The half-breed nodded, and the Texan's frown deepened as he leaned closer. "An' you see that you get her through safe an' sound or I'll cut off them ears of yours an' stake you out in a rattlesnake den to think it over." The man grinned and the frown faded from the Texan's face. "You got to do me a good turn, Bat. Remember them four bits in Las Vegas!"
"A'm tak' de girl to Snake Creek crossin' a'right; you'm don' need for be 'fraid for dat."
The cowpuncher whirled and spurred his horse to overtake the cowboys who, with the prisoner in charge, were already well out upon the trail.
In front of the hotel the half-breed watched the flying horseman until he disappeared from sight.
"A'm wonder if dat girl be safe wit' him, lak' she is wit' me—bien. A'm t'ink mebbe-so dat damn good t'ing ol' Bat goin' long. If she damn fine girl mebbe-so Tex, he goin' mar' her. Dat be good t'ing. But, by Gar! if he don' mar' her, he gon' leave her 'lone. Me—A'm lak' dat Tex fine, lak' me own brudder. He got de good heart. But w'en he drink de hooch, den A'm got for look after him. He don' care wan damn 'bout nuttin'. Dat four bit in Las Vegas, dats a'right. A'm fink 'bout dat, too. But, by Gar, it tak' more'n four bit in Las Vegas for mak' of Bat let dat girl git harm."
An atmosphere of depression pervaded the group of riders as they wound in and out of the cottonwood clumps and threaded the deep coulee that led to the bench. For the most part they preserved an owlish silence, but now and then someone would break into a low, weird refrain and the others would join in with the mournful strain of "The Dying Cowboy."
"Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie-e-e,
Where the coyote howls and the wind blows free."
Or the dirge-like wail of the "Cowboy's Lament":
"Then swing your rope slowly and rattle your spurs lowly,
And give a wild whoop as you carry me along:
And in the grave throw me and roll the sod o'er me,
For I'm only a cowboy that knows he's done wrong."
"Shall we take him to Lone Tree Coulee?" asked one. Another answered disdainfully.