On one occasion Henderson started out alone to visit some ranches he had heard of, but which seldom drove any of their cattle to market. It was just about the time the drought was commencing and Henderson was anxious to get beyond reach of it, out on the plains where water was abundant and grass plenty. If he could once reach that spot he was sure that he could make something nice out of his cattle; but the trouble was the drought spread all over that part of Texas. He was mounted on an old dilapidated horse, carried his revolver strapped around his waist, and had but three or four dollars in his pocket—not enough to pay anybody for the trouble of robbing him. But after he had been on the journey for two weeks, during which time he met one or two parties who would just as soon rob him as not, he came to the conclusion that he had undertaken his ride for nothing. There was an abundance of cattle for sale, but the difficulty was they would not bring any more in Austin than he was willing to pay on the spot, and one day he turned around with the intention of going back, when he saw a horseman on a distant swell coming toward him. As he evidently wanted to communicate with him, Henderson rode on to meet him.
“You won’t get any more than your trouble if you try to rob me,” said Henderson. “I’ll wait and see what he wants. Perhaps he knows of some cattle around here that I can buy.”
“How-dy, pilgrim,” said the horseman when he came up. “Have you been travelling fur to-day?”
“I have been out ever since daylight this morning,” said Henderson. “Why do you ask?”
“’Cause I didn’t know but you had seen some cattle bearing the mark of bar Y. R. as you came along. Haven’t seen any, have you? There is probably a hundred head got away from me night before last, and I can’t find hide nor hair of them. They have gone off in search of grass and water. We haven’t got any here to speak of.”
“No, I haven’t seen any, and I may as well turn around and go back. This drought extends over the whole of the country.”
“Bless you, yes! We got word the other day from a ranch twenty miles the other side of us that they are packing up and getting ready to go to Trinity.”
“Why, the farmers won’t allow that. They will shoot the last beef you have.”
“Well, it will take a right smart deal of ammunition to do that,” said the horseman, with a grin. “’Cause why? there will be about seventy-five thousand head, mebbe more, that will have to be shot; and when the farmers are doing that, what do you suppose we’ll be doing?”
“I suppose you will be shooting too. Do you own these cattle?”