BAD NEWS
Teddy treated the riding of the wild bronco as an incident in the day’s
work. It might well have turned out disastrously for him, but, now that
it was over, the youth thought no more about it except to remember that
it would be well to ride him again to-morrow before the pony forgot his
lesson. Thus, while the two boys rode toward Hawley, their conversation
was mostly taken up with the note Mr. Manley had received and the
possibility of trouble.
“Though I don’t see exactly what they could do,” Roy mused, shifting in
his saddle.
The day was warm, even for Indian summer, the heat seemed to beat up
from the stretch of bare ground the boys were riding over.
“I can’t understand it!” exclaimed Teddy. “Those hombres are in jail,
aren’t they? What in thunder can they do? Unless they have a gang of
friends around. And that isn’t so likely. Honestly, I don’t believe that
Gilly Froud has a friend in the world. Why, even the men he rustled
with, hate him. I guess we can count him out, anyway.”
Roy removed his sombrero and ran his finger around the sweat band,
bringing it forth as wet as though he had dipped it in a pail of water.
“I’m not worrying about Froud,” he stated, picking up his reins, which
he had allowed to fall loosely on Star’s neck. “He’s had his turn and
has said his little piece. He won’t do any more talking in public for a
long time. But I tell you, Teddy, that puncher with the riding slouch
has got me thinking. How about it—was he one of the rustlers?”
“Question—who struck Bill Patterson?” Teddy grinned. “That reminds me.
Mother said that Curly—”
“Leaping lizards!” Roy groaned. “Can’t you be serious for a minute? This
is important, I tell you! Suppose the rustlers—er—well, suppose
they—”
“No! They _couldn’t_ do that! You know they couldn’t! That ’ud be
fearful—simply fearful! And, besides, I think it’s going to rain
to-morrow. No rustler wants to go out in the rain. ’Cause why? ’Cause
somebody has to tell them to come in, and if there’s no one around, they
just get al-l-l-l wet.”
“And there’s another thing,” Roy went on, ignoring his brother’s
somewhat sarcastic levity. “What or who is ‘Reltsur?’ I mean the name
that was signed to the note.”
“I know!” Teddy’s face was alight with a sudden idea. “There’s a fellow
down at Eagles who just came to town. Gus Tripp was telling me about
him—said he saw him when he rode in for the mail yesterday. Well, this
geezer—”
“What about him?” Roy asked eagerly.
“He sells patent medicine! And I bet Reltsur is the name of one of his
cures. Good for man or beast—positive cure or your money back. Read our
testimonials. Mr. L. J. McPhoff, of Chickawalla, says: ‘I have used
Reltsur now for thirteen years. When I started I was only twenty years
old. Now, I’m thirty-three.’ Or hear what Mr. Specknoodle reports: ‘I
highly recommend Reltsur for—’ Hey, cut it out! Don’t get that hat
dirty!”
But it was too late. Roy had scaled his brother’s sombrero as far as he
could. Then he clucked to Star, and, yelling like an Indian, bore down
upon the hat.
“Pony express!” he yelled. “Buck Wallace in his famous picture ‘The Bad
man of the Bad Lands!’ You! Yip-yip-e-e-e-e!”
Leaning over, he swept the hat from the ground as he dashed by. Then he
wheeled, and, with a bow, presented it to Teddy.
“Just found it,” he said, with a grin. “Yours, maybe? Allow me! Rather
warm isn’t it? But it’ll be cooler this winter, I expect.”
“My nice new Stetson,” Teddy remarked ruefully as he dusted it off.
“Suppose Star had stepped on it? Fine pony express you are!”
“He didn’t,” Roy said, with a laugh. “Now what was that about Curly,
Teddy?”
“Well, who do _you_ think Reltsur is?”
Roy let out a roar of laughter. Then for some minutes Teddy was content
to discuss their visitor of the night, but neither of the boys reached
any conclusion, and at last they dismissed the subject.
Both were eager to hear what their father had to report when he returned
from Hawley. The trail they were on led to the town where the rustlers
were jailed, and the boys had hopes of meeting Mr. Manley on his way
home. Yet the 8 X 8 Ranch was not out of their way, and if they missed
their father, Teddy and Roy would not be at all averse to stopping off
for a short visit.
The 8 X 8 was owned by Peter Ball, a neighbor and friend of Bardwell
Manley. His two nieces from New York were paying their first visit to
the West, and, as Teddy had said, they were planning to stay all winter
at the Ball ranch. Since the girls were young and comely, it is not to
be wondered at that Teddy and Roy took advantage of every opportunity to
see them. Ethel Carew, or “Curly,” as the boys called her, seemed to
hold special attraction for Teddy, while Nell Willis and Roy found each
other’s company mutually agreeable.
Thus, while both boys declared their purpose in riding out was to meet
Mr. Manley, they would not bother to avoid the 8 X 8 by circuitous
riding.
After his imitation of the “pony express,” Roy settled into a moody
silence, which all Teddy’s efforts failed to disperse. Roy was given to
these spells of thoughtfulness, though perhaps more so lately than
before. His brother had accused him of being in love, but Roy denied
this so calmly that Teddy knew that the thrust was ineffectual. The only
other conclusion was that the older youth felt a responsibility growing
with his years, and was taking more of a burden upon his shoulders than
the occasion warranted.
As they rode along, Teddy stole a glance at the boy at his side. He
noted the stiffness of the back, and the firm set of the head upon the
shoulders.
“He’s worrying about something,” the younger lad thought. “He always
takes everything so seriously! I’ll bet it’s that note. Maybe I
shouldn’t have kidded him about it. But, golly, there’s no reason to get
so low over it! Roy!” he said aloud. “Snap out of it! What’s on your
mind?”
“Who, me?” the other turned, startled. Then he grinned. “Was I asleep?
Guess I must have been thinking. What was that you asked me?”
“Why, I just wanted to know what you were mooning about. You were riding
along staring straight ahead as though you were in a trance. What in
thunder is the matter with you lately, Roy?”
“Oh, nothing,” the boy answered, laughing a bit uneasily. “I was
wondering about that note, that’s all. I’d hate to have anything happen
just when we’ve got over our trouble with the rustlers. Although I’ll
admit we had some exciting times for a while,” and Roy’s eyes sparkled.
Then he grew grave again. “But dad sort of counts on us to keep things
going, you know. That’s why I’m anxious to see what he has to say when
he gets back from Hawley. That gang can—”
“Aw, what can they do?” Teddy demanded. “They’re all in jail. Forget
about ’em, Roy. What’s the use of crossing bridges before you reach
’em?”
“That’s true enough. But you know I saw that slouched puncher right
after the landslide. If he’s really one of the rustlers, he doesn’t bear
us any love, I reckon.” The boy patted Star on the side to brush off a
fly. “And seeing him right after the landslide—”
“Well, for Pete’s sake!” Teddy burst out, “you don’t think he started
the slide, do you? Roy, come to life! Be yourself! Now how in the name
of cackling cows could he have anything to do with that?”
Roy shook his head.
“I don’t mean that,” he explained. “But it sure looked as though he’d
been following us. At least it did to me. How’d he know when to ride by
last night? He timed that perfectly! By jinks, I’ll bet he was watching
us all the time!”
“Maybe,” Teddy said laconically. “But wondering won’t get us any place.
We’ll have to sit tight and watch our step, that’s all. Come on, it’s
gettin’ late.”
As they rode forward at a faster gait, Teddy suddenly called his
brother’s attention to a figure on horseback coming toward them.
“It’s dad!” Roy exclaimed. Then, as the figure neared: “He looks
worried, too. Wonder what happened?”
“Howdy, boys!” called Mr. Manley, as he rode up. “Come to meet the old
man, hey?”
“What’s the news, Dad?” Teddy asked eagerly.
A frown came to Mr. Manley’s face.
“Not so good,” he said slowly. “We won’t be able to prosecute those hoss
thieves after all.”
Hesitating, he drew a corncob pipe from his pocket and stuck it between
his lips, unlighted.
“The whole caboodle of ’em escaped yesterday,” he added tersely.
“Escaped? The prisoners?” Roy Manley looked at his father incredulously.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
“Just what I said, son,” and the pipe never wavered between the set
teeth. “They took French leave. Yesterday morning, early—’bout five
o’clock, they said—two men started to shoot up the town. Of course the
sheriff an’ his two deputies got on the job. When they come back, after
chasin’ the gunman out, they found the jail empty an’ the bars in the
windows sprung. Guess that’s all.”