A PUNCHER IN A CHECKERED SHIRT
Roy craned his neck forward, eyes wide. Mr. Manley stood with hands
on hips, legs spread, staring intently at the vacant hitching rail.
The corncob pipe drooped at a downward angle.
Teddy passed the back of his hand over his forehead, pushing back
his hat.
“Why, that’s funny,” he said in a dazed voice. “They don’t seem to
be here.”
“They--they must have wandered off,” Roy said uncertainly. “Queer.
They were all tied tight. I wonder--”
“You mean to say they were here, and now they’re gone?” Mr. Manley
asked, a new note creeping into his voice.
“The horses were here, all right,” Teddy declared unevenly. “I can’t
understand it.”
“Well, I can!” Mr. Manley cried. His eyes were blazing. “They’ve
been stolen! Those ponies ain’t the kind to wander around, once
they’re tied up. They’ve been stolen an’ nothin’ less!” he
thundered.
“What happened? Is something the matter?” Nell asked, as she and
Ethel faced Mr. Manley.
“You bet there’s something the matter!” the cattleman roared.
“There’s a whole lot the matter! My hoss has been taken right from
under my nose--stolen from Eagles in broad daylight! What kind of a
town is this, anyway? Hey you!” He strode over to a cowboy who was
leaning against the door jamb at Rimor’s. Roy and Teddy realized
that he was the man they had noticed when they reached town.
“You know anything about three hosses that were tied to that rail?”
The puncher tilted his head back, and looked insolently out from
under the rim of his hat.
“What hosses?”
“_My_ hosses! Those boys over there tied them to the rail. Now
they’re gone! You see anything of ’em?”
“Nope.”
“How long you been here?”
“Not so long.”
“You were here when we rode in!” Teddy cried hotly, crossing the
street. “He must have seen them, Dad; he’s been there for half an
hour. The ponies were stolen while Roy and I came around to the
front of the station to watch for the train.”
The puncher turned his head lazily and stared coldly at Teddy.
“You’re, mebby, one of them correspondence school detectives, hey?”
he sneered.
“Don’t get funny,” Teddy advised, his eyes narrowing. “Roy and I
both saw you here when we rode up. You know we tied the ponies to
that hitching rail. And you’ve been here ever since. The broncs are
gone. Who took them?”
The cowboy removed the cigarette from his mouth and straightened.
Then he hitched up his belt and faced Teddy.
“Listen, kid,” he said slowly, “I don’t know nothin’ about yore
horses. Mebby I was here all the time, an’ mebby I wasn’t. That’s my
business. But get this straight! No baby is goin’ to order me
around. I don’t know who you are, an’ I don’t give a hoot. I ain’t
in the habit of mindin’ broncs, an’ you can pack that behind the rim
of yore derby. Understand?” Deliberately he flicked his cigarette
toward Teddy, sending a shower of sparks into the boy’s face.
Turning abruptly he entered the restaurant.
Eyes flashing, Teddy started forward. His father laid a hand on the
boy’s arm.
“Not here,” he said in a tense voice. “Don’t start a fight here. You
know what Rimor’s is. We have women-folks along.” Unconsciously the
man slid his hand to his side, where in the old days would have hung
his gun. Now his hand came away empty.
“All right, Dad--if you say so,” Teddy said through clenched teeth.
“But I’ll remember that bird! I’ll remember him!” It was difficult
for the boy to hold himself in check. He could not trust himself to
say more.
Roy hurried over to his brother.
“Come on, Teddy. Let’s go,” he said evenly. “Maybe Foley can tell us
something about the ponies.”
At that moment the ticket agent came hurriedly across the street.
“Somethin’ wrong, Bardwell?” he asked Mr. Manley. “Thought I heard
your voice takin’ a work-out.”
“You did,” Mr. Manley answered grimly. “Our hosses are gone.”
“Sho!” Foley looked across to the hitching rail. “By golly, they
are! I was outside and saw Teddy and Roy tie ’em up there, too! Now
that’s right queer. Where you suppose they went?”
“They didn’t _go_ no place, Hank! They were stolen!”
“Sho! You don’t say! Stolen!” Foley gave a long whistle, and,
removing his hat, scratched the bald spot on the top of his head.
“Mighty queer how they could be stolen with so many people around.
You ask anybody if they saw ’em?”
Mr. Manley gave a short laugh.
“I just had a sweet bit o’ conversation with one of your choice
characters,” he said. “Puncher that was standin’ right here all the
time an’ must have seen the broncs taken. He told us to go chase our
own hosses.”
“What did he look like?” Foley asked in an interested tone.
“Tall, kind of stringy looking,” Teddy answered quickly. “Squint
eyes. Checkered wool shirt. No vest. He’s inside Rimor’s now.”
The ticket agent nodded sagely.
“I know the waddy. Came to town about three days ago. Don’t know
where he sleeps, but he spends most of his time hanging around Duck
Rimor’s.”
Teddy nodded.
“Stranger here. From up around Montana, most likely. So he was
nasty, hey?”
“He wasn’t any too polite, from what I saw,” Roy broke in.
Mr. Manley looked over at Teddy. The boy was staring intently at the
door through which the puncher had disappeared.
“We have got to get busy,” the cattle owner said in a loud voice. Of
a sudden his face darkened. Deliberately he tapped the tobacco out
from his pipe by knocking the bowl against the palm of his hand.
Then he placed the pipe in his pocket.
“We have got to get busy,” he repeated in a quieter tone, “an’
quick. General has been stolen. Flash an’ Star along with him. We’re
goin’ after the man that took ’em an’ get our hosses back.” He
turned and walked swiftly to the other side of the street, where the
two girls had been silently watching the scene.
“I’m thinking that whoever stole your dad’s hoss made a poor
bargain,” Foley said to Roy. “I know Bardwell. I saw him look like
that before, when back in ninety-eight Slag Wallace shot a dog your
dad owned. Slag ain’t around now. Yep, the waddy who picked up
General is going to be mighty sorry.”
Roy and Teddy followed their father without a word, leaving Foley
standing in the street, rubbing his bald spot with a puzzled air.
Nell Willis and Ethel Carew were waiting, eyes full of questions.
Nell started the attack.
“Did that cowman want to fight?” she asked, gazing full at Roy. “He
seemed awfully mean. Maybe he didn’t like to have us standing here
watching. But I simply couldn’t leave; could you, Ethel? It was so
thrilling! Did he have a gun? I didn’t see one. Why didn’t he answer
your questions about the horses?”
“He had his reasons, I guess,” Roy answered a trifle shortly. Star
was gone, and here he stood listening to a lot of chatter. Still,
Nell was pretty! Maybe she had got scared when that puncher started
to act up. Roy’s eyes softened, and he looked at the girl with a new
interest. Probably she didn’t know much about the West. Why, her
face wasn’t even a little bit tanned! She seemed pale, even! Maybe
she _was_ scared!
“I just hated that man when he threw that cigarette at you!” Ethel
burst out impetuously to Teddy. “That was an awfully mean thing to
do!”
“I know it,” Teddy answered in a low voice. He turned to his father,
who was staring up the road. “Dad, we’ve got to get back and get
some more broncs. How are you figuring on going?”
“Can’t you come with us?” Ethel asked. “Uncle Peter said he would
send a car. It must have been delayed, but I’m sure it will come.”
“Yes, if Bug Eye brings a car for you, we can all pile in. Bug Eye
usually drives for old man--pardon me, I mean Mr. Ball.”
“That’ll be fine!” Nell said enthusiastically.
“Here comes something now,” Mr. Manley stated, peering up the road.
“Lots of dust, anyhow. Sounds like a flivver. Yes, that’s Bug Eye.
Tell the way he drives. All over the place.”
With an elaborate jamming on of brakes and swinging of front wheels,
a car pulled up alongside of the waiting group. Following closely
was a cloud of dust, which enveloped the auto the moment it stopped.
From within the cloud came a voice:
“Whoa there, you tin-plated drone, you! Pull up on yo’ busted axles!
Plant yo’ locoed wheels and stay set! Stop that shakin’! _Stop_ it,
I say! Boil me in oil, if I don’t rip yo’ carburetor right out o’
you! Try to bounce the liver outta me, hey? Why, you salivated piece
of yaller-backed tin, I’ll-- Excuse _me_, ma’am!”
The dust had blown away, disclosing the surprised face of Bug Eye
Wilson.
“I shore didn’t know you was here,” he said to Nell and Ethel, with
an embarrassed grin. “I wouldn’t have talked like that if I’d knowed
ladies was around. I don’t never do such things. But this
hopper-necked, sawed off, lead mule--pardon _me_, ma’am! I forgot!”
Nell and Ethel were doing their best to preserve straight faces, but
the task was almost too much for them. Ethel had to press a
handkerchief to her mouth, while her eyes watered with strangled
mirth.
“You’re--you’re late, aren’t you?” Nell asked, trying to control her
voice.
“Yes, ma’am. Got a puncture. Had to put on a new tire. Then
this--this--well, ma’am, you know what I mean!”
“Yes, I guess I do,” Nell answered faintly. “But I’m glad you came.
Mr. Manley’s horses have been stolen, and he and Roy and Teddy are
going to ride back with us.”
“Hey! What’s that?” Bug Eye turned swiftly toward the ranchman, the
grin fading suddenly from his face. “Broncs gone, honest?”
“Sure have gone,” answered Mr. Manley laconically. “Hooked. Rustled.
Stolen. Whatever you’ve a mind to call it. And right off the main
street of Eagles!” he added bitterly.
Of a sudden, he turned and walked rapidly down the street.
“What’s the game, Dad?” asked Roy, not quite able to account for his
father’s action.
“You stay there. I’ll be back in a minute,” Mr. Manley called over
his shoulder. “I want to see what I can find out about this.”
In a moment he was out of sight behind the freight shed. The two
boys wanted to go with him, but Roy mentioned to Teddy that they had
been told to stay where they were.
“I hope dad doesn’t get into a scrap,” murmured the older lad.
“I don’t reckon he will,” remarked Bug Eye. “But if he does, all he
needs is to sing out, an’ we’ll all come runnin’!”
The anxiety of Teddy and Roy was soon at an end, for in a few
minutes their father re-appeared. He looked tired and dusty, but
there was a grim smile on his face.
“Some of the railroad men down at the corral saw ’em,” Mr. Manley
reported to his sons. “There were three fellows leading our three
horses away.”
“Why didn’t they stop ’em?” Roy wanted to know.
“They didn’t have any cause to, son. Thought the men owned the
horses, as was natural. Those fellows didn’t wear any brand to let
folks know they were rustlers.”
“No, I reckon not,” agreed Teddy slowly.
“Did you find out which way they went?” asked Roy eagerly.
“Not much satisfaction in questioning those railroad fellows,”
answered Mr. Manley in discouraged tones. “They couldn’t follow an
elephant’s trail, much less notice which way hoss-thieves took. Some
say the scoundrels went one way and some say another. All they
appeared to notice was three shady-looking chaps leadin’ three
horses.”
“Then there isn’t much chance of heading them off, is there?” asked
one of the girls.
“I wouldn’t say that,” was Mr. Manley’s answer. “If they took the
back trail over the mountain there’s a chance that we can nab ’em
before they get into the rough going, if we make it quick. Once
there, though, it’s a toss-up if we ever see our ponies again,
boys!”
His sons knew just how Mr. Manley felt over this loss.
“The back trail!” mused Bug Eye. “Yes, if they went that way yo’-all
have a chance of headin’ ’em off. Ain’t this a fine town, though,
where a man can’t leave a hoss hitched for a few minutes without
some doggoned rustler steps up an’ rides it off? But better pile in
my flivver, Mr. Manley, an’ I’ll git ye back to yo’ ranch quicker’n
ef yo’ walked. You’ll want to saddle up an’ chase after them
thieves, I reckon!”
“That’s right!” agreed the ranch-owner. “We’ll be glad of a lift.”
“How long did you leave the horses here?” asked Nell.
“Just while we were waiting for the train, which was late,” answered
Roy, while Bug Eye got out to crank the flivver, the self-starter of
which, he announced apologetically, “was on the cheese.”
“And some one took them away from the rail to which they were tied?”
the girl went on.
“Stepped right up to the rail and helped themselves,” said Teddy.
“It’s a wonder some one didn’t see them.”
“Well,” admitted Roy, “the rail isn’t in plain sight except from
certain places. And, I suppose, even if some one had seen the actual
theft taking place, they would think that it was the real owners of
the horses who were unhitching them.”
“Maybe,” agreed his father doubtfully. “Anyway, no one seems to have
done anything toward stopping them.”
“But there are some here who know more about it than they are
letting on,” murmured Teddy and he looked significantly across the
street toward Duck Rimor’s place.
“It shore is too bad,” affirmed Bug Eye. “But pile in, everybody!
It’s going to be a tight squeeze, but these flivvers are made of
rubber, I guess. Got bags, ladies? All right, Teddy! Chuck ’em in
the back. Shore, put yo’ dad’s in there, too! All ready? Here we go!
Hang on!”
The car started with a jerk, the transmission bands being worn thin.
Roy looked around from the front seat to see that they cleared the
edge of the station, which they did by the fraction of an inch. Bug
Eye was eccentric in his driving at times.
As Roy gazed, he noticed a figure coming out of Duck Rimor’s. It was
the cowboy in the checkered shirt. Catching the ranch boy’s eyes,
the puncher grinned derisively and waved mockingly at the departing
auto.