“You didn’t get him; I can see that very plainly,” said he, as we entered. “I wish I had never heard of him in the first place.”
“You have given us a history of that pocket-book, sir,” said I, beginning my business at once, “and I beg that you will repeat it for the benefit of the cowboys. Frank and Lem haven’t said much, but I believe from their silence that they would like to know something about it.”
“Elam, how did you find out that his name was Coyote Bill?” enquired Mr. Davenport. “That name has been bothering me more than a little since you went out.”
“Perhaps you will allow me to explain that,” said I. “When I told Elam the history of that pocket-book, which I did as soon as you and Bob had gone into the ranch to have a nap, he jumped at the conclusion. He said there wasn’t another man in this part of the country who would have the cheek to act that way.”
“Have I got to go all over that thing again?” groaned Mr. Davenport. “Bob, my first word is to you. I shall have that off my mind, anyway. You are not my son.”
It was dark in the cabin, but I could tell by the tones of his voice how great an effort it was for him to say it. Then he went on and told the story very much as he had told it to me, and when he got through I did not hear anything but the muttered swear words which the cowboys exchanged with each other. It was their way of expressing utter astonishment.
CHAPTER V.
THE WEST FORK OF TRINITY.
While Mr. Davenport was speaking I noticed that Bob got up and settled down close by his father as he sat on the bunk, and placed his left arm around his neck. He meant to assure him that any revelations he would make would cause no difference with him. The man was his father, the only father he had ever known, and as such he intended to acknowledge him. I could see that Mr. Davenport was greatly encouraged by this.
“There is only one thing that I blame you for,” said Lem. “You ought to have taken Frank and me into your confidence at once.”