“Spider,” I sez, “you put a cow an’ calf up in Nufty’s Corral”—which was the name of a little shut-in park we would go through the next afternoon. “Put ’em there in the mornin’, a cow with an off brand, if you can find one, an’ trim their hoofs down close, so they won’t go back to the bunch. Remember ’at we’re on foot, an’ trim ’em close enough to make it hurt ’em to walk. I’m goin’ to make Horace hungry if I can.”
“I hate to play again’ him and my own bet,” sez Spider; “but I’ll have the cow there, just to see what you’re up to. If you’re goin’ to butcher it, though, I don’t see why a young steer wouldn’t be better.”
“I’ll count on you havin’ it there,” sez I; an’ then Spider rode back to the ranch house, an’ me an’ Tank went to sleep.
Next mornin’ me an’ Tank put the cartridges out of our belts into our pockets. As soon as we started to walk I began to talk about my hunger, an’ weakness, an’ the empty feelin’ in my head an’ stomach. At first Horace didn’t pay any heed; but from the start, ol’ Tank Williams caught every symptom I suggested; until I feared he’d curl up on the trail an’ die o’ starvation. Finally, though, Horace began to pay heed to my suggestions, an’ to sigh an’ moan a little. What finally got him was my gnawin’ at my rope an’ gauntlet. Tank an’ I had saved our ropes, ’cause we expected to have need of ’em; and when noon came an’ I sat with a stupid look in my face, chewin’ first the rope, an’ then the wrist o’ the gauntlet, Horace began to have some of the symptoms I was fishin’ for. Finally he borrowed one o’ my gauntlets, an’ after he had munched on it a while, he was as hungry as any one could wish.
“I can’t go another peg,” he sez when I got up to start on again.
“How does that come?” I asked him. “When we stopped to rest you was feelin’ more chipper ’n any of us.”
“I’m dyin’ o’ hunger,” he replied, solemn. “I’ve got a gnawin’ pain in my stomach, an’ I’m all in. I fear my stomach is punctured or stuck together or somethin’.”
I had had a lot o’ discussions with Friar Tuck about the power o’ suggestion; but I had never took much stock in it. I could see now, though, that it actually did work. As long as Horace was tellin’ himself that everything was all right, why, it was all right. Then when I suggested ’at we were dyin’ of hunger, why, he actually began to die of hunger; an’ it was wonderful to see the change in him. He showed us how he had ganted down; and the fact was, his bones had become purty prominent without any help from suggestin’. He didn’t have any more belly ’n a snake; but his eyes were bright, an’ his skin clear, except that it was peelin’ off purty splotchy, from sun-burn.
We finally left him an’ started on; and after we’d got some distance, he staggered after us; but he was just goin’ on his nerve now, an’ not gettin’ much joy out of existence.
About four in the afternoon, we reached Nufty’s Corral, a fine little park with only a narrow entrance at each end. Horace was up with us by this time, an’ we were all ploddin’ along head down. Suddenly Horace grabbed us by the arms. “Hush!” he sez.