Jack reached down from his saddle in order to give me a good shake, and then clattered off up the prairie after Bill. I stood and watched them for a long time, but neither of them looked around, and finally the nearest swell hid them from sight. There was something good about that man, and I never heard of him afterward. Probably he lost his life in some of his numerous raiding expeditions. But there was one thing about it: He left one boy behind who was sorry for him.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CONCLUSION.
When Coyote Bill and Jack had disappeared, and a glance in the direction Henderson had gone showed me that he also had vanished, I began to think about myself. I was alone on the prairie, but I didn’t care for that as much as I did for the safety of Bob Davenport and the men who had gone away with him. I staked out my horse, and while I was thinking about it, it occurred to me that now was the time to find Henderson’s revolver. I had taken particular notice of where it fell; and after half an hour’s looking I had the satisfaction of securing the weapon which had so nearly been the cause of my death. It was silver-mounted, of forty-five calibre, just big enough to take the cartridges intended for his rifle, and on the trigger-guard bore the name of its luckless owner, Clifford Henderson.
“Good!” said I, taking my steps back toward the ranch. “As often as I look at it I shall remember him, and if Bob doesn’t want it, I will always keep it. Let’s see what effect this bullet would have had upon me.”
Sitting on a tree close by was a robin—I knew that the weather was getting cold up North, for the birds had already come down to us—and I tried the bullet on the robin from where I stood, and saw him come down without his head. If Clifford Henderson was as good a shot as I was, he could not well have missed me at that distance.
The next thing was to find something to eat, and then came a pipe, during which I thought the matter over. There was one thing on which I had long ago made up my mind, even before separating from Coyote Bill, and that was that Bob Davenport should not be permitted to stay in that ranch any longer than I could help. Coyote Bill was determined to have that money or drive him from the country. I gained this much from the conversation that Bill had had with some of his men, and how was I to prevent it? I was going to the States, and I was resolved that Bob should go too. I was getting sick and tired of so much pistol-drawing, I did not want to see any more of it, and I would get back among civilized men. There was where I belonged, anyway. And Tom Mason, he must go along too, and relieve the suspense which I knew his aged relative would feel at not hearing from him in so long. He did not know but Tom was dead, and a letter would go far to cheer him up. But how should I go to work upon Bob and Tom and so get them out on the water, where I could tell them everything? Well, there was another day coming, and I would see how it looked after I had slept on it.
The next day passed and still another, and in the meantime I employed myself in bringing order out of the confusion in the ranch and making it look as though somebody lived there, and not a sign did I see of the returning Bob Davenport. I began to think something had happened to them. I did not dare to go out to look for them, for I might run across some men belonging to Coyote Bill’s band, who wouldn’t treat me half as well as their leader did, so I thought I had best stay right where I was. On the evening of the sixth day, when I had got so worked up that I didn’t think I could stand it any longer, I was startled out of a year’s growth by seeing a body of horsemen approaching the ranch.
“Is that Henderson?” I exclaimed, feeling the cold chills creep all over me. “If it is, he has brought men enough with him to complete his work. I will give them as good as I have got.”
I rushed into the house, and when I came out my rifle was in my hands and my revolvers strapped around my waist. The horsemen had by this time approached near the ranch, and I could make out that one of them was Bob Davenport. How I cheered and yelled at them! An answering yell came in response, and in a few minutes I was shaking my friends by the hand. I never hoped to see them looking so well; there wasn’t one of them that had been hurt. To repeat the questions that were propounded to me were impossible, but in a few minutes I gave them to understand that I had escaped from the enemy all right, that I had seen the place where Sam Noble had been knocked in the head, and that I had stayed around outside the ranch for two days before I mustered up courage enough to return to it. Oh, what a lie that was! But it served my purpose very well, and besides I told Bill that I wouldn’t repeat what he said about Bob, where it would do him any harm. When I got him away I could tell him my story. Did I do wrong in keeping the promise I made to an outlaw? Remember he was the man who had placed me where I was that day. If that man had withdrawn his protection from me I would have died an agonizing death.