A DISHEARTENING LOSS
Clucking to their horses, the Manley boys proceeded toward Eagles.
The road led downward now, and the going was easier.
“Speaking of the 8 X 8, did you hear what happened there?” Teddy
asked, as he pulled gently on General’s leading rein.
“Yep! Twenty head of short-horn Durhams stolen; wasn’t it? Pete
ought to put better men to riding his cattle.”
“Now, I don’t know,” Teddy replied slowly. “They’ve got some good
punchers over on the 8 X 8. Way I figure it, those rustlers are
mighty clever. They ride into a herd at night, cut out as many head
as they can handle, and drive ’em away before the riders can get to
them. But, by jinks, they’d better not try to get away with any of
the X Bar X cattle! They’ll have one sweet fight on their hands if
they do;” Teddy looked down at the side of his saddle where the
insignia X--X, burned in the leather, could be plainly seen. The X
Bar X was proud of its mark. It stood for many years of upright,
square dealing.
Pop Burns, the oldest hand on the X Bar X ranch, claimed that he had
“invented” the brand for Temple Manley, the grandfather of Roy and
Teddy. Pop was inordinately boastful of this distinction, which he
had conferred on himself, and he never tired of telling newcomers
how he had happened to hit on the device of the “two sawbucks with a
piece of rail fence in between,” as he sometimes described it. So
vain was he of the mark that he placed it on everything
brandable--saddles, bridles, wagons, the autos, and all. Jim Casey
claimed he had even caught Pop marking Jim’s fancy vest with the X
Bar X, but this the veteran denied.
“Yes, sir, there’ll certainly be something doing if those rustlers
take any of our stuff,” Teddy went on. “Pop would be on their necks
in a minute! I can just see the old geezer raving mad, and frothing
around about: ‘Steal one of my brands, will ye? I’ll get ye fer that
if it takes me ten years!’ Oh, baby!” and Teddy laughed.
“That’s right!” Roy remarked. “But, say, I hope dad’s train is late.
If it isn’t, we’ll never make it! Come on, let’s hit it up!”
The boys urged the horses to a faster pace, and, somewhat winded,
reached the station at Eagles in a cloud of dust, much of which
clung to them and their mounts, where they slipped from the saddles
with grunts of relief. They tied the three horses to a hitching rail
not far from the station and concealed from the highway and the
railroad office by a rough shack that served as freight and express
depot.
“Yep, she’s late, all right,” announced Foley, the ticket agent, as
the boys tramped into the station. “All of thirty minutes behind
time. Your dad’s comin’ today, ain’t he? I see you got General out
there. Spotted him when ye swung around to tie up. That road to your
place must be some dusty, with the wind blowin’ up your back, hey?”
“I’ll tell a maverick it is!” agreed Roy, and then he and his
brother, after a glance about the dingy waiting room, sauntered out
to look over the town.
Perhaps “town” would be dignifying Eagles beyond its merits. There
was a main street, consisting of two restaurants, a post-office, six
stores and the railroad station. A little way down the track was a
large corral, used as a temporary retention place for dealers who
sent their steers to this point to be shipped. Often there would be
a delay of a day or more before sufficient cattle cars would arrive
at Eagles.
It was the cattle that brought the station; the station brought the
town, and the town brought all sorts of things, one of which was now
leaning against the front of Rimor’s Place, hat pulled low over his
face, smoke from an invisible cigarette drifting lazily about his
head.
Rimor’s Place was one of the two restaurants, although as an eating
house it failed to qualify. Yet its habitues were never heard to
complain of the quality of its food. The “hard-stuff” was good.
“There’s a tough-looking baby,” Teddy said in a low voice, nodding
toward the figure of the man outside of Rimor’s. “Seems like his
breakfast had soured on him.”
“It’s a rare bunch that hangs out at Duck Rimor’s,” Roy replied.
“They ought to close that place. Slim Dery’s restaurant is enough
for Eagles,” he declared emphatically.
A short time later the brothers again stood on the station platform,
eagerly watching for the express from the city. It pulled in, and a
tall, well set-up man of perhaps fifty-five alighted. He wore a
heavy dark mustache, and beneath his broad sombrero his black hair
was here and there tinged with gray. As his foot struck the platform
he reached in his pocket, and by the time Roy and Teddy had greeted
him, a corncob pipe reposed in the corner of his mouth.
“Hello there, Roy and Teddy! The two sons of the prairie come to
meet their father, who has been far away in the land of the
snicker-snackers! Greetings! Boys, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“What is it, Dad?” Roy asked, grinning at his father.
“A whiffletree, hey, Dad?” Teddy inquired.
“No, not a whiffletree. Nor a wham-wicker either. Behold! Nell and
Ethel, allow me to present my two dutiful sons, Roy and Teddy.
Pardon me, Theodore! Boys, this is Nell Willis, and this Ethel
Carew. They’re Peter Ball’s nieces.”
The boys now saw two young girls, of about their own age, who had
just stepped from the train to the platform. Small hats were set
over piquant faces; laughing eyes looked into those of Roy and
Teddy. Somewhat in a daze, the boys acknowledged the introduction.
“Yes,” went on Mr. Manley, tamping the tobacco gently down into his
pipe, “they’re Peter Ball’s nieces from New York, goin’ to visit the
8 X 8. Met ’em on the train. I used to know ’em a long time ago--”
applying a match to the pipe--“but they wouldn’t remember me. I want
’em both to come over and see your sister, Belle Ada,” he explained
to the boys. “Golly, it’s good to be back again!” Thereat, with a
contented sigh, he blew out a huge cloud of fragrant smoke.
“Oh, we’d love to come!” one of the girls said, she whom Mr. Manley
had introduced as Nell Willis. Then she looked at Roy. “You know,
I’ve always wanted to come West. I think it’s so--so weird, don’t
you?”
“Weird?” Roy repeated, as though to himself. “You mean--weird? Oh,
yes! Sure! Awfully weird! Yep! Sure is!”
“And do you ride just all the time?” the other, Ethel Carew, asked
Teddy.
“Who, me? Nope! Sit down to eat,” and Teddy grinned. Nice eyes the
girl had.
“How’s your mother?” Mr. Manley interrupted.
“Fine,” Roy answered, turning to his father. “She’ll be glad to see
you again. She’s been a little lonesome.”
“No trouble?” his father asked quickly. “I heard something about
rustlers getting away with some of the 8 X 8 stock. Man on the train
told me. They haven’t been around our place, have they?”
“Not that I know of,” Roy replied. “I guess mother’s been a bit
upset ever since--er--” He glanced over at Teddy, who was explaining
to Ethel Carew why they called a cowboy a puncher. “Ever since you
had that fuss with Gilly Froud,” Roy went on. “She’s always sort of
afraid he’ll come back and do some damage.”
Mr. Manley scowled and removed his pipe from his mouth.
“He better not let me catch him around the X Bar X,” he said
sternly. “And if he’s wise, he’ll steer clear of Teddy, too. Froud
may be big, but I wouldn’t bet a plugged nickel on him if Teddy ever
saw him kick Flash again.”
“Oh, Mr. Manley, did I hear some one say something about rustlers?”
exclaimed Nell Willis. “I’d just _love_ to see a real, live rustler.
Did you ever shoot one, Mr. Manley?”
“Who, me? Shoot a rustler?” Roy’s father demanded. Then he saw that
Nell was looking at Roy. “Oh, you mean him. I thought you were
talkin’ to me. That’s Roy, there.”
The girl reddened slightly.
“Roy, then! And you call me Nell. But tell me--did you ever shoot a
rustler--Roy?”
“No, I can’t say that I did,” Roy answered, with a laugh. “But if
you’d like it, I’ll try to arrange to do it for you,” and he laughed
again.
“Oh, no!” Nell replied with a pretended shiver. “I don’t want you to
do it. I just wondered if you _had_.”
“Roy’s only joking,” Mr. Manley stated. “People back East think
we’ve got nothing to do but chase Indians and string up
hoss-thieves. Why, even if there were Indians runnin’ around loose,
we wouldn’t have time to chase ’em. We have plenty to do on a ranch
without lookin’ for trouble,” he declared. “That reminds me,
Teddy--who’s doin’ most of the outridin’ these days?” Outriding was
the process of investigating the condition of the stock on the
range.
“Nat Raymond and Jim Casey, mostly,” Teddy answered. “Then, I
thought maybe it would be a good idea to have Nick Looker take a
hand, too. Since the rustlers started raiding the 8 X 8, I’ve been
kind of worried about our own cattle.”
“Yes, have Nick do that,” replied the lad’s father approvingly. Mr.
Manley thought it best that his sons should assume responsibility
early in life. Accordingly, he gave each one the practical
management of the ranch on alternate weeks. This week Teddy had been
the foreman.
“Well, no use standin’ out in the hot sun,” Mr. Manley continued,
with a glance at the fair skin of the two girls. He wondered how
long it would be before a coat of tan covered those pink-and-white
faces. “Roy, just cart the bags into the depot, will you? Some one
coming out from the 8 X 8 for you, I take it?” and he looked over at
Nell and Ethel.
“We expect a car,” Ethel answered dubiously. “Although Uncle Peter
may send horses--” and she glanced down at her traveling dress.
“Now, don’t worry about that,” Mr. Manley said, with a hearty laugh.
“We have autos out here, same as you have in New York. Pete’s got
two of the finest cars in the state, though mostly he uses flivvers.
You won’t have to fork no bronc--pardon me, I mean ride a horse.”
Seizing the girls’ two bags, Roy carried them into the station while
the others followed more slowly. Mr. Manley had but a small hand
bag, and Teddy left this with the station agent to be brought over
later on the wagon. When the ranch-owner traveled, he wanted to be
ready to “light out in a hurry,” as he expressed it. Usually a clean
shirt and some collars completed his traveling kit. Mr. Manley had
lived in the West all his life, and had the Westerner’s contempt for
“dofunnies,” as unnecessary equipment was called.
“But once you get used to a horse,” Mr. Manley went on, as he walked
toward the rear of the station, “you’ll never set foot inside an
auto again,” he assured the girls. “Now, I have a horse I call
General. Gentle, strong, and quick as a flash. Him, me, an’ this
corncob pipe have been through plenty of rough places together in
the last four years. Tell you, I wouldn’t trade General for ten of
the best mustangs in the state!” and he nodded his head decidedly,
so that little rings of smoke detached themselves from the bowl of
the pipe and drifted gently away.
“I’m sure we’ll just love it out here,” Ethel remarked
enthusiastically. “Of course, we’ve both ridden in the city, but we
always used much smaller saddles than you use here,” she commented
as she saw a rider pause in front of Rimor’s Place.
“Postage stamps!” Mr. Manley said, with a grin. “That’s what we call
those saddles out West. The kind we ride are real saddles. Like the
one I have on General, for instance. He wouldn’t know what to do if
some one pasted one of those English saddles on his back.”
By this time they had reached the corner of the station. Back of the
freight station the three horses had been tied by Roy and Teddy. Mr.
Manley was in the lead. He turned suddenly and faced Nell and Ethel.
“Now I’m goin’ to show you three of the prettiest ponies you ever
saw,” he declared. “Whenever I go to the city I always have Roy or
Teddy meet me with General, so’s I can ride back on him. I suppose
you tied ’em in the usual place, Teddy?” he asked.
“I sure did, Dad,” Teddy answered. “Tied right on the old rail.”
With a smile of anticipation on his face, Mr. Manley stepped
forward. Then he paused, and those behind him heard him give a gasp
of surprise.
“Why,” he said in a puzzled tone, “what’s this? A joke?”
Roy and Teddy stepped quickly forward. Their eyes stared at the
rail. Where the ponies had stood, there remained nothing but the
hoofprints in the soft dirt of the spot!
The horses were gone!