The next day Horace walked easier ’n any of us. Now I’m tellin’ this to ya straight ’n’ you can believe it or not just as ya please; but that little cuss stepped right along, began to notice the scenery, an’ even cracked a few jokes now an’ again; while me an’ Tank just plodded with our minds fixed on the meal we were goin’ to get that night. Horace had give up all thought o’ meals, so they didn’t pester him any.

At the end of the third day Horace had lost his appetite complete. Friar Tuck had swore that hunger didn’t worry a man more ’n three days, an’ sure enough, it didn’t. Horace didn’t care whether he ever et again or not. He’d get a little dizzy when he’d start out, an’ once in a while he’d feel a bit fainty; but as far as bein’ ravenous went, me an Tank had him beat a mile.

“Where is the joke o’ this fool trip?” growled Tank to me on the evenin’ of the fourth day as we were eatin’ the supper Spider Kelley had brought out. “He ain’t a human at all, Horace ain’t; he’s a reptile, an’ can live without food.”

Spider was tickled a lot, and said he didn’t care if he did lose his bet, that it was worth it to find how everlastin’ tough a little half-hand like Horace could be when drove to it. I’d been thinkin’ it over all day, but I didn’t say anything.

Friar Tuck had said it was a question of will power, more ’n anything else: that if a man just held his thoughts away from food it wouldn’t bother him; but if he kept thinkin’ of it, the digestin’ juices would flow into his stomach an’ make him think he was starvin’; so I was minded to try a new plan next day.

“Spider,” I sez, “you put a cow an’ calf up in Nufty’s Corral”—which was the name of a little shut-in park we would go through the next afternoon. “Put ’em there in the mornin’, a cow with an off brand, if you can find one, an’ trim their hoofs down close, so they won’t go back to the bunch. Remember ’at we’re on foot, an’ trim ’em close enough to make it hurt ’em to walk. I’m goin’ to make Horace hungry if I can.”

“I hate to play again’ him and my own bet,” sez Spider; “but I’ll have the cow there, just to see what you’re up to. If you’re goin’ to butcher it, though, I don’t see why a young steer wouldn’t be better.”

“I’ll count on you havin’ it there,” sez I; an’ then Spider rode back to the ranch house, an’ me an’ Tank went to sleep.

Next mornin’ me an’ Tank put the cartridges out of our belts into our pockets. As soon as we started to walk I began to talk about my hunger, an’ weakness, an’ the empty feelin’ in my head an’ stomach. At first Horace didn’t pay any heed; but from the start, ol’ Tank Williams caught every symptom I suggested; until I feared he’d curl up on the trail an’ die o’ starvation. Finally, though, Horace began to pay heed to my suggestions, an’ to sigh an’ moan a little. What finally got him was my gnawin’ at my rope an’ gauntlet. Tank an’ I had saved our ropes, ’cause we expected to have need of ’em; and when noon came an’ I sat with a stupid look in my face, chewin’ first the rope, an’ then the wrist o’ the gauntlet, Horace began to have some of the symptoms I was fishin’ for. Finally he borrowed one o’ my gauntlets, an’ after he had munched on it a while, he was as hungry as any one could wish.

“I can’t go another peg,” he sez when I got up to start on again.

“How does that come?” I asked him. “When we stopped to rest you was feelin’ more chipper ’n any of us.”

“I’m dyin’ o’ hunger,” he replied, solemn. “I’ve got a gnawin’ pain in my stomach, an’ I’m all in. I fear my stomach is punctured or stuck together or somethin’.”

I had had a lot o’ discussions with Friar Tuck about the power o’ suggestion; but I had never took much stock in it. I could see now, though, that it actually did work. As long as Horace was tellin’ himself that everything was all right, why, it was all right. Then when I suggested ’at we were dyin’ of hunger, why, he actually began to die of hunger; an’ it was wonderful to see the change in him. He showed us how he had ganted down; and the fact was, his bones had become purty prominent without any help from suggestin’. He didn’t have any more belly ’n a snake; but his eyes were bright, an’ his skin clear, except that it was peelin’ off purty splotchy, from sun-burn.

We finally left him an’ started on; and after we’d got some distance, he staggered after us; but he was just goin’ on his nerve now, an’ not gettin’ much joy out of existence.

About four in the afternoon, we reached Nufty’s Corral, a fine little park with only a narrow entrance at each end. Horace was up with us by this time, an’ we were all ploddin’ along head down. Suddenly Horace grabbed us by the arms. “Hush!” he sez.

“What’s up?” sez I, lookin’ at him.

“Look,” he whispers, pointin’ at the cow an’ calf; “there’s food.”

We drew back an’ consulted about it. “The great danger after a fast,” I sez in warnin’, “lies in overeatin’. All we can do is to drink a little blood for the first few hours.”

“Why can’t we broil a steak over some coals?” sez Horace.

“It would kill us to eat steak now,” sez I.

He held out for the steak; but I finally sez that if he won’t promise to be temperate an’ eat only what I tell him, I’ll drive off the cow; and then he comes around, and agrees to it.

“You sneak around to the far openin’, Tank,” I sez, then I pauses, an’ looks at him as though shocked. “Where’s your cartridges, man?” I asked.

Tank felt of his belt, and seemed plumb beat out, then he looked at mine, an’ yelled, “Where’s yours?”

We both sat down on stones an’ went over what we had done every minute o’ the time since we had started out; until Horace became frantic, an’ sez: “What’s the difference what became of ’em? Your revolvers are loaded. You can sure kill one cow out o’ twenty-four shots.”

“Twenty shots,” I corrected. “We allus carry the hammer on an empty chamber; an’ I’m so bloomin’ weak I doubt if I could hit a cow in ten shots.”

Horace turned loose an’ told us what he thought of us, an’ it was edifyin’ to hearken to him—he hit the nail on the head so often. Finally I sez: “Well, a man can do no more than try—Go ahead, Tank, but don’t let her get by you, whatever happens.”

The cow, which was a homely grade-whiteface with a splotch on her nose which made it look as if most of the nose had been cut off, stood in the center of the park, an’ she was beginnin’ to get uneasy, although the wind was from her way.

As soon as Tank got to his entrance he shot in the air; an’ she came chargin’ down on me. I shot over her, an’ she charged back. We kept this up until Horace lost patience an’ called me a confounded dub. “Here,” sez I, “the’s two cartridges left. You fire ’em, I won’t.”

At first he refused, but he was desperate, and finally after I’d told him to use both hands, he took a shot. The cow was standin’ closest to us, but lookin’ Tank’s way, an’ Horace nicked her in the ham. Instead of chargin’ Tank, like a sensible cow, she came for us head on. Now, when a bull charges, he picks out somethin’ to steer for, then closes his eyes, and sets sail; but a cow keeps her eyes open, an’ she don’t aim to waste any plunges either. Horace stood out in the center of the entrance an’ banged away again, strikin’ the ground about ten feet in front of him.

“Run!” I yells to him, jumpin’ back behind a big rock, “Run!”

He forgot all about bein’ hungry, an’ he started to backtrail like a scared jack-rabbit. The cow had forgot all about havin’ had her hoofs pared, an’ she took after him like a hungry coyote. As she passed me, I roped her, took a snub around the rock, an’ flopped her; but she did just what I thought she’d do—rolled to her feet an’ took after me. She was angry. I’d have given right smart for a tough little pony between my knees.

The cow had forgot all about havin’ had her hoofs pared, an’ she took after him like a hungry coyote