“No,” replied the desperate one. “It shall never be said that anything, not even a well-grounded fear of that esteemable lady whom I honours onder the endearin’ name of mother-in-law, could keep me from rushin’ with her phaeton to the rescue of a friend beset.”
The Cochino Colorow roped and brought up a mud-hued, ewe-necked, hammer-headed beast of burden, and said its name was Julius Cæsar. This animal, which had a genius for bolting one moment and backing up the next, he hooked to the phaeton. Cimarron, whose helplessness was not of the hands, could hold the reins and guide Julius Cæsar. Mr. Masterson would ride a pinto pony furnished by the generous partisanship of the Cochino Colorow. It would take a week to make Dodge, and a week’s provisions, solid and liquid, were loaded into the phaeton.
The faithful Cochino Colorow rode with them on a favourite sorrel as far as Antelope Springs. Arriving at that water, he bade the travellers farewell.
“Good luck to you,” cried the Cochino Colorow, waving a fraternal hand. “Give my regyards to Wright an’ Kell an’ Short.”
“I hope you won’t have trouble with that outfit from Ogallala,” returned Mr. Masterson.
The Cochino Colorow snapped his fingers.
“Since my mind’s took to runnin’ on my mother-in-law,” he said, “I’ve done quit worryin’ about sech jim-crow propositions.”
And thus they parted.
It was a week later when Mr. Masterson and the rescued one made Dodge. When he had seen the suffering Cimarron safely in bed at the Wright House, Mr. Masterson began looking after his own welfare at the Long Branch.
“You cert’nly had a strenuous time, Bat,” observed Mr. Short, sympathetically.