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.