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“Boss Whitney not here,” stated the Indian. “Boss Taylor good man but not like Chief. You wait for him. Now I go send one, two my young men trail Miguel. Perhaps they catch him—Jenkins, he never catch him. He tired. Not much good trail nohow.” The night passed without any disturbance. The morning arose fresh and bright; the Heavens exhibited a clear and unclouded concave; even the wild heath, refreshed by the late rains, smiled around, and sent up with the morning gale a stream of fragrance. “And was he pleased?”.
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“And has the plan been a success?” interrupted Bob again. “Yes, for the most part, as their horses were fresher. While we were rounding up the stragglers, the others were so far ahead I didn’t think it worth while pursuing them further. But we’ve got enough to make an example of. It’s been a good night’s work.” As he spoke Bob did not flinch before the threatening attitude of the two cowboys. “You little shrimp,” said Wesley. “I’ve got half a mind to wring your neck and throw you in the bushes.” Wasn’t there something else he could sell so that Grandmother should see the ocean and everything again? Oh, of course—all those books about Indians; they must be worth a good deal and he had at least twelve of them. And his collection of eggs! Why, yes! They were perfectly beautiful eggs, and rare, many of them. To be sure almost every one was broken a little on one side. That didn’t matter a bit when they were placed nicely in a box, but perhaps people who bought eggs would rather have them whole. Well, the fishing rod was valuable, anyway..
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