When Clifford Henderson turned his nag and galloped away from us, he
was about the maddest man I ever saw mounted on horseback. When I said
away from “us,” I mean from the three or four men whom he had been
trying to induce to buy his cattle, and Tom Mason and myself. He had
good reason to be angry. He had come out to the ranch while we were
there; and although he had things all his own way, and one of the men
who were with him had searched us to prove that we didn’t have the
pocket-book, he had hardly got out of reach of the house when Tom had
it in his possession. That was as neat a piece of strategy as I ever
heard of, this finding the pocket-book after he had got through looking
for it, and I didn’t wonder that he felt sore over it. He meditated
about it as he rode along, and the more he thought about it, the more
nearly overcome with rage was he.
“To think that that little snipe should have gone and found the
pocket-book after I had got done looking for it--that’s what bangs me!”
he exclaimed, shaking his fists in the air. “No wonder they call him
Lucky Tom. But there is just this much about it: the pocket-book is
not going to do him any good. I’ll go and see Bill about it, and then
I’ll go to Austin, find the surrogate before he does, and challenge
the will. By that means I shall put him to some trouble before he can
handle the stock as he has a mind to.”
Henderson evidently knew where he was going, for he went at a
tremendous rate until nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, stopping
only twice at some little streams that he crossed to allow his horse
time to get a drink, and then he rode into a belt of timber where he
found Coyote Bill waiting for him. He had two men there with him as a
body-guard. Henderson got off his horse, removed his saddle, and turned
the animal loose before he said a word. Bill was watching him all the
time, and concluded that he had some bad news.
“Well,” said he impatiently, “as soon as you get ready to speak let us
hear from you.”
“I can easily think of myself as being fooled in this way, but for a
man like you, who makes his living by cheating other folks, I don’t see
any excuse at all for it!” said Henderson, as he threw himself on the
ground beside Bill. “We have lost the pocket-book!”
“Did those boys find it?” asked the man, starting up in amazement.
“Yes, sir; they have found it! I have seen the will.”
“Why, how in the name of common sense did they find it?” said Bill, who
could not believe that his ears were not deceiving him. “And you have
seen the will?”
“Yes, I have. Everything goes to that boy, dog-gone the luck!”
“Tell us all about it. I don’t understand it.”
“You know we saw them when we got to the ranch, and they found the
pocket-book. That’s all I know about it. When they returned they found
me trying to sell the cattle to some of the outfit, and they produced
the will. I saw it and read a portion of it.”
“Well, you are a pilgrim, and that’s a fact. Why didn’t you destroy the
will? I’ll bet you that if they showed me the will they would never see
it again.”
“Suppose there was a revolver pointed straight at your head. What would
you do then?”
“You were a dunce for letting them get that way.”
“Suppose there were three men, and while one of them had your head
covered with a pistol, another should ride up and lay hold of your
bridle? I don’t reckon you would help yourself much.”
“Did they have you that way? Then I beg your pardon,” said Bill,
extending his hand. “They didn’t give you much show, did they? But you
threatened them, didn’t you?”
“No; I simply told them that I was next of kin and wanted to see the
will. I could tell whether it was a fraud or not. I recognized my
brother’s handwriting at once, but I told them it was a lie out of the
whole cloth.”
“And does the will make the boy his heir?”
“It does. Now I want to go to Austin and get there before Chisholm
does. I can put him to some trouble before he handles that stock.”
“Is Chisholm going there?”
“He must, to get the will probated.”
“Then you just take my advice and keep away from Austin. Chisholm
would shoot you down as soon as he would look at you. You don’t know
Chisholm. He’s a mighty plain-spoken man when he’s let alone, but you
get his dander up and he’s just lightning. He has got an idea that you
are trying to cheat Bob out of his money and that you are a rascal. No,
sir; you keep away from Chisholm.”
“But what am I to do? Am I going to sit still and allow myself to be
cheated? That’s the way folks do things in St. Louis.”
“Yes; but it isn’t the way they do here. You needn’t allow yourself to
be cheated out of that money.”
“What do you propose to do?”
“Put the Indians on him.”
“The Indians?” exclaimed Henderson.
“Certainly,” said Bill coolly. “What do you suppose I have got the
Indians for if it isn’t to help me out in a job of this kind? You said
you wanted him shut up until he signed his property over to you, and I
don’t think you will find a better place.”
“Why, my goodness, they will kill him!” said Henderson, horrified at
the idea of making Bob a prisoner in the hands of those wild men.
“I’ll risk it. Just put him among the Indians with the understanding
that he is to remain there until he signs his property over to you, and
he’ll soon sign, I bet you.”
Henderson was silent for a long time after this. He didn’t see any
other way out of it. The idea of his going to Austin and being shot by
that man Chisholm was not exactly what it was cracked up to be. He knew
that Chisholm would shoot if he got a fair chance, for he had already
seen him behind his revolver; and he didn’t care to give him another
such a chance at him. Coyote Bill gave him time to think the matter
over and then said:
“Suppose the Indians do kill him; what then? It will only be just one
stumbling block out of your way. What do you say?”
“Are the Indians much given to making raids on the stockmen
hereabouts?” asked Henderson.
“They do it just as often as they get out of meat,” answered Bill. “The
only thing that has kept them from it has been the drought. They know
what these white men are up to. All this country will be settled up
some day, and then what will they do to get something to eat? It will
be perfectly safe putting the Indians on him.”
“Well, go on with it,” answered Henderson. “Remember, I don’t go in for
lifting a hand against his life. I want him to know what it is to be in
poverty. That’s what I am up to.”
“Well, if you find any more poverty-stricken people in the world
than the Comanches are, I will give it up,” said Coyote Bill, with a
laugh. “Let him stay among them. I will agree to keep him safe for
twenty years. Now I will go and see what the men think about it. What
do you say to that, Zeke? This is a squaw-man,” he added, turning to
Henderson. “The chief and all of them do just as he says.”
“I say you can’t find a purtier place to put a man than among the
’Manches,” said Zeke, as he pulled a pipe out of his pocket and filled
up for a smoke. “If you want to put him whar he’ll find poverty, put
him thar.”
“But I am afraid to trust the Indians with him,” said Henderson. “They
might kill him.”
“Not if the chief says ‘No,’ they won’t. This here is our chief,” he
answered, waving his hand toward Coyote Bill. “We aint beholden to
nobody when he says we shall go on a raid, an’ I think it high time we
were doin’ something. It’s almost sixteen months since we have seen any
cattle, an’ we’re gettin’ hungry.”
“Does Sam think the same way?” said Bill.
The man appealed to nodded, and so it came about that we did not see
any of Coyote Bill’s men while we were on our way to Austin. In fact
there were not enough of them. It would have taken twice the number of
our company to have placed their hands on that pocket-book, feeling as
we did then.
I never was more shaken up than I was when I rode into Austin, but I
didn’t say anything about it. Accustomed as I was to travelling long
distances on horseback, I must say that, when we rode up to our hotel
and dismounted, I didn’t have strength enough to go another mile.
Chisholm was as lively as ever. He got off his horse with alacrity,
looked around him and said:
“There! Two hundred miles in considerably less than forty-eight hours.
I guess Henderson can’t beat that. Seen anything of him around, have
you?”
The men all answered in the negative.
“I wish you boys would take these horses back to the stable,” said he,
“and the rest of you stay by when I call you. When you come back go
into the living room with the rest of the boys. Lem, you and Frank seat
yourselves on the porch and keep a lookout for Henderson. If you see
him I needn’t remind you that you are to pop him over.”
“Oh, Mr. Chisholm!” exclaimed Bob.
“It has to be done,” said Mr. Chisholm earnestly. “We have stood as
much nonsense as we can. He has tried his level best to steal our
money from us, and now we have got to a place where we can’t be driven
any further. I’ve got a little business of my own to attend to. Mr.
Wallace, who has a thousand dollars or two of mine, is, I think, a man
I can trust.”
So saying Mr. Chisholm started off, and we all departed on our
errands--Frank and Lem to the porch to keep a bright outlook for
Henderson, the most of the men to the sitting room of the hotel to wait
Mr. Chisholm’s return, and us boys to take the horses to the stable. I
was surprised when I saw how Bob took Mr. Chisholm’s order to heart--to
pop Henderson over. I declare I didn’t feel so about it at all. If
Henderson so far neglected his personal safety as to continue to pursue
Mr. Chisholm when he was on the very eve of getting the money, why, I
said, let him take the consequences. Bob didn’t say anything, but I
well knew what he was thinking about. If he had had a fair opportunity
he would have whispered to Henderson to keep away from the porch.
“You musn’t do it, Bob,” I said to him.
“Why, Carlos, I can’t bear that anybody should get shot,” he answered.
“And then what will they do to Lem and Frank for obeying that order of
Mr. Chisholm’s?”
“They won’t do anything to them. Mr. Chisholm is willing to take his
chances. Don’t you know that they never do anything to anyone who
shoots a man in this country?”
When we had put the horses away we returned to the porch, and found
Lem and Frank there keeping a lookout for Henderson; but I would have
felt a good deal more at my ease if we had known of the interview that
Henderson had held with Coyote Bill in regard to putting the Indians on
Bob. We took a look at them and then went into the sitting-room to wait
for Mr. Chisholm. He was gone about half an hour and then he showed
himself. He stopped to exchange a few words with Lem and Frank, and
then coming into the sitting-room ordered us to “catch up!” We knew by
that that he was ready for us, so we fell in two abreast and followed
Mr. Chisholm down the street.
I wondered what the people in the Eastern cities would have thought of
us if they had seen us marching down the street, ten of us, all with a
brace of revolvers slung to our waists. The pedestrians got out of our
way, and now and then some fellow, with a brace of revolvers on, would
stop and look at us to see which way we were going. But we did not care
for anybody. We kept close at Mr. Chisholm’s heels until he turned
into a narrow doorway, and led us up a creaking pair of stairs. Upon
arriving at the top he threw open a door, and we found ourselves in the
presence of three or four men who sat leaning back in their chairs with
their heels elevated higher than their heads, having a good time all by
themselves. There were a lot of papers and books scattered about, and I
took it at once for a lawyer’s office. They looked at us in surprise
as we entered, and one of the men took his feet down from the desk.
“Shut the door, Lem,” said Mr. Chisholm. “Now, which of you men is
it who proves the wills? You see,” he added, turning with an air
of apology to the other men in the room, “these fellows are mostly
remembered in the will, and so I brought them along. I never proved a
will before, and so I wanted men enough to back me up.”
“That is all right,” said the surrogate. “Where’s the will?”
Mr. Chisholm produced his pocket-book, Bob’s pocket-book, rather,
the one that had taken Tom and me on a four weeks’ journey into the
country, and produced the papers, while the rest of us stood around
and waited for him to read them. The lawyer read it in a free-and-easy
manner until he came to the place where Bob was spoken of as worth half
a million dollars, and then he suddenly became interested.
“Where’s the man?” said he.
“Here he is, right here,” said Mr. Chisholm. “It is a big sum of money
for him to be worth, but he is big enough to carry it.”
“Why, sit down, gentlemen! If you can’t get chairs enough to
accommodate you, sit on the table. A half a million dollars! Does
anybody challenge this will?”
“Not that I know of,” answered Mr. Chisholm. “It is all there, and we
want it all, every bit.”
“Well, I’ll have it for you in half an hour,” answered the lawyer.
“Suppose you come in again in that time.”
“No, sir! Our time is worth nothing, and if it is all the same to you,
we’ll have that will before we go out. When I get through here I have
got to go to the bank. Take your time. We want it done up right.”
Whether there was something in Mr. Chisholm’s manner--there certainly
was nothing in his words--that convinced the lawyer that haste was
desirable, I don’t know; but he got up with alacrity, went to his
books, and began writing, while the rest of us disposed of ourselves
in various attitudes about the room. The rest of the men went on with
their conversation where our entrance had interrupted it,--it was
something that afforded them a great deal of merriment,--and now and
then the lawyer took part in it, leaving his work and coming over
to where the men were sitting to make his remarks carry weight. Mr.
Chisholm watched this for a long time and at last boiled over.
“See here, Mr. Lawyer,” said he, and I knew by the way he spoke the
words that his patience was all exhausted; “I would thank you to attend
to our business first.”
The lawyer was evidently a man who was not in the habit of being
addressed in this way. He took a good look at Mr. Chisholm, at his
revolvers, then ran his eye over the rest of us, and choking down
something that appeared to be rising in his throat, he resumed his
writing. After that there was no trouble. The men ceased their
conversation, and the lawyer went on with his writing to such good
purpose that in fifteen minutes the document was done.
“Now, who is this boy’s guardian?” asked the lawyer.
“He hasn’t got any that I know of,” said Mr. Chisholm.
“How old are you?” he added, turning to Bob.
“Sixteen,” was the reply.
“Then you must have a guardian,” said the lawyer. “Hold on, now,” he
continued, when he saw Mr. Chisholm’s eye begin to flash and his hand
to reach toward his pistol. “This guardian is a man who can exercise
much or little control over this property. He can say you shall or you
shall not spend your money for such particular things; but all the
while the boy can go on and do as he pleases. It does not amount to
anything.”
“Is that paper all ready for his signature?” asked Mr. Chisholm.
“It is all ready for the signature of his guardian,” said the lawyer.
“But I tell you it won’t amount to anything so long as he has no one on
it to act as his guardian. Why don’t you sign it, sir? You seem to be
on good terms with him.”
Mr. Chisholm did not know what to say, and so he looked around at us
for a solution. But the men all shook their heads and looked down at
the floor. They didn’t want anyone to act as Bob’s guardian, but would
rather that he should spend the money as he pleased. Finally Bob came
to the rescue.
“I will sign it with Mr. Chisholm, but with no one else,” said he.
“This lawyer knows more than we do.”
“And won’t you never ask my consent toward spending your money?”
“No, sir; I never will.”
“Then I will sign it. Remember, Bob, there aint to be any foolishness
about this.”
Mr. Chisholm took the pen from the lawyer’s hand and signed his name in
bold characters, and although there was no occasion for Bob’s signature
in a legal point of view, the lawyer was afraid to object to it, for
there were too many pistols in the party.
“There, now; it is all right, and you’re master of that money,” said
Mr. Chisholm, drawing a long breath of relief. “Nobody can get it away
from us now. How much?”
“Ten dollars,” said the lawyer.
As Bob didn’t have any money, Henderson having taken all he had, Mr.
Chisholm counted out the ten dollars, after which he held out his hand
for the will. There was where he made another mistake. The surrogate
kept that will upon file, and then there was no chance of its being
lost, and anyone, years hence, if there happened to be any legal points
with regard to the disposition of this property, could have the will to
refer to. But Mr. Chisholm didn’t know that.
“I will take that document if you have got through with it,” said he.
“The will?” said the lawyer. “As soon as you go away I shall lock it
up. Then it will be safe.”
“You will, eh?”
In an instant his revolver was out and covering the lawyer’s head. The
other men sprang to their feet, but before they could make a move they
were held in check by four revolvers held in the hands of our own party.
“I have just about submitted to all the nonsense I can stand with
regard to this will,” said Mr. Chisholm, in stern tones. “You made me
sign it as a guardeen when I aint got no business to, and now you
want to go and take the will away from us. Hand over that document!
One--two----”
[Illustration: PROBATING THE WILL.]
“There it is, and you can take it,” said the lawyer, turning white.
“But I tell you it won’t amount to anything as long as you have it in
your hands. There’s the notice of probate. You can take that down to
the bank with you, and that is all you want.”
“He is right, Mr. Chisholm,” said Bob, who seemed to keep all his wits
about him.
“Has he a right to take the will away from us?” demanded Mr. Chisholm,
in a stentorian voice.
“I have got wills here that were left by parties long before you ever
came to this country,” said the lawyer, turning to his safe.
“Not by a long sight you haven’t,” said Mr. Chisholm. “I want you to
understand that I have been in this country long before you ever came
out of a pettifogger’s office in the North. You can’t take that will
away, and that’s all about it.”
“Here is Jerry Wolfe’s,” said the lawyer, taking from his safe a big
bundle of papers all neatly endorsed as he had filed them away. “You
knew him, didn’t you?”
“Well--yes; and a right smart business man he was. Did his guardeen
leave his papers here?”
“His executor did, and that amounts to the same thing. And all those in
there are wills.”
“That may be law, but it isn’t justice,” said Mr. Chisholm, putting up
his revolver and stepping back; whereupon the men in his party, who
held their pistols in their hands, let down the hammers and returned
them to their cases. “Have you got done with us?”
“Yes, sir; we are all through.”
“Well, if you are right, I am sorry I pulled my revolver on you; if
you are wrong, I’m sorry I didn’t use it. You see, I never had any
experience before in proving wills, and I never want to have another,
unless I can have someone at my back who knows more than I do.”
“I assure you, it is all right,” said the lawyer; and, to show that he
was in earnest, he cordially shook hands with Mr. Chisholm. “You go
down to the bank, and if Mr. Wallace doesn’t say that it is all right,
I’ll make it so.”
I, for one, was glad to get out of reach of that surrogate’s office.
There was too much pulling of revolvers to suit me. I fell in behind
Mr. Chisholm, who led the way toward the bank.