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A few days after the stampede, the bruised body of poor Texas was found where he had been trampled to death by the herd. What was left of the loco-weed that had wrought his ruin was burned, and the Northern college professor is still without his specimens. The Magill residence was situated near the highways connecting Knoxville and Chattanooga.
He seemed more bewildered than frightened. "He's eatun some of that loco-weed that Cribbens spoke about," panted McTeague. "Whoa, there; steady, you." At length the mule stopped of his own accord, and seemed to come to his senses again. McTeague came up and took the bridle rein, speaking to him and rubbing his nose. "There, there, what's the matter with you?" The mule was docile again.
He acted as if possessed, squealing, lashing out, and galloping in wide circles, his head high in the air. "Come on," shouted Marcus, furious, turning back to McTeague. "Come on, help me catch him. We got to catch him. All the water we got is on the saddle." McTeague came up. "He's eatun some loco-weed," he repeated. "He went kinda crazy once before."
But it's pizener than milk-sick or loco-weed. It's aqua-fortis, fish-berries, tobacco juice and ratsbane. That stuff'd eat a hole in a tin pan." "The Captain turned the rest o' his money over to the hospital," continued the Deacon. "I might do that." "Never do it in the world, Pap," protested Si. "Better burn it up at once. It'd be the next worst thing to givin' it back to him.
Of these men who make their living in searching for the dreaded loco-weed and destroying it wherever found were Big Billy, Little Billy, and One-eyed Saylo. One summer night John told Martha to get her guitar, while he saddled Texas and his own pony for a ride. In a few moments they were galloping over the prairie on their way to a cow-boy camp about three miles away.
The dentist let the animal have his head, and in a few minutes he had brought them to the bed of a tiny cañón where a thin stream of brackish water filtered over a ledge of rocks. "We'll camp here," observed Cribbens, "but we can't turn the horses loose. We'll have to picket 'em with the lariats. I saw some loco-weed back here a piece, and if they get to eating that, they'll sure go plum crazy.
"There's a canteen of water on the mule." Marcus moved toward the mule and made as if to reach the bridle-rein. The mule squealed, threw up his head, and galloped to a little distance, rolling his eyes and flattening his ears. Marcus swore wrathfully. "He acted that way once before," explained McTeague, his hands still in the air. "He ate some loco-weed back in the hills before I started."
That's what loco-weed is." "And the shepherds?" "When a man gets dull and stupid by being alone so much, and sees sheep all the time even when his eyes are shut the best thing he can do is to leave the range. Some folks can stand being alone, others can't. Why, I have known of herders being alone until they actually wouldn't talk they couldn't.
Then there was a mad scamper of horses' hoofs, the yells grew fainter, and the cow-boys were gone. When John went into the house he found two letters which had been brought up by some passing friend from Amarilla. One of them was from an old schoolmate of his, who had become a professor in a Northern college, asking for some loco-weed, to be added to the college botanical collection.
The gunny-sack of loco-weed was lying at the side of the porch, and both girls watched John and Saylo with interest as they shook out and examined its contents. "So they all want some of this stuff to look at an' study, up No'th, do they?" said Saylo, and added: "I reckon we-all wouldn't be so over-flowin' with grief ef they'd take all th' loco thar is in th' State o' Texas."
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