“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.