“No, indeed,” said Mr. Davenport. “It has been dry and hazy every day as long as I can remember. Do you think we will get up to Trinity with any beeves?”
“Oh, we’ve got to. It is our only show.”
“Do you think we shall have a fight up there?” asked Bob.
“Certain! What would you do if you were in their place? They think they are in the right, and we know we are, and the first one of our cattle that goes down to the water in Trinity will be tumbled over. I am afraid that they will outnumber us. The Rangers and the farmers and the police—I don’t know. But our cattle must have water and grass; we won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“Do you know ’Rastus Johnson?” said Mr. Davenport suddenly.
“Yes, I know him,” said Mr. Chisholm, looking around. “What of him?”
“He stole my favorite riding horse this week.”
“Aha! That wasn’t all he did either,” said Mr. Chisholm, looking hard at the invalid.
“No, it wasn’t,” replied Mr. Davenport, who took out the pocket book, told what was in it, and of the attempt that had been made to steal it a few nights before. When he mentioned the name of Coyote Bill Mr. Chisholm almost jumped from his chair, and so did the men who had been driving the wagon. They had obeyed orders and filled up their empty barrel, took a good drink themselves, and brought along a cupful for their leader. Then they sat down and waited until Mr. Chisholm got ready to start, and listened to the story.
“Coyote Bill!” said Mr. Chisholm, in dismay. “I have wanted to find that fellow for more’n a year, and here I’ve run up against him two or three times during the last six months. It is a pity that boy didn’t shoot him. What were you thinking of?” he added, turning fiercely upon Elam. “Didn’t you know that it would put five thousand dollars in your pocket?”