Guarded Words
Sadly enough, however, it was Gus Tripp who was the storm center.
This thing had been the only blot on his escutcheon during the three
years he had worked for the X Bar X. Willingly would Mr. Manley have
wiped it clean had Gus given him the opportunity. But the die was
cast. Gus--he of the drawling speech and eyes which were wont to
grow languid while Norine was near--had gone.
No one gave much thought to Joe Marino, “The Pup.” Though he had
worked for Bardwell Manley, somehow he had never become a part of
the ranch, as the rest had. He was a man apart, neither seeking nor
admitting intimate friendship. His fondness for the cup, alleged to
cheer, was early discovered, but Mr. Manley was loath to discharge a
man for a personal defect so long as it did not affect his work. Up
to this time The Pup had been a lone drinker, but now, when it
became necessary to send him forth because he shirked his job, he
dragged one of the most popular boys on the ranch with him.
Pop Burns was loud in his denunciation of the tempter. While the
boys were saddling their broncos the next morning, preparing to head
for Whirlpool River, the old man halted The Pup as he was lurching
past toward the cook house.
“You still eatin’ here?” he wanted to know.
“I am. Anything to you?” The Pup’s eyes, red from the effect of the
last night’s indiscretion, glared evilly. “Want to ask any more
questions?”
“Well, now, maybe jest one or two,” the veteran puncher said slowly.
“First, where’d Gus duck to?”
“How should I know? Think I’m his keeper?”
“Keeper? Not any! I thought you pretended to be his friend, but I
guess I was mistaken. Usually, when a man tells a fellow certain
things, that other man kind of likes to keep track of his buddy.”
“Hey? What do you mean--certain things? I don’t know nothin’ about
Gus. He rode with me a few times, that’s all.” The Pup leered
suggestively. “If you mean the letter he was waitin’ for from that
skirt down Togas way, why--”
Pop Burns’ expression changed. His eyes narrowed, and the lines
about his mouth deepened. His hands clenched until they looked like
solid balls of brown leather.
“Suppose you just forget about that,” he said evenly, an unwonted
dignity coming into the old man’s voice and manner. “Understand? We
ain’t in the habit of talkin’ out in public about another man’s
affairs. Gus was a friend of mine, I ain’t aimin’ to listen to a
coyote like you makin’ fun of him. Get me?”
The Pup started to reply, then took a second look at Pop’s face, and
thought better of it. With an uneasy laugh he turned away and walked
toward the corral, where his pony was tied. Pop motioned to Teddy,
who was filling a can of flour some distance away.
“Hear that?”
Teddy nodded.
“Some of it. I didn’t want to interfere, so I kept quiet. Dad wants
The Pup off the place as soon as possible. He blames him for the
whole affair.”
“Yore dad’s right about that, Teddy. The Pup has got a streak of
orneriness in him a yard wide. He ain’t no good to no one, least of
all himself. Wouldn’t be surprised if we saw some more of him, at
that, one way or another.”
“You mean he’ll make trouble?”
“Well, he ain’t appeared to be a dove of peace so far, has he?” Pop
countered. “An’ he’ll not hang his tail between his laigs an’ run
without one more nip at somebody. You mark my words! I knew them
kind of waddies. Long ago, when yore grandpop was alive--an’ yore
dad was only a shaver then, like you are--we had a cuss by the name
of--” He broke off suddenly. “All right, boss! Comin’!” Pop called
out, and he hurried off in response to Mr. Manley’s call.
Teddy watched him disappear in the direction of the ranch house,
then reflectively continued packing the can with flour. But as he
worked with his hands, a frown came to his face. He was remembering
Pop’s prophecy.
It would be a shame if anything unpleasant happened now. Why, it was
not so long ago that they had rescued Belle and Nell Willis and
Ethel Carew from the kidnappers. How were the girls on the 8 X 8
getting on? Teddy wondered.
He came to a sudden decision to ride over to Peter Ball’s place to
visit them as soon as this business was over.
Clamping the lid tight on the flour can, the boy thought of the
cattle on Whirlpool River and of the absent Gus Tripp.
“Mighty queer that Gus would go to pieces like that,” he muttered to
himself. “There’s a reason behind it all, or I miss my guess. Gus
sure looked downhearted when he rode out.”
Teddy carried the can and the flour bin toward the house. It was now
about eight o’clock, and the bright fall sun brought the landscape
out in bold relief. Teddy paused a moment before he entered the
house and peered toward the mountains to the west, where he and Roy
had lately come to grips with the gang that had run off with his
sister and her two friends. Then his gaze shifted, and he looked
over the rolling prairie toward the spot where they had earlier
captured this same gang of rustlers, though they had later escaped
to make more mischief. A grim smile curved the boy’s lips.
“Did some one say the West was a quiet place to live in?” he
muttered, and laughed shortly. “Seems to me we do nothing but meet
trouble out here! Well, I suppose it’s all in the game. Now we’ve
got a mean job to get the cows off Whirlpool River. However--” He
shrugged his shoulders, replaced the flour bin, while the can he had
filled he carried to the yard and fastened to his saddle. His father
had told them to prepare for a journey of several days, and this
flour, mixed as it was with other ingredients, made fine “pan
bread.”
Roy met him at the corral.
“Can’t leave just yet,” he said. “Dad wants to wait until Nick comes
back. He rode down to see one of the boys from Jake Trummer’s place
who has been in town several days, hanging around. Dad wants to get
all the dope he can on this before he goes ahead, and Nick knows
this puncher pretty well and said he’d find out all he could. Nick
ought to be back in about two hours.”
“As soon as Nick returns we go--that the idea?”
“That’s it. Unless dad wants to start sooner, and I don’t think he
does. Say, is The Pup still around?”
“Yep.” Teddy smiled grimly. “Around, and noisy. He had a session
with Pop not over ten minutes ago. Pop told him where to get off,
too. I heard part of it. Started to gas about Gus and his letter.
But he got shut up quick, let me tell you. Pop wouldn’t stand for
hearing Gus made fun of. Where does this bacon go--on my saddle?”
“Guess so. I’ve got enough to carry. Golly, dad must expect to spend
Christmas on Whirlpool River, from the load we’re packing. Bet when
we get there Jake Trummer will forget his sore-headedness and invite
us to keep our cows there the rest of the year. That’s the kind Jake
is--quick to anger, but he gets over it just as fast. He’s a good
friend of dad’s too. At least he was before this happened. That’s
what made me think there’s more in this than we suspect. However,
we’ll know as soon as we hit the river. Jimminy! what in thunder is
that?”
Roy stopped and gazed up the road that led past the ranch house.
From behind the house came curious sounds--reminiscent of a load of
junk being pulled over cobblestones. Now and then a splutter, like
the gasp of some huge animal, made itself heard over the noise.
Teddy grinned.
“It will arrive in a moment,” he said.
It did. There soon came into sight one of the strangest contraptions
ever seen on four wheels. Once it had been a flivver, but those days
were gone forever. Its body was of shiny red and made to resemble a
boat, with a rudder in the rear, and a propeller. The wheels were
nearly concealed in the “hull.” From its pointed bow, blue smoke
arose.
Within it, on the front seat, sat a cow puncher, his face alight
with the joy of possession. In the rear were two girls, some two or
three years older than Belle Manley, trying in vain to suppress the
laughter that would bubble over.
“Bug Eye!” Teddy yelled. “And Nell and Curly! But what in the name
of seven sledges is that thing they’re riding in?”
“Howdy, boys!” Bug Eye called, waving one arm and reaching toward
the “in’ards” of the machine with the other. With a groan the
contraption subsided. “What do you think of my Fishmobile?”
“Your what?” Roy shouted.
“Fishmobile! P-s-y-c-h-e--Fish. I saw it on a boat once. And this is
a boat and an automobile, so I call it a Fishmobile. Good, hey?”
“Did you two ride in that all the way over from the 8 X 8?” Roy
laughed, walking toward Nell and Ethel, the good-looking nieces of
Peter Ball.
“We certainly did!” Nell answered. “It runs splendidly, doesn’t it,
Ethel?”
“Great!” was the laughing answer. “How are you, boys? We came to
visit Belle, though, as I remember, Nell did say something about
Roy--”
“Oh, hush!” Nell interrupted, blushing. “Teddy, I haven’t seen you
since you and Roy found us in those terrible caves at Thunder
Canyon,” and she shuddered slightly. “But we want to forget
that--although we’ll never forget what you did for us,” and she
looked quickly at Roy. “But where is Belle?”
“Right here!” a voice called from the porch, and Belle Ada ran into
the yard.
Greetings were soon over, and then the young folks gathered around
to inspect Bug Eye’s new creation.
“She goes on land or water,” he explained proudly. “See? Got a
propeller on her and everything. Works on the fly wheel. The boss
give me that old flivver--remember?--an’ said I could do what I
wanted with it. So I done it. Looks great, hey? An’ when I come to a
lake, why all I have to do is throw the propeller in gear, an’ away
we go!”
“Yes! But, Bug Eye,” Teddy broke in, with a look at Roy, “where is
this lake you’re going to sail on?”
A look of amazement spread over the puncher’s face. He snapped his
fingers and frowned.
“Golly!” he exclaimed. “Never thought about that. Well, I’ll be
jiggered! Of course there’s Lomley’s Lake--but that would never do.
Too small. Well, now, that’s too bad.” Then he brightened. “But if I
_do_ find a lake somewheres, I’ll be all set for it!”
A laugh arose, which did not at all disconcert Bug Eye. All but the
proprietor of “Psyche, the Fish,” wandered into the house. Bug Eye
drove toward the bunk-house, there to be the center of a crowd of
sarcastic cowpunchers. The remarks made concerning the Fishmobile
were graphic if not flattering.
Much as Roy and Teddy wanted to talk to the visitors, they knew that
they must continue preparations for the journey to Whirlpool River.
It was nine-thirty now, and Nick had not yet returned. Mr. Manley
was pacing about the yard nervously, anxious to get started.
Roy was currying Star over by the hitching rail at the side of the
cook house. Suddenly he heard a voice that caused him to start. It
came from behind the cooking shack, and Roy made as though to go
forward, then thought again and remained where he was.
It was Gus Tripp talking. At first Roy did not recognize the tones
of his companion, but as the other talked louder, he knew it to be
The Pup. Gus seemed to be strangely insistent over something.
“No, sir,” he was saying. “Not me! Count me out! The boss only gave
me what I deserved. I hit the bottle and got fired. All right. I got
no kick comin’. I’m sorry I did it, but let that go. It’s all over
now, and you can count me out of any scheme like that, Joe. I may be
an idiot, but, by golly, I’m no polecat!”