“Why, in course. I think so.”
“Is that in form of a resolution?”
“Well, yes.”
“Can I get a second to it?”
The answer that came up from four hundred throats was enough to show Bob that all his hopes of winning the money was gone, even before the motion was put; but put it was, and it was carried unanimously.
“Now all opposed say ‘No’!” said Mr. Chisholm.
There was no one at all who answered. Those who didn’t vote wanted to think the matter over before giving their decision. Mr. Chisholm had placed his hand in his pocket and brought out the roll of bills, which he gave to Henderson, and at the same time he laid the pocket-book on Bob’s knee. The latter’s hands closed about it as though it had contained the will he had expected to find there. He didn’t care a cent for the money—he would have given it all to have his father back to him, but the pocket-book was something that Mr. Davenport had handled. He would cherish it as long as he lived.
“There’s somebody in camp who has removed that pocket-book that I wanted to see,” said Henderson, as he clutched the bills and thrust them into his pocket. “I know my brother well enough to understand his business, and when he saw his end coming he didn’t let the matter drop here. He has got a will somewhere.”
“Lem! Frank!” shouted Mr. Chisholm.
The two cowboys instantly stepped forward.