So he put the little partner on his back, and staggered away into the desert. He had one cartridge in the gun, no water, only the stars to guide him, and at sunrise the Frontier Guards would see his tracks. There was no hope.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE WHITE STAR
As soon as Captain McCalmont was clear of the city I meandered in a casual way around the saloons, taking a drink here, a cigar there, passing the word for a meeting of cowboys only. They were to ride out by twos and threes for home in the usual way, but the time for the meeting was sunset, and the place a slope of hillside beyond Balshannon's grave. There we gathered to the number of thirty head, and Mutiny rode into the bunch to cut out any strangers who might have strayed with the herd. There being no strays, I spoke—
"Boys, you-all knows who was buried here on the hilltop. He was my friend, and a sure friend of all range men." Some of the boys uncovered, one called—
"Spit it out, ole Chalkeye! When you starts up yo' church, rent me a stall!"
"I'll hire yo' ruddy scalp," says I, "instead of lamps. Wall, boys, these town toughs has shot out El Señor Don, and they're proposing to play their pure fountain of law on two more of our tribe, the same being young Jim his son, and little Curly McCalmont."
"Say, Chalkeye, when do you get yo' dividends from Messrs. Robbers, Roost, and Co.?"
"Why, Buck, it's on them days when I trusts you with loans of money."