“Yes, that is the name I go by now,” said Coyote Bill, grinning when he
saw Henderson’s expression of astonishment. “What my other name is no
one in this country knows. Whenever you hear that name spoken you will
know what I look like. I came to this country the same as you did.”
“The same as I did?” echoed Henderson, his surprise increasing. “What
do you mean by that?”
“Why, you got into some trouble up there with the police and had to
skip, that’s what I mean. A man of your education does not come down to
this country of his own free will.”
“Well, that’s a fact,” said Henderson, breathing easy again. A
desperate scheme had occurred to him, suggested by the outlaw’s last
words. He was wishing for Scanlan all the time, thinking that he
would be likely to propose something by which he could possess himself
of his brother’s wealth, and right here was the man who, by a little
management, could be induced to act Scanlan’s part. He would try him at
any rate, but he wanted first to see how much Coyote Bill knew about
him.
“Are these all the men you have in your band?” asked Henderson, at
length.
“No,” laughed Bill, as if the very idea amused him. “I’ve got one or
two more scattered around on the plains somewhere.”
“That means that you have thirty or forty more,” said Henderson.
“Well, I’ve got some in Austin, and that’s where they have seen you.
Although I had never seen you before, I knew you the moment you hove in
sight.”
Again Henderson breathed easy. He knew he hadn’t said anything about
his kidnapping scheme in Austin, or anywhere else, that Coyote Bill
could have got hold of it, and consequently Bill was just guessing at
his reason for being in Texas.
“Who are those men? What did I say in their presence that led them to
guess why I had come down here?”
“Oh, you said enough! I aint going to tell you just what you said, for
fear that you would know those men when you get back. Is the man around
here that you have got anything against?”
“I will speak to you after a while,” said Henderson, turning his gaze
toward the rest of the men at the fire.
“Oh, you may speak freely here! I never go into anything without their
consent. It’s share and share alike here. But if you would rather speak
to me alone, why it is all right. Have you got supper ready?”
The man appealed to nodded, and pointed to a pile of bacon and corn
bread that was waiting for them. It was such a supper as Henderson, in
his St. Louis home, would have turned up his nose at, but he was ready
for it now. During the meal but little was said, and Henderson, out of
the corner of his eye, took a good survey of the man that everybody
called Coyote Bill. He didn’t look like such a desperate fellow, by
any means, and all the men who had had experience with him described
him as a very different person. This proved that Bill did not always
lead his bands, but gave the movement into somebody else’s hands, and
appeared only when out of reach of the settlers. He was as neat as a
new pin, and showed by every move he made that he had been well brought
up. After supper he lighted his pipe and motioned to Henderson to
follow him out on the plains. When out of reach of everybody he threw
himself down on the grass and invited Henderson to do the same.
“Now, then,” said he, “I am ready to hear all your plans.”
“I don’t know that I have got any,” said Henderson.
“Yes, you have,” said Coyote Bill, in a tone that showed he was not in
a mood to argue the matter. “A man needn’t come around here with such
a face as you have got on you and tell me anything like that. What was
the reason you did not go on and see Davenport? I saw you talking with
a cowboy of his not more than three hours ago.”
“Where were you?” asked Henderson, more astonished than ever.
“We were just behind a neighboring swell, not more than half a mile
away. Your names are not alike, but still you must be some kin to
Davenport. What relationship are you?”
“I am his half brother.”
“That makes you next of kin, don’t it? Well, now, if that man dies, who
is going to inherit his property?”
“I am, if it were not for that little nuisance he has picked up
somewhere. You see it was just this way.”
With this introduction Henderson went on and gave Coyote Bill a full
history of the boy Mr. Davenport had adopted in the mines; or rather,
he intended to adopt him, but he didn’t do it. He had brought him up
from a little boy to think his property was all his own, giving no heed
to the half brother who might want some of it.
“And when I asked him for a little money--five hundred dollars were all
I wanted--he got up on his ear and said I couldn’t have it. That made
me mad, I tell you, and I left his house for good.”
“And never went into it again?” enquired Coyote Bill.
“Yes, I went into it once more,” said Henderson, thinking he might as
well tell the truth, now that he was about it. “I went in and made an
effort to steal the boy. I didn’t get caught at it, but my partner did,
and I reckon he’s serving the penalty before this time.”
“What were you going to do with him?” asked Coyote Bill, and it was
plain that he had a big respect for Henderson.
“I was going to put him in a lunatic asylum. I was going to keep him
there until he became of age, and then get him to sign his money over
to me. I tell you he would have done it before he had been there two
weeks.”
“And he just as sane as you are?” said Bill. “Didn’t you know that the
authorities would have turned---- By the way, how much is the old man
worth?”
“He’s worth a million of dollars. I know that he would have turned the
place upside down in the effort to find Bob, but I tell you I would
have been willing to risk it.”
“A million dollars! And you want to get hold of some of that money?”
“I tell you I want to get hold of all of it,” said Henderson. “It is
mine, and I don’t see why he should want that little nuisance to cheat
me out of it. The thing would be safe enough if I could get somebody to
trust. I want him to go to the old man’s ranch and find out where he
keeps his bonds hidden. It would be no trouble at all for him to steal
them.”
This was all Henderson found it necessary for him to say on that
subject; Coyote Bill “caught on” immediately. He understood that
Henderson wanted him to go to the ranch and steal those bonds. He arose
to a sitting posture and smoked audibly while he meditated.
“It seems to me that that could be easily done,” said he.
“Why, I know it could! If I was as I used to be in my brother’s
house, I would gain the whole thing in a week. But the trouble is I
threatened him when I left. I told him that if Bob ever lived to become
his heir, I would follow him up and make him know what it was to be in
want as I was at that moment.”
“Well, I’ll try it,” said Bill.
“You will?” asked Henderson, so overjoyed that he could scarcely speak
plainly. “I didn’t suppose that you would go there yourself, but
thought that maybe you could find some man to send in your place.”
“I would rather go myself, because I will know that everything has been
done. You see, there isn’t one man in ten who knows me. I could go
there and pass myself off for a miner.”
“That’s the idea! The old man has been there, and you could tell him
what you pleased. Have you ever been in the mines?”
“No. I am as close to them as I care to get. If I find that strategy
won’t work, I suppose I could put the Indians on them.”
“Indians?” said Henderson.
“Certainly. I was on my way to the reservation when I saw you talking
to the old man’s cowboy. You see, I don’t find much work to do, and I
am going there to rest up a bit. This drought will soon be over, and
then I shall have more than I can do.”
“What do you call your business, anyway?”
“Oh, stealing cattle. I take them to a little fertile spot in the
Staked Plains, kill them for their hides and tallow, and give the meat
to the Indians. I am chief of about a hundred men, and they will go
their lengths for me.”
“Well, well! I didn’t know that.”
“You see that I can easily get the money, or whatever it is that he is
keeping from you. Now, I want to know how much I am to get for this.
Say a half a million.”
“I will give you half of whatever I make. Can anything be fairer than
that? It may be more and it may be less than half a million.”
“Yes, that’s fair. Now let’s go back to the fire and see what the men
think of this. You had better go to bed, and we’ll see how it looks in
the morning.”
Henderson could scarcely sleep at all that night, and when he did he
awoke to find that Coyote Bill and his men were still discussing the
subject. The method of stealing the bonds instead of stealing the boy
promised much better than his original scheme, for he would have no
hand in it. Coyote Bill would be alone in the matter, and if he should
be detected and could not be prevailed upon to tell who his accomplice
was---- Ah! That was something he hadn’t spoken to Bill about. In the
morning he would broach that subject, and tell Bill never to mention
his name. If he did, all his hope of success would be gone. He finally
fell asleep and awoke to find breakfast waiting for him. Bill greeted
him with a good-morning, and immediately referred to their last night’s
conversation.
“Well, I am going to try it,” said he. “I have never stolen any of
Davenport’s cattle, and I don’t suppose there is anyone on his place
who knows me.”
“If you are caught, don’t mention my name,” said Henderson. “He knows
me, and he don’t expect any good of me, either.”
“If you knew me, pilgrim, you wouldn’t mention that at all,” said
Bill; and anybody could see that he was growing mad about it. “I shall
not call the name of Henderson once while I am there. If anybody says
anything to me about you I shall say I don’t know you.”
After breakfast Bill shook Henderson by the hand and started and walked
away. He took nothing with him except his brace of revolvers and an
old dilapidated blanket, which he slung over his shoulder. He left
his rifle and horse in charge of his men, who were to bring them to
him at some future time, Henderson didn’t know when or where it was.
Bill didn’t exchange any plans with Henderson, for he had made up his
mind what he wanted to do and he didn’t care to have anyone know it.
Henderson gazed at him in surprise as he walked away.
“There’s a man who is going into trouble,” said he. “I could have given
him some things that I think would have helped him out.”
“Don’t you lose no sleep worryin’ about him,” said one of the men. “He
knows what he is going to do. Now you can find your way back, can’t
you? We have got to leave you here.”
Yes, Henderson could get along now all right, and he gladly parted with
the men, after dividing his corn meal and bacon with them, for he was
anxious to get away by himself and think the matter over. He hadn’t
known what happiness was before in a long while.
“If one of the men from whom I have just parted,” said he, as soon as
he was out of hearing, “had told me that he was the chief of a hundred
men who would go their lengths for him, I should have believed him; but
that is a queer thing for that neat-looking fellow to say. How easily
that villain fell in with my plans! If I had been going there knowing
what he does---- Whew! I believe I should have got some advice from
somebody.”
Meanwhile Coyote Bill walked along toward Mr. Davenport’s ranch,
keeping a lookout for horsemen who were on the watch for stray cattle,
whom he intended to dodge, and revolving in his mind certain plans
for stealing the bonds; for be it known that he put implicit faith in
Henderson’s word. No man could come to him and talk as earnestly as he
did when there was nothing behind it. He tramped all that day, found a
camp at night in a belt of timber with which the country was thickly
interspersed, laid down without a fire, and at ten o’clock reached his
destination. He was really foot-sore and weary when he got there, for
walking so far was something to which he was not accustomed, and was
glad to see the man for whom he was looking sitting on the porch.
“Good-day to you, sir!” said Coyote Bill, lifting his hat. “Is this Mr.
Faber’s ranch?”
“Come up and sit down,” replied Mr. Davenport. “You have travelled far
and you look completely exhausted. Faber! I don’t know such a man as
that. He can’t have a ranch anywhere about here.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Bill. “I believe I am tired, and if it will suit
you will sit down for a while. May I make bold to ask for something to
eat?”
“Eat? Yes, you can have all you want. Bob, hunt up the cook and get
something. Have you travelled far, sir?”
“About a hundred miles, afoot and alone.”
“I guess that a drink of water would help you. We haven’t got much, but
what we’ve got you are welcome to. Bob,” he added, as the boy came back
after seeing the cook, “scare up a drink of water for this gentleman.
I speak of you, sir, as your clothes warrant me to speak. You are
not a Texan. You haven’t been long enough in this country to become
accustomed to their way of talking. You are from the States.”
“Yes, sir; from Wisconsin,” said Bill, rightly concluding that Mr.
Davenport would not be acquainted with anybody in that far off State.
“I was engaged in doing a good business in Milwaukee, but I fell in
with some fellows who were going to the mines, and there I lost what
little money I had.”
“Did you go to California?”
“No; to Denver.”
“Then how did you happen to get way off here? This is not the road to
the States.”
“I know it; but I wanted to find my partner, who is in this country
engaged in the cattle business.”
“Well, Mr. Faber, if that’s his name, hasn’t got a ranch anywhere
around here. The men who live beyond me are Mr. Chisholm----”
Here Mr. Davenport went off into a paroxysm of coughing, to which Bill
listened with great concern pictured on his face.
“I am afraid you are talking too much,” said he. “Doesn’t this climate
agree with your health?”
“Oh, yes! I should probably have been in my grave long ago if I had not
come down here. Now, sir, your meal is ready. Will you step in and sit
down to it?”
Bill thanked him, and went in to a much finer spread than he had been
accustomed to while roaming with his men. He ate until he was ashamed
of himself, and came out on the porch with the air of one who had
enjoyed a good meal. There was one thing about it he told himself:
No matter what misfortunes his cattle might meet with, Mr. Davenport
intended that those who were dependent upon him should fare the best.
“I have a little money left,” said he, “and I want to know----”
“Keep your money in your pocket,” returned Mr. Davenport. “When I have
twenty-five thousand head of cattle to sell for a dollar apiece I can
easily afford to give you something to eat. Sit down. You say you were
in the mines at Denver. What sort of work are they having there?”
This was the very point that Coyote Bill had been dreading, but he had
gone over it so many times since leaving Henderson in camp, that he
had it at his tongue’s end. He knew no more about mining than he had
been able to glean from the conversation of his men, some of whom were
fresh from Mexico, and perhaps he got the two pretty well mixed up. For
example, he told of one mine he had been in where they had been obliged
to go down twelve hundred feet before they could get gold in paying
quantities. Then Mr. Davenport began to look at him suspiciously.
There might be some men at some future time that would be able to go
down that distance, but there were none there now.
“I believe you are up to something,” said he to himself. “But what in
the world it is I don’t know. I believe I will keep you here for a
while and find out.” Then aloud he said: “Where are you going now? If
your friend isn’t around here, where do you think you will find him?”
“I guess I had better go back to Austin and work around there at
something until I can earn money enough to take me home,” said Bill,
hoping that Mr. Davenport would suggest something else to him. “Any
little thing that I can do will help me along.”
“How would you like to stay here and work on this ranch?”
“That would be all very well, but I can’t ride. I should have to do
something about the house or I shouldn’t earn my money.”
“You look like a man who could sit a horse.”
“I know it; but they buck and jump so that they throw me right off.
When I was in the mines I devoted myself entirely to work.”
“Well, I will tell you what I will do. I can find some work for you
around the ranch that you can turn your hand to.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It won’t be much--like making the beds, for instance. Besides, you
look completely exhausted. You can stay here until you somewhat recover
yourself and make some enquiries among the cowboys, and perhaps you
will learn something about your partner. I am determined to know what
you are at,” added Mr. Davenport to himself. “Can it be that you are
any ways implicated with Clifford Henderson? Well, I have got my will
made out, and I will see what you will do to it.”
Thus it came about that Coyote Bill became an inmate of Mr. Davenport’s
house. When the cowboys came in at supper time he was as respectful to
them as he was to Mr. Davenport, addressed them all as “sir,” when he
was speaking to them, and by giving them a sharp look when they came in
made up his mind that there was no one among them who recognized him.
He looked them squarely in the eye when he talked to them, and listened
while they told him of the men who lived beyond them. There was no Mr.
Faber in the lot. He must be inside of them somewhere.
“What do you think of that fellow, Lem?” asked Frank, as the two met
under the trees to smoke their evening pipe. They had left Bill in the
house and he was busy at work with the dishes.
“He is here for no good, that’s what I think of him,” said Lem, seating
himself under the nearest tree. “He has been out to Denver, and came
out here to find somebody he never heard of. He never had a pardner
named Faber, and what do you think of his going into a mine that
extended twelve hundred feet under the ground? I tell you he has never
been near Denver.”
“And he can’t ride!” added Frank. “I see the marks on his boots where
he has had spurs on. I tell you he wants to be mighty careful how he
acts around here.”
“Do you mind them six-shooters he’s got?”
“I do, and I aint afraid of them, nuther. I guess I can get a pistol
out as quick as he can. Just keep your eye on him and we’ll see what he
is going to do.”
The days grew into weeks and the weeks into months, and still Coyote
Bill stayed around the house. In fact he didn’t say a word about going
since he was settled there. He seemed to think that the man he was in
search of was somebody he couldn’t reach, and he was content to remain
where he was. Mr. Davenport kept his eye out at all times, and the only
thing he found against Bill was when he caught him trying to pick his
desk. He came suddenly into the room where Bill was at work, and the
position he caught him in was enough to condemn him. But Bill was equal
to it. He greeted him with a good-morning, and proceeded to tumble up
his bed as though nothing was the matter.
“Why do you have this door shut?” enquired Mr. Davenport, with more
sternness than he had ever thrown into his words. “I generally leave it
open.”
“I found it shut when I came in, sir,” said Bill. “I always make it a
point to leave things as I find them. It’s a fine day outside, sir.”
“Yes, of course it is a fine day here in this country,” said Mr.
Davenport, who was wishing every day that it would rain. “We never see
any clouds here.”
Things went on in this way until we came there, and for once Mr.
Davenport forgot himself and took us into his confidence. I had noticed
’Rastus Johnson, and I didn’t think there was anything strange about
it, except that he seemed to sympathize with me, because I had lost
my cattle. But, then, that was something that fell to everybody down
there, and besides I had more than made my loss good. Finally, the time
came when I bearded the lion in his den, and, prompted by Elam, called
him by his right name. Of course he was thunderstruck, but I think I
did the best thing I could under the circumstances. He made up his mind
to steal the pocket-book at once, and boldly proposed the thing to me
as if I had agreed to “become one of them.” I got out of it somehow,
and that was the night that he and Elam got into that “scrap.” He
went off, as I expected he would, and I did not see him again until
he and Clifford Henderson came to the ranch to hunt up the missing
pocket-book. You saw how he treated me while he was there. Tom Mason’s
luck came in; he found the pocket-book, and I hadn’t seen Bill since.
And now Henderson was gone, and I concluded that with all those men
watching us we couldn’t reach Austin without a fight. But we had ten
good men, and they were all good shots. And I saw that others felt the
same way. Well, let it come. I was sure of one of them, anyway.