“He got the pocket-book because we were not fortunate enough to look where it was,” said Coyote Bill. “Now, Henderson, I don’t want to hear another word out of you. You are under my protection now, but the minute I withdraw it—well, you know what will happen.”
“You asked what should be done with that boy,” said Henderson. “Well, I have told you.”
“But I didn’t think you would propose any fool thing like that,” said Bill. “I must first take Carlos back to the house with me. You know where all that money is kept hidden, I suppose?”
“Why, yes, I know where it is,” I answered, considerably surprised. To think that any man in his sober senses would go off and leave his money behind him, was ridiculous. I looked at Coyote Bill to see if he meant what he said, but it was so dark that I couldn’t see the expression of his face; but Henderson evidently knew what he was speaking about when he said, in a voice choked with passion:
“You are going to lay a plan for him to escape. I wish I could talk to these Indians, for then I could let them see what you are up to!”
“What I choose to do is nothing to you!” said Bill, as he turned fiercely upon Henderson. “Once more, and for the last time, I ask you to keep still. How did you find out that we were coming, any way?” he added, addressing himself to me.
“There were three men came along who had plainly been in some sort of a fight,” said I. “We wanted to know what the trouble was, and they told us.”
“Ah, yes! Did they tell you about the mule that got away from us?”
“I don’t know what mule you mean.”
“We got all the money except five thousand dollars, and that was supposed to be packed on a mule that lit out. He was shot three or four times, but I never saw anything run as he did.”