“Who’s that a-comin’ there? Speak quick!”
An instant later, and before Bill had time to reply the crack of a revolver awoke the echoes of the cabin, and a short but desperate struggle took place in Elam’s direction. Then the pistol cracked again, and in an instant afterward the intruder was gone. It was all done so quickly that, although I had my hand on my revolver under my pillow, I did not have time to fire a shot.
“Well, sir, that’s the quickest man I ever saw,” stammered Elam. “I had two pulls at him, but he knocked my arm out of the way and got safe off.”
“Did you hit him?” I asked, knowing how impossible it was for him to miss at that distance.
“No, I didn’t. He hasn’t had time to get fur away, an’ I say let’s go after him. I wish he would give me another chance at him at that distance. I’d hit him sure.”
By this time the whole cabin was in an uproar. All started up with pistols in their hands, and all demanded of Elam an explanation. He gave it in a few words, adding:
“I knew mighty well that the fellow didn’t come in here fur no good. That’s the way I should have done if I had been him. He’s out there now, an’ I say let’s go after him.”
“The villain was after my pocket-book,” said Mr. Davenport, in evident excitement. “He wouldn’t have got more than five or ten dollars, for that is all there is in it. Lem, I want you and Frank to listen to me,” he added, seizing the nearest cowboy by the arm. “I have been keeping ’Rastus Johnson here until I could find out----”
“’Rastus Johnson! That aint ary one of his names,” shouted Elam. “His name is Coyote Bill!”
That was all the cowboys wanted to hear. In the meantime we had thrown off the blankets, and jumping to our feet followed the cowboys out of the ranch--all except Mr. Davenport, who, knowing that the night air wasn’t good for him, stayed behind to keep guard over his pocket-book. I followed the cowboys directly to the place of Bill’s bunk, but when we got there it was empty. He and his six-shooters were gone. I tell you I breathed a good deal easier after that.
“Coyote Bill!” said Frank, leaning one hand against the tree under which the fugitive had made his bunk. “I wondered what that fellow’s object was in coming here and passing himself off for ’Rastus Johnson, and now I know. Cattle is getting so that it doesn’t pay to steal them, and he was here to get the old man’s pocket-book.”