The Texan
picked his way down the hill, slipping and sliding in the soft mud.
"Breakfast about ready?" he asked, with a grin.
"Breakfas'! _Voila_! A'm lak' A'm got som' breakfas', you bet!
Me--A'm gon' for cut de chonk of meat out de dead steer but de pilgrim
say: '_Non_, dat bes' we don' eat de damn drownded cattle--dat better
we sta've firs'!"
Tex laughed: "Can't stand for the drownded ones, eh? Well I don't know
as I blame you none, they might be some soggy." Reaching into his
shirt-front he produced a salt bag which he tossed to Endicott.
"Here's some sinkers I fetched along. Divide 'em up. I've et. It
ain't no great ways back to camp----"
"How is she--Miss Marcum? Did she suffer from the shock?"
"Nary suffer. I fixed her up a camp last night back in the timber
where we all landed, an' then came away."
"She spent the night alone in the timber!" cried Endicott.
The Texan nodded. "Yes. There ain't nothin' will bother her. I
judged it to be the best way." Endicott's hand shot out and the
cowboy's met it in a firm grip. "I reckon we're fifty-fifty on that,"
he said gravely. "How's the swimmin'?"
Endicott laughed: "Fine--only I didn't have to do a great deal of it.
I staged a little riding contest all my own, part of the way on a dead
cow, and the rest of it on this tree-trunk.
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