“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.