“He may be in Kansas, but he ain’t in Texas,” replied Nabours. “We had him along ourselves. You didn’t happen to meet up with a man named Dan McMasters in Caldwell, did you?”
McCoyne drew himself up.
“I don’t go to Caldwell. But since you mention it, that name sounds familiar. I met a McMasters over in the Baxter Springs country last winter; tall fellow, with a little mustache. He was the man that told me he was going to send up a Texas herd when he got back home.”
“He done so,” replied Nabours. “Here it is.”
“He certainly done us both a good turn. I was saying McCoyne—Joe McCoyne’s my name. I come from Indianny. I’m president of the stockyards up to Abilene. The whole Eastern country is out here hunting cattle. There’s a thousand miles of range north and west of us that’s got to have cattle. Why, cattle will be gobbled up as fast as you can drive them in.”
“You must be running a kind of cow heaven, friend,” said Jim Nabours. “Well, come and see our boss. You needn’t be scared, even if she ain’t married. I will pertect you against any designing female that might be smit by your looks.”
CHAPTER XXXV
IN THE BEGINNING
THE Del Sol men with their new-found friend turned back to bid a temporary farewell to Jesse Chisholm and his wagon train, departing thereafter for the herd, which had been held some miles below. The Eastern man sat his horse somewhat strangely to the eyes of the Texans; but no matter what the speed, he ceased not joltingly to sound the praises of his community.
“Every time he come down in the saddle he says, ‘Aberlene! Aberlene! Kerchunk! Aberlene!’ ” explained Len Hersey to his fellows.
When they came into view of the great herd, held closely by the riders, Nabours pulled up with the enthusiasm of the natural drover.