Things very soon came to such a pass that no man went abroad, even in the day time, unless he was loaded with weapons, and even then he expected to be bushwhacked by some angry neighbor. Every house was converted into a little fortress, and people were very careful how they ventured out of doors after dark, or showed themselves in front of a window opening into a lighted room.
This state of affairs might have continued until the present day, or until the thinly-settled county was entirely depopulated, had it not been for the interference of some lawless men who lived just over the border. One dark night, a party of Mexicans, headed by renegade Americans, made a raid across the Rio Grande and drove off a thousand head of cattle and horses. The robbers were so delighted with their success that they came again and again, and the settlers, being divided against themselves, could do nothing to protect their property. This brought them to their senses, as nothing else could have done. Advances and concessions were made on both sides; old differences were forgotten; the farmers repaired their dilapidated fences; the stock-raisers employed extra herdsmen to keep their cattle within bounds; and a company of Rangers was promptly organized, composed of the very men who had been bushwhacking one another for months.
The Mexican raiders did not come again immediately, for their spies told them of the preparations that had been made to receive them; and when at last all fears of another visit from them had passed away, the company which the settlers had called together for mutual protection ceased to exist as an organization. But it had served more than one good purpose. It had not only compelled the raiders to remain on their own side of the river, but it had brought the stockmen and farmers into intimate relations with one another, and led to the determination on the part of all of them that the cause of their troubles should be carefully avoided in the future.
Since that time Miller county had been one of the quietest and most orderly portions of the state. Peace and plenty reigned, and the farmers and stockmen were the firmest of friends. But now it appeared that a vindictive boy, who was too lazy to win a name for himself in any honorable way, was willing and even eager to put an end to this happy state of affairs just because he wanted the settlers to notice him—to see that he was not a nobody. The shooting of a single steer that had broken into a farmer’s field would have been like throwing a blazing fire-brand upon a dry prairie while the wind was blowing a gale. George was frightened at the bare thought of such a thing.
CHAPTER III.
NED’S EXPERIENCE IN CAMP.
It was plain enough to George that Ned wanted to take satisfaction out of the settlers for their refusal to notice him and make much of him, as he seemed to think they ought to have done. He said all he could to induce him to give up the idea, but Ned was stubborn, and George finally abandoned the attempt in despair, hoping that when the trouble came, as it certainly would come if Ned held to his resolution, he could in some way protect him from the consequences of his folly.
“I can at least guide him out of the country, for it will not be safe for him to stay here,” thought George. “Uncle John will go, too, if he is wise; but I shall have to remain and shoulder the whole of it.”
The conversation recorded in the preceding chapter was but one of the many Ned had with his father and cousin on the subject of farming, and the result was that the following winter saw him the owner, for the time being, of fifty acres of rich bottom land, which had been fenced and planted to wheat. By the terms of the contract made with his father in George’s hearing, Ned was to pay the same rent for the ground that he would have had to pay had he leased it from an entire stranger. “You know the ranche doesn’t belong to me,” said Uncle John. “I am managing it for George’s benefit, and must make all the money I can for him. You ought to clear a nice little sum by your venture, and can afford to pay the usual rent.”
“O, I’ll pay it after my crop is sold; that is, if I feel like it,” said Ned to himself. “George has money enough already. A boy who owns six thousand dollars’ worth of stock ought to be willing to allow his only cousin the free use of fifty acres of land. I shall have need of every red cent I make.”
Ned, who was extravagantly fond of company and pleasure, could hardly endure the lonely life he was compelled to lead. He hoped that as soon as it became known throughout the settlement that he had made up his mind to go to work, he would be in a fair way to gain the favor of the people; and perhaps he would, if he had gone about it in the right way. He laid aside the objectionable broadcloth suit and white shirt, it is true, and put on what he called “working clothes;” but they were more gorgeous than any that had ever been seen in that part of Texas before outside of an illustrated story paper. His boots were expensive Wellingtons, and were made of patent leather, too. He wore gray corduroy trowsers, a fawnskin vest, a finely-dressed buckskin coat, with silver buttons, and a Mexican sombrero ornamented with gold cord and tassels. It was a “nobby” suit, to quote from its delighted owner, and must have astonished the natives, if one might judge by the way they stared at him when they met him on the trail; but it did not bring him any more company than he had always had.