“Well, he ain’t buried now,” said Jim Nabours. “Cal Dalhart’s up there, upstairs.”
“Don’t that beat anything you ever heard!” exclaimed McCoyne. “It seems like everything goes wrong unless a man does it his own self, don’t it now?”
“You come along with me,” said Nabours, moved by a sudden thought of his own. “You get two men—new ones. I believe them two folks that buried Cal Dalhart is both dead theirselfs. Bring a couple of shovels. Hurry up!”
A little group of men departed in the moonlight on a certain gruesome errand. It was Jim Nabours himself who began at the loose dirt of the mound at whose head there had been erected a little headboard: “C. Dalhart, of Texas. Died July 4, 1867. May he rest in peace.”
“He couldn’t never rest in peace thisaway,” said Jim Nabours a half hour later. His shovel struck something hard.
“Here, lend us a hand,” said he. “Sinker, get hold the other handle of this trunk. It’s heavy. Huh! It’s got a half million acres of Texas land into it!”
“And we’ve got Sim Rudabaugh over in the livery stable,” he added after a time thoughtfully, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “This ain’t no bad day’s work a-tall. You people go on back and bring Cal over here and we’ll bury him right. A fair exchange ain’t no robbery.”
CHAPTER XLVII
THE COURT OF THE COMANCHES
FOUR days later the transient population of Abilene began to scatter. No one knew when another herd would come, if ever. The great Del Sol herd now was split up, a portion coming into the yards to try for an Eastern market, a greater portion driven east to the crude packing plant at Junction City. The remainder, under Len Hersey and a half dozen of the best men of the Del Sol herd, was driven north to the new range on the Smoky Hill. All the details of Abilene’s first transaction in cows now were closed. The bill of sale, the record of the tally, the passing of the final bank draft—all details soon to become familiar in the northern-range towns—now were completed. The Del Sol horse band was sold north. Remained only the two carts, each with its double yoke of oxen, and two horses each for eight of the hands who had concluded to return to Texas. The two Army ambulances offered transport for the remainder of those who had come north in the saddle. Taisie’s horse, Blancocito, was left to trot alongside, unsaddled.