The Man at the Fire
“Our pony!”
Mr. Manley almost shouted it.
“Do you mean to say that’s the bronc that Marino stole?”
“Look at him yourself, Dad!” Teddy cried excitedly. “Wait, I’ll see
if I can get him. He knows me--I broke him. Stay here.”
The boy rode rapidly forward. The horse did not turn and run, but
stood, waiting. In a moment Teddy had hold of his bridle rein and
was leading him back.
“See? Isn’t he?”
Mr. Manley looked closer.
“He certainly is, Teddy! Well, for the love of Pete! how’d _he_ get
here--an’ where’s The Pup?”
“Can’t tell you that, Dad,” Teddy replied. He turned to Roy. “Now
are you so sure that we’ll never see Marino again? He’s around here
somewhere, I’ll bet a plugged nickel! Maybe he got thrown. If it
wasn’t so dark we could have a look for him.”
“By golly, it’s the pinto!” Pop exclaimed, riding up. “Where’d he
come from, Teddy? I saw that horse out yonder, but I didn’t pay no
attention to him. Thought he had a man with him. The pinto! The Pup
must have followed up the river from the time we saw him! Snakes!
wonder if he’s around?”
“That bronc of yours is a good watch dog,” Roy declared to Nat. “It
was this horse he sensed, and the lowlands had nothin’ to do with
it. Pop, you’re all twisted. Nat’s pony was calling in this pinto.”
“Meybe,” Pop agreed doubtfully. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Well, boss,
do we camp? We can picket this hoss and come back for him later.
He’ll stand, I reckon.”
“Won’t do much wanderin’ with his leg like that,” Bug Eye remarked.
It was practically the first sentence he had uttered since they had
left Jake Trummer’s place. “He’s got a sore there that seems as if
it might have been made some time ago.”
“It was,” Teddy remarked laconically. “I brought Roy in to look at
it the night he was stolen. That’s how I found he was gone. Wherever
The Pup is, he’s on foot. Unless he got thrown, and is lying hurt
somewhere.”
“And alone,” added Roy, with a note of pity in his voice.
The uselessness of attempting to find Marino in the dark was
apparent to all, and, leaving the knoll on which he stood, Mr.
Manley rode forward until he and Jake Trummer came to a spot which
bordered on a group of trees.
“We can pitch camp here,” Mr. Trummer suggested. “There’s a spring
in them trees, good an’ cold. In the mornin’ we can start at sun-up,
and then, by golly, we’ll run them rustlers to earth. They don’t
know we’re comin’, but they’ll learn soon enough. Tryin’ to lay the
blame on me fer the cattle bein’ gone! Huh, I’m kinda anxious to
meet Denver Smith an’ his gang!”
The horses were picketed some distance from the camping spot, a fire
was built and blankets were unrolled. The night was cold, and the
men huddled as closely as possible to the blaze, wrapped tightly in
their thick coverings. The heavens were entirely obscured by clouds,
and beyond the fire a blackness, like heavy velvet, covered the
land.
Supper was soon concluded, for the party was “traveling light.” But
three men had been told to carry rations, and, consequently, there
was hardly enough from which to make a feast. But beans and bacon
are filling, and no one went actually hungry.
There was little talk after supper. The finding of The Pup’s pony
was commented upon, and guesses were hazarded concerning the
whereabouts of Marino, but that was all. The men were tired, and
tired men waste no time in idle talk. Definitely and directly they
go to sleep.
Within an hour the only sounds to be heard were the uneasy neighings
of the horses and the crackling of the fire as it burned brightly
and then sank down again. Each man had his rifle by his side, in
case he was awakened by a curious beast sniffing at his ear, but no
one actually anticipated having to use the firearm.
Certainly they expected no human visitor. The rustlers, even if they
were in the neighborhood, would avoid them studiously. True, each
man there hoped that the ground they had covered brought them nearer
their quarry, for a herd of cattle moves slowly. The only direction
the thieves could have taken was the one in which they were
traveling. Sooner or later they would come upon the missing cows,
and, they hoped, also the beasts’ self-constituted guards.
The rustlers had certainly hoped to gain a long start on possible
pursuers, because of the delay occasioned by reason of Jake
Trummer’s being blamed for the disappearance of the Durhams. But
their plans had miscarried, and this they did not know. Their
conversation on the river had betrayed them.
Teddy’s sleep was troubled with dreams--dreams of cattle and huge
bales of money and long knives with queer initials burned in the
handle. Then he saw Gus, alone, weary, staggering over the prairie,
shouting his name. So vivid was the impression that some one was
calling him that he sat suddenly upright, with the word “Teddy!”
still ringing clearly in his ears.
Then, as one aroused from a sleep gradually realizes the true state
of affairs, the boy grinned, and once more lay down on the soft
earth and pulled his blanket about him. Dreams are funny things, he
thought. Sometimes they’re so real the rest of life seems unreal,
and a dream itself.
“Getting poetical,” he muttered, and composed himself to rest, “just
like old Roy.” The fire was still going, the embers glowing
brightly.
Try as he would, Teddy could not sink again into slumber. He shut
his eyes tightly and counted innumerable sheep, but sheep reminded
him of cattle, and cattle brought a host of thoughts that were most
disturbing. At last the boy sat up and threw his blanket from him.
“Guess I’ll chuck a few pieces of wood on the fire,” he said to
himself. His mind formed clear sentences before him, describing his
every movement, as is often the case of one who finds himself the
victim of insomnia. As the boy made his way carefully from between
the sleeping forms lying near, he murmured:
“Easy, now--mustn’t wake the others. Golly, it’s dark--cold, too!
Glad the fire’s not out. I’m hungry. Listen to those horses whinny!
Why don’t they go to sleep? I wonder where Gus is to-night? Funny
how we came across The Pup’s horse and not The Pup. Here’s a stick
that’ll do fine.” He threw it on the fire. “There, that’s better.
Warmer! That Pop snoring? Must be. Sounds like a saw mill. Funny old
geezer, Pop. Wish I could sleep like that.”
Small, unconnected thoughts kept buzzing through his brain. He
walked around the fire, then seated himself near it, his knees drawn
up, his chin resting on his hands. His dream came back to him, and
he recalled that he had awakened with his own name ringing in his
ears.
“Sure sounded as though some one was calling me,” he muttered,
kicking a piece of wood further in to the heart of the flames.
“Wonder what time it is? Must be after midnight. Snakes, there’s not
a star out!”
He raised his head and stared vacantly up into the blackness. For a
long moment he stayed in this position, then closed his eyes. He
came to himself with a start.
“Well!” and he grinned. “Almost went to sleep sitting up. Guess I’ll
seek my downy bed once more.”
He arose, and stretched. He stood there, his arms outstretched,
staring at a dark form looming up on the opposite side of the
fire--a strange, staggering form.
Teddy’s right hand leaped down to his belt and closed over the butt
of his gun. But he did not draw, for at that moment the form of a
man pitched headlong at his feet and lay still!