“By gum! the boys have got it, sure enough,” said the spokesman, as he ran his eye rapidly over the paper. “‘In the name of God, Amen! I, Robert Davenport, being thoroughly convinced of the uncertainty of life, do hereby give and bequeath to my son, Robert Davenport, all the property of which I may die possessed, to wit:’ There you have it. Do you want to see it?”
The man who held the revolver raised it to a level with Henderson’s head, the man who had his grip on the bridle tightened it, and the spokesman passed the will over to Henderson. My heart was in my mouth, for I did not know but the man, in his rage, would kill himself; but he did nothing of the sort. He ran his eye rapidly over the paper, and I saw that he was trying to find the name of the bank in which Mr. Davenport’s bonds were deposited for safe keeping, and then I interfered.
“That’s enough!” I exclaimed. “He doesn’t want to get at the name of that bank, because he may get there before we do. Take it away from him!”
“You are too late, young man,” said Henderson, as he readily gave up the will. “And now, I will bid you good-by. You are a pack of thieves, the last one of you!”
He made an effort to spur up his horse, but the man who held his bridle was not to be taken unawares.
“Take that back!” he exclaimed.
“Well, you want me to call you something, don’t you?” said Henderson.
I think he was the coolest man I ever saw. That was twice he had looked into the muzzle of a revolver when the man who stood behind it was just on the point of shooting, but he never changed color.
“Take it back!” said the man. “One—two——”
“Well, then, you are gentlemen, the last one of you,” said the culprit. “Now, let me go, and when you get down to Austin you may be sure you will find me there. There isn’t any law against that, I suppose?”