he had even gone so far as to engage
the doctor who was to take charge of it, promising him five thousand
dollars when the boy was delivered into his hands, and as much more if
his object was successful. But there he stopped. Henderson didn’t have
the pluck to go ahead with it, and there the matter laid for over a
year. Now it was brought back to him with redoubled force. Everything
was going to Bob; he could see that plainly enough, and it was high
time he was doing something. In fact, it had been that way ever since
Mr. Davenport returned from the mines with this little nuisance, picked
up none knew where.

“He must go, and that’s all about it,” said Henderson, rising from his
chair and hurriedly pacing the room. “If he won’t go overboard he must
be locked up; my luck and everything else depend upon it. I will go
out now and see what Scanlan has to say about it, for I am determined
that I will not put up with him any longer.”

Scanlan was the friend he had left an hour or so before, and when found
he didn’t have the money to enable him to go on with that speculation.
There were few Hendersons in the field for him to call upon, and they
were as hard up as he was.

“I guess the land will have to go to somebody else,” said he, as he
described his ill luck. “I want just five hundred dollars, and nobody
seems to have it.”

“I could get it, if it were not for my brother,” said Henderson; and
when he spoke the word “brother” he fairly hissed it through his
teeth. Scanlan looked up in surprise. “Have I forgotten to tell you
that old Bob invariably speaks of that little snipe as my brother?”
he continued. “He has been with him now for four years, and he thinks
that I can get used to calling him by a relationship that really never
existed.”

“How old is the boy, anyhow?”

“Seven years old. Old Bob took him when he was only three. I only wish
the Indians had come down on them and massacred the last one of the
lot. Not old Bob, of course, for I am indebted to him for a pocketful
of rocks, but that young one I wish I had never seen.”

“I don’t see what his pocketful of rocks has got to do with you,” said
Scanlan.

“Neither do I. I do think,” added Henderson, as though he was
considering the matter for the first time, “that if I would go home and
behave myself, and wait until the old man dies, I could really get hold
of some of his money, but how much would I get? Not twenty thousand,
and that isn’t enough to buy an oyster supper.”

“How much is the old man worth?”

“I don’t know. A cool million.”

“Whew!” whistled Scanlan. “And are you going to stay back and let that
boy cheat you out of it? If you do I shall never be sorry for you.”

“That’s is just what I don’t want to do, and I came down here to talk
to you about kidnapping him and putting him under lock and key,”
continued Henderson, looking all around to make sure that no one
overheard him. “I say let him be locked up at once.”

“Now you are talking,” said Scanlan. “If you had decided on that
several years ago you would have had no trouble; but now I tell you it
is going to be uphill work. We’ve got the tutor to overcome, and that
is going to be all that we two can do. Now, what do you propose?”

A long conversation followed, and the substance was that the matter was
left entirely in the hands of his friend Scanlan. Henderson had never
been in the habit of defying the police by engaging in any kidnapping
schemes, and he did not propose to begin now. He wanted the boy got rid
of, when and how he didn’t care, so long as no effort was made against
his life. That was too dangerous. And there, we may add, the thing
rested for a whole year, until one day Henderson heard something in
a few moments’ talk with the tutor, who had waited outside while his
pupil was in a store making some purchases, that set him post haste
after Scanlan.

“The dog is dead now,” said he, drawing Scanlan into a doorway where
they could talk without being overheard, “and I don’t know whether to
be glad or sorry over it. My brother is going to Texas!”

“To Texas?” exclaimed Scanlan. “What in the world should take him into
that far-off region?”

“He had a relative down there engaged in the cattle business, and he
has died leaving his property to old Bob. Don’t it beat the world how
some fellows can get along without lifting their hands? Now, if he had
left those cattle to me who stand so much in need of them----”

“If that boy goes to Texas he’ll be out of reach of you,” interrupted
Scanlan.

“Yes; but see what danger he’ll be in.”

“I don’t know that he will be in any danger--more than he is here,”
said Scanlan. “Remember that if he stays there long enough to get
acquainted he will have any number of rifles to back him up.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Why, supposing his father dies and leaves no will. It would put you
to some trouble to prove that you are next of kin. You see your names
are different. If they made up their minds that he was the heir, it
would be good-by to you.”

“And you believe it would be best to kidnap him very soon?” asked
Henderson, his courage all leaving him.

“Certainly I do! If he goes down there you are a poor man for your
lifetime. Now is the chance. I tell you I would not miss it for
anything!”

This brought the matter squarely home to Henderson, and he decided that
he would take that night to sleep upon it. He rolled and tossed on his
bed without ever closing his eyes in slumber, and when morning came he
had made up his mind to do something.

“Scanlan will have to do it all,” said he, and his compressed lips
showed that he had looked at the matter in all its bearings. “I will
keep just behind him and show him the room where the boy sleeps, and he
can throw the quilt over him and secure him without any help from me.
Then if that old tutor of his jumps in on us, why I will get out of
the way. But I must leave my way of escape clear.”

Henderson carried out his programme by going to the bank, drawing out
his money, and depositing it somewhere about his person. Then he packed
his trunk as if for a long journey, and then told Scanlan that he was
ready for business.

“I knew that was the decision you would come to, so I got the carriage
and made it all right with the driver,” said Scanlan. “I have got an
extension bit, which is about the only thing we need, to enable us to
get in through the basement door. Now, Cliff, how much am I going to
get for this? I do all the work and you stand by and look on. I ought
to have a considerable sum for that.”

“Why, I guess what I am to give the doctor----” began Henderson.

“Not much,” said Scanlan, with a laugh. “What you will give the doctor
won’t faze me. Say a tenth of what you make.”

“Oh, my goodness!” stammered Henderson.

“I have got the paper here, it is all drawn up, and I guess it is all
right,” continued Scanlan, drawing a folded document from his inside
pocket. “Just run your eye over that.”

“A hundred thousand!” gasped Henderson.

“That isn’t a drop in the bucket to what you will have if you succeed,”
said Scanlan coolly. “You will see that the paper says ‘if successful.’
If you don’t succeed in the job, why that is my lookout. If you do, I
shall want the money. If the arrangement doesn’t suit you, get somebody
else to try his hand.”

That was just what Henderson was afraid of, and things had gone too far
for him to back out. He felt as though he was signing his death warrant
when he was affixing his signature to the document, but when it was
done the writing did not look much like his bold penmanship.

“So far so good,” said Scanlan, coolly surveying the signature. “But
you are a little nervous, Cliff. Now you keep that tutor off me and
I will get the boy. You meet me here at ten o’clock, and when morning
comes that fellow will be under lock and key.”

“I have done it,” said Henderson, going out on the street and wending
his way toward his brother’s house. “I have gone too far to back out.
Here I have gone and signed a paper and placed it in the hands of that
man Scanlan, and he can use it on me at a moment’s warning. He’s a
desperate fellow. I wish I felt as certain of success as he does.”

Somebody has said that when a man is going to the bad he finds
everything greased for the occasion; that is, he finds it easy enough
to go down hill; but almost impossible for him to get back. I am not
well enough posted in literature to know who it was that said it, but
perhaps some of you boys who are fresh from your books may be able
to name the person. Henderson found it so, and it all dated from the
moment he signed that paper. He was afraid to back out now, and so he
must go on. He walked by his brother’s house once or twice, and then
went back to his hotel. He didn’t eat any supper, and he didn’t want
any; but when it came near time for him to meet Scanlan he stepped into
a store and bought a heavy oak stick, which he thought would be strong
enough to floor the tutor or anybody else that took a hand in rescuing
the boy, and pronounced himself ready for the business. There were
still three hours for them to pass in some way, for Scanlan did not
think it safe to make a move before one o’clock, and the time seemed
to slip away before they knew it. They found the carriage right where
Scanlan said they would, and in a few minutes were set down within a
few doors of Mr. Davenport’s house. When they got out the hack-driver
thought it time to speak about his money.

“Look here!” said he; “which one of you gentlemen is a-going to pay me
a hundred dollars for this trip? Kidnapping a sane person and taking
him off to a lunatic asylum----”

“My dear sir, kidnapping is something we don’t have any hand in at
all,” said Scanlan. “We are going to take this fellow out of the house
with the full consent of his father, but we don’t want his aunts to
know anything about it. The hundred dollars are all right. This man is
a detective, and will pay you when we get the passenger to the asylum.
Are you satisfied?”

The hack-driver had nothing further to say. All he wanted to know was
who would give him his money when the trip was over. He mounted to his
box, being instructed to keep himself within hailing distance, and the
two kept on toward Mr. Davenport’s residence. All was dark and silent
within, except the light that was kept burning in the tutor’s room.

“We have got to keep out of that,” said Henderson, pointing toward the
window. “If we allow ourselves to come within reach of it I shall be
recognized; then good-by to me.”

“Well, we must look out for that,” said Scanlan, who did not feel any
more fear than if he was sitting down to his supper. “Keep close beside
me, and be ready to knock the tutor down if he takes a hand in the
rumpus. That’s all you have to do.”

In a few minutes they reached the basement door, where they were free
from interruption, and Scanlan, producing his extension bit, went
to work in earnest. He first cut out a circular opening in the door
above the bolt, then thrust his hand in and cautiously removed the
fastenings, and the door swung open. They entered and Scanlan closed
the door behind him.

“I think you had better leave it open,” said Henderson, who trembled
as if he was seized with a sudden attack of the ague. “We might be
discovered.”

“In that case we’ll have something to light us out,” said Scanlan. “But
be sure you kick over the blaze before you go out.”

With the words Scanlan took from his pocket a small piece of candle,
which he lighted and stood upon the table, embedded in some of its own
grease. Then he stopped and looked around him. The house was silent as
if it had been deserted, and having satisfied himself on this point,
Scanlan motioned for Henderson to lead the way up the stairs. The
steps were carpeted, and moreover, being shod with rubbers, the men
gave out no sound as they ascended to the first floor, the leader
easily finding and opening all doors that barred his progress. That one
lock passed at the basement door had opened the way for them.

At length they came to the front hall, and here some more strategy was
made use of. Henderson carefully unlocked the door and placed the key
on the outside, and then cautiously led the way up the second stairs
to the floor above. He stopped every once in a while to listen, but he
heard nothing suspicious, and presently pushed open a door that gave
entrance into the room in which the little boy was sleeping. With a
motion of his hand, Henderson pointed him out, and then moved through
the room to take a look at the tutor. He lay upon his back with his
arms extended over his head, revealing muscles that made Henderson
tremble. Something, I don’t know what it was, went through the tutor
all of a sudden, and he started up in alarm to find a strange face in
his door He gazed at it a moment, and then thrust his hand under his
pillow. When it came out it had a revolver in its grasp. Henderson took
one look at it and turned and took to his heels.



CHAPTER XII. HE DOES NOT SUCCEED.


“Halt! Clifford Henderson, I know you!” shouted the tutor, in a
stentorian voice, as he threw off the bedclothes and started on a
furious race for the intruder. “I know you, and you had better halt.”

He supposed, of course, that the object of his visit was robbery--and
had no intention of using one of the cartridges in his revolver--until
he came to his bedroom door and there saw Scanlan, who had thrown a
quilt over the boy’s head and started on a run after Henderson, and
then he stopped as if somebody had aimed a blow at him. Then he saw
that abduction was a part of Henderson’s scheme, and in an instant his
revolver was covering Scanlan’s head.

“Put that boy back on the bed where he belongs,” said the tutor.

Scanlan took one look at the revolver, and at the man who held it, and
readily obeyed.

“Now throw the quilt off his head, so that he can breathe,” said the
tutor; and the readiness with which Scanlan complied disarmed the
tutor, who lowered his revolver.

This was the move that Scanlan was waiting for. In an instant he
dropped on all-fours, shot under the out-stretched hand that held the
deadly weapon, caught the tutor around the legs and tumbled him over
on his back. It was all done with the greatest ease, and when the
tutor scrambled to his feet Scanlan had disappeared. He ran hastily
to the head of the stairs, and he saw Scanlan’s coat-tails vanishing
as he made his way to the basement. He had tried the front door, but
Henderson had gone out there and had locked the door behind him. The
tutor tried the front basement door also, and in the meantime Scanlan
had already gone out at that very door, not forgetting to knock over
the candle in his hurried flight. That was the last they saw of
Scanlan. By the time the tutor had returned to his room he found Mr.
Davenport there, sitting on the bed and talking to Bob.

“Why, this looks like a case of abduction,” said Mr. Davenport, when
the tutor came in. “Did I hear you say that you recognized Clifford
Henderson as one of the assailants?”

“Well, I thought it was he, but I might have been mistaken,” replied
the tutor, who did not want to say anything that would add to the old
man’s fears.

“Don’t deceive me. I heard your voice plain enough, and that was what
you said. Never mind, Bob. We’ll soon be far enough away from him, and
able to enjoy life in our own way. Now I will go back to bed. No; the
men had to take themselves off without getting anything,” he added,
to the servants who came flocking into the room at that moment. “I
wish you would find out where they got in and shut the window or door,
whichever it is. Clifford Henderson! That man isn’t going to let me
forget him, is he?” he muttered to himself. “I must see him and tell
him that if he does not leave town I shall have him arrested. I shall
remember the tutor for this.”

And in the meantime where was Clifford Henderson? You know that before
he went into this business he drew his money from the bank and packed
his trunk for a long journey. He saw the need of it now. He never
travelled faster than he did when he rushed from that door. He saw
Scanlan in the act of lifting the boy from the bed after throwing the
quilt about him, but did not stop to speak to him. He made for the
stairs, two jumps took him to the front door, and paying no heed to the
friend he had left behind in a bad scrape, he ran through and locked
the door behind him. And he had heard his name mentioned, too!

“I declare I am done for now,” muttered Henderson, as he took his best
pace down the sidewalk, utterly forgetful that there was a carriage in
waiting for him, “and the next thing will be to avoid the police that
my brother sets after me. For he will arrest me as sure as I live.
Scanlan will be arrested too, and there is that paper I gave him with
my name signed to it. Ow! _Ow!_ Don’t I wish that everybody was in
danger the same as I am?”

If Henderson hadn’t been so frightened that he was unable to look
behind him, he would have seen Scanlan come out of the basement door
and take his flight in another direction; but Henderson couldn’t think
of anything but the tutor’s stentorian voice. “I know you and you
had better halt!” It seemed to ring in his ears louder than ever the
farther he got from the house, so that he increased his pace, and the
first thing he knew ran slap into the arms of a policeman, who happened
at that moment to come around the corner.

“Hallo, here!” cried the officer. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Do you know whether or not the _Commonwealth_ has sailed from this
port yet?” asked Henderson.

“No, I don’t!” answered the officer.

“Well, my trunk is at my hotel, already packed, and I am in haste to
catch her. I hope I shall get there before she sails.”

“Why don’t you take a carriage?”

“I will just as soon as I get to my hotel. Which way is the Planter’s
House from here?”

“Go down this street to the next corner, and then go five blocks. Good
luck to you!”

“That thing is done easy enough, but the next policeman that stops me
will be worse,” said Henderson, continuing on his way. “He’ll say there
is a signature waiting for you that I want you to explain, and how will
I get out of it? Well, we’ll wait until that time comes. I must do the
best I can to escape now.”

Henderson knew where the Planter’s House was as well as anybody, but
he followed the policeman’s directions. By the time he reached his
destination he was pretty well winded. He engaged a carriage at the
door, paid his bill at the hotel, and saw his trunk perched up beside
the driver.

“Go fast now, for I have not a minute to waste,” said Henderson.
“Get me down there before that steamer sails and I will give you two
dollars.”

In an hour more Henderson was snug in bed and listening to the puffing
of the engines which were bearing him down the river. He had taken
passage on a little boat that was bound for New Orleans and had the
room all to himself. In spite of his joy over his escape he could not
help feeling bitter toward Scanlan. Why had he signed that paper?
Scanlan would be sure to be apprehended,--he couldn’t get away from
that pistol,--and he would be searched at the police court, and the
whole thing would come out against him.

“Never mind; he’s in a bad fix,” said Henderson, pounding a pillow into
shape to fit his head. “And I don’t know but that I am in a worse one.
I hope they will send him up so that I will never see him again. And
then what will my friends think?”

Filled with such thoughts as these we may readily conceive that
Henderson’s journey down the river was not a pleasant one, and it was
only after they had left Cairo, and were fairly afloat for New Orleans,
that he recovered his usual spirits. He remained in New Orleans for a
single day, and then took passage for Galveston, from which place he
went to Austin. He deposited his money there in the bank, secured a
second rate boarding house, and settled down to see what the fates had
in store for him.

“Thank goodness, I am a free man at last!” said Henderson. “I have not
heard a word from St. Louis since I left there, but I only hope Scanlan
has got his just dues. And here is the place Bob was going to come.
Well, I’ll keep clear of him. I hope I may never hear of him again.”

As the years rolled by and nothing was heard about his attempted
abduction of Bob, or of Scanlan either, Henderson began to think that
the matter was forgotten. By behaving himself Henderson made many
friends in Texas, for it is not always the good who have blessings
showered upon them except in story books. He made an honest effort at
reform, and it is possible that he might have succeeded if it hadn’t
been for one thing. He was a speculator in cattle,--he never was known
as anything else,--and he finally got into the habit of riding out
on the prairie, taking no money with him, to see what he could buy.
For Texas was a new State, we had only just got through the war with
Mexico, and everybody who had any wrong done him, or had got into
difficulty with his fellow-man, came to Texas to begin over again.
Anyone, too, who found the law too strict for him in older communities,
could come here and get out of the reach of it.

On one occasion Henderson started out alone to visit some ranches he
had heard of, but which seldom drove any of their cattle to market. It
was just about the time the drought was commencing and Henderson was
anxious to get beyond reach of it, out on the plains where water was
abundant and grass plenty. If he could once reach that spot he was sure
that he could make something nice out of his cattle; but the trouble
was the drought spread all over that part of Texas. He was mounted on
an old dilapidated horse, carried his revolver strapped around his
waist, and had but three or four dollars in his pocket--not enough to
pay anybody for the trouble of robbing him. But after he had been on
the journey for two weeks, during which time he met one or two parties
who would just as soon rob him as not, he came to the conclusion that
he had undertaken his ride for nothing. There was an abundance of
cattle for sale, but the difficulty was they would not bring any more
in Austin than he was willing to pay on the spot, and one day he turned
around with the intention of going back, when he saw a horseman on a
distant swell coming toward him. As he evidently wanted to communicate
with him, Henderson rode on to meet him.

“You won’t get any more than your trouble if you try to rob me,” said
Henderson. “I’ll wait and see what he wants. Perhaps he knows of some
cattle around here that I can buy.”

“How-dy, pilgrim,” said the horseman when he came up. “Have you been
travelling fur to-day?”

“I have been out ever since daylight this morning,” said Henderson.
“Why do you ask?”

“’Cause I didn’t know but you had seen some cattle bearing the mark
of bar Y. R. as you came along. Haven’t seen any, have you? There is
probably a hundred head got away from me night before last, and I can’t
find hide nor hair of them. They have gone off in search of grass and
water. We haven’t got any here to speak of.”

“No, I haven’t seen any, and I may as well turn around and go back.
This drought extends over the whole of the country.”

“Bless you, yes! We got word the other day from a ranch twenty miles
the other side of us that they are packing up and getting ready to go
to Trinity.”

“Why, the farmers won’t allow that. They will shoot the last beef you
have.”

“Well, it will take a right smart deal of ammunition to do that,”
said the horseman, with a grin. “’Cause why? there will be about
seventy-five thousand head, mebbe more, that will have to be shot; and
when the farmers are doing that, what do you suppose we’ll be doing?”

“I suppose you will be shooting too. Do you own these cattle?”

“No; they belong to a man named Davenport who lives over that way
about twenty miles.”

“Davenport!” exclaimed Henderson, who was taken all aback.

“Them’s the words I spoke, pilgrim,” said the horseman, looking at
Henderson in surprise. “Maybe you know the man?”

“Is he Robert Davenport?” enquired Henderson, scarcely believing that
he had heard aright.

“I believe that is what they call him sometimes.”

“And he’s got a little boy named Bob?”

“Well, he aint so very little now. He was little when he came here, but
he’s growed to be right smart. Maybe you know the man?”

“Did he come here from St. Louis?”

“Look a-here, pilgrim; suppose you let me ask some questions. How do
you happen to know so much about the man? He’s my employer, and a
mighty good man he is.”

“I beg your pardon! but when I heard you speak his name I concluded
that I knew him. I knew a man of that name once who was almost dead of
consumption. But of course it can’t be the same one.”

“Well, now, between you and me,” said the cowboy, considerably
mollified by this explanation, “he is as good as dead already.
Sometimes, when I get up in the morning, I look around to see if he is
all right, and there he is sitting on the porch. He gets up before I
do.”

“Bob hasn’t got his tutor with him, has he?”

“His which?” asked the horseman.

“His private teacher,” explained Henderson. “He used to have one
sticking to his heels wherever he went.”

“No; he’s alone. You will ride on and see him? It is only a matter of
twenty miles.”

“No; I can’t. I will come out and see him at some future time. My
business just now----”

“Now, pilgrim, you asked a good many questions regarding that man. I
want to know if he has been doing something up in the States.”

“Not a thing! Not a solitary thing, I assure you.”

“’Cause if he has, I won’t let no man set there on his horse and tell
me that,” continued the horseman, growing sullen again. “He’s as fair
and square a man as there is.”

“He hasn’t been doing anything wrong. You may mention my name when you
get home, and see if he doesn’t back up my story.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Clifford Henderson. I can easy tell him that, because if he has let
so many years go without arresting me he’ll not begin now,” said he to
himself. “This man doesn’t know where I live and I won’t tell him.”

“Well, if you haven’t seen them cattle, I’ll go,” said the horseman,
turning his nag about. “I’d feel a heap safer if you would go on with
me--but I tell you, you would have to explain why you asked so many
questions. So long!”

I may interrupt my story here long enough to say that when the horseman
went home he reported his accidental meeting with Henderson, together
with the questions he asked, at which Mr. Davenport was greatly
alarmed, although he tried not to show it. That very night worked a
change in Bob’s fortunes which he did not like. Up to this time he
had been permitted to go as he pleased among the cattlemen, who all
liked him and did their best to teach him, but now he was obliged to
remain indoors, or at least within reach of his father’s voice. His
father couldn’t bear to have him out of his sight. The very next day
the will was drawn up; and although Mr. Davenport frequently promised
himself that the first time he went to Austin he would go through the
process of adopting Bob, so as to give him the whole of his money in
case anything happened to him, he never got beyond the sound of his own
dinner horn. It was a terrible thing for the invalid to reflect that he
had brought Bob up to believe that he was his own son, and somehow he
could not straighten it out.

Henderson was on nettles when he rode away from the horseman. He
knew that his brother was somewhere in Texas, and he hoped he was on
a cattle ranch far out of reach of him; but the way the horseman
pronounced the name fairly took his breath away.

“Of all the men that I ever expected to hear of, that Davenport is the
beat!” said Henderson, throwing his reins upon his horse’s neck and
shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t believe I have thought of
him for six months, or if I did, I thought of him as dead, and here he
has turned up when I least expected it. By George! all my desire to
possess his wealth comes back to me; but how I am to get it I don’t
know. That boy has plenty of rifles to back him up, as Scanlan said he
would.”

This was the one thing of which I spoke that effectually destroyed
all Henderson’s idea of making a better man of himself. It was easy
enough to be good when temptation was not thrown in his way, but when
temptation came, he was no better than anybody else. He rode along for
two hours, thinking over Bob’s habits, and wondering if it would be
possible for him to steal the boy away, as he had been on the point of
doing in St. Louis, and not until the sun began to set did he look
around for a camping-place.

“I wish Scanlan was here now,” said he. “I am sure he would be apt to
think of something. There’s three men,” he added, shading his eyes with
his hand and gazing toward a belt of post-oaks in which he intended to
make his camp. “I wonder if they are good-natured, or if they mean to
go through my pockets? Time will tell.”

When he first discovered the three men in the timber two of them were
lying down, and the other was moving about as if making preparations
for supper. One saw his approach and called the attention of the others
to it, and then all got up and looked at him. Evidently the men were
not inclined to trust strangers, for he saw that one of them, whom
he took to be spokesman, raised up without anything in his hands,
while the others stood with their rifles in the hollow of their arms.
Henderson thought this looked a little suspicious, but kept on and in a
few minutes was close enough to the camp to accost the men.

“How do you do, strangers?” said he.

“How-dy, pilgrim,” said the spokesman.

“Have you got room in your camp for another person?”

“Oh, yes! There’s plenty of room round here.”

“I’ve got some things in my haversack that may assist you in making out
your supper,” said Henderson.

“Well, alight and hitch,” said the spokesman. “There’s plenty of room
for your horse here too.”

Henderson dismounted and removed the saddle from his horse, the men
with the rifles regarding him suspiciously. When he had thrown his
saddle down by the fire, he coolly unhitched his revolver and flung it
down beside it; whereupon the men with the rifles drew a long breath
of relief, and deposited their weapons beside the trees where they
had taken them from. Henderson noticed this, and said, as he made his
lariat fast to his horse’s neck:

“You seem to be on the lookout for something. I am a trader.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” said the spokesman.

“Yes. And I have only got a few dollars in my pocket, so that it would
be useless for anybody to think of robbing me. I came out here for
the purpose of getting some cattle, but I found that the drought was
ahead of me. The stock isn’t worth what their hides and tallow would
cost. Now,” he added, having driven down his picket pin and seated
himself near the fire, “I’d like to know why all you Texans pronounce
me a ‘pilgrim’ as soon as you see me. Is there anything about me that
reminds you of the States?”

“Well, yes. The way you sit your horse is against you. A Texan does
not sit bent over, with his hands on the horn of his saddle, as if he
feared that the next step would pitch him overboard. And then those
gloves. A Texan doesn’t wear them.”

“And I have been here almost eight years,” said Henderson. “I guess
I shall have to ride a little more in order to get accustomed to the
customs of the country. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t say,” returned the spokesman.

“My name is Henderson,” replied the guest, who wished most heartily
that he had gone somewhere else. He didn’t like the way the spokesman
answered his last question.

“My name is---- Which one do you want?”

“Why, the one you go by, of course.”

“Well, the name that I go by just now is Coyote Bill,” said the man,
pushing his spurred heels a little closer to the fire. “You have heard
of me, I reckon?”

Henderson was startled to hear this name. He had heard of him a good
many times while in Austin, and had never expected to meet him in this
unceremonious manner. He knew that he was in the power of a desperado
of the worst sort.



CHAPTER XIII. HENDERSON MEETS COYOTE BILL.


“Yes, that is the name I go by now,” said Coyote Bill, grinning when he
saw Henderson’s expression of astonishment. “What my other name is no
one in this country knows. Whenever you hear that name spoken you will
know what I look like. I came to this country the same as you did.”

“The same as I did?” echoed Henderson, his surprise increasing. “What
do you mean by that?”

“Why, you got into some trouble up there with the police and had to
skip, that’s what I mean. A man of your education does not come down to
this country of his own free will.”

“Well, that’s a fact,” said Henderson, breathing easy again. A
desperate scheme had occurred to him, suggested by the outlaw’s last
words. He was wishing for Scanlan all the time, thinking that he
would be likely to propose something by which he could possess himself
of his brother’s wealth, and right here was the man who, by a little
management, could be induced to act Scanlan’s part. He would try him at
any rate, but he wanted first to see how much Coyote Bill knew about
him.

“Are these all the men you have in your band?” asked Henderson, at
length.

“No,” laughed Bill, as if the very idea amused him. “I’ve got one or
two more scattered around on the plains somewhere.”

“That means that you have thirty or forty more,” said Henderson.

“Well, I’ve got some in Austin, and that’s where they have seen you.
Although I had never seen you before, I knew you the moment you hove in
sight.”

Again Henderson breathed easy. He knew he hadn’t said anything about
his kidnapping scheme in Austin, or anywhere else, that Coyote Bill
could have got hold of it, and consequently Bill was just guessing at
his reason for being in Texas.

“Who are those men? What did I say in their presence that led them to
guess why I had come down here?”

“Oh, you said enough! I aint going to tell you just what you said, for
fear that you would know those men when you get back. Is the man around
here that you have got anything against?”

“I will speak to you after a while,” said Henderson, turning his gaze
toward the rest of the men at the fire.

“Oh, you may speak freely here! I never go into anything without their
consent. It’s share and share alike here. But if you would rather speak
to me alone, why it is all right. Have you got supper ready?”

The man appealed to nodded, and pointed to a pile of bacon and corn
bread that was waiting for them. It was such a supper as Henderson, in
his St. Louis home, would have turned up his nose at, but he was ready
for it now. During the meal but little was said, and Henderson, out of
the corner of his eye, took a good survey of the man that everybody
called Coyote Bill. He didn’t look like such a desperate fellow, by
any means, and all the men who had had experience with him described
him as a very different person. This proved that Bill did not always
lead his bands, but gave the movement into somebody else’s hands, and
appeared only when out of reach of the settlers. He was as neat as a
new pin, and showed by every move he made that he had been well brought
up. After supper he lighted his pipe and motioned to Henderson to
follow him out on the plains. When out of reach of everybody he threw
himself down on the grass and invited Henderson to do the same.

“Now, then,” said he, “I am ready to hear all your plans.”

“I don’t know that I have got any,” said Henderson.

“Yes, you have,” said Coyote Bill, in a tone that showed he was not in
a mood to argue the matter. “A man needn’t come around here with such
a face as you have got on you and tell me anything like that. What was
the reason you did not go on and see Davenport? I saw you talking with
a cowboy of his not more than three hours ago.”

“Where were you?” asked Henderson, more astonished than ever.

“We were just behind a neighboring swell, not more than half a mile
away. Your names are not alike, but still you must be some kin to
Davenport. What relationship are you?”

“I am his half brother.”

“That makes you next of kin, don’t it? Well, now, if that man dies, who
is going to inherit his property?”

“I am, if it were not for that little nuisance he has picked up
somewhere. You see it was just this way.”

With this introduction Henderson went on and gave Coyote Bill a full
history of the boy Mr. Davenport had adopted in the mines; or rather,
he intended to adopt him, but he didn’t do it. He had brought him up
from a little boy to think his property was all his own, giving no heed
to the half brother who might want some of it.

“And when I asked him for a little money--five hundred dollars were all
I wanted--he got up on his ear and said I couldn’t have it. That made
me mad, I tell you, and I left his house for good.”

“And never went into it again?” enquired Coyote Bill.

“Yes, I went into it once more,” said Henderson, thinking he might as
well tell the truth, now that he was about it. “I went in and made an
effort to steal the boy. I didn’t get caught at it, but my partner did,
and I reckon he’s serving the penalty before this time.”

“What were you going to do with him?” asked Coyote Bill, and it was
plain that he had a big respect for Henderson.

“I was going to put him in a lunatic asylum. I was going to keep him
there until he became of age, and then get him to sign his money over
to me. I tell you he would have done it before he had been there two
weeks.”

“And he just as sane as you are?” said Bill. “Didn’t you know that the
authorities would have turned---- By the way, how much is the old man
worth?”

“He’s worth a million of dollars. I know that he would have turned the
place upside down in the effort to find Bob, but I tell you I would
have been willing to risk it.”

“A million dollars! And you want to get hold of some of that money?”

“I tell you I want to get hold of all of it,” said Henderson. “It is
mine, and I don’t see why he should want that little nuisance to cheat
me out of it. The thing would be safe enough if I could get somebody to
trust. I want him to go to the old man’s ranch and find out where he
keeps his bonds hidden. It would be no trouble at all for him to steal
them.”

This was all Henderson found it necessary for him to say on that
subject; Coyote Bill “caught on” immediately. He understood that
Henderson wanted him to go to the ranch and steal those bonds. He arose
to a sitting posture and smoked audibly while he meditated.

“It seems to me that that could be easily done,” said he.

“Why, I know it could! If I was as I used to be in my brother’s
house, I would gain the whole thing in a week. But the trouble is I
threatened him when I left. I told him that if Bob ever lived to become
his heir, I would follow him up and make him know what it was to be in
want as I was at that moment.”

“Well, I’ll try it,” said Bill.

“You will?” asked Henderson, so overjoyed that he could scarcely speak
plainly. “I didn’t suppose that you would go there yourself, but
thought that maybe you could find some man to send in your place.”

“I would rather go myself, because I will know that everything has been
done. You see, there isn’t one man in ten who knows me. I could go
there and pass myself off for a miner.”

“That’s the idea! The old man has been there, and you could tell him
what you pleased. Have you ever been in the mines?”

“No. I am as close to them as I care to get. If I find that strategy
won’t work, I suppose I could put the Indians on them.”

“Indians?” said Henderson.

“Certainly. I was on my way to the reservation when I saw you talking
to the old man’s cowboy. You see, I don’t find much work to do, and I
am going there to rest up a bit. This drought will soon be over, and
then I shall have more than I can do.”

“What do you call your business, anyway?”

“Oh, stealing cattle. I take them to a little fertile spot in the
Staked Plains, kill them for their hides and tallow, and give the meat
to the Indians. I am chief of about a hundred men, and they will go
their lengths for me.”

“Well, well! I didn’t know that.”

“You see that I can easily get the money, or whatever it is that he is
keeping from you. Now, I want to know how much I am to get for this.
Say a half a million.”

“I will give you half of whatever I make. Can anything be fairer than
that? It may be more and it may be less than half a million.”

“Yes, that’s fair. Now let’s go back to the fire and see what the men
think of this. You had better go to bed, and we’ll see how it looks in
the morning.”

Henderson could scarcely sleep at all that night, and when he did he
awoke to find that Coyote Bill and his men were still discussing the
subject. The method of stealing the bonds instead of stealing the boy
promised much better than his original scheme, for he would have no
hand in it. Coyote Bill would be alone in the matter, and if he should
be detected and could not be prevailed upon to tell who his accomplice
was---- Ah! That was something he hadn’t spoken to Bill about. In the
morning he would broach that subject, and tell Bill never to mention
his name. If he did, all his hope of success would be gone. He finally
fell asleep and awoke to find breakfast waiting for him. Bill greeted
him with a good-morning, and immediately referred to their last night’s
conversation.

“Well, I am going to try it,” said he. “I have never stolen any of
Davenport’s cattle, and I don’t suppose there is anyone on his place
who knows me.”

“If you are caught, don’t mention my name,” said Henderson. “He knows
me, and he don’t expect any good of me, either.”

“If you knew me, pilgrim, you wouldn’t mention that at all,” said
Bill; and anybody could see that he was growing mad about it. “I shall
not call the name of Henderson once while I am there. If anybody says
anything to me about you I shall say I don’t know you.”

After breakfast Bill shook Henderson by the hand and started and walked
away. He took nothing with him except his brace of revolvers and an
old dilapidated blanket, which he slung over his shoulder. He left
his rifle and horse in charge of his men, who were to bring them to
him at some future time, Henderson didn’t know when or where it was.
Bill didn’t exchange any plans with Henderson, for he had made up his
mind what he wanted to do and he didn’t care to have anyone know it.
Henderson gazed at him in surprise as he walked away.

“There’s a man who is going into trouble,” said he. “I could have given
him some things that I think would have helped him out.”

“Don’t you lose no sleep worryin’ about him,” said one of the men. “He
knows what he is going to do. Now you can find your way back, can’t
you? We have got to leave you here.”

Yes, Henderson could get along now all right, and he gladly parted with
the men, after dividing his corn meal and bacon with them, for he was
anxious to get away by himself and think the matter over. He hadn’t
known what happiness was before in a long while.

“If one of the men from whom I have just parted,” said he, as soon as
he was out of hearing, “had told me that he was the chief of a hundred
men who would go their lengths for him, I should have believed him; but
that is a queer thing for that neat-looking fellow to say. How easily
that villain fell in with my plans! If I had been going there knowing
what he does---- Whew! I believe I should have got some advice from
somebody.”

Meanwhile Coyote Bill walked along toward Mr. Davenport’s ranch,
keeping a lookout for horsemen who were on the watch for stray cattle,
whom he intended to dodge, and revolving in his mind certain plans
for stealing the bonds; for be it known that he put implicit faith in
Henderson’s word. No man could come to him and talk as earnestly as he
did when there was nothing behind it. He tramped all that day, found a
camp at night in a belt of timber with which the country was thickly
interspersed, laid down without a fire, and at ten o’clock reached his
destination. He was really foot-sore and weary when he got there, for
walking so far was something to which he was not accustomed, and was
glad to see the man for whom he was looking sitting on the porch.

“Good-day to you, sir!” said Coyote Bill, lifting his hat. “Is this Mr.
Faber’s ranch?”

“Come up and sit down,” replied Mr. Davenport. “You have travelled far
and you look completely exhausted. Faber! I don’t know such a man as
that. He can’t have a ranch anywhere about here.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Bill. “I believe I am tired, and if it will suit
you will sit down for a while. May I make bold to ask for something to
eat?”

“Eat? Yes, you can have all you want. Bob, hunt up the cook and get
something. Have you travelled far, sir?”

“About a hundred miles, afoot and alone.”

“I guess that a drink of water would help you. We haven’t got much, but
what we’ve got you are welcome to. Bob,” he added, as the boy came back
after seeing the cook, “scare up a drink of water for this gentleman.
I speak of you, sir, as your clothes warrant me to speak. You are
not a Texan. You haven’t been long enough in this country to become
accustomed to their way of talking. You are from the States.”

“Yes, sir; from Wisconsin,” said Bill, rightly concluding that Mr.
Davenport would not be acquainted with anybody in that far off State.
“I was engaged in doing a good business in Milwaukee, but I fell in
with some fellows who were going to the mines, and there I lost what
little money I had.”

“Did you go to California?”

“No; to Denver.”

“Then how did you happen to get way off here? This is not the road to
the States.”

“I know it; but I wanted to find my partner, who is in this country
engaged in the cattle business.”

“Well, Mr. Faber, if that’s his name, hasn’t got a ranch anywhere
around here. The men who live beyond me are Mr. Chisholm----”

Here Mr. Davenport went off into a paroxysm of coughing, to which Bill
listened with great concern pictured on his face.

“I am afraid you are talking too much,” said he. “Doesn’t this climate
agree with your health?”

“Oh, yes! I should probably have been in my grave long ago if I had not
come down here. Now, sir, your meal is ready. Will you step in and sit
down to it?”

Bill thanked him, and went in to a much finer spread than he had been
accustomed to while roaming with his men. He ate until he was ashamed
of himself, and came out on the porch with the air of one who had
enjoyed a good meal. There was one thing about it he told himself:
No matter what misfortunes his cattle might meet with, Mr. Davenport
intended that those who were dependent upon him should fare the best.

“I have a little money left,” said he, “and I want to know----”

“Keep your money in your pocket,” returned Mr. Davenport. “When I have
twenty-five thousand head of cattle to sell for a dollar apiece I can
easily afford to give you something to eat. Sit down. You say you were
in the mines at Denver. What sort of work are they having there?”

This was the very point that Coyote Bill had been dreading, but he had
gone over it so many times since leaving Henderson in camp, that he
had it at his tongue’s end. He knew no more about mining than he had
been able to glean from the conversation of his men, some of whom were
fresh from Mexico, and perhaps he got the two pretty well mixed up. For
example, he told of one mine he had been in where they had been obliged
to go down twelve hundred feet before they could get gold in paying
quantities. Then Mr. Davenport began to look at him suspiciously.
There might be some men at some future time that would be able to go
down that distance, but there were none there now.

“I believe you are up to something,” said he to himself. “But what in
the world it is I don’t know. I believe I will keep you here for a
while and find out.” Then aloud he said: “Where are you going now? If
your friend isn’t around here, where do you think you will find him?”

“I guess I had better go back to Austin and work around there at
something until I can earn money enough to take me home,” said Bill,
hoping that Mr. Davenport would suggest something else to him. “Any
little thing that I can do will help me along.”

“How would you like to stay here and work on this ranch?”

“That would be all very well, but I can’t ride. I should have to do
something about the house or I shouldn’t earn my money.”

“You look like a man who could sit a horse.”

“I know it; but they buck and jump so that they throw me right off.
When I was in the mines I devoted myself entirely to work.”

“Well, I will tell you what I will do. I can find some work for you
around the ranch that you can turn your hand to.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It won’t be much--like making the beds, for instance. Besides, you
look completely exhausted. You can stay here until you somewhat recover
yourself and make some enquiries among the cowboys, and perhaps you
will learn something about your partner. I am determined to know what
you are at,” added Mr. Davenport to himself. “Can it be that you are
any ways implicated with Clifford Henderson? Well, I have got my will
made out, and I will see what you will do to it.”

Thus it came about that Coyote Bill became an inmate of Mr. Davenport’s
house. When the cowboys came in at supper time he was as respectful to
them as he was to Mr. Davenport, addressed them all as “sir,” when he
was speaking to them, and by giving them a sharp look when they came in
made up his mind that there was no one among them who recognized him.
He looked them squarely in the eye when he talked to them, and listened
while they told him of the men who lived beyond them. There was no Mr.
Faber in the lot. He must be inside of them somewhere.

“What do you think of that fellow, Lem?” asked Frank, as the two met
under the trees to smoke their evening pipe. They had left Bill in the
house and he was busy at work with the dishes.

“He is here for no good, that’s what I think of him,” said Lem, seating
himself under the nearest tree. “He has been out to Denver, and came
out here to find somebody he never heard of. He never had a pardner
named Faber, and what do you think of his going into a mine that
extended twelve hundred feet under the ground? I tell you he has never
been near Denver.”

“And he can’t ride!” added Frank. “I see the marks on his boots where
he has had spurs on. I tell you he wants to be mighty careful how he
acts around here.”

“Do you mind them six-shooters he’s got?”

“I do, and I aint afraid of them, nuther. I guess I can get a pistol
out as quick as he can. Just keep your eye on him and we’ll see what he
is going to do.”

The days grew into weeks and the weeks into months, and still Coyote
Bill stayed around the house. In fact he didn’t say a word about going
since he was settled there. He seemed to think that the man he was in
search of was somebody he couldn’t reach, and he was content to remain
where he was. Mr. Davenport kept his eye out at all times, and the only
thing he found against Bill was when he caught him trying to pick his
desk. He came suddenly into the room where Bill was at work, and the
position he caught him in was enough to condemn him. But Bill was equal
to it. He greeted him with a good-morning, and proceeded to tumble up
his bed as though nothing was the matter.

“Why do you have this door shut?” enquired Mr. Davenport, with more
sternness than he had ever thrown into his words. “I generally leave it
open.”

“I found it shut when I came in, sir,” said Bill. “I always make it a
point to leave things as I find them. It’s a fine day outside, sir.”

“Yes, of course it is a fine day here in this country,” said Mr.
Davenport, who was wishing every day that it would rain. “We never see
any clouds here.”

Things went on in this way until we came there, and for once Mr.
Davenport forgot himself and took us into his confidence. I had noticed
’Rastus Johnson, and I didn’t think there was anything strange about
it, except that he seemed to sympathize with me, because I had lost
my cattle. But, then, that was something that fell to everybody down
there, and besides I had more than made my loss good. Finally, the time
came when I bearded the lion in his den, and, prompted by Elam, called
him by his right name. Of course he was thunderstruck, but I think I
did the best thing I could under the circumstances. He made up his mind
to steal the pocket-book at once, and boldly proposed the thing to me
as if I had agreed to “become one of them.” I got out of it somehow,
and that was the night that he and Elam got into that “scrap.” He
went off, as I expected he would, and I did not see him again until
he and Clifford Henderson came to the ranch to hunt up the missing
pocket-book. You saw how he treated me while he was there. Tom Mason’s
luck came in; he found the pocket-book, and I hadn’t seen Bill since.
And now Henderson was gone, and I concluded that with all those men
watching us we couldn’t reach Austin without a fight. But we had ten
good men, and they were all good shots. And I saw that others felt the
same way. Well, let it come. I was sure of one of them, anyway.



CHAPTER XIV. PROVING THE WILL.


When Clifford Henderson turned his nag and galloped away from us, he
was about the maddest man I ever saw mounted on horseback. When I said
away from “us,” I mean from the three or four men whom he had been
trying to induce to buy his cattle, and Tom Mason and myself. He had
good reason to be angry. He had come out to the ranch while we were
there; and although he had things all his own way, and one of the men
who were with him had searched us to prove that we didn’t have the
pocket-book, he had hardly got out of reach of the house when Tom had
it in his possession. That was as neat a piece of strategy as I ever
heard of, this finding the pocket-book after he had got through looking
for it, and I didn’t wonder that he felt sore over it. He meditated
about it as he rode along, and the more he thought about it, the more
nearly overcome with rage was he.

“To think that that little snipe should have gone and found the
pocket-book after I had got done looking for it--that’s what bangs me!”
he exclaimed, shaking his fists in the air. “No wonder they call him
Lucky Tom. But there is just this much about it: the pocket-book is
not going to do him any good. I’ll go and see Bill about it, and then
I’ll go to Austin, find the surrogate before he does, and challenge
the will. By that means I shall put him to some trouble before he can
handle the stock as he has a mind to.”

Henderson evidently knew where he was going, for he went at a
tremendous rate until nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, stopping
only twice at some little streams that he crossed to allow his horse
time to get a drink, and then he rode into a belt of timber where he
found Coyote Bill waiting for him. He had two men there with him as a
body-guard. Henderson got off his horse, removed his saddle, and turned
the animal loose before he said a word. Bill was watching him all the
time, and concluded that he had some bad news.

“Well,” said he impatiently, “as soon as you get ready to speak let us
hear from you.”

“I can easily think of myself as being fooled in this way, but for a
man like you, who makes his living by cheating other folks, I don’t see
any excuse at all for it!” said Henderson, as he threw himself on the
ground beside Bill. “We have lost the pocket-book!”

“Did those boys find it?” asked the man, starting up in amazement.

“Yes, sir; they have found it! I have seen the will.”

“Why, how in the name of common sense did they find it?” said Bill, who
could not believe that his ears were not deceiving him. “And you have
seen the will?”

“Yes, I have. Everything goes to that boy, dog-gone the luck!”

“Tell us all about it. I don’t understand it.”

“You know we saw them when we got to the ranch, and they found the
pocket-book. That’s all I know about it. When they returned they found
me trying to sell the cattle to some of the outfit, and they produced
the will. I saw it and read a portion of it.”

“Well, you are a pilgrim, and that’s a fact. Why didn’t you destroy the
will? I’ll bet you that if they showed me the will they would never see
it again.”

“Suppose there was a revolver pointed straight at your head. What would
you do then?”

“You were a dunce for letting them get that way.”

“Suppose there were three men, and while one of them had your head
covered with a pistol, another should ride up and lay hold of your
bridle? I don’t reckon you would help yourself much.”

“Did they have you that way? Then I beg your pardon,” said Bill,
extending his hand. “They didn’t give you much show, did they? But you
threatened them, didn’t you?”

“No; I simply told them that I was next of kin and wanted to see the
will. I could tell whether it was a fraud or not. I recognized my
brother’s handwriting at once, but I told them it was a lie out of the
whole cloth.”

“And does the will make the boy his heir?”

“It does. Now I want to go to Austin and get there before Chisholm
does. I can put him to some trouble before he handles that stock.”

“Is Chisholm going there?”

“He must, to get the will probated.”

“Then you just take my advice and keep away from Austin. Chisholm
would shoot you down as soon as he would look at you. You don’t know
Chisholm. He’s a mighty plain-spoken man when he’s let alone, but you
get his dander up and he’s just lightning. He has got an idea that you
are trying to cheat Bob out of his money and that you are a rascal. No,
sir; you keep away from Chisholm.”

“But what am I to do? Am I going to sit still and allow myself to be
cheated? That’s the way folks do things in St. Louis.”

“Yes; but it isn’t the way they do here. You needn’t allow yourself to
be cheated out of that money.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“Put the Indians on him.”

“The Indians?” exclaimed Henderson.

“Certainly,” said Bill coolly. “What do you suppose I have got the
Indians for if it isn’t to help me out in a job of this kind? You said
you wanted him shut up until he signed his property over to you, and I
don’t think you will find a better place.”

“Why, my goodness, they will kill him!” said Henderson, horrified at
the idea of making Bob a prisoner in the hands of those wild men.

“I’ll risk it. Just put him among the Indians with the understanding
that he is to remain there until he signs his property over to you, and
he’ll soon sign, I bet you.”

Henderson was silent for a long time after this. He didn’t see any
other way out of it. The idea of his going to Austin and being shot by
that man Chisholm was not exactly what it was cracked up to be. He knew
that Chisholm would shoot if he got a fair chance, for he had already
seen him behind his revolver; and he didn’t care to give him another
such a chance at him. Coyote Bill gave him time to think the matter
over and then said:

“Suppose the Indians do kill him; what then? It will only be just one
stumbling block out of your way. What do you say?”

“Are the Indians much given to making raids on the stockmen
hereabouts?” asked Henderson.

“They do it just as often as they get out of meat,” answered Bill. “The
only thing that has kept them from it has been the drought. They know
what these white men are up to. All this country will be settled up
some day, and then what will they do to get something to eat? It will
be perfectly safe putting the Indians on him.”

“Well, go on with it,” answered Henderson. “Remember, I don’t go in for
lifting a hand against his life. I want him to know what it is to be in
poverty. That’s what I am up to.”

“Well, if you find any more poverty-stricken people in the world
than the Comanches are, I will give it up,” said Coyote Bill, with a
laugh. “Let him stay among them. I will agree to keep him safe for
twenty years. Now I will go and see what the men think about it. What
do you say to that, Zeke? This is a squaw-man,” he added, turning to
Henderson. “The chief and all of them do just as he says.”

“I say you can’t find a purtier place to put a man than among the
’Manches,” said Zeke, as he pulled a pipe out of his pocket and filled
up for a smoke. “If you want to put him whar he’ll find poverty, put
him thar.”

“But I am afraid to trust the Indians with him,” said Henderson. “They
might kill him.”

“Not if the chief says ‘No,’ they won’t. This here is our chief,” he
answered, waving his hand toward Coyote Bill. “We aint beholden to
nobody when he says we shall go on a raid, an’ I think it high time we
were doin’ something. It’s almost sixteen months since we have seen any
cattle, an’ we’re gettin’ hungry.”

“Does Sam think the same way?” said Bill.

The man appealed to nodded, and so it came about that we did not see
any of Coyote Bill’s men while we were on our way to Austin. In fact
there were not enough of them. It would have taken twice the number of
our company to have placed their hands on that pocket-book, feeling as
we did then.

I never was more shaken up than I was when I rode into Austin, but I
didn’t say anything about it. Accustomed as I was to travelling long
distances on horseback, I must say that, when we rode up to our hotel
and dismounted, I didn’t have strength enough to go another mile.
Chisholm was as lively as ever. He got off his horse with alacrity,
looked around him and said:

“There! Two hundred miles in considerably less than forty-eight hours.
I guess Henderson can’t beat that. Seen anything of him around, have
you?”

The men all answered in the negative.

“I wish you boys would take these horses back to the stable,” said he,
“and the rest of you stay by when I call you. When you come back go
into the living room with the rest of the boys. Lem, you and Frank seat
yourselves on the porch and keep a lookout for Henderson. If you see
him I needn’t remind you that you are to pop him over.”

“Oh, Mr. Chisholm!” exclaimed Bob.

“It has to be done,” said Mr. Chisholm earnestly. “We have stood as
much nonsense as we can. He has tried his level best to steal our
money from us, and now we have got to a place where we can’t be driven
any further. I’ve got a little business of my own to attend to. Mr.
Wallace, who has a thousand dollars or two of mine, is, I think, a man
I can trust.”

So saying Mr. Chisholm started off, and we all departed on our
errands--Frank and Lem to the porch to keep a bright outlook for
Henderson, the most of the men to the sitting room of the hotel to wait
Mr. Chisholm’s return, and us boys to take the horses to the stable. I
was surprised when I saw how Bob took Mr. Chisholm’s order to heart--to
pop Henderson over. I declare I didn’t feel so about it at all. If
Henderson so far neglected his personal safety as to continue to pursue
Mr. Chisholm when he was on the very eve of getting the money, why, I
said, let him take the consequences. Bob didn’t say anything, but I
well knew what he was thinking about. If he had had a fair opportunity
he would have whispered to Henderson to keep away from the porch.

“You musn’t do it, Bob,” I said to him.

“Why, Carlos, I can’t bear that anybody should get shot,” he answered.
“And then what will they do to Lem and Frank for obeying that order of
Mr. Chisholm’s?”

“They won’t do anything to them. Mr. Chisholm is willing to take his
chances. Don’t you know that they never do anything to anyone who
shoots a man in this country?”

When we had put the horses away we returned to the porch, and found
Lem and Frank there keeping a lookout for Henderson; but I would have
felt a good deal more at my ease if we had known of the interview that
Henderson had held with Coyote Bill in regard to putting the Indians on
Bob. We took a look at them and then went into the sitting-room to wait
for Mr. Chisholm. He was gone about half an hour and then he showed
himself. He stopped to exchange a few words with Lem and Frank, and
then coming into the sitting-room ordered us to “catch up!” We knew by
that that he was ready for us, so we fell in two abreast and followed
Mr. Chisholm down the street.

I wondered what the people in the Eastern cities would have thought of
us if they had seen us marching down the street, ten of us, all with a
brace of revolvers slung to our waists. The pedestrians got out of our
way, and now and then some fellow, with a brace of revolvers on, would
stop and look at us to see which way we were going. But we did not care
for anybody. We kept close at Mr. Chisholm’s heels until he turned
into a narrow doorway, and led us up a creaking pair of stairs. Upon
arriving at the top he threw open a door, and we found ourselves in the
presence of three or four men who sat leaning back in their chairs with
their heels elevated higher than their heads, having a good time all by
themselves. There were a lot of papers and books scattered about, and I
took it at once for a lawyer’s office. They looked at us in surprise
as we entered, and one of the men took his feet down from the desk.

“Shut the door, Lem,” said Mr. Chisholm. “Now, which of you men is
it who proves the wills? You see,” he added, turning with an air
of apology to the other men in the room, “these fellows are mostly
remembered in the will, and so I brought them along. I never proved a
will before, and so I wanted men enough to back me up.”

“That is all right,” said the surrogate. “Where’s the will?”

Mr. Chisholm produced his pocket-book, Bob’s pocket-book, rather,
the one that had taken Tom and me on a four weeks’ journey into the
country, and produced the papers, while the rest of us stood around
and waited for him to read them. The lawyer read it in a free-and-easy
manner until he came to the place where Bob was spoken of as worth half
a million dollars, and then he suddenly became interested.

“Where’s the man?” said he.

“Here he is, right here,” said Mr. Chisholm. “It is a big sum of money
for him to be worth, but he is big enough to carry it.”

“Why, sit down, gentlemen! If you can’t get chairs enough to
accommodate you, sit on the table. A half a million dollars! Does
anybody challenge this will?”

“Not that I know of,” answered Mr. Chisholm. “It is all there, and we
want it all, every bit.”

“Well, I’ll have it for you in half an hour,” answered the lawyer.
“Suppose you come in again in that time.”

“No, sir! Our time is worth nothing, and if it is all the same to you,
we’ll have that will before we go out. When I get through here I have
got to go to the bank. Take your time. We want it done up right.”

Whether there was something in Mr. Chisholm’s manner--there certainly
was nothing in his words--that convinced the lawyer that haste was
desirable, I don’t know; but he got up with alacrity, went to his
books, and began writing, while the rest of us disposed of ourselves
in various attitudes about the room. The rest of the men went on with
their conversation where our entrance had interrupted it,--it was
something that afforded them a great deal of merriment,--and now and
then the lawyer took part in it, leaving his work and coming over
to where the men were sitting to make his remarks carry weight. Mr.
Chisholm watched this for a long time and at last boiled over.

“See here, Mr. Lawyer,” said he, and I knew by the way he spoke the
words that his patience was all exhausted; “I would thank you to attend
to our business first.”

The lawyer was evidently a man who was not in the habit of being
addressed in this way. He took a good look at Mr. Chisholm, at his
revolvers, then ran his eye over the rest of us, and choking down
something that appeared to be rising in his throat, he resumed his
writing. After that there was no trouble. The men ceased their
conversation, and the lawyer went on with his writing to such good
purpose that in fifteen minutes the document was done.

“Now, who is this boy’s guardian?” asked the lawyer.

“He hasn’t got any that I know of,” said Mr. Chisholm.

“How old are you?” he added, turning to Bob.

“Sixteen,” was the reply.

“Then you must have a guardian,” said the lawyer. “Hold on, now,” he
continued, when he saw Mr. Chisholm’s eye begin to flash and his hand
to reach toward his pistol. “This guardian is a man who can exercise
much or little control over this property. He can say you shall or you
shall not spend your money for such particular things; but all the
while the boy can go on and do as he pleases. It does not amount to
anything.”

“Is that paper all ready for his signature?” asked Mr. Chisholm.

“It is all ready for the signature of his guardian,” said the lawyer.
“But I tell you it won’t amount to anything so long as he has no one on
it to act as his guardian. Why don’t you sign it, sir? You seem to be
on good terms with him.”

Mr. Chisholm did not know what to say, and so he looked around at us
for a solution. But the men all shook their heads and looked down at
the floor. They didn’t want anyone to act as Bob’s guardian, but would
rather that he should spend the money as he pleased. Finally Bob came
to the rescue.

“I will sign it with Mr. Chisholm, but with no one else,” said he.
“This lawyer knows more than we do.”

“And won’t you never ask my consent toward spending your money?”

“No, sir; I never will.”

“Then I will sign it. Remember, Bob, there aint to be any foolishness
about this.”

Mr. Chisholm took the pen from the lawyer’s hand and signed his name in
bold characters, and although there was no occasion for Bob’s signature
in a legal point of view, the lawyer was afraid to object to it, for
there were too many pistols in the party.

“There, now; it is all right, and you’re master of that money,” said
Mr. Chisholm, drawing a long breath of relief. “Nobody can get it away
from us now. How much?”

“Ten dollars,” said the lawyer.

As Bob didn’t have any money, Henderson having taken all he had, Mr.
Chisholm counted out the ten dollars, after which he held out his hand
for the will. There was where he made another mistake. The surrogate
kept that will upon file, and then there was no chance of its being
lost, and anyone, years hence, if there happened to be any legal points
with regard to the disposition of this property, could have the will to
refer to. But Mr. Chisholm didn’t know that.

“I will take that document if you have got through with it,” said he.

“The will?” said the lawyer. “As soon as you go away I shall lock it
up. Then it will be safe.”

“You will, eh?”

In an instant his revolver was out and covering the lawyer’s head. The
other men sprang to their feet, but before they could make a move they
were held in check by four revolvers held in the hands of our own party.

“I have just about submitted to all the nonsense I can stand with
regard to this will,” said Mr. Chisholm, in stern tones. “You made me
sign it as a guardeen when I aint got no business to, and now you
want to go and take the will away from us. Hand over that document!
One--two----”

[Illustration: PROBATING THE WILL.]

“There it is, and you can take it,” said the lawyer, turning white.
“But I tell you it won’t amount to anything as long as you have it in
your hands. There’s the notice of probate. You can take that down to
the bank with you, and that is all you want.”

“He is right, Mr. Chisholm,” said Bob, who seemed to keep all his wits
about him.

“Has he a right to take the will away from us?” demanded Mr. Chisholm,
in a stentorian voice.

“I have got wills here that were left by parties long before you ever
came to this country,” said the lawyer, turning to his safe.

“Not by a long sight you haven’t,” said Mr. Chisholm. “I want you to
understand that I have been in this country long before you ever came
out of a pettifogger’s office in the North. You can’t take that will
away, and that’s all about it.”

“Here is Jerry Wolfe’s,” said the lawyer, taking from his safe a big
bundle of papers all neatly endorsed as he had filed them away. “You
knew him, didn’t you?”

“Well--yes; and a right smart business man he was. Did his guardeen
leave his papers here?”

“His executor did, and that amounts to the same thing. And all those in
there are wills.”

“That may be law, but it isn’t justice,” said Mr. Chisholm, putting up
his revolver and stepping back; whereupon the men in his party, who
held their pistols in their hands, let down the hammers and returned
them to their cases. “Have you got done with us?”

“Yes, sir; we are all through.”

“Well, if you are right, I am sorry I pulled my revolver on you; if
you are wrong, I’m sorry I didn’t use it. You see, I never had any
experience before in proving wills, and I never want to have another,
unless I can have someone at my back who knows more than I do.”

“I assure you, it is all right,” said the lawyer; and, to show that he
was in earnest, he cordially shook hands with Mr. Chisholm. “You go
down to the bank, and if Mr. Wallace doesn’t say that it is all right,
I’ll make it so.”

I, for one, was glad to get out of reach of that surrogate’s office.
There was too much pulling of revolvers to suit me. I fell in behind
Mr. Chisholm, who led the way toward the bank.



CHAPTER XV. TOM GETS SOME MONEY.


I have often quoted our leader as saying that Mr. Wallace was a man
whom he could afford to trust, seeing that he had the handling of a
thousand dollars or two of his money. In point of fact, he had more
than that. He had two hundred thousand dollars of money in his hands
that Mr. Chisholm’s signature was good for--not banknotes, for they
were not as good then as they are now, but specie; and when a man put
specie in the bank, he always wanted to get the same when he signed a
check. The bank was not a great way off, and in a few minutes we were
standing in the presence of the cashier.

“Is Mr. Wallace in?” asked Mr. Chisholm, gazing over the heads of three
or four men who had come there to do business.

“Step right into his private office,” said the cashier. “He is waiting
for you.”

The private office was a little room that opened off the rear of the
bank, and when we filed in you couldn’t have gotten another man in
edgeways. Mr. Wallace was engaged with some papers, but laid them all
down when he heard our big boots clattering on the floor.

“Hallo, Chisholm!” said he. “Well, you found ’em, didn’t you? Are these
men all remembered in the will? Where’s the boy? Sit down.”

“I don’t see much chance to sit down here,” said Mr. Chisholm, looking
around. “But, if it suits you just as well, I won’t sit. Most of
these men are remembered in the will, and some of ’em aint. I brought
’em along with me so as to give me plenty of backing. This thing of
probating wills aint what it’s cracked up to be.”

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Mr. Wallace.

“We found that little surrogate like you was telling me of, and he
won’t let me have the will. Said he would lock it up, and it would be
safe.”

“That’s all right. Supposing you should die to-morrow and the will
should fall into the hands of some dishonest person. Where would you
be? The will is there, and anybody can get a copy of it; but nobody can
touch the will itself.”

“Oh, ah! That’s the way the thing stands,” said Mr. Chisholm, and I
thought he felt a little sheepish over the way he had acted in the
surrogate’s office. “Then I was wrong and he was right. But then,” he
added, a bright idea striking him, “he made me sign it as guardeen. I
had no business to do that.”

“How old is the boy? Sixteen? Well, of course he had to have somebody,
and he thought you would do. Where is the boy? I haven’t congratulated
him yet.”

“Here he is, right here,” said Mr. Chisholm, seizing Bob by the arm and
pushing him forward. “He is a pretty fellow to have a guardeen, is he
not? He knows more about taking care of his money than I do.”

Bob blushed like a school-girl when he was pushed out into view, but
he returned the pressure of Mr. Wallace’s hand, and promptly accepted
the seat that was given to him. The president then went on to tell Bob
that he had nearly seven hundred thousand dollars’ worth of bonds and
stocks, and about forty thousand dollars in specie; did he want some of
it?

“Yes, sir. I should like about ten thousand dollars.”

“All right. Mr. Chisholm, will you sign for that?”

“No, sir, I won’t,” said Mr. Chisholm, frightened at the amount. “You
said you wouldn’t ask me how to spend your money.”

“Bob can’t get it without you sign it,” said Mr. Wallace. “I will make
out the check and you’ll sign it, of course. You are not going to kick,
the first thing!”

Mr. Chisholm looked around to see what the rest of us thought about it,
but none of us had anything to say. Mr. Wallace wrote out the check,
and then motioned to Mr. Chisholm to take his chair and sign it; and
our leader obeyed without a word of protest. Mr. Wallace then went out
of his private office, and in a few moments returned with his arms
filled with bags containing bright new gold pieces.

“I’ll count them out for you if you want me to,” said he, “but then the
whole sum is right here and the bags are sealed. What do you want of
such an amount of money, any way? You can’t spend it out there on the
ranch.”

“No, sir. But some of these men have been remembered in father’s will,
and I want to pay them up.”

“Oh!” said Mr. Wallace. “Well, then, what’s the reason you can’t pay
them right here? It will make a less load for you to carry.”

“Now, Mr. Wallace, I have got something to say about that,” said Mr.
Chisholm. “Not one cent do you give the men so long as we are in the
reach of bug-juice. I want them to go home with me as straight as when
they came away.”

“All right. What shall we do with this money?”

Mr. Chisholm immediately stepped forward, and under his supervision
the money was equally distributed so that each had an equal weight to
carry, but I noticed that Lem and Frank didn’t get any of it. They were
the ones who were much too fond of “bug-juice.” They winked at me, but
said nothing.

“Now, Mr. Wallace, I am done with probating wills,” said Mr. Chisholm.
“You made me sign as guardeen for a boy that is as well able to take
care of his money as I am, and put my name to checks for which I am not
at all responsible, and I don’t like your way of doing business.”

“Don’t you want some money yourself?”

“No, sir, not a red cent. The drought is over now----”

“This has been fearful weather, hasn’t it?” asked Mr. Wallace, anxious
to get Mr. Chisholm off on his favorite topic.

“Fearful! You follow the dead cattle that we left behind while on our
trip to the West Fork of Trinity, and you can go straight to my house.
We left a trifle of over three million dollars on the plains, and
that’s a heap of money to come out of poor men’s pockets. I wish you
good-day, sir.”

We all touched our hats to Mr. Wallace and went out of his private
office, and I drew a long breath of relief. There had been no shooting
done, and I was glad of it. I was hurrying ahead to get to Mr.
Chisholm’s side, to ask him if that order in regard to “popping him
over”--that is to say, Henderson--was still in force, when I saw Frank
seize Bob by the arm and pull him back. I stayed back with him, for I
wanted to see how the thing was coming out. I fell in with Tom Mason
right ahead of Bob and Elam, and Lem and Frank brought up the rear.
This was the way in which we marched down, and Mr. Chisholm couldn’t
raise any objections to it. After we had got fairly under way, I heard
Frank say to Bob, in a scarcely audible whisper:

“Say, you wouldn’t mind lending Lem and me a twenty, would you?”

“I should be glad to, but the bag is sealed up,” replied Bob.

“Sh! don’t let Mr. Chisholm know it. You couldn’t get the seal off’n
the bag, could you? Lem and me is mighty thirsty.”

Bob put his hand into his pocket, and I could hardly keep from laughing
outright when I saw the contortions his face went through in order to
get the seal off the bag. He worked as a boy never worked before, and
at last I saw, by the expression on his countenance, that he had got
the bag open. We were pretty near to the hotel when this happened. I
heard the chinking of the pieces as Bob drew his hand out and placed
two twenty dollars in Frank’s extended palm.

“Boys, I will give you that to pay you for sticking by me,” said he.
“Now, be careful, and don’t take too much.”

“You’re right; we’ll stick by you,” said Frank. “If you ever get in a
scrape like this again, send us word. We’ll not take too much. We are
afraid of Mr. Chisholm.”

They had got the money, and the next thing was to get the whiskey. Mr.
Chisholm thought he was smart, and, no doubt, he was in some things;
but he had to deal with men who were as smart as he was. When we got
back to the hotel, Frank and Lem threw themselves into the chairs they
had occupied before, to keep a lookout for Henderson; but Mr. Chisholm
spoke a word or two to them, and they got up and went into the house.

“Now, landlord, catch up,” said Mr. Chisholm. “Can you get us an early
supper? We want to be away from here in an hour.”

The landlord was all attention. He was in and out of the bar a good
many times, but Lem and Frank never went near it. They had a good deal
of time to spend in looking at the pictures; I saw a half a dozen men
talking to them, and finally they came back to where we were, and sat
down. I winked at Lem, and he winked back at me, and so I knew he had
got it; but how in the world he _got_ it was a mystery to me. I did not
see him put anything into his pocket; but, after we had eaten supper
and were about an hour on our journey homeward, I saw the effects of it
very perceptibly. It did not make Lem and Frank loud and boisterous,
as they generally were when they were full, but “funny”--all except
when Mr. Chisholm came back and scowled at them, and then they were as
sober as judges. The next day, however, they were all right; but when
Bob saw Frank stoop down and fill his hat four times at a stream he was
passing, and drink it empty each time, he said:

“I am sorry I gave you that money yesterday. You had by far too much.”

“I know it,” said Frank. “But with stuff like this, one can drink all
he wants to, and it won’t go to his head. But we had a good fill-up on
account of your success, and there wasn’t any shooting done, as I was
afraid there was going to be.”

“Shooting! I should think not.”

“Well, now, I was afraid there was going to be. When Mr. Chisholm was
passing that little stream yesterday, and reached down and filled
his hat, as you saw me doing, it was all I could do to keep Lem from
shooting that hat away from his mouth.”

“Why, how far off was he?” enquired Bob, who had never heard of such a
thing as that.

“We were a hundred yards or so behind him.”

“Why, the old villain! He might have missed the hat, and struck Mr.
Chisholm through the face.”

“That was just what I was afraid he was going to do, although I have
seen Lem, when he was perfectly sober, put all his bullets into the
same hole at that distance. But he is not a villain, by any means,”
said Frank earnestly. “It shows what a man will do when he gets too
much old rye in him.”

I tell you I believed it, and I swore off on whiskey then and there.
And I have kept my pledge from that day to this.

Lem and Frank being all right and having no Henderson to look out for,
we were longer going than we were coming, and it took us six days
to overtake our cattle, which were being driven slowly toward their
respective ranches. We went a little out of our way to enable Bob to
visit his father’s grave, and stood around with our hats in our hands
while Bob’s eyes, his face suffused with tears, gazed upon the scene
he never was to see again. I supposed, of course, that Bob, having
been admitted by all hands to be the heir of that property, would be
allowed to rest in peace; but I did not know Henderson and Coyote Bill.
They persecuted him from the word go, and it was to end only with his
leaving the country. The cattle were getting fat now, the full moon was
close at hand, and the Mexicans and Indians were waking up. I heard the
men talking about it as we rode along, and only wished I could be there
to see some of it; but I tell you one raid by the Comanches fairly took
that all out of me.

On the evening of the sixth day after leaving Austin we came up with
the cowboys, who were camped in a belt of post-oaks, and long before we
got up to them we found that they had discovered us. Everyone wanted
to know how Bob had prospered, and when Mr. Chisholm told them he had
been successful in spite of the surrogate’s efforts to cheat him out
of it, you ought to have heard that belt of post-oaks resound with
their cheers. Now that he had time to think it over, Mr. Chisholm still
regarded the efforts of the surrogate to keep the will as a fraud,
notwithstanding what President Wallace had told him.

“Aint he just as likely to die as I am?” he demanded. “And can’t that
Henderson go there and get that will? I tell you I think it would have
been safer in my own hands than his. But I am done probating wills now.
The next time anybody dies he can get somebody else.”

At last we arrived at our ranch and found everything there just as
we had left it. The cowboys gazed in surprise at the result of Tom’s
search, for you will remember that he threw the things in the middle of
the floor and had not had time to replace them. Then Tom showed them
the stick he had used in unearthing the pocket-book and the very spot
where he had dug it out. There weren’t ashes there enough to conceal
it from anybody who had tried hard to find it. I could see that Bob
was very grateful to Tom for what he had done, and consequently I was
prepared for what he had to say to me afterward.

It was two weeks before we got our cattle all rounded out and driven
off by themselves where we could take a look at them. There were not
more than five thousand head, all the rest that Mr. Davenport had owned
having been left on the prairie as a prey to the wolves. He must have
lost as many as ten thousand head, which amounted to a considerable
sum. But I ought to say that, long before this happened, Bob had
brought all his cowboys together and paid them the money that had been
left to them in his father’s will. It made less weight for him to
carry, and, besides, he wanted it off his mind. I wish I could put it
on paper, the scene he had with Mr. Chisholm, who positively refused to
pay the money. It raised a roar of laughter, which made the old man so
mad that it was all he could do to keep from pulling his pistol; but
Bob got around him at last, and finally he gave in.

“If it is as you say--that you want some disinterested party to pay
them so that they won’t believe that they have been cheated--why, I
will do it,” said he, seizing the nearest bag of gold and emptying it
upon the table. “But you promised that there should be no foolishness
about this. Now, boys, watch me, and see that I don’t make any mistake.
Frank, you come first. I’ve got an all night’s job before me.”

But in an hour they were all paid, and not one of the men had a chance
to tell Mr. Chisholm that he had made a mistake. They received it
reverently, for their minds were with the man whose liberality had made
so great a change in their fortunes. It was more money than they had
ever had before in their lives.

Shortly after that--the very next day it happened--Bob said to me in a
whisper that he wanted to see me when all the cowboys had gone to the
round-up, so I stayed behind. Elam had charge of the cooking now, for
I had almost forgotten to say that the Mexican had discharged himself
when we drew near to the waters of the west fork of Trinity. He heard
that there was going to be a fight, and so took himself safe out of
reach of it. But then we didn’t care for Elam; he had been Bob’s friend
all the way through, and we were not afraid to trust him.

“Say, Carlos, I hardly know how to speak to you about this,” said Bob,
looking down at the floor. “You say Tom Mason’s friends are rich?”

“Well, I know what you have on your mind, and I’ll tell you just what I
think about it,” said I. “You know Tom got into serious trouble where
he lived, and he has somehow got it into his head that if he can go
home with five thousand dollars, that trouble will never come up again.
How much truth there is in it I don’t know.”

“I know all about his troubles, but he ought not to let them prey so
heavily on his mind. Now, how much has he got left?”

“I think if you give him three thousand dollars he will be all right.”

“That is what I think, too,” said Elam. “He don’t belong in this
country.”

“I know he don’t. He wants to get up the States, where quail and black
squirrels are handy, and have some more fights with ‘Our Fellows.’ On
the whole I think the scenes he passed through with those robbers are
more exciting than the scenes he passed through here. If he can get a
letter from his uncle, stating that those things have been forgotten,
he’ll go back.”

“Well, I shan’t stay in his way,” said Bob. “You think three thousand
dollars are all he needs? I’ll see him this morning. If he wants more
he can have it.”

“You wouldn’t have found your pocket-book if it hadn’t been for him,”
said I. “He reminded me of a dog on a blind scent. He poked around till
he found it.”

This was all that was necessary for Bob to know, and during that day
I saw him several times during the round-up talking with Tom; but Tom
insisted that he didn’t want anything. About the time that night came,
however, and the cowboys came in tired and hungry, Bob tipped me a
wink, and I followed him behind one of the wagons out of sight.

“I took him right where he lived,” whispered Bob. “I told him he could
go back to his uncle, who was all the time worrying about him, with
more money than he had stolen, and he agreed to take time to think it
over.”

“He took it, didn’t he?” I asked.

“Yes, and it was all he needed. I shall be sorry to part with Tom, but
then home is the place for him.”

So it was settled that Tom Mason was to leave us as soon as he could
get a letter to his uncle. We had always treated Tom as one of the
family, but somehow we got into the habit of treating him better than
usual. But time went on and we didn’t see anybody who was going into
Austin to take a letter for him. Meanwhile, we had bidden good-by to
Mr. Chisholm and all his friends, and were fairly settled down to our
business again. But there was one thing that was different from what
it was during Mr. Davenport’s lifetime. Lem and Frank stayed about the
ranch now entirely. Bob hadn’t got over his experience with Henderson
and Coyote Bill; in fact, Mr. Chisholm was the one who recommended him
to keep them always near him, and Bob intended that, if they came to
his house, he would give them as good as they sent.

Things went on this way, we repeat, when one day that Frank was busy
with some story of his cowboy’s life, we heard a terrible clatter of
horses’ hoofs approaching the house. Frank and Lem were on hand in
an instant, and, with their revolvers in their hands, went out to
see what was the matter, but there was no sign of Henderson or Coyote
Bill in the men who drew up at the door. Two of them were soldiers and
the other a civilian, and their appearance indicated that they had
been through something of a fight. One of the soldiers’ heads was all
bloody, in spite of the handkerchief that had been bound around it, and
the horse of the civilian seemed ready to drop from a wound in his side.

“What’s up? Indians?” demanded Frank.

“Yes, and they’re most here,” returned the civilian. “Can you give us a
bite to eat and change our horses for us?”

“Indians!” repeated Bob. “Come in and sit down. You can have all the
horses you want. But Indians!” he added with a shudder. “In all the
eight years we have been in this part of the country we have never
known them to come so far South before.”

“Well, you will hear them coming now if you stay here,” said one of the
soldiers. “You had better catch up and go with us.”

“Why, how did you manage to get on to them, anyway?” I asked, for like
the rest I had been so overcome with astonishment that I could not say
anything. “You look as though you have been in a hard fight.”

“You may safely say that, and the way they went about it satisfies me
that there were some white men bossing the job,” said the soldier.
“You see there were twenty-five of us detailed to act as guard to our
paymaster, who had a lot of money--I don’t know how much--to pay off
the men at Fort Worth. We were going safely along through a pass,
within a day’s journey of the fort, when they jumped on us. I tell you
I never saw bullets fly so thick before.”

“Did they kill almost all the guard at one fire?” asked Bob.

“They got about half of us, and where the rest are now I don’t know.
Some got through to the fort probably, and the rest of us, being cut
off, had to save ourselves the best way we could.”

“Lem, you and Frank bring up a horse for each of us,” said Bob
suddenly. His face was pale, but I saw that he had his wits about him.
“You may turn the rest loose, for we have all got to go now. I wish
those boys who were out with the stock had warning.”

“I’ll go and tell them,” said Frank.

“No, you had better stay by me,” said Bob. “If there are some white men
bossing this, I think you will have all you can do. Suppose Coyote Bill
is among them?”

“By George! I believe you’re right,” said Lem.

He jumped off the porch, and in company with Frank went out to the
corral to catch the horses that were to carry us safely out of reach
of the Comanches. Bob had found a cloth and was tying up the soldier’s
head; Elam was skirmishing around the house trying to find something to
eat; the other soldier was filling up on water, of which he had long
been deprived; and the balance were busy gathering up their weapons.
For myself, I was thinking over a certain proposition that had suddenly
suggested itself to me. It was a dangerous thing, I knew; but I didn’t
see who else was to do it.



CHAPTER XVI. A RAID BY THE COMANCHES.


The thing I was revolving in my own mind was this: Should I go all by
myself and warn the boys who were herding cattle on the plains, and
so run the risk of being captured or shot by the Comanches, or should
I stay with Bob and go with him to a place of safety? For I knew that
Lem and Frank would exert themselves to take him safely out of reach of
danger, while I could not say that for myself. I would be going right
back the way the Indians were coming, and to be captured--that is what
I was afraid of, for I had seen men who were taken prisoners by the
savages, and I knew what was in store for me. But those boys had stood
by us when we were in danger and were willing to do so again. While I
was thinking about it my horse was brought up. He was a small sorrel,
who had brought me in safety through many perilous places, and he was
lithe and vigorous yet. I did not see but that, if I got out on the
prairie with two or three Indians after me, I could make a good run
yet, and perhaps be able to overtake my party before they had got very
far away. My mind was made up. Those boys would not have deserted me,
and why should I desert them? I put my saddle on him, slipped on my
bridle, and threw the lariat off his neck. Then I buckled my revolvers
about my waist, picked up my rifle, and mounted.

“Good-by, boys,” said I.

“Why, where are you going?” demanded Bob. “We’re all going off in a
minute.”

“I am going out to warn the boys,” said I. “I think I will overtake you
after a while.”

“You mustn’t go!” exclaimed Tom. “You will be certain to be captured,
and you know better than we can tell you what they will do to you.”

“I know it perfectly well. But I have no kith or kin to worry their
heads about me, and I can go as well as anybody. I know right where
they are----”

“But you have got to go along the road that the Indians are coming,”
said the civilian, who was utterly astounded by my proposition.

“I know that too, but somebody must go, or leave those fellows to be
killed. Come and shake hands with me, boys, and let me go.”

“You are a brave lad, and I hope you will come out all right,” said
Frank, as the boys came up one after the other. Elam and Tom didn’t
have a word to say, but they were badly cut up. Bob’s eyes were filled
with tears, and he clung to me with both hands.

“Carlos, I am sorry that you have come to this decision,” said he. “Why
can’t somebody else go? You have been with me so long that you are like
a brother to me.”

“The best of brothers must part some time or other,” said I. “If I fall
nobody will be the wiser for it, except you fellows right around here.
Good-by, everybody,” I cried, and with a circular sweep of my arm to
include all hands, I wheeled my horse and started on my lonely journey.
“There are some fellows who will be sorry if anything happens to me,” I
soliloquized. “During the time I have been with them I have never made
anybody mad, and that’s a heap to say for a man who has been to Texas.
Now the next thing for me is to look out for myself.”

In spite of all this delay, occasioned by asking and answering so many
questions, not more than five minutes elapsed before I was on my way
to warn the cowboys. One learns to think rapidly when living on the
frontier, and while we talked we worked. In a few minutes I was beyond
reach of the grove, and taking my horse well in hand rode forward at
about half pace, and in half an hour more this grove was out of sight
behind the swells and the last glimpse of the ranch had disappeared.
I was alone on the prairie, and a feeling of depression I had never
before experienced came over me. I kept my horse at half pace because
I didn’t know how soon he would be called upon to exert himself to the
utmost, and I did not want to ride a wearied nag in my struggle for
life. The horse knew that there was something going on, for he kept
his eyes and ears constantly on the alert, and having more faith in
him than I had in myself, I watched him closely. I was certain that he
would smell an Indian long before I could see him.

At the end of another half hour I began to wonder why I did not see
some signs of the cowboys, but there was nothing in sight. Nothing, did
I say? Away off to the left loomed up a body which was lying in the
grass. I couldn’t tell whether it was a beef or a horse, for it was
about half a mile away. My horse discovered it at the same time and
snorted loudly.

“There is something over there as sure as you are a foot high,” said I
to myself, looking all around to see what sort of a place I was going
to get in. I didn’t like the appearance of things where that body lay.
On all sides of it, except the one by which I entered, was a ravine,
and it was so deep that I could just see the tops of the willows
growing up out of it--a splendid place indeed for an ambuscade. I
didn’t want to go in there, and that was the long and short of it. “I
must go in there and see what that is,” said I, after taking note of
all these little things. “It may be something that will tell me of the
fate of the cowboys.”

If my horse had refused to go in there I believe I should have ridden
back to the ranch and never thought that I was guilty of cowardice;
but he didn’t. When I called on him to go ahead he went, but he did
not seem to be holding his course toward the dead beef or horse
I have spoken of, but turned a little to the right as if he were
seeking evidence a little further on. Wondering what there was that
my horse had in his mind, I humored him, and in a few minutes was
horror-stricken at the scene he brought me to. There, flat on his back,
stripped, scalped, his head beaten in by a stone or some other blunt
instrument, and mutilated beyond description, lay Sam Noble, one of
our cowboys. Where the other two were I didn’t know, nor did I waste
any time looking for them. I shall never forget it as long as I live.
He had evidently been killed before he was captured, which was a lucky
thing for Sam.

[Illustration: KILLED BY THE INDIANS.]

As soon as I could recover my breath I pulled my horse about and
took the back trail with long jumps, but before my horse had made half
a dozen leaps I saw that I was captured. Three Indians came riding out
of the ravine on my left, and scarcely had they been discovered, when
three or four more came from the ravine on my right. What was I to do?
I had heard that when a white man was surrounded by Indians, if he
would raise his gun in the act of shooting, every Indian would at once
get behind his horse. I don’t know why that came into my mind, but I
tried it then and there, and in an instant two of the Indians were out
of sight. They had gone down on the other side of their horses, so that
I had nothing but a leg and a small portion of the head to shoot at.
The third Indian, however, retained his upright position, and, holding
up his bare hand to me, shouted:

“Don’t shoot! We’re friends.”

You can imagine what my feelings were as I sat there and listened to
those words. They were my friends, and yet Sam Noble had been killed
that very morning in the effort to escape from them! While I held my
rifle in my hands and sat there debating the question, the Indians came
quite close to me, too late to escape, and I yielded to them like one
in a dream. I was able to tell now what savages looked like in their
war-paint; and although they were hideous enough before, you can’t
conceive what a difference those streaks of red and yellow paint made
in their appearance. They looked just awful. The white man was the only
one among them that was not painted, and I felt more like surrendering
my weapons to him than I did to any of his savage crew. But I didn’t
get the chance. The first one who held out his hand for my rifle was
an Indian, and I readily gave it up to him. The other Indian seized my
horse by the bridle, and the white man, after securing my revolvers and
buckling them around his own waist, open my shirt and felt all around
for the belt that contained my money; but he couldn’t find it.

“Where is it?” said he, with something that sounded like an oath.

“Where is what?” I asked, for I had by this time recovered my wits. I
had no idea what would happen to me afterward, but I knew that so long
as I behaved myself with them I need not stand in fear of bodily harm.

“The belt,” replied the man. “You didn’t bring it with you?”

“It is hidden at the ranch,” I replied. “We thought that somebody might
try to take it away from us.”

“Well, we will have to go after it, and you will have to show us where
it is,” said the man. “But first I must take you down here to show you
to somebody here who is anxious to see you.”

“To show me to somebody?” I exclaimed, lost in wonder, as the redskin
who held my horse turned me around. I wasn’t terrified any longer. My
fright had given place to something that was stronger than fear, and I
was amazed at the words the man said. “Somebody” wanted to see me, and
I wondered who that somebody could be. Could it be Coyote Bill? If it
was, I was on nettles. He would propose to me to “become one of them,”
and when I refused, what would happen to me? I resolved to follow that
matter up a little.

“Yes, sir; there’s a man that wants to see you,” said he. “He has got a
name around here that you don’t want to know too much about, too.”

“Know too much about him? Why, I know about him already. Is it Coyote
Bill?”

The man seemed surprised that I spoke his name so readily. He looked at
me as though he hardly knew what to say.

“How did you learn what his name was?” he asked at length.

“One of my chums guessed it,” I replied. “Anybody who knows anything
about Coyote Bill would know that he didn’t come on that ranch for
nothing.”

The man said no more, but I was satisfied from the little he did say
that I was right in my conjectures. There was another thing that was
strange to me, and the longer I thought of it the more bewildered I
became. This white man had been to school, had received the benefits
of an education, and how did it come that he was there among the
Indians? There was something strange about him and Coyote Bill, and
I wanted to get at the bottom of it, but I may add that I never did.
I took a good look at the man who rode by my side, and I didn’t see
anything more desperate about him than I had seen about Coyote Bill.
Take his weapons and buckskin suit away from him, and dress him up in
fine clothing, and he would have passed for a business man anywhere.

There was another thing that worried me as I rode along. I wondered
if any such capture had ever been made by hostile Indians before. The
savages paid no more attention to me than if I was one of themselves,
but seemed to have given me up entirely to the white man. As soon as
we got through the willows and came out on the prairie again, we rode
along in single file, the white man just ahead and the others bringing
up the rear, so escape was simply impossible. I knew I must see that
“somebody” who was so anxious to see me, and I nerved myself for the
test. I had nothing to fear until I saw him.

“Can these Indians speak English?” I asked, at length.

“No,” replied the white man. “You can say what you please and they
won’t tell on you.”

“Well, the question I should like to have you answer is, How in the
world you ever came out here among them?” said I. “You have been to
school and don’t talk as these Texans generally do.”

“No, I have been to school; that’s a fact,” said the man, after
hesitating a little.

“What sent you down here?”

“Look here, my friend,” said the man, turning around in his saddle and
looking at me with his snapping gray eyes; “I didn’t agree to take you
into my confidence.”

He used the very same words to me that Coyote Bill had used when I
asked him the same question; and he didn’t seem to be angry about it,
either.

“What made you think anything brought me down here?” he asked. “What
brought you down here?”

“I came to buy cattle, but the drought had got in ahead of me and I
thought I would wait until it was over. Hallo! What’s the matter with
you?”

“You came down here to buy cattle?” exclaimed the man, looking at me
with an expression of great astonishment on his face.

“Yes, sir, I did; and there are two other boys in my party. But what
surprises you so greatly?”

“Then your name isn’t Bob Davenport?”

I said it was not, but I didn’t tell him what my name was. I knew Bob
very well, and had left him at the ranch that morning. I didn’t say,
however, that he was making hurried preparations for flight, for I
thought that was something the man could find out for himself. The man
listened in amazement, and, when I got through, uttered a string of
oaths.

“Set me down for a blockhead, and you’ll hit it,” he said, as soon as
he could speak. “I might have known that you were not the fellow.”

“Did you calculate to capture Bob?” I enquired, and my astonishment
and delight were so strong that it was all I could do to repress them.
That is what I meant when I said that Henderson and Coyote Bill began
persecuting Bob at once on account of his wealth, and did not intend to
let up on him until he had been driven from the country. I saw through
the whole scheme at once. They intended to keep Bob a prisoner among
the Indians until he was ready to do just as they wanted him to do, and
that would be to sign his property over to Henderson. It didn’t look to
me as though that plan would work, but Henderson evidently knew some
way to get around it.

“Why, of course I intended to capture Bob Davenport,” said the man,
and it was plain enough to see that what I had said made him very
angry. “What use are you to me? If I had known that you were not Bob I
wouldn’t have taken you prisoner.”

“What would you have done to me?”

“You saw that man up there that was shot from his horse, didn’t you?”
said he, in a very significant tone of voice. “Well, you would have
been that way now. I could make mince-meat of you in two minutes!” he
added fiercely. “There’s timber right ahead, and the redskins are just
aching to get their hands on you. But then you are a brave boy; I will
say that much for you. It isn’t everyone who would go on and talk so
when he found himself a prisoner among hostile Indians. I’ll wait until
I see what Coyote Bill will have to say about you.”

I tell you I was afraid of this, and my only hope of salvation lay with
Coyote Bill. I rode along in silence after that and never had anything
more to say. I knew what the man meant when he referred to the timber
right ahead. All that was needed for him was to tell the Indians that
his protection for me was withdrawn, and in two minutes I would have
been stripped and staked out, and a fire burning at one of my feet. All
that stood in his way of saying that was Coyote Bill.

“I do know something that I want to tell Bill,” I said.

“Very well, then keep it for him,” answered the man. “I don’t want to
talk to you any more.”

All that day and until far into the night I rode along without seeing a
living soul, never once stopping to give our horses a bite to eat, and
then I suddenly became aware that we were in the camp of Indians. While
we were going along a redskin sprang up on our right and addressed a
few words to us in his native tongue, and then sank out of sight again.
He was one of the sentries who were out to watch the cattle and see
that they didn’t stampede. We kept on and in a few minutes reached the
timber. There was no one in sight, and no preparations made for supper,
and I felt about half-starved.

“You can take off your saddle and bridle and camp here under this
tree,” said the man. “Let your horse go where he is a mind to.”

So saying he rode off, accompanied by all the Indians save two, whom
he left to act as my guards. As I felt tired and discouraged, too, it
did not take me long to comply with the white man’s orders, and when I
removed the saddle from the horse I judged by the way he shook himself
and went to cropping the grass beneath his feet, that he was as hungry
as I was. While I was thus engaged the Indians bustled about, and when
I had thrown myself on the ground, with my saddle for a pillow, I found
that they had a little fire kindled; a very little fire, over which
a white man would freeze to death, but they sat around it and warmed
their hands with evident satisfaction. But not a word was said about
supper, and I began to think I should have to go hungry to bed, when
I heard the twigs cracking out in the timber, and in a few minutes up
came the white man, accompanied by Henderson and Coyote Bill. I wasn’t
so surprised to see Henderson there as a good many people might think.
He was with Coyote Bill, and of course he was bound to take up with
Bill’s companionship.

“Well, well, Carlos; how are you?” said Bill; and to show that he was
in a humorous mood, he backed toward a little mound of earth, sat down
upon it, and laughed uproariously.

“How do you do?” said I, taking a few steps toward Bill and extending
my hand; for I thought, if I could lead the man to shake hands with me,
I would be all right.

“No, I don’t want to shake hands with you,” said he. “The Indians are
on the watch, and they take that as a sign of friendship. But what in
the world induced you to come out? Why didn’t you stay at the ranch?
You have got yourself in a pretty fix!”

“I say give him a dose of lead,” muttered Henderson, who was almost
overcome with rage. “I’ll have him out of my way, at any rate.”

“That’s enough out of you,” said Coyote Bill. “Such things are only
done here when I say the word.”

“Hasn’t that boy been in my way ever since I have been here?” exclaimed
Henderson. “Didn’t he go out to the ranch and find that pocket-book?”

I was astonished to hear Henderson talk that way. He had been growing
worse instead of better; but, after all, when I came to consider the
matter, I didn’t see that there was anything so very surprising about
it. Some writer has said that if we don’t grow better we grow worse,
and that was what was the matter with Henderson. One of the first
things he spoke of in regard to Bob was, that no finger should be
lifted against his life; and here he was going to shoot me who hadn’t
done anything to him.

“He got the pocket-book because we were not fortunate enough to look
where it was,” said Coyote Bill. “Now, Henderson, I don’t want to hear
another word out of you. You are under my protection now, but the
minute I withdraw it--well, you know what will happen.”

“You asked what should be done with that boy,” said Henderson. “Well, I
have told you.”

“But I didn’t think you would propose any fool thing like that,” said
Bill. “I must first take Carlos back to the house with me. You know
where all that money is kept hidden, I suppose?”

“Why, yes, I know where it is,” I answered, considerably surprised.
To think that any man in his sober senses would go off and leave
his money behind him, was ridiculous. I looked at Coyote Bill to see
if he meant what he said, but it was so dark that I couldn’t see the
expression of his face; but Henderson evidently knew what he was
speaking about when he said, in a voice choked with passion:

“You are going to lay a plan for him to escape. I wish I could talk to
these Indians, for then I could let them see what you are up to!”

“What I choose to do is nothing to you!” said Bill, as he turned
fiercely upon Henderson. “Once more, and for the last time, I ask you
to keep still. How did you find out that we were coming, any way?” he
added, addressing himself to me.

“There were three men came along who had plainly been in some sort of a
fight,” said I. “We wanted to know what the trouble was, and they told
us.”

“Ah, yes! Did they tell you about the mule that got away from us?”

“I don’t know what mule you mean.”

“We got all the money except five thousand dollars, and that was
supposed to be packed on a mule that lit out. He was shot three or four
times, but I never saw anything run as he did.”

“And did he escape?”

“Well, I should say so. He took right down toward your ranch, too, and
I didn’t know but you had seen him there.”

“And yet, in the face of all this----”

Henderson didn’t say any more, for Coyote Bill turned around and looked
at him. He thought his companion was in earnest when he told him to
keep still.

“I didn’t know but that it would be a good chance for lucky Tom to try
his hand on that mule,” said Coyote Bill, with a smile. “He has been
lucky in finding one pocket-book, and he might be equally lucky in
this.”

“He will go down among those rich cattlemen and be captured,” said
Henderson bitterly. “The men who don’t care a cent for those five
thousand dollars will have just that much more to jingle in their
pockets; while we, who are hard up for the money--dog-gone the luck!
it is so the world over.”

Coyote Bill laughed again.

“I don’t see anything so very laughable about this matter,” said
Henderson. “You laughed because we got the wrong boy----”

“That will do,” said Bill. “You are getting off on your old subject,
and I won’t sit here and be abused. Haven’t had any supper yet, have
you, Carlos?”

“No, I haven’t; and I feel as though I could do justice to some corn
bread and bacon.”

“Well, then, come with me.”

Turning to the Indians, he addressed some words to them in their native
tongue,--it sounded like gibberish to me,--and started at once into the
woods, while I picked up my saddle and bridle and followed behind him.



CHAPTER XVII. MY FRIEND THE OUTLAW.


“Well, this bangs me completely,” thought I, as I shouldered my bundle
and stumbled along behind my leader through the darkness. “But I would
like to know if any white man has ever been captured before by hostile
Indians and treated in this way. Coyote Bill seems to have the power in
his own hands, doesn’t he? I tell you, he _is_ a power in this land,
and if he will let me get away from him this time, he’ll never see me
again. I’ll go for the States the very first chance I get.”

Bill seemed to know just how fast I could go to keep up with him, and
in a few minutes I saw a light shining through between the trees, and
presently I was ushered into his camp. There were three or four men
lying around the fire, and they started up and looked at us.

“We have caught the wrong boy,” said Bill, waving his hand to show that
I could put my saddle and bridle down where I pleased; “but he has got
to show us the place where that money is hidden before he gets away. He
hasn’t had anything to eat, and is hungry.”

I sat down and looked at the men, and, I tell you, some of them were
pretty rough characters. I was glad indeed that I had fallen into the
power of Bill’s best looking man, for if I had been captured by any
one of the men sitting there at the fire, I should have fared badly.
They expressed a sentiment of strong disgust when Bill spoke of having
captured the wrong boy, but no attention was paid to it. He proceeded
to fill a long pipe very carefully, after which he went off into the
darkness, while another man set before me some bacon and corn bread. It
was not enough to satisfy my appetite, but I was glad to get what there
was, and in a short time it had all disappeared. Then I filled my pipe
and settled back for a smoke.

“Where do you suppose Bill is gone?” I asked, addressing my enquiries
to whoever had a mind to answer it.

Henderson was there, and in forming this question I looked particularly
hard at him, not because I wished him to reply to it, but because I
wished to see how he took matters. He was as mad as he was in camp when
Mr. Chisholm found that he had got hold of the pocket-book containing
the receipts, and not hold of the one that contained the will.

“He has gone off to get permission of the chief to burn you at
sunrise,” said he spitefully.

“Sho!” said I, for I knew that Henderson had made this all up out of
his own head. “Then he won’t get the money.”

“That’s the only thing that makes me think he won’t do it,” said
Henderson. “But you will be gone up the next time you come here. How
did you know that we were after the money, anyway?”

I repeated what I had said to Bill, and that was nothing but the truth.

“There were three white men in the party, and they said, from the way
you went about it, they were satisfied that there were some renegades
bossing the job,” answered I; and then I was almost sorry I said it. I
did not know how they would take the name “renegades,” as applied to
themselves; but Henderson was the only one who understood it.

“And what made us renegades?” he asked, and I believed that the
presence of the men was all that kept him from doing something
desperate. “We killed almost all the guards at the first fire--I got
two of them, I know, and I wish we had got them all. Renegades! That
is a vile and worthless fellow,” he added, turning to the men who were
sitting around. “That’s the kind of men you be.”

Some of the men laughed, while others acted as though they didn’t care
what men’s opinions were of them so long as they were permitted to
enjoy themselves. I saw that Henderson was trying to work the men up
to do something to me before Coyote Bill could get back, and I didn’t
think any more of him for it.

“Thar is one thing about that attack that I shall always be sorry for,”
said one of the fierce-looking men. “You know I, for one, had occasion
to look out for the muels that had the specie onto them. Tony here got
the man, an’ I shot the muel through the neck. I could swear to that.
Well, that thar muel turned an’ run like he never run before, an’ got
away with the Injuns completely. He took right down by your ranch too.
Didn’t see nothing of him, I reckon, did you?”

I shook my head.

“Well, thar’s a kind of a lucky feller down your way, I don’t know what
his name is, who has a mighty fine chance of findin’ pocket-books when
everybody else is done lookin’ for them, an’ I didn’t know but what he
might try his hand at findin’ that muel with five thousand dollars in
specie strapped onto him. That would be a pretty good haul for him,
wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would,” I replied. “But he would have to give it up to the
paymaster.”

“Oh, he would, would he?” exclaimed the fierce-looking man. “If he
found it, it would be his’n, wouldn’t it?”

“You needn’t look for those boys to do anything like that,” said
Henderson, with a sneer. “They would give it up to the paymaster and
get five hundred dollars for it. It is a big thing to be honest!”

“Well, I think we’ve made as much as you have by being honest,” said I.
“You don’t seem to be loaded down with money.”

“But I would have had half a million if it hadn’t been for you and
others like you,” muttered Henderson between his clenched teeth.

“You had all the chance in the world,” I replied. “No one came near you
when you were searching that house. You see luck wasn’t on your side.”

“What did you come here for anyhow?” asked one of the men. “Folks say
that you came here to buy cattle, but I’ll be switched if I don’t
believe you came here to help Davenport. You aint got no money to buy
cattle.”

This started us off on a new topic of conversation, but Henderson
seemed to find fault with everything I said. I couldn’t reply to a
single question but it would start some spiteful remark on his part. I
really did not see how the men stood it. Finally Coyote Bill came back,
and I noticed that his pipe was empty. He had smoked it out with the
chief in gaining his point, and I wanted to hear him say that he had
obtained permission to torture me at sunrise; but he said nothing of
the kind, so that was one lie of Henderson’s nailed.

“Carlos, you had better go to sleep,” were the first words he spoke.
“We have got a long ride before us in the morning, and you won’t feel a
bit like getting up.”

“You want to watch him close for fear that he will escape,” chimed
in Henderson, who could not possibly let a chance go without saying
something.

“He won’t escape. He won’t try to; will you, Carlos?” continued Bill,
turning to me.

“Not much,” I said. “Where shall I lie down so that I will not be in
the way?”

Bill selected a place, and picking up my saddle and bridle--I do not
know what made me hang on to them, for I did not suppose I would
be allowed to ride my own horse in the morning--and with a cheery
“Good-night, fellows; pleasant dreams,” I laid down on it. The majority
of the men never paid any attention to my salutation. Bill was the only
one who noticed it, and he said: “Thank you; the same to you,” and that
made me think more than ever that he had been well brought up.

“That’s a brave fellow,” I heard him say as I arranged my saddle for
a pillow and laid down with my back to the fire. “It would be a great
pity if anything should happen to him.”

“And you are going to give him a chance to escape in the morning,”
growled Henderson. “I wish to goodness----”

“Go to bed,” said Coyote Bill, in his ordinary tone of voice.

“I wish to goodness that you, or any fellow like you,” began Henderson,
“had sense enough to see----”

“Go to bed!” said Bill, and in an instant his revolver was out and
was looking Henderson squarely in the eyes. This was the third time
that Henderson had been placed in a similar situation, but on this
occasion he didn’t say anything back. He knew that Bill was in just the
right mood to shoot. He gathered up his saddle and blanket,--I didn’t
have any blanket to cover myself with, and the nights were getting
cold,--and that was the last I saw of him that night.

“I made it,” said Bill, as soon as Henderson was out of hearing. “I
smoked a pipe with the chief, and he came over to my way of thinking.
Jack, you will ride down to the house with us in the morning.”

“But look here, Bill,” said the man who had done most of the talking
with me. “Don’t you think those boys would be some kin to the biggest
kind of dunces if they went off to escape from the hostiles, an’ left
their plunder buried where you could find it? That’s what’s been
running in my head ever since you went out to see the chief.”

“No, I don’t think so,” replied Bill. “They went off in a hurry, did
they not, and forgot to take some of their things with them. We have
made thirty thousand dollars this trip, and that is something worth
having.”

“Yes, an’ that dog-gone muel got away from us. I expect that lucky
feller at the ranch will have him.”

“Well, we can’t help that. And if I don’t find the money this time,
I have got something else in store for Bob. I’ll pounce on him every
chance, and steal his cattle by piece-meal, until he is driven from the
country. And I wish to goodness that he had never come into it.”

“Here, too! I don’t believe there was any half a million dollars
wrapped up in his hide.”

“Oh, yes! there was. But we can’t touch it now. Those men have been to
Austin and got the will probated----”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They have been to Austin and got it proved, and the property is all in
Bob’s name. What we would have done if we had captured Bob in the place
of this Carlos, I don’t know. Henderson thinks he could have got Bob to
sign the money over to him, but what good would it have done? They’d
say right away that we had gained the signature by fraud, and then
we would have a war on our hands, I bet you. As it is, we can keep on
stealing cattle; we will have a few Rangers to whip, and that’s all it
will amount to. I am going to bed.”

I do not know that I was in any condition to produce sleep, surrounded
as I was by men who had talked with satisfaction of seeing me tortured
at sunrise; but it is a fact that, as soon as Coyote Bill sought his
blankets, I sank into an untroubled slumber, from which I was awakened
by Bill’s shaking me and ordering me to catch up. I started up, only to
find that somebody had thrown a blanket over me while I was asleep, and
to see that the camp of Indians was gone, and that there was no one in
sight except Coyote Bill, his man Gentleman Jack,--I did not know what
else to call him,--and Henderson.

“They have all gone away with the cattle,” said Bill, noting my
feelings of surprise. “You wouldn’t have us stay around here with eight
hundred head of stock to be captured, would you? They have gone off to
the Staked Plains.”

I noticed while Coyote Bill was talking that the guns were scattered
all around, and you will, no doubt, wonder that I did not catch one
of them up and turn the tables on them. There was a price of five
thousand dollars set upon the head of Coyote Bill, and it would have
been a fine thing for me to march them all in as prisoners, but I knew
a story worth two of that. One was, I didn’t know how many pistols Bill
had about his person; another was, there might be some men in camp a
short distance away who would upend me before I fairly got the gun
pointed; and furthermore, I was firmly convinced that if I did just as
I was told to do, my release would come in good time, and without the
necessity of shedding anybody’s blood. I tell you it stands a fellow
well in hand to take all these points into consideration.

Breakfast over--and we ate it in a hurry, everyone being obliged to
cook his bacon on a forked stick over the coals--there was nothing left
for us to do but get under way. According to Bill’s order, I picked up
my saddle and followed him through the woods to the prairie, and there
I found my horse tied up to a brush. I was glad to see him again, and
when I got on him he was all ready for a race. During the whole of that
day we travelled without scarcely exchanging a word, but I noticed that
at the top of every swell the outlaws stopped and carefully examined
the ground before them. But no one was in sight, and finally, just as
the sun was setting, we came within sight of Bob’s ranch. There was no
one about it, not even a steer or a horse. I saw that Bill carried my
weapons about with him, and I thought that now was his time to hand
them to me, but Bill had different ideas in his own mind.

“Appearances are often deceptive,” said he. “Carlos, suppose you ride
on and see if there is anybody about that house. If you don’t find
anybody, wave your hat to us.”

“Anybody can see that he has a fine chance for escape,” snarled
Henderson, who was as mad now as he had been the night before. “I wish
I had your power!”

“What would you do with it?” asked Coyote Bill.

“I would let him feel one of the bullets in my pistol,” said
Henderson. “You won’t get anything out of that ranch as long as you let
him escape. He heard every word you said last night.”

“Did you, Carlos?”

“Yes, sir; I did,” said I. I thought I might as well tell the truth as
tell a lie. My heart was in my mouth, but I looked Bill squarely in the
eye.

“Well, I want to know if you are going to tell it?”

“If you tell me not to, I shan’t. I won’t say anything about it while
you are around. I shall go for the States as soon as I can get there,
and Tom will go with me.”

“That will suit me exactly. I am satisfied. Now, go on and see if you
can find anything around that ranch.”

Coyote Bill touched his hat--I have thought more than once from the way
he saluted that he had been in the army--and I rode off. Some things,
which I had gone over so many times that I had them by heart, promptly
came back to me. I wondered if any man who was captured by hostile
Indians was ever treated that way before. What Coyote Bill saw about
me; whether he thought there was something that reminded him of other
and happier days, I don’t know. Anyhow, he had saved me from a horrible
death, and for that I was grateful. I don’t believe there was another
man in the world that could have done it. My horse neighed shrilly as
he approached the house, but there was no one who came out to answer
him. I kept on till I got to the porch, and there I found the door
open and everything in the greatest confusion. The ranch looked almost
as bad as it did when Tom Mason got through searching for the lost
pocket-book, only the things were not all piled in the same place. I
got off from my horse and went in. Bob Davenport’s pillow was on the
floor, but the heavy bag of gold which he had left after paying off his
men was gone. I looked in the place where my money was hidden and found
that it was gone, too. Bob hadn’t left in such a hurry that he had
forgotten to take his valuables with him. I knew that Coyote Bill was
depending on something he never could find, but then I freely forgave
him. It was a plan of his to aid me in my escape. When I had fully
satisfied myself that the money had been taken, I went out on the porch
and waved my hat to Bill, and then I went into the grove to look where
Sam Noble had concealed his, but that also had been taken away. Poor
Sam! He would never miss his money now. And I wondered what had become
of the other two cowboys. I didn’t like to enquire about it.

“It is gone, is it?” exclaimed Bill, who at that moment came galloping
up. “Well, we have had our trouble for our pains. How do things look in
the house?”

“You can go in and see, but everything that will be of use to you has
been removed,” said I. “Are you going to burn the house?”

“Burn it? What should I want to burn it for? I want Bob to come back
here and live.”

“And you are mighty foolish for telling me of it,” said I to myself. “I
will never let him stay in this house again. That’s one thing that I
didn’t promise to keep to myself.”

Coyote Bill tossed his reins to his man and went in, but he did not
spend much time in looking around. It was plain to him that no money
could be concealed there, and finally he came out, took my rifle off
his back and handed it to me.

“There you are,” said he, “and I want you to understand that the gun
hasn’t been fired since you gave it up. There’s your revolvers. Now
buckle them around your waist, so that I can see how you look.”

I wondered what Bill was thinking of when he did this, but I took the
belt and put it around my waist where it belonged, and looked up for
the man to tell what else he had on his mind.

“Now, Henderson, you’re even,” said Bill. “You said, if you had the
power, you’d make him taste one of the bullets in your pistol. Now go
ahead.”

I turned toward Henderson, and saw that his right hand was fumbling
with the pistol in his holster. A minute more and he would have me
covered with it. I looked toward Bill to see what he thought about it.

“You’re even,” said he, stepping back a pace or two. “You have got more
weapons than he has.”

I saw the point Coyote Bill was trying to get at, and in a second I had
Henderson’s head covered with one of my revolvers.

“Hands up!” said I hotly; and his hands came up.

“Bill, I didn’t think that of you,” said Henderson, who was fairly
beside himself with rage.

“You told me that all you wanted was to get the power in your hands,”
said Bill. “Now you have it, and I don’t see why you don’t use it. Be
quick!”

I kept my eyes fastened upon Henderson, and, fearing that Bill’s taunts
might lead him to do something wrong, for which he would always be
sorry,--for there was a good deal of derision in what Bill said, and it
showed what a high estimation he had of Henderson’s courage,--I held
my revolver in readiness for a shot, and stepped forward and took his
gun from its holster and handed it to Bill. The latter took it with an
expression of great disgust on his face, looked at it a moment, and
sent it as far out on the prairie as his sinewy arm could throw it.

“I don’t see what your object is in shooting me, who haven’t done you
any harm,” I said, addressing myself to Henderson, “but I tell you not
to attempt anything with that rifle. If you do, I will tumble you off
your saddle!”

“Henderson will not attempt to shoot us with that,” said Bill. “If he
does he will have three of us to contend with, and I think that is
rather more than he can manage. Now, Henderson, go for Austin as soon
as you can get there.”

“And give up my share of those thirty thousand dollars?” exclaimed
Henderson, his astonishment getting the better of his alarm. “Now,
Bill, that isn’t right!”

Almost before Henderson had got through with these words of protest,
Bill’s hand laid hold of his revolver, while with the other he pointed
out the direction he was to follow. I noticed that Jack’s revolver
came out also--he had been sitting in his saddle all this time--and
rested across the horn, directly in range with Henderson’s person. He
saw that everything was up with him, and without saying a word turned
his horse and rode away; and I may add that was the last I ever saw of
Henderson. We went to Austin a short time afterward, and, although we
kept a bright lookout for him, not a thing did we see of him. Whatever
became of him I don’t know.

“Well, Carlos, so-long,” said Bill, when Henderson had ridden away out
of hearing. “I hope you will reach the States in safety. Put it there.”

“Are you going to leave me here?” said I, overjoyed.

“Yes, I reckon we might as well. What do you say, Jack?”

“Let the kid go. He’s a brave lad,” returned Jack.

“Now, Bill,” said I, as I took the outlaw’s hand in mine, “I want to
say something, if I thought you would not take it to heart.”

“No preaching, now!” said Bill, with a laugh.

“No, I won’t preach. Why do you do this?”

“Well, that’s preaching, and I didn’t agree to answer every one of your
questions.”

“You see something about me that reminds you of days when you did not
do this way,” said I. “That person don’t know where you are, and----”

“That’s neither here nor there,” said Bill impatiently. “So-long,
Carlos. Come on, Jack.”

Jack reached down from his saddle in order to give me a good shake, and
then clattered off up the prairie after Bill. I stood and watched them
for a long time, but neither of them looked around, and finally the
nearest swell hid them from sight. There was something good about that
man, and I never heard of him afterward. Probably he lost his life in
some of his numerous raiding expeditions. But there was one thing about
it: He left one boy behind who was sorry for him.



CHAPTER XVIII. CONCLUSION.


When Coyote Bill and Jack had disappeared, and a glance in the
direction Henderson had gone showed me that he also had vanished, I
began to think about myself. I was alone on the prairie, but I didn’t
care for that as much as I did for the safety of Bob Davenport and
the men who had gone away with him. I staked out my horse, and while
I was thinking about it, it occurred to me that now was the time to
find Henderson’s revolver. I had taken particular notice of where
it fell; and after half an hour’s looking I had the satisfaction of
securing the weapon which had so nearly been the cause of my death. It
was silver-mounted, of forty-five calibre, just big enough to take the
cartridges intended for his rifle, and on the trigger-guard bore the
name of its luckless owner, Clifford Henderson.

“Good!” said I, taking my steps back toward the ranch. “As often as
I look at it I shall remember him, and if Bob doesn’t want it, I will
always keep it. Let’s see what effect this bullet would have had upon
me.”

Sitting on a tree close by was a robin--I knew that the weather was
getting cold up North, for the birds had already come down to us--and I
tried the bullet on the robin from where I stood, and saw him come down
without his head. If Clifford Henderson was as good a shot as I was, he
could not well have missed me at that distance.

The next thing was to find something to eat, and then came a pipe,
during which I thought the matter over. There was one thing on which I
had long ago made up my mind, even before separating from Coyote Bill,
and that was that Bob Davenport should not be permitted to stay in
that ranch any longer than I could help. Coyote Bill was determined to
have that money or drive him from the country. I gained this much from
the conversation that Bill had had with some of his men, and how was I
to prevent it? I was going to the States, and I was resolved that Bob
should go too. I was getting sick and tired of so much pistol-drawing,
I did not want to see any more of it, and I would get back among
civilized men. There was where I belonged, anyway. And Tom Mason, he
must go along too, and relieve the suspense which I knew his aged
relative would feel at not hearing from him in so long. He did not know
but Tom was dead, and a letter would go far to cheer him up. But how
should I go to work upon Bob and Tom and so get them out on the water,
where I could tell them everything? Well, there was another day coming,
and I would see how it looked after I had slept on it.

The next day passed and still another, and in the meantime I employed
myself in bringing order out of the confusion in the ranch and making
it look as though somebody lived there, and not a sign did I see of the
returning Bob Davenport. I began to think something had happened to
them. I did not dare to go out to look for them, for I might run across
some men belonging to Coyote Bill’s band, who wouldn’t treat me half as
well as their leader did, so I thought I had best stay right where I
was. On the evening of the sixth day, when I had got so worked up that
I didn’t think I could stand it any longer, I was startled out of a
year’s growth by seeing a body of horsemen approaching the ranch.

“Is that Henderson?” I exclaimed, feeling the cold chills creep all
over me. “If it is, he has brought men enough with him to complete his
work. I will give them as good as I have got.”

I rushed into the house, and when I came out my rifle was in my hands
and my revolvers strapped around my waist. The horsemen had by this
time approached near the ranch, and I could make out that one of them
was Bob Davenport. How I cheered and yelled at them! An answering yell
came in response, and in a few minutes I was shaking my friends by the
hand. I never hoped to see them looking so well; there wasn’t one of
them that had been hurt. To repeat the questions that were propounded
to me were impossible, but in a few minutes I gave them to understand
that I had escaped from the enemy all right, that I had seen the place
where Sam Noble had been knocked in the head, and that I had stayed
around outside the ranch for two days before I mustered up courage
enough to return to it. Oh, what a lie that was! But it served my
purpose very well, and besides I told Bill that I wouldn’t repeat what
he said about Bob, where it would do him any harm. When I got him away
I could tell him my story. Did I do wrong in keeping the promise I made
to an outlaw? Remember he was the man who had placed me where I was
that day. If that man had withdrawn his protection from me I would have
died an agonizing death.

“Well, you have had a time of it!” said Bob, who pulled up a chair and
seated himself beside me. “We have been to Austin twice, and Tom got a
letter off to his uncle.”

“Good enough!” said I, feeling that a big load had been removed from my
shoulders. “Tom, you and I will go to the States together.”

“Are you going, too?” exclaimed Bob. “Well, I am going, and that will
make three. Elam, here, thinks he can’t go.”

In fact I hadn’t looked toward Elam, but I looked at him now, and his
face was as long as you please. He didn’t like it when his friends were
talking of going away and leaving him.

“And that isn’t all,” continued Bob. “You know that those soldiers
who came by here before you left told us that the savages had made an
attack on the paymaster, and made an attempt to secure the thirty-five
thousand dollars which he was taking to pay off the garrison at Fort
Worth. They tried to shoot the mules, and they got all of them except
one, and he ran most all the way to Austin.”

“Didn’t they catch him?” I asked; and I felt that I was going to hear
something thrilling. Bill’s men had spoken of this a time or two,
and predicted that Tom’s luck would stand him well in hand if he was
disposed to look for this mule, too, but somehow I didn’t pay much
attention to them; but now I knew that Tom had had a finger in this
also. That fellow just beat the world for finding things!

“Has Tom found it?” I continued, so amazed that I could hardly speak.

“Yes, sir! Tom has found it,” said Bob. “We heard about it when we were
in Austin, but we had so many other things to think of that we hardly
thought of it again; but on our way home we ran across the mule in a
little grove of post-oaks.”

“Dead, was he?”

“As dead as a door-nail. But we found the specie all right, and we
took it back to Austin, and gave it to a paymaster there. You see the
paymaster that had charge of the money was killed in the fight. We told
him that we wanted a thousand dollars for giving it up, and he said he
would write on to Washington and see what they said about it.”

“I don’t want anything for it,” said Tom.

“That’s what he tried to say when he was in the presence of the
paymaster,” said Bob. “The United States is worth more than he is, and
I resolved that he should have that amount of money. That was fair,
wasn’t it? We’ll stop and get it when we go back.”

“Of course it was. But, Bob, what put it into your head to go up to the
States?”

“Well, I think I will be safer there than I will anywhere else,”
said Bob. “Those fellows were after my money, I can see that plainly
enough, and I will take it and put it in some bank out of their reach.
Perhaps then they will let me alone. I have given all my cattle to Lem
and Frank to keep for me until I come back. You don’t see many cattle
around here, do you?”

I confessed that I had not seen a head of stock since I came to the
ranch, and that was six days ago. But I knew where they were. Those
that had escaped the clutches of the savages were mixed up with Mr.
Chisholm’s cattle, and it would be a week’s job to get them out.

“I am glad you have decided to go, and I didn’t know how I was going to
talk it into you,” said I. “You will have to see Mr. Chisholm first. He
is your guardian, you know. But what are you going to do with Elam? He
must be provided for.”

“He has hired him out to Lem and me,” said Frank.

I looked at Elam, and he didn’t seem to be at all satisfied with the
change. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes
fastened on the floor. Bob got up, moved his chair close to his side,
and threw his arm over Elam’s shoulder.

“If this doesn’t suit you, say the word, and you will go North with
me,” said he. “Our people up there will be glad to see you.”

“No, I can’t do it,” said Elam. “I’d see so many broadcloth fellers
up there that I’d want to get away an’ hide in a belt of post-oaks. I
don’t belong up there, anyway.”

“But, Elam, I am coming back.”

“Well, when you come back, I’ll talk to you. Now, go away an’ let me
alone. I can bear it best by myself.”

To make a long story short--for we lost no time in getting out of
Texas--we made up our minds to start for Mr. Chisholm’s bright and
early the next morning. It would take us two days to get there. Bob had
all my money, as well as the funds belonging to the cowboys, and we
knew that they were safe. I said nothing about my coming back to search
for the hidden valuables in the hope of turning them over to Coyote
Bill, or about Henderson’s attempts to draw a revolver on me, for that
was a part of Bill’s plan to aid me in my escape; and, besides, that
was a secret that was locked in my own breast until we got to sea.

“Poor Sam won’t want his money any more,” said I. “I saw the place
where he lost his life. But the other two cowboys I didn’t see. I hope
they are at Mr. Chisholm’s.”

I never slept so well in that ranch as I did that night, for I looked
upon it as a little short of a miracle that my party had all come back
to me. They had travelled all the way to Austin twice, and had never
seen an Indian. That was better than I did, for I wanted to tell of
the scenes I had witnessed in that camp, but there was no need of it.
When morning came, and we started on our way, I kept a close watch of
the prairie almost in fear of seeing some of Bill’s band, but they
had taken their eight hundred cattle away to be slaughtered, and I
never saw them again. Eight hundred cattle, did I say? I believed they
had more than that. By separating his band after the attack on the
paymaster was made, the chief had been able to attack half a dozen
ranches almost at the same moment, and got away with some cattle at
each place. I thought that eight thousand head of stock would more
nearly fill his bill. In due time we pulled up at Mr. Chisholm’s ranch
just at supper time, and there I saw something that made me feel
good--a couple of fellows sitting in chairs, who were evidently too
badly hurt to move about. The one had an arrow through his foot, the
other had something the matter with his arm; but the way they greeted
us proved that there was nothing the trouble with their lungs. They
were the two cowboys who had been out with Sam Noble herding stock. But
they had not seen me when I was captured, they were miles away by that
time, and so I breathed easy.

“Well, by gum! if you fellows aint here yet,” said Mr. Chisholm. “Where
did you leave the Indians?”

“Didn’t see any while we were gone,” said Bob, who ran up the stairs
to the porch and fairly hugged the wounded cowboys. “How do you do,
anyway? You have seen some Indians, haven’t you? How did you boys
manage to escape?”

It was a story that was soon told. The Indians got after them down at
the gully--how well I remembered where it was!--and killed Sam and his
horse dead at the first fire. The others threw themselves behind their
horses, Indian fashion, and got safely off, if we except the two arrows
that went through them.

“But my money is what troubles me,” said the one who did the talking.
“My money is what bothers me, dog-gone ’em! They went to our ranch an’
got everything we had.”

“How do you know?” asked Bob. “I slept at the ranch last night, and
found something.”

“I guess you dug it up before you went away, didn’t you?” said the
cowboy, who was overjoyed to hear that his money was safe. “I can rest
easy now. That’s what comes of having a friend.”

That night, after supper, the money which Bob had taken the precaution
to carry with him, when running from the Indians, was again paid out to
the men with the exception of the thousand dollars due Sam Noble. This
was paid to Mr. Chisholm in the hope that some of his heirs might claim
it, when it was to be given to them. Then our errand was broached--that
we were going to the States--and it threw a damper on all of them,
all except Mr. Chisholm. He had been thinking about it ever since the
attack was made upon the paymaster, and to our surprise and delight he
said:

“Boys, it is the best thing you can do, and the sooner you get about it
the better you will suit me. If you were my own boys who were going off
I couldn’t feel worse about it. But you don’t say anything about Elam.”

“He doesn’t want to go,” said Bob. “But we are coming back here again,
or at least to Denver, and if he will buy some cattle and get back
there by next summer, we will see him.”

“I can’t go,” said Elam. “I don’t belong in that country anyway.”

The next thing was to arrange it so that Elam could work for some of
the cowboys during the winter, and so be on hand to buy the cattle
when spring opened up. Finding the two wounded cowboys there with
Mr. Chisholm slightly interfered with our plans, for now we were
compelled to divide the stock into four instead of two equal parts;
but the cowboys were all in favor of it, and each one agreed to take
Elam as long as he was willing to stay with them. But Elam was already
satisfied with the arrangements he had made with Lem and Frank, and
concluded he would stay with them. When he made this decision he got up
and went out of doors. I could see that Bob didn’t like it a bit. He
wished he could prevail upon Elam to go North with him.

“It isn’t any use,” said Mr. Chisholm. “He belongs down here, and here
he is going to stay. Now let’s go to bed, all of us. In the morning I
will have you up at the first peep of day.”

The next morning we ate breakfast by the aid of the light thrown out
by the camp fire on the hearth, and before we were fairly done we
received the order “catch up.” I tell you it was hard work to part from
those wounded cowboys, for we had known them longer than we had anybody
else. The one who had the arrow through his arm insisted that he would
go to Austin with us, but Mr. Chisholm, like Uncle Ezra in a similar
case, “put his foot down,” and said he should stay right there on the
ranch and never go out of it until he came back. We waved our hats to
them as long as we remained in sight, and when the neighboring swells
hid them from view, we felt that we had parted from some of our best
friends. In due time we reached Austin and put up at the same hotel we
stopped at before, only Lem and Frank didn’t receive orders to sit on
the porch and look out for Henderson. We all put away our horses and
bent our steps toward the bank. The cashier was there, and he said Mr.
Wallace was in his private office. He was busy with his papers,--in
fact he always seemed to be busy,--but he laid them down when we came
in.

“Hello, Chisholm,” said he. “What’s up?”

“These boys here have made up their minds to go to the States, and I
want to sign Bob’s papers,” said he. “Get ’em all out so’t I can have
them off’n my mind.”

“Ah, yes! sit down,” said the banker. “Bob, how are you? You see, you
didn’t go through any forms the last time you were here, and I must
have some now. If this boy is going to take his money away from me and
deposit it in some Northern bank, I must have a paper which authorizes
me to give up the money. It was all right before, but it has got to be
changed now,” he added, when he saw Mr. Chisholm double up his huge
fist and move it up and down over the table. “Sit down, and I’ll send
for a lawyer to come right here.”

It was all very easy for the banker to say “sit down,” but Mr. Chisholm
preferred to stand, seeing that none of his men could be seated at the
same time. Mr. Wallace sent for a lawyer, giving some instructions
which I did not understand, and in a few minutes the gentleman made
his appearance with a roll of papers in his hand. He received some
orders from Mr. Wallace, and in less time than it takes to tell it
the document was ready for his signature. Mr. Chisholm protested, but
he signed his name, and then the money was ready for Bob; the banker
presenting him with the box which contained his stocks and bonds, and
with a check drawn on a bank on New Orleans for the rest of his funds.

“Now, Bob, good-by,” said the banker, rising to his feet and extending
his hand. “I hope you will get through with your money safe. Don’t let
anybody steal it from you.”

“Steal it?” echoed Bob.

“Certainly. You will find plenty of people on the road who will gladly
relieve you of that box. Put it in your trunk, and stand guard over it
day and night.”

“By George! I never thought of that,” said Bob, looking distressed.
“Elam, you come with me. Mr. Chisholm and Tom will have to go with the
rest to call upon that paymaster.”

Tom Mason knew where to find the paymaster’s office, and with the
distinct understanding that he was to ask for one thousand dollars
for returning that money, we left the banker, and Bob pursued his way
to his hotel. We found the paymaster there, and he recognized Tom the
moment he came in.

“You’re back already, aint you?” said he. “Well, I haven’t heard from
Washington yet, but I tell you plainly that I don’t think you will
receive more than one-tenth of the sum you returned to us. Five hundred
dollars will more than pay you for that.”

“These boys have made up their minds to go to the States,” said Mr.
Chisholm.

“Very well. You have a power of attorney, I suppose?”

“No, I haven’t got that,” said Mr. Chisholm, wondering what new “form”
he would have to go through.

“You will have to go to an attorney to get it,” said the paymaster. “Of
course, if he is going away, I shall have to have authority to pay the
money to somebody.”

“By gum! Bring on the paper,” said Mr. Chisholm, looking around for a
chair in which to seat himself.

“But I haven’t got the paper here. You will have to go to a lawyer to
get it.”

Mr. Chisholm slowly went out of the paymaster’s office, and we all
followed him. He kept on without saying a word, and finally he stopped
in the office of the surrogate--the same man who had looked into his
pistol when he was here before. In a few words he made known to him the
situation.

“Why, certainly; you must have a power of attorney if you want to
get the money,” said the surrogate. “I will make you out one in five
minutes. But, mind you, you needn’t show it until you see a chance of
getting the money.”

This new “form” was complied with, and Mr. Chisholm paid the surrogate
the sum of ten dollars for his paper. In fact, I noticed that he didn’t
charge less than ten dollars for anything. On the way back to the hotel
Tom offered him the money, but Mr. Chisholm waved it aside.

“I am willing to pay ten dollars to have my eyes opened,” said he. “If
anybody ever gets me to sign any papers again, I want to know it. I am
done probating wills.”

Bob was considerably disappointed when he found that Tom wasn’t going
to get his money, but of course he saw that it was all right. The next
day we spent in buying clothes, and devoted the next to the purchase of
souvenirs to remind Tom of his cattle life in Texas. On the next day
Tom’s letter came. Some parts of it were brief and to the point, and
ran as follows:

  You had better come home now, and forget all about that five thousand
  dollars. You didn’t take it anyway, and why should the matter be laid
  to you? Your uncle walks with a cane, and was so excited over your
  letter that he brought it to me to reply to it. Come home and see him
  at any rate.

Tom Mason was in dead earnest to go home after receiving that letter.
He never expected to receive a letter like that from Joe Coleman, but
then Joe wasn’t down on him any more than the rest of “Our Fellows”
were. The very next day we brought our trunks down, all ready to take
the stage to Houston by way of Clinton, six miles from the sea. Mr.
Chisholm was there as well as the cowboys, but I couldn’t see anything
of Elam. I had already given him my horse, and the way he received it
told me that he considered that a good-by.

“Well, boys, if I don’t see you again, hallo,” said Mr. Chisholm,
hastily drawing his hand across his eyes. “You are going far away, and
there’s no knowing what will happen to you. So-long.”

We got aboard, the driver cracked his whip, and we were whirled away
from some of the best friends a man ever had. Bob was very lonely after
that, and it was only when he reached Clinton and saw the steamer that
was to carry him across the Gulf to New Orleans, that he recovered his
usual spirits. Tom Mason now assumed charge--he was more at home in
that line of business than we were--and in less than half an hour after
we reached Clinton we were aboard the ship, our passage paid, and we
were sitting on the deck watching the stevedores at their labor. This I
thought to be a good time for my story, and I brought out the revolver
with Clifford Henderson’s name on the trigger guard, and for an hour
those fellows scarcely interrupted me. They listened spellbound. When I
was through they drew a long breath of relief.

“You have kept your word, if it was made to an outlaw,” said Bob. “Now,
what do you suppose his object was? He has always seen something about
you that took his eye.”

“I am as much in the dark as you are,” I replied. “I only know that he
saved me from death.”

For a long time after this Coyote Bill was our principal subject of
conversation, until the steamer got under way, and then we had other
topics to talk about. In due time we arrived in New Orleans and there
we spent just one day, in order to deposit our money in the bank.
We did not know how long we should remain at Tom Mason’s home, and
we thought that would be the best place for it. At four o’clock we
took passage on a steamer from which we were not to get off until we
reached Tom’s destination. The torches were lighted when we drew up to
the landing, but we saw there a carriage and an old gray-headed man
leaning on a cane. I knew it was General Mason before Tom spoke.

“There’s my uncle!” he exclaimed, almost wild with delight. “My
goodness, how he has changed!”

Tom ran down to the forecastle and cleared the long jump of ten feet to
reach the bank, and hastened up to where the old man stood. We turned
away, for we did not care to see that meeting between uncle and nephew,
and when we got our luggage ashore, and the steamer was backing out
to continue her journey up the river, Tom came down to us. It was the
first time I had seen him cry, but he blew his nose with a blast like a
trumpet.

“These are the boys who stood up for me when I was friendless and
alone,” said he. “Bob Davenport and Carlos Burnett. I really wish Elam
was here, so that you could shake him by the hand, for he is the one
who took me up when I was starving.”

“Where is he?” ejaculated the old gentleman, who tried not to show how
delighted he was. “Go and get him. I want to see him.”

As it was somewhere near a thousand miles to the place where we had
left Elam, we didn’t say anything about going after him. We passed it
off in some way, and followed the old man into the carriage. We didn’t
go to sleep at all that night, for the general was anxious to hear
where we had been, and what we had been doing, since Tom went away.
When day broke I went on the porch and looked around. There was a
splendid plantation; everything was in apple-pie order, and a host of
servants ready to do his bidding, and what Tom could make by running
away from a home like that, I didn’t see. I expressed as much to him
when he came out there later.

“Because I was a fool,” said he. “Nobody could make anything by
running away from a home like this, but I tell you it has opened my
eyes. I feel as if I had got among friends from whom I have long been
separated.”

That day I made the acquaintance of “Our Fellows,” who rode down to see
us, and I tell you I found them good fellows, every one. Tom Mason was
getting up on a par with Sandy Todd now, for with this exception he was
head and shoulders above every one of them. His sleeping in the open
air for almost a year had done wonders for him.

We haven’t been to the plains yet to settle up with Uncle Ezra and to
see Elam, but we are going as soon as spring opens. After that Tom will
settle down as he used to be before, only he will have the management
of the plantation. I have been hunting on several occasions with “Our
Fellows,” and if you could see Tom when he was toasting his shins in
front of our camp-fire and telling his stories, you would say that none
of his adventures ever had so great an effect on him as those that
befell him in Texas.

THE END.

       *       *       *       *       *

FAMOUS STANDARD JUVENILE LIBRARIES.

ANY VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY AT $1.00 PER VOLUME

(Except the Sportsman’s Club Series, Frank Nelson Series and Jack
Hazard Series.)

Each Volume Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth.

       *       *       *       *       *

HORATIO ALGER, JR.

The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., show the
greatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is one
of their most favored writers. I am told that more than half a million
copies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulating
libraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only two
or three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true,
what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr.
Alger’s books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but never
equaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite their
similarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear.

Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book,
“Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York.” It was his first book for
young people, and its success was so great that he immediately devoted
himself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for a
writer then, and Mr. Alger’s treatment of it at once caught the fancy
of the boys. “Ragged Dick” first appeared in 1868, and ever since then
it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about
200,000 copies of the series have been sold.

  --_Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls._

A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy with them. He should
be able to enter into their plans, hopes, and aspirations. He should
learn to look upon life as they do. Boys object to be written down to.
A boy’s heart opens to the man or writer who understands him.

  --From _Writing Stories for Boys_, by Horatio Alger, Jr.

RAGGED DICK SERIES.

6 vols. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $6.00

  Ragged Dick.
  Fame and Fortune.
  Mark the Match Boy.
  Rough and Ready.
  Ben the Luggage Boy.
  Rufus and Rose.

TATTERED TOM SERIES--First Series.

4 vols. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $4.00

  Tattered Tom.
  Paul the Peddler.
  Phil the Fiddler.
  Slow and Sure.

TATTERED TOM SERIES--Second Series.

4 vols. $4.00

  Julius.
  The Young Outlaw.
  Sam’s Chance.
  The Telegraph Boy.

CAMPAIGN SERIES.

3 vols. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00

  Frank’s Campaign.
  Charlie Codman’s Cruise.
  Paul Prescott’s Charge.

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES--First Series.

4 vols. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $4.00

  Luck and Pluck.
  Sink or Swim.
  Strong and Steady.
  Strive and Succeed.

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES--Second Series.

4 vols. $4.00

  Try and Trust.
  Bound to Rise.
  Risen from the Ranks.
  Herbert Carter’s Legacy.

BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES.

4 vols. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $4.00

  Brave and Bold.
  Jack’s Ward.
  Shifting for Himself.
  Wait and Hope.

NEW WORLD SERIES.

3 vols. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00

  Digging for Gold.
  Facing the World.
  In a New World.

VICTORY SERIES.

3 vols. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00

  Only an Irish Boy.
  Adrift in the City.
  Victor Vane, or the Young Secretary.

FRANK AND FEARLESS SERIES.

3 vols. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00

  Frank Hunter’s Peril.
  Frank and Fearless.
  The Young Salesman.

GOOD FORTUNE LIBRARY.

3 vols. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00

  Walter Sherwood’s Probation.
  A Boy’s Fortune.
  The Young Bank Messenger.

RUPERT’S AMBITION.

1 vol. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $1.00

JED, THE POOR-HOUSE BOY.

1 vol. BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. $1.00

       *       *       *       *       *

HARRY CASTLEMON.

HOW I CAME TO WRITE MY FIRST BOOK.

When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composition class. It was
our custom to go on the recitation seat every day with clean slates,
and we were allowed ten minutes to write seventy words on any subject
the teacher thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out “What a
Man Would See if He Went to Greenland.” My heart was in the matter, and
before the ten minutes were up I had one side of my slate filled. The
teacher listened to the reading of our compositions, and when they were
all over he simply said: “Some of you will make your living by writing
one of these days.” That gave me something to ponder upon. I did not
say so out loud, but I knew that my composition was as good as the best
of them. By the way, there was another thing that came in my way just
then. I was reading at that time one of Mayne Reid’s works which I had
drawn from the library, and I pondered upon it as much as I did upon
what the teacher said to me. In introducing Swartboy to his readers
he made use of this expression: “No visible change was observable in
Swartboy’s countenance.” Now, it occurred to me that if a man of his
education could make such a blunder as that and still write a book, I
ought to be able to do it, too. I went home that very day and began a
story, “The Old Guide’s Narrative,” which was sent to the _New York
Weekly_, and came back, respectfully declined. It was written on both
sides of the sheets but I didn’t know that this was against the rules.
Nothing abashed, I began another, and receiving some instruction, from
a friend of mine who was a clerk in a book store, I wrote it on only
one side of the paper. But mind you, he didn’t know what I was doing.
Nobody knew it; but one day, after a hard Saturday’s work--the other
boys had been out skating on the brick-pond--I shyly broached the
subject to my mother. I felt the need of some sympathy. She listened
in amazement, and then said: “Why, do you think you could write a book
like that?” That settled the matter, and from that day no one knew what
I was up to until I sent the first four volumes of Gunboat Series to
my father. Was it work? Well, yes; it was hard work, but each week I
had the satisfaction of seeing the manuscript grow until the “Young
Naturalist” was all complete.

  --_Harry Castlemon in the Writer._

GUNBOAT SERIES.

6 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $6.00

  Frank the Young Naturalist.
  Frank on a Gunboat.
  Frank in the Woods.
  Frank before Vicksburg.
  Frank on the Lower Mississippi.
  Frank on the Prairie.

ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.

3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00

  Frank Among the Rancheros.
  Frank in the Mountains.
  Frank at Don Carlos’ Rancho.

SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES.

3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.75

  The Sportsman’s Club in the Saddle.
  The Sportsman’s Club Afloat.
  The Sportsman’s Club Among the Trappers.

FRANK NELSON SERIES.

3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.75

  Snowed up.
  Frank in the Forecastle.
  The Boy Traders.

BOY TRAPPER SERIES.

3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00

  The Buried Treasure.
  The Boy Trapper.
  The Mail Carrier.

ROUGHING IT SERIES.

3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00

  George in Camp.
  George at the Fort.
  George at the Wheel.

ROD AND GUN SERIES.

3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00

  Don Gordon’s Shooting Box.
  The Young Wild Fowlers.
  Rod and Gun Club.

GO-AHEAD SERIES.

3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00

  Tom Newcombe.
  Go-Ahead.
  No Moss.

WAR SERIES.

6 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $6.00

  True to His Colors.
  Rodney the Partisan.
  Rodney the Overseer.
  Marcy the Blockade-Runner.
  Marcy the Refugee.
  Sailor Jack the Trader.

HOUSEBOAT SERIES.

3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00

  The Houseboat Boys.
  The Mystery of Lost River Cañon.
  The Young Game Warden.

AFLOAT AND ASHORE SERIES.

3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00

  Rebellion in Dixie.
  A Sailor in Spite of Himself.
  The Ten-Ton Cutter.

THE PONY EXPRESS SERIES.

3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00

  The Pony Express Rider.
  The White Beaver.
  Carl, The Trailer.

       *       *       *       *       *

EDWARD S. ELLIS.

Edward S. Ellis, the popular writer of boys’ books, is a native of
Ohio, where he was born somewhat more than a half-century ago. His
father was a famous hunter and rifle shot, and it was doubtless his
exploits and those of his associates, with their tales of adventure
which gave the son his taste for the breezy backwoods and for depicting
the stirring life of the early settlers on the frontier.

Mr. Ellis began writing at an early age and his work was acceptable
from the first. His parents removed to New Jersey while he was a boy
and he was graduated from the State Normal School and became a member
of the faculty while still in his teens. He was afterward principal of
the Trenton High School, a trustee and then superintendent of schools.
By that time his services as a writer had become so pronounced that
he gave his entire attention to literature. He was an exceptionally
successful teacher and wrote a number of text-books for schools, all of
which met with high favor. For these and his historical productions,
Princeton College conferred upon him the degree of Master of Arts.

The high moral character, the clean, manly tendencies and the admirable
literary style of Mr. Ellis’ stories have made him as popular on the
other side of the Atlantic as in this country. A leading paper remarked
some time since, that no mother need hesitate to place in the hands of
her boy any book written by Mr. Ellis. They are found in the leading
Sunday-school libraries, where, as may well be believed, they are in
wide demand and do much good by their sound, wholesome lessons which
render them as acceptable to parents as to their children. All of his
books published by Henry T. Coates & Co. are re-issued in London, and
many have been translated into other languages. Mr. Ellis is a writer
of varied accomplishments, and, in addition to his stories, is the
author of historical works, of a number of pieces of popular music
and has made several valuable inventions. Mr. Ellis is in the prime
of his mental and physical powers, and great as have been the merits
of his past achievements, there is reason to look for more brilliant
productions from his pen in the near future.

DEERFOOT SERIES.

3 vols. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $3.00

  Hunters of the Ozark.
  The Last War Trail.
  Camp in the Mountains.

LOG CABIN SERIES.

3 vols. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $3.00

  Lost Trail.
  Footprints in the Forest.
  Camp-Fire and Wigwam.

BOY PIONEER SERIES.

3 vols. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $3.00

  Ned in the Block-House.
  Ned on the River.
  Ned in the Woods.

THE NORTHWEST SERIES.

3 vols. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $3.00

  Two Boys in Wyoming.
  Cowmen and Rustlers.
  A Strange Craft and its Wonderful Voyage.

BOONE AND KENTON SERIES.

3 vols. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $3.00

  Shod with Silence.
  In the Days of the Pioneers.
  Phantom of the River.

IRON HEART, WAR CHIEF OF THE IROQUOIS.

1 vol. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $1.00

THE SECRET OF COFFIN ISLAND.

1 vol. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $1.00

THE BLAZING ARROW.

1 vol. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $1.00

       *       *       *       *       *

J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

Neither as a writer does he stand apart from the great currents of life
and select some exceptional phase or odd combination of circumstances.
He stands on the common level and appeals to the universal heart, and
all that he suggests or achieves is on the plane and in the line of
march of the great body of humanity.

The Jack Hazard series of stories, published in the late _Our Young
Folks_, and continued in the first volume of _St. Nicholas_, under the
title of “Fast Friends,” is no doubt destined to hold a high place
in this class of literature. The delight of the boys in them (and of
their seniors, too) is well founded. They go to the right spot every
time. Trowbridge knows the heart of a boy like a book, and the heart
of a man, too, and he has laid them both open in these books in a most
successful manner. Apart from the qualities that render the series so
attractive to all young readers, they have great value on account of
their portraitures of American country life and character. The drawing
is wonderfully accurate, and as spirited as it is true. The constable,
Sellick, is an original character, and as minor figures where will
we find anything better than Miss Wansey, and Mr. P. Pipkin, Esq.
The picture of Mr. Dink’s school, too, is capital, and where else in
fiction is there a better nick-name than that the boys gave to poor
little Stephen Treadwell, “Step Hen,” as he himself pronounced his name
in an unfortunate moment when he saw it in print for the first time in
his lesson in school.

On the whole, these books are very satisfactory, and afford the
critical reader the rare pleasure of the works that are just adequate,
that easily fulfill themselves and accomplish all they set out to
do.--_Scribner’s Monthly._

JACK HAZARD SERIES.

6 vols. BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE. $7.25

  Jack Hazard and His Fortunes.
  The Young Surveyor.
  Fast Friends.
  Doing His Best.
  A Chance for Himself.
  Lawrence’s Adventures.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUNDABOUT LIBRARY.

For Boys and Girls.

(97 Volumes.) 75c. per Volume.

The attention of Librarians and Bookbuyers generally is called to HENRY
T. COATES & CO.’S ROUNDABOUT LIBRARY, by the popular authors.

  EDWARD S. ELLIS,
  HORATIO ALGER, JR.,
  C. A. STEPHENS,
  MARGARET VANDEGRIFT,
  HARRY CASTLEMON,
  G. A. HENTY,
  LUCY C. LILLIE and others.

No authors of the present day are greater favorites with boys and girls.

Every book is sure to meet with a hearty reception by young readers.

Librarians will find them to be among the most popular books on their
lists.

_Complete lists and net prices furnished on application._

  HENRY T. COATES & CO.
  1222 CHESTNUT STREET
  PHILADELPHIA

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber’s Notes:

Harry Castlemon is a pseudonym for Charles Austin Fosdick.

Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are
mentioned.

Punctuation has been made consistent.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.





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