A DOWN-GRADE PROBLEM
Late as it was when Teddy and Roy Manley reached home that night, a
conference was called. Mr. Manley sat in his office, a room set aside
for his exclusive use, and listened to Teddy’s story, the while he
puffed thoughtfully on his corncob pipe and, now and again, tugged at
the ends of his mustache. When the tale was finished he clapped his
hands together in the manner of a man who has come to a sudden decision.
“Mob Jamisson has attempted to commit murder!” he ejaculated.
Teddy and Roy started. It had not seemed so serious to them. They had
not the advantage of Mr. Manley’s years in interpreting the occurrence.
To them it had merely appeared that a man with a grudge against them
had tried to injure them.
“Murder!” Roy repeated slowly. “Sounds nasty, Dad.”
Mr. Manley nodded. He picked up the ’phone and called a number at the
Hawley exchange.
“Hello--speak to the Sheriff. What? This is Bardwell Manley, at the X
Bar X Ranch. Right.”
He waited a moment, evidently while someone was being called to the
instrument. Then he said:
“This you, Sheriff? This is Bardwell Manley. X Bar X Ranch. What do you
know about a man who goes by the name of Mob Jamisson? Wanted, is he?
What for? Yes.... Uh-huh. Listen. Add attempted murder to that charge,
and see--he tried to kill my boy, Teddy. Shot at him. We have proof
all right. And there was another man with him, name of Lefton--Jerry
Lefton. Heard of him too, hey? Well, I’d like you to get out warrants
for both of them. Soon as possible. That’s it. Let me know if you find
’em. Sure. Thanks. So long!” Mr. Manley hung up the receiver, and faced
about.
“That’s the first gun,” he said. “We’ll take no more chances on waddies
like that. Makay is a good man. He’ll bring ’em in if they’re still
around. Now--” he tapped the ashes from the bowl of his pipe and
arose--“the next time you boys go out you wear guns. If Jamisson and
his gang have the idea they’re bad men of the West, we’ll just show ’em
that the old West isn’t dead yet. Round-up is next week. I don’t want
anything to happen, especially with that big order we got. Six hundred
head is a large-size bit.”
His face clouded, and the boys waited for him to finish his thought.
“Peterson--he called me up to-day. Wanted to be sure I could make
delivery. Never said a word about money, and the market is goin’ down
every day, too. Way it stands now, he’s payin’ three a head more than
Pete Ball, at the 8 X 8, expects to get. I don’t understand it.”
“What did he say when he called up?” Roy asked curiously.
“Nothin’ much--just asked me how things were comin’. Told him fine.
They are, too. I don’t want to lose that forfeit. Five hundred isn’t
exactly pin-money.”
“I’ll tell a maverick it isn’t!” Impressed with the seriousness of this
talk, Roy’s voice unconsciously assumed a deeper tone.
Mr. Manley, under cover of a cough, looked at his sons. They were
growing to manhood quickly, these boys. Their eyes had a steadier light
in them, and he noticed how straight they sat, as though they were
holding their muscles taut. In the past two years they had gone through
many adventures, and had come out of each with an increased feeling of
reliance upon themselves. He knew now that it was wise to have allowed
them to stop school when they wished. The West had been their school,
as it had been his, and when one graduated from it one was well
equipped for the battle of life.
Under his prolonged stare, the boys shifted and looked up inquiringly.
Mr. Manley chuckled and rested a hand on a shoulder of each of his sons.
“I was just thinkin’, boys, that soon you’ll be wantin’ to run this
ranch yourselves. You can, too. You’ve grown up, both of you. Grown
up into sons I can be proud of.” Abruptly his manner changed, and he
pulled them toward him affectionately. “Hit the hay now, buckers!
You’re not too old for me to spank if you stay up too late!” Laughing,
he released them. “Up early to-morrow. Plenty to do. Good-night, boys!”
“Good-night, Dad!”
Halfway up the stairs Teddy paused.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that dad is a regular fellow. I’d do
anything for him.”
Roy replied with a single sentence, but so fervent was it that it
seemed almost like a prayer:
“I’ll tell a maverick he is!”
And they continued to their room.
Early the next day the telephone in Mr. Manley’s office rang, and Roy
answered it. His father was not in at the moment, and he asked if he
could take the message.
“This is Peterson,” the voice at the other end said. “Will you tell
your father that I’ve heard talk of rustlers in this vicinity, and warn
him to guard his stock well? I’ll tell you now that I’ll hold him to
that forfeit if he can’t deliver, for it means a great deal to me.”
“We’ll deliver all right,” Roy declared. “Don’t worry about that. Who
told you there were rustlers around?”
“Oh, it’s general talk,” Peterson said evasively. “Just remember I
warned you. Good-bye.”
“Wait a--”
There was a click as the other end disconnected, and Roy hung his
receiver. He turned to find Teddy watching him.
“More news?”
“You might call it that. Peterson just called up. Told me to tell dad
that he’s heard there are rustlers around, and to keep track of our
stock. Said he’d demand the forfeit if we didn’t deliver.”
“Huh! Sort of knocks our theory into a cocked hat--about his being in
with the Lefton crowd. If he--I mean Peterson--was a rustler, the last
thing he’d want to do would be to warn us to watch the cows.”
“Yea. Does look like that. Well, I’ll tell dad what he said. Coming?”
The two boys walked out of the office and into the yard. When Mr.
Manley heard Roy’s story he merely nodded, and gave no thought to
Teddy’s suggestion that this proved Peterson “was O.K.”
“Maybe, an’ maybe not,” he said, and returned to his work of repairing
his saddle. The boys waited for a moment, then wandered off.
“Hard to tell what he does think about it,” Roy commented.
“That’s a fact. Dad never did much talking. Wonder if the sheriff in
Hawley heard anything from Jamisson?”
“Not likely. He’ll lay low for a while, I reckon. The skunk! Every time
I think of him trying to shoot you in the back--”
“Me, too! You know, I have an idea that your remark of the bullet being
meant for you wasn’t so far wrong. Here’s how I figure: he knew you’d
heard them talking that night you went back after your knife. And
whatever you heard he didn’t want broadcast. Say, that means something
else, too! It means that what they said was important! By golly, I just
thought of that! Now let’s see. We’ll work this thing out.”
“Good stuff, Teddy. Let’s walk over this way.” He started for the side
porch, and Teddy followed. They sat on the lower step.
“Now, what they said was this,” Roy began. “First they said something
about six hundred head. That’s cattle. Then they mentioned cars, and
an eight mile run, and the old Jarmey place. We heard ’em talk about
the Jarmey place when we saw ’em at Red Rock, too.”
“Yep. Say, just where is the Jarmey place?”
“I have a rather hazy idea. It’s near Red Rock, I know. Suppose we ask
Pop?”
Teddy nodded, and arose.
“Think he’s around?”
“We can try. Might be near the bunkhouse.”
They walked over. Pop was cleaning a rifle, and looked up as the two
boys approached.
“Mornin’, gents. Got an hour to myself, an’ I decided to get this here
shootin’ iron into shape. Set!”
In response to the invitation, the boys squatted on the ground near him.
“Pop,” Teddy said, “we want to ask some questions.”
Pop removed his hat and scratched his bald head.
“Ain’t riddles, are they?”
“Nope. Say, just what do you know about the old Jarmey place?”
“Hum--thought I told you about that once before. Well, it’s about four
miles from Red Rock. Know where that is, don’t you?”
“Sure. We’ve been there.”
“Well, after you leave there you go west, up a steep grade. The Jarmey
place is right on top of a hill, with the tracks runnin’ down. Used to
be a railroad depot, but it ain’t used for nothin’ now.”
“Can you get to it from Red Rock by following the tracks?”
“Nope. You got to go around Shock Mountain. That’s between, an’ you
can’t climb it with a horse. The trail around is about ten or twelve
miles long.”
“But you said four miles--”
“As the crow flies. Now look. Suppose we start at Eagles.” He laid his
rifle down carefully, and with his forefinger drew a map in the dust.
“This here is Eagles. The main line comes in this way--you know that
part of it. Now, there’s a pair of tracks that run from Eagles to Red
Rock, on a branch. They ain’t used no more, since the main line came
in. Eagles is pretty high up, you know--higher’n Red Rock. The branch
that runs to Red Rock starts a little above Eagles. Well, you follow
these tracks down to Red Rock. Then they dip pretty sharp an’ curve,
an’ four miles farther come into the Jarmey station. I think they run
about eight miles beyond this, then peter out near Hawley. At least,
that’s my recollection of it.”
“Then, practically speaking, it’s down grade all the way from Eagles to
where that branch railroad ends?”
“Uh-huh. That’s one of the reasons they had to make a new railroad--the
engines couldn’t pull cattle cars up the hills.”
“Are there any cars on the siding now?”
“You mean down at the Jarmey place?”
“Well, either there or above Eagles.”
“Can’t say for certain. Might be. More chance of ’em bein’ above Eagles
than down at the other end. But if there are any, I wouldn’t want to
ride in ’em.”
“Think the tracks are still there, all the way to Red Rock?”
“Sure, an’ some distance beyond. There ain’t never been nobody with
enough gumption to root ’em up, so I reckon they’ll stay there till
they rust to pieces.”
“How far is it from Red Rock to where the tracks end?”
“Eight miles, didn’t you say, Pop?” Teddy broke in.
“About that. Why, thinkin’ of buyin’ the shebang?”
“Not any,” Roy laughed. “Eight miles!” He thought for a moment. “And
all down grade?”
“Yep. Reckon you could coast a bicycle all the way down, if you was so
minded. Or sky, for that matter.”
“Sky?”
“Sure! Ever hear of that? You put two barrel staves on your feet and
use ’em like skates. Course there has to be snow on the ground.”
“Oh, I see,” Teddy said, and turned his head away to hide his smiles.
“Well, that’s all, I guess. Thanks for the information, Pop.”
“Welcome. Any time at all. Glad to oblige.” He picked up his rifle
again. “Still practicin’ for the rodeo?”
“Haven’t to-day,” Roy answered. “Suppose we try a little, Teddy? Let’s
see what we can do with the pony express.”
“All right. I was thinking we might--But never mind. Sure, we’ll
practice some.”
“Like to watch you, boys, but I got to ride out in a few minutes. Usin’
Star an’ Flash, I suppose?”
“Sure are! Well, see you later.”
Pop nodded, and they left him to his labors.
“Eight miles, and all down grade,” Roy mused. “Those words seem
familiar, Teddy?”
“They do, sonny; they do! That was the song Mob Jamisson was singing,
with the Lefton brothers, tenors, joining in the chorus. Wonder when
they go into their dance?”
“You think they will, then?”
“Every good team does a song and dance. Unless they get the hook first.
You and I, Roy, will try to be the so-called hook.”
“Uh-huh. Before they get to the dance. But I’d like to know just what
kind of a dance they’re best at, and where it’ll be staged. It’ll be
our job to find out.”
“Right! We’ll keep our eyes peeled, lest we get our knuckles skinned.
Now let’s try this pony express stuff.”
They had come to the corral, wherein were Star and Flash, and they soon
had the horses saddled.
“Pony express” is the art of quick dismounting and mounting, as
practiced by the mail riders in the days of Wild Bill Hickock. A man
dashes up, throws himself from his bronco, transfers his mailbag to
another and fresher mount, and dashes away again with the loss of as
few seconds as possible. It calls into action all the expertness a
rider possesses. A single slip means ill-afforded delay.
Nick Looker was called upon to help, since he was idle at the moment,
and he saddled the bronco that Teddy had lately broken. The start was
at the extreme end of the yard, the first change half way across, and
another change at the end, when the rider would swing back over his
route.
“You go first, Teddy,” said Roy.
“All right; it’s all one, I suppose,” was Teddy’s reply.
He mounted Flash, and was in readiness for the signal. At some
distance Roy waited with Star, and farther on still was Nick with the
other bronco, which they decided to call, sarcastically, Angelica.
“All set?” Teddy called.
“O.K. here!” was Roy’s answer. “How about you, Nick?”
“Ri-i-i-ight!”
Roy looked at his wrist watch. When the minute hand pointed to zero he
yelled:
“Go!”
Teddy bent low, and Flash leaped forward. Across the yard the pony
tore, his feet lost in the haze of dust. Ears laid back, fine head
thrust forward, he made a wonderfully pretty sight. Teddy sat on him as
though he were a part of the horse, riding beautifully. Straight for
Roy and the waiting Star he dashed.
Reaching him, the boy fairly flew from the saddle before Flash had
fully halted. Springing the short distance separating him from Roy, he
bounded into the saddle again, and in a second had Star racing toward
Nick at full speed. The change had been made with scarcely a moment’s
delay.
But as Star hurtled for Angelica, the new pony shied and pulled away
from Nick, who had relaxed his hand in his excitement at Teddy’s riding
ability. Thus, when the boy jumped off, there was no horse there to
receive him. It took precious seconds to catch the pony, and when
Teddy pulled up, panting, at the end of the run, Roy looked up from
gazing at his watch.
“Two-fifty-six. Not so bad. Would have been much better if Nick hadn’t
let go Angelica. But you have to expect those accidents. We’ll try
again later. Say, here comes Gus, and he’s got a grin on him a mile
wide. Wonder what’s up?”