“Well, pilgrim, it is enough for us, situated the way we are now. I have seen the time when that bayou down there was booming full, and you would have to wait for a week before you could cross it. I suppose you would like a roof to shelter you to-night, wouldn’t you?” said the cowboy. “Well, if you will follow the creek up about ten miles, you will find the ranch of Mr. Davenport, my boss. He will give you plenty to eat and a shakedown, but your horses will fare hard for grass.”
“Thank you! We would like something a little different from the bacon and crackers we have been living upon so long,” said I. “Mr. Davenport isn’t so hard up as his cattle?”
“Oh, bless you, he’s got plenty. He got a whole wagon load of things last night.”
Thanking the cowboy again for his kindness in showing us the water, we rode away. The route we followed took us directly through his cattle, and I was not much surprised when I remembered what the cowboy had said about selling them for a dollar apiece. I never saw such poverty-stricken cattle in my life. Even the bulls paid no sort of attention to us, and we told one another that we thought our trip to Texas had not amounted to anything, and that we would have to wait until the next spring before we could take any cattle home with us. While we were talking the matter over, Tom pointed out in the distance the whitewashed walls of Mr. Davenport’s ranch.
CHAPTER II.
MR. DAVENPORT’S SECRET.
The nearer we approached to the ranch the more like a home place it looked to us, the only thing that did not appear natural being the hayracks that were usually piled up for the horses. These were all gone, thus proving that the ranchman had not been able to provide any more for the benefit of his steeds that were to carry him and his cowboys during all sorts of weather. Of course there could be no hay while the grass that was to furnish it was all burned up. As we drew nearer we discovered a man and a boy sitting on the porch. They did not wait for us to speak to them, but the boy got up with his face beaming all over with smiles, while the man, who seemed to be a sort of invalid, kept his chair.
“Strangers, you’re welcome to Hardscrabble,” said he. “Alight and hitch. Your horses won’t go very far away, and so you can turn them loose.”
“Thank you,” said I. I was expected to do all the talking. “Do we address Mr. Davenport?”
“That is my name,” returned the invalid. “And I see you are boys, too. Bob will be glad of that. Come up here.”