“No, I never heared of that,” replied Elam, somewhat startled to find out that he had had a pull on a man worth that sum of money.
“Well, the stock-raisers down in our county would give that much for him any day. You had a chance to make yourself rich and then went and threw it away. Dog-gone such a shot!”
“Look here, friend,” said Elam, straightening up in his chair and fastening his eyes upon Mr. Chisholm, “I didn’t shoot him because I couldn’t; that’s why. What would you ’a’ done if a man had jumped on you while you were flat in bed an’ seized the pistol, an’ turned it t’other way? I done my best.”
“Well, maybe you did, but it sounds kinder funny to me. I wish he would give me such a shot as that. Where do you think he is now?”
“I do not know,” answered Mr. Davenport. “He has gone off with that horse, and he certainly won’t stop until he gets among friends. I am willing to trust Elam with my life. There are not many of you can shoot as he can.”
This went a long way toward cooling the hot temper of Elam, although I noticed that during the first part of the time we were in the drive he kept one eye fastened upon Mr. Chisholm the whole time. He didn’t like the imputation that had been cast upon his prowess. If the leader had been in Elam’s place, and had Coyote Bill’s grasp on his throat and wrist, he might have been led to believe that the desperado had plenty of strength as well as pluck.
Mr. Chisholm and his men slept at the ranch that night, and bright and early the next morning we were on the move. We packed up in something of a hurry when we got fairly ready to go, and I speak of it here so that you may have no difficulty in understanding what happened afterward. Not a single one of the herd was in sight. We followed along the ground they had passed over, and it was as bare as your hand. Not a blade of grass was to be seen. If it had not been for the grain we had provided for our horses in the wagons, they would have fared badly, indeed, and then they didn’t like the grain any too well. It was only when they were about half starved that they would touch it.
I never knew what starving cattle were before, for although I had been a week at the ranch, I had never been out to see what was going on. The nearest herd was probably half a day’s journey distant. I stayed in the ranch with Mr. Davenport almost all the time. I had not seen the walking skeletons which were now shambling before us, but now I saw them all too plainly. Every once in a little while we would come across some stricken animal who had laid down, and was waiting for death to come. And it was so all along our route. Whichever way you turned your eyes you were sure to see some dead cattle.
“I’ll just tell you what’s a fact, Mr. Davenport,” said I, after counting thirteen dead animals, who could not go any further. “If we keep on losing cattle at this rate we’ll have to go at something else when we get up to Trinity. There will be no need for the Rangers and farmers to gather up there, for we shan’t have many animals to shoot.”
“It looks that way to me, I confess,” said the man, looking down at the horn of his saddle. “But you know what Mr. Chisholm said. We must go on; it’s our only show.”