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.