“Is it all right?” he asked.
“It is all there,” replied Bob. “I read the whole of it.”
“Which was the lucky fellow?”
I jerked my thumb over my shoulder toward Tom Mason, and in another moment Mr. Chisholm had him from his horse.
“By George, Tommy, you did nobly!” said he, lifting Tom from the ground with one hand and giving him a grip with the other that must have brought tears of pain to his eyes. “I believe now that you found the nugget, but I was not prepared to swallow it all when I first heard of the story.”
“Course he did! Didn’t he find my nugget when it had been buried out of sight longer than I can remember? Give us your grip, Tom.”
We looked up, and there was Elam Storm coming around the wagon. He had his sleeves rolled up, and a person who knew him would have hesitated about shaking hands with him; but Tom took it without ceremony. There was genuine affection between the two boys, and it showed itself in the way they greeted each other.
“Now, boys,” said Mr. Chisholm, who could not have been more delighted if the will he had in his possession had deeded some property to him instead of to Bob, “the next thing is something else. I wish when you start out again that you would see every cowboy that you can, and tell him to come to my wagon after supper, for I have got some things that will interest them. I promised to do some more talking to them when I got the will, and now I am in a condition to do it. Tell Henderson to come along too.”
“Henderson won’t be here,” said our spokesman.
“Ah! Skipped out, has he?”