What with my bank deposit and the sale of my home, Dick brought me back nine thousand dollars in cash. Likewise I had in my warbags the money which McCalmont had trusted to my care for Curly's dowry. I gave Dick charge of all this wealth, taking only a thousand dollars for present expenses, and stuffed the same in the treasure-belt which I carry next my skin. These proceedings were a comfort to me, for I'm here to remark, and ready to back my statements with money, arguments, or guns, that the handling of wealth is more encouraging to the heart than such lonesome games as the pursuit of virtue.
Besides the plunder and Curly's trousseau, Dick brought me chocolate creams, a new breed of rim-fire cigars just strong enough to buck, a quart of pickles, and some medicine for our thirst. The old drunkard knows what is good, and before supper we sat in the barn with these comforts talking business.
It needs such surroundings of luxury to get my thoughts down to any manner of business, for I hold that office work is adapted to town sharps only, and not to men. Bryant and I had the misfortune to be named in Lord Balshannon's will as his executors, to ride herd on his Jim until such time as the colt could run alone. In this business my co-robber had taken action already, annexing the trainload of breeding cattle which had been stolen by Jabez Y. Stone. These cattle were sold by auction, and Dick held the money, swearing that nobody else but Jim should get so much as a smell.
With regard to Holy Cross, Dick, as sheriff, had seized the old hacienda, and the same must be sold to pay Balshannon's debts to the Ryan estate. It seems that Michael Ryan claimed this plunder, and that Jim, the natural heir, had stolen Michael. "Thar it stands," says Dick, who has a legal mind, "until Jim skins his meat."
That set me thinking of Michael. He was not likely to be special fat after his ride with the robbers.
"I doubt," says Bryant, "that so shorely as Jim does the skinning, that Ryan duck ain't got a tail feather left."
With these remarks he slanted away back to town, having agreed to sup with the City Marshal. As for me, I lay in the corn-shucks full of dim wonderings about that Pedersen person cramped in the cooler at Lordsburg on Bryant's charge of "bigamy and confusion of mind." The question was, would he stay put? The arrangement made with Pedersen was only temporary, not permanent like a proper funeral. Moreover, in his place I should have felt mournful and ill used. I should have put up objections and struggles to find my way out. Suppose this person escaped, or got loosed by his lawyer, or sent Curly's address to the Grave City police? I was afflicted with doubts about said Pedersen, and my mind began to gloat on the joys of absence. So I saddled the horses, got ready for the warpath, and watching until it was dark enough, made a break for the back door of the house, carrying Curly's outfit.
To judge by the clatter in the house, something had happened, and when I broke in on the ladies, I found them having hysterics over their copy of the Weekly Obituary. I slung the cowboy gear to Curly, and bade her change herself quick because we must hit the trail. On that the clatter got to a crisis, as it does in a hen-roost in the case of fox. Miss Blossom called me all the names she could think of; Miss Pansy sobbed at having to part with her little private robber; Miss Curly whirled in telling the news in the paper. All of them wanted to talk, so I surely played fox to that hen-roost, chasing Miss Pansy out to pack us a lunch for the trail, grabbing the paper from Curly, and scaring Miss Blossom with bad words until she got tame enough to attend to business. She took Curly into the bedroom, and there was a sort of lull, while I got my ears to work at the back door.
It's a true fact that I have a sort of sense which warns me if danger is coming. It makes my hands tingle as if they were full of prickles, and my heart beats loud, so I can scarcely hear. That minute I stood at the back door felt like whole hours of waiting, so that I wanted to howl. Close by me in the kitchen Miss Pansy was sobbing about the bad words she had heard, and through the mosquito netting I could hear Miss Blossom oppressing Curly while she changed her clothes. I folded the newspaper and jammed it into my pocket, studied the lay of the stable door to see how quick I could get the horses out, and pulled my gun loose for war.
Away towards the town I could hear the rumble of wheels half a mile, coming on rapid.