“Well, the sun was shinin’ now, and it got brighter and brighter, and while the Ole Man was wonderin’ what in the dickens to do next, Ole Spot jest dropped down dead from sunstroke. That sort of got next to the Ole Man, for he said that brute had been a real friend to him, and besides he was worth his weight in gold. Still, he ’lowed he’d might as well skin him. So he got out his old Bowie knife and started to work.
“Well, sir, while he was skinnin’ Spot, a norther came up, and damn me, if Ole Buck didn’t keel over, froze to death.
“So the Ole Man decided he’d jest as well stop there where he was. So he told the Ole Woman to bring up the brats. He throwed the ox yoke over a stump; and the Ole Woman brought up some chuck and some beddin’ from the wagon. Then they et supper and tucked the kids into bed. The Ole Man tried to blow out the lantern, but she wouldn’t blow. He raised up the globe, and there was the flame froze stiff as an icicle. He jest broke it off and buried it in the sand and turned in and went to sleep.
“The next mornin’ when he woke up, it was clear and the sun was warm. Well, the Ole Woman cooked a bite, and while they was eatin’, here come the wagon right up the hill. You see the rawhide was dryin’ out. That’s the way it does.”
“That’s what it does, all right,” said Red. “Once I knowed a clod-hopper that made his self a rawhide hat. It worked fine till one day he got caught out in the rain. Then the sun come out, and that hat drawed up so he couldn’t git it off. And it was drawin’ up and mashin’ his head somethin’ terrible. Lucky for him, it wasn’t very far to a tank, and he got off and stood on his head in the water a few minutes and it come right off.”
“Well,” said Joe, “that’s what the rawhide log-chain done. It dried out, and that wagon come right up the hill; and when it got up to where the Ole Man and the Ole Woman was, the Ole Man got his choppin’ axe and begun cuttin’ down trees to make him a cabin. And that’s where he settled.”
“Did Pecos Bill grow up there in East Texas?” asked Lanky.
“He left when he was a mere lad,” said Joe. “But he lived there a little while. The Ole Man got along fine till his corn give out, because there was plenty of game. But he jest couldn’t do without his corn-pone and his corn whiskey. So he cleared a little patch and put it in corn.”
“And worked it without his steers?” asked Lanky.
“Why not?” said Joe. “He made him a light Georgie-stock out of wood, and the Ole Woman and one of the bigger kids could pull it fine. He made some harness out of the hide of Old Spot, and he’d hitch ’em and plough all day.