A FLIVVER MESSENGER
Teddy and Roy looked at each other with startled eyes. That rider on
Mica Mountain, the puncher who sat slouched in the saddle!
“Any trace of ’em?” Teddy asked.
“Not any, son. They vamoosed clean. But lemme tell you something funny.
Two days ago they decided the jail was too crowded an’ they moved Froud
over to the calaboose in Marxsted. An’ he’s the only one of the rustlers
they still got! Can you beat that? So, at all events, Gilly Froud is
where he won’t do any harm. Anything new at the ranch?”
The ride back home was occupied with a discussion of the situation.
Teddy and Roy had, of course, given up the idea of riding on to the 8 X
8, as they were anxious to know their father’s plan of action. Yet, as
Teddy suggested, what could they do? It would be useless to go after the
escaped rustlers. Besides, there was no need for it. Until the enemy
showed his hand, they just had to sit tight. Of course it would be well
to have some extra men ride herd, but, somehow, both Mr. Manley and the
two boys felt the blow, if it did fall, would come from another
direction.
“Maybe we’re makin’ a mountain out of a molehill,” Mr. Manley declared,
as he stood near the hitching rail by the corral, the horses having been
watered. “Those hoss thieves are loose. What more do they want? Why
should they bother us? If they want to start up another gang and go back
to rustling again, that’s up to them. But I have a hunch that’s not what
they’re after. They’ve had their fill of that game. And, besides, the
sheriff said that two of those babies came from New York. That mean
anything? Remember the barkeeper in Rimor’s place who tried to crash me
with a bottle when I went in after that hombre with the checkered
shirt?”
“Sure do!” Teddy remarked excitedly. “He came from New York, too, didn’t
he? They must be importing a bunch of gunmen down here! Do you think the
bird in Rimor’s is one of the gang, Dad?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” Mr. Manley answered. “He’s not there any
more, you know. He ducked out. It may be—I don’t say it is—but it’s
just possible that he and his friends got the rustlers out of jail.
Boys, I hate to say it, but somehow it looks like trouble was stirrin’
up.”
“But why?” Teddy asked insistently. “What makes you say that, Dad? Roy’s
been like that all day, too. Why the worry?”
“So you been thinkin’ too, have you, Roy?” the ranch owner repeated,
glancing over at his son. “Well, I’ll tell you, Teddy. All of us have
our friends and our enemies. When my dad—your grandfather, that
was—first settled here there was nothin’ but a lot of space. Pop Burns
can tell you about that. Then later Eagles came, and with it some
punchers that wanted money without workin’ for it. About six years ago
they wanted me to go into a scheme of weighting the cattle scales down
at the railroad corral. But I soon set ’em right on that!”
Teddy and Roy nodded.
“Pop told us,” Roy stated. “That put you sort of in wrong, didn’t it?”
“Yep. Then a queer gang from the East began to head for Eagles. You know
most of ’em I guess. That barkeeper was the worst of the lot. They
joined up with the element that had it in for me. You know the
result—how we had our horses stolen and our cattle rustled. Then, when
we landed the gang an’ jailed ’em, I figured they were out of the way
for a while. But now—they’re out. An’ I get this note.”
Slowly he took the paper from his pocket and gazed at it.
“Reltsur,” he mused. “Sounds like a foreign name. Well, by jinks,
whoever he is—” The man’s eyes blazed and he crumpled the paper up and
flung it savagely from him. “Whoever he is, if he fools around here
he’ll wish he hadn’t! An’ that’s that!”
Turning, he strode into the house.
“You were right, Roy,” Teddy remarked in a low voice, watching his
father’s form pass through the door. “Dad does take it seriously. He’s
all het up. I wonder what— Oh, fishcakes! What’s the use of wondering?
I’m going in.”
The next morning when Mr. Manley came toward the bunk-house to speak to
one of the punchers, Nick, who was standing in the doorway, noticed with
surprise that the boss had a six-gun fastened to his belt.
“Goin’ huntin’, boss?” the puncher asked.
“Mebbe,” Mr. Manley answered laconically. “Want to be ready in case any
two-legged rattlesnakes are wanderin’ around. Where’s Jim Casey?”
“Around back. Want him?”
“Yea.”
When Jim approached he was given directions to set three more men to
riding the cattle.
“Tell Teddy who they’ll be,” Mr. Manley directed. “He’s foreman this
week. If you want anything else, ask him. And listen. If you see any
strangers around here, ask ’em their business. Especially if you see a
puncher that rides leanin’ a little to the left in his saddle. I guess
you all know who I mean. I’m going to head for town. Be back in a few
hours.”
“The boss means business,” Gus Tripp declared, when Mr. Manley had left.
“There’s Teddy. Yo-o-o, Teddy! Yore dad was just here. Told Jim to put
some extra riders out.”
“I know,” Teddy nodded. “Who do you want, Jim? How about Rad Sell, Nat
Raymond, and—well, you want to take it, Gus?”
“Sure,” Gus answered. “Nick can hang around here. But don’t you go
serenadin’ Norine, Nick. Guess I’d better have Pop keep an eye on you.”
“Dry up!” Nick growled. “You’ll have your hands full without worryin’
about Norine.”
At that moment Roy came from the ranch house and walked toward the
group.
“Dad around?” he asked.
“Just left,” Teddy replied. “Went to Eagles, didn’t he, Nick? Say, did
he have a gun on?”
“He did,” Gus drawled. “Said he might meet up with some two-legged
rattlers. Yore dad worried about that note, Roy?”
“He’s sore about it, at any rate,” Roy answered. “Dad doesn’t like any
one to try to bluff him. Then, too, he’s kind of waiting for something
to start, I think. You knew the horse thieves that we rounded up are
loose again?”
“Yep. All our work for nothin’! Well, let ’em try some more rustlin’,
that’s all I ask. _This_ time we’ll salivate ’em.”
“Dad said they might try another game,” Teddy declared. “He didn’t say
what, but he mentioned the fact that there are several gunmen from the
East mixed up in the crowd. Can’t tell what that bunch’ll pull. You men
that are riding cattle, don’t stay in one place too long. Keep moving,
and try to ride fence as much as you can. If you see a break that looks
suspicious, report it. We can’t afford to take chances, because there’s
a big shipment of Durhams due to go out this month, you know. For the
love of Pete! Look who’s coming!”
Down the road swept a cloud of dust, punctuated by the sound of a horn,
and now and then a hoarse shout. The cloud drew up by the bunk-house,
and slowly drifted away to disclose a flivver, with a freckled, grinning
youth at the wheel.
“Howdy!” this dusty apparition exclaimed. “It’s me. Me an’ my little
peanut roaster. Waddaya say?”
“Hello, Bug Eye!” Teddy cried. “What’s the news? Why the rush?”
“Rush!” Bug Eye looked at the speaker reproachfully. “I wasn’t rushin’.
I was goin’ slow! You want to see me when I’m in a hurry! Er—oh, yea, I
knew I came over here fer somethin’. I got a message fer Belle.”
Bug Eye was a hand on the 8 X 8, and Mr. Ball frequently made use of him
to drive one of the ranch cars. Bug Eye was always delighted to oblige,
and had almost forsaken horses for the “puddle jumper.”
Now he reached laboriously inside an upper pocket of his shirt and
unearthed tobacco, “makin’s,” and finally a soiled envelope.
“She’s a little dirty,” he apologized, “but I guess she ain’t hurt none.
Got that way from Lizzie hoppin’ around so much. Baby, this here tin
mule is a flyin’ fool! One minute she’s on the road an’ the next she’s
skimmin’ over a cloud, or—or somethin’. Want a ride? Take you any
place! I just put in a new dofunny, an she goes like a jack-rabbit. How
about it, Teddy? Roy? Take a little jaunt? She’s good. Bust her hide,
she’s good! Why, on the way over I seen a prairie dog that was goin’ the
same way I was, an’—”
“Save it, save it!” Nick yelled. “Why don’t you write a book, Bug Eye?
Snakes! I never see a man that could talk as much as you an’ say so
little.”
“Yes?” Bug Eye glanced at Nick calmly. “Maybe you don’t understand. You
know I talk English, an’ I guess it’s kind of hard for you birds to
catch on. Here’s the note, Roy. Fer yore sister. Got anything to eat in
there, Gus? Where’s Sing Lung? He ought to have some beans warmin’.”
Roy took the missive from Bug Eye, and the messenger stretched high and
entered the bunk-house, carefully oblivious of Nick’s taunting reply.
The note was addressed to “Miss Belle Ada Manley,” and, boylike, Roy
held it to his nose and inhaled deeply.
“Perfume?” Teddy asked, grinning.
“Tobacco,” Roy answered briefly, making a wry face. “It was buried in
Bug Eye’s pocket. Let’s take it in to Belle.”
Within the ranch house, the two boys stood about in careless attitudes
as their sister ripped open the envelope. Belle paused and looked up.
“Something?” she questioned innocently.
“Come on, Belle—have a heart,” Teddy murmured. “What’s in it?”
“Oh, this!” The girl looked at the note calmly. Slowly she read it
through, and then folded it carefully and replaced it in the envelope.
“Well?” Roy burst out.
“Oh, you want to know what she says?” Belle asked. “Why, it’s—it’s just
a note.”
“Yea? What’s it say?”
“Why, Nell and Ethel want me to—is that mother calling?”
“No! Go on!”
“They want me to visit them. That’s all.”
“So that’s all?”
The two boys turned away.
“Well, they want to be remembered to you two. And they want you to stay
to dinner to-morrow night when you take me over.”
“Oh, they do! Why didn’t you say so?”
“I forgot.”
“All right!” Teddy and Roy glared in mock anger. “We’ll remember this!”
Then in chorus, “Re-e-e-e-e-venge!”
And they stalked out of the room, to execute a war dance in the hall.