Elam Storm, the Wolfer; Or, The Lost Nugget

Yes, sir; it's just like I tell you. Every coyote on this here ranch, mean and sneaking as he is, is worth forty dollars to the man who can catch him.
Then what is the reason Carlos and I can't make some money this winter?
You mout, and then again you moutn't. It aint everybody who can coax one of them smart prowlers to stick his foot in a trap. If that was the case, my neighbors would have had more sheep, and Elam Storm would be worth a bushel of dollars.
And you are going to grub-stake him again this winter, are you, Uncle Ezra?
Sure. I always do.
What is the reason you won't let us go with him to the mountains?
'Cause I know that your folks aint so tired of you that they are ready to lose you yet awhile; that's why.
Only just a few days. We'll come back at the end of the week if you say so, won't we, Carlos?
'Taint no use of talking, Ben; not a bit. Man alive! what would I say to the major if anything should happen to you? And going off with Elam Storm! That would be the worst yet.
But Elam is honest and reliable. You have said so more than once, Uncle Ezra.
Oh, he's honest enough, as far as that goes, but shiftless—mighty shiftless. And I never said he was reliable except in one way. He's reliable enough to go to the mountains every fall and come back every spring with a hoss-back load of peltries, and that's all he is reliable for. I did make out to hold him down to the business of sheep-herding for a couple of years, but then the roaming fever took him again and nobody couldn't do nothing with him. He just had to go, and so he asked for a grub-stake and lit out.