SILENT PACKS A GUN
During the next few days there was much to be done on the X Bar X. Three
more men left for the promised land, and Mr. Manley had to recruit some
help from other ranches, where the fever seemed to hit more lightly. Mr.
Ball sent him three, among them Bug Eye. There were but four of the
original punchers left on the X Bar X. Two of these were, of course, Pop
Burns and Nick Looker.
Teddy and Roy were doing the ordinary work of wranglers, plus their job
as bosses. Mr. Manley made frequent trips to Eagles, as he was
negotiating with buyers in Chicago for the sale of a large herd of
cattle on the hoof.
Finally the deal was completed and arrangements were made to ship the
beeves the following week. With the additional hands Mr. Manley
anticipated no real trouble in cutting out the cattle and getting them
into the cars. Before the day set for the work to begin, he gave Pop
permission to go to see his cousin, Jerry Decker, who was still at the 8
X 8.
Pop started early one morning and returned at nightfall. Bug Eye, Roy,
and Teddy were sitting on the top rail of the corral as he drove into
the yard, his tall, skinny figure looking strangely ghostlike in the
dusk. He dismounted, watered, and fed his mount and turned it into the
corral.
The boys waited for him to speak first.
“Well,” he said finally, removing his hat and slapping the dust from his
legs, “I see the ranch is still runnin’.”
“Just about,” Teddy answered. “How’s your cousin?”
“Better in health, worse in spirits,” Pop replied. “He got taken over
the ropes for plenty, that bird did.”
“How much?” Bug Eye asked eagerly.
“Just twenty thousand dollars’ worth of nuggets,” Pop drawled.
“Twenty thousand!” Roy repeated. “What a haul!”
“An’ that’s at gov’ment valuation. He had his own testin’ apparatus, an’
a accurate scale. Knew just how much his nuggets were worth. Now he’s
lying’ with a hole through his neck an’ twenty thousand gone,” Pop
finished bitterly.
“Tough luck, all right,” came from Teddy in a sympathetic tone. “Bet he
worked hard for ’em, too.”
“Well, as to that, there’s two ways of lookin’ at it. He stuck at that
camp till he made his strike, an’ that took two years. On the other
hand, he didn’t have no trouble at all in pickin’ up the nuggets.”
“Then it’s a fact that--” Bug Eye began.
“Oh, the monkey wrapped his tail around the flag-pole,” Pop sang loudly.
“Do-do-do-do, do-do do-do!” He stopped and looked around him. He saw no
one, and came closer. “Suppose you waddies swim down from there an’
we’ll have a talk,” he said meaningly.
The boys jumped to the ground. Evidently Pop had something on his mind.
When they were gathered about him, he said:
“Now listen. I had a long talk with Jerry. I saw the gun that knocked
him off, too. An’ I’ll remember if I ever see another like it. All
right! Jerry told me that Nugget Camp was the richest strike that’s been
made within a thousand miles of here--ever! He said that!” Pop’s voice
was low, deadly in earnest. “An’ if the boys on this here ranch hear
about it, there won’t be enough left to get up a good rousin’ game of
solitaire! Think that over!” He stuck his hands deep in his pockets.
“Think that over an’ lose some sleep!”
There was a moment’s silence while the import of Pop’s words sank in.
Perhaps only to one--Roy--did they mean anything but anxiety as to when
the news would be circulated. But Roy’s mind was running on another
track. He appreciated, of course, that the business of ranching would be
seriously interrupted if any more hands left, if the new men joined the
rush. But he saw further than that. He saw a chance for him and his
brother to enlist in a new series of adventures, and at the same time
with a possibility of getting rich.
“And what do _you_ think about it, Pop?” Roy asked at length. “Any
pronounced opinions on the subject?”
“You mean about goin’?”
“I mean about the chances of striking gold at Nugget Camp.”
“Oh!” the old puncher rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, if you really
want to know, Roy--I think the chances are pretty blame good!”
“What about you telling the boys that they’d be crazy to leave here and
head for Nugget Camp?”
“Oh, well--” Pop moved uneasily. “I hadn’t heard what Jerry had to say
then. An’, anyhow, we couldn’t afford to lose ’em all in a bunch. It
gave ’em somethin’ to think about an’ slowed ’em up sufficient so’s we
could get some new hands. Not that the ones we got are any wonders,” he
added musingly. “But they’ll do, an’ they ain’t nuts over gold.”
“So there’s somethin’ to the story,” Bug Eye said slowly. “Nugget Camp
ain’t just a basket full of fool’s gold.”
“Not any,” Pop said positively. “Jerry wouldn’t kid me about a thing
like that. He believes in it all right. Twenty thousand gone!” Pop shook
his head sadly. “I wish I had those galoots here for a minute and a
half,” he declared bitterly. “A hole in the neck’s nothin’ to what
they’d get. An’ say, Teddy an’ Roy, Jerry wants me to be sure an’ tell
you how much he’s thankful for you two fellers bringin’ him in. If it
hadn’t been for you he’d be pushin’ up the daisies right now. An’ then
some!” Pop looked keenly at the brothers. He was at all times
undemonstrative, and the boys took the look for what it was
intended--the old puncher’s heartfelt thanks.
“Glad we were there,” Roy said. “But I’m sure sorry it happened. It
means that a nasty bunch are getting into the district. Over at Nugget
Camp--”
“Things will be spinnin’ out some lively,” Bug Eye drawled. “Well,
there’s plenty to be done to-morrow. Me, I’m goin’ to catch some sleep.”
With a gold-mining camp springing up within riding distance of the X Bar
X, the work of cutting out cattle for delivery seemed especially
prosaic. But it had to be done, and, early the next morning, Teddy and
Roy were in the saddle.
It was Mr. Manley’s idea to take one herd that had gathered near
Harver’s Gully and round them up and drive them to the railroad yards.
There were about six hundred head in the herd. Of these, about one
hundred and fifty would be sent back to the range for one reason or
another--some might have calves not yet weaned and some would not come
up to specifications. It meant a good three or four days’ work, and Mr.
Manley felt keenly the loss of his regular punchers.
Among the new hands were two who had more or less drifted in. They told
Mr. Manley that they were out of a job--“temporarily.” Both looked to be
real punchers, and Mr. Manley took them on. One of them, called “Silent”
by his partner, was a surly, ill-tempered fellow, who continually wore a
frown. He mixed not at all with the others and spoke only to his friend,
and then in monosyllables. The nickname “Silent” fitted him like a
glove.
Roy and Teddy found that he was especially antagonistic to them. He
accepted their orders with a scowl, but as long as he did his work they
said nothing. This was no time to be particular. They had to take what
they could get, and be glad of it.
His partner was more friendly, and soon became one of the gang. He,
also, did his work well, and to careful questions concerning “Silent”
answered that “he was kinda queer.” In the West a man is taken at his
face value, and if he wants to keep to himself, that’s his own affair.
Silent and Jack Conroy were accepted as part of the X Bar X outfit. On
the payroll Silent was down as Hap Neville.
The round-up of the herd at Harver’s Gully started in clear weather. Pop
Burns stayed at the ranch with Mr. Manley, and Teddy and Roy were in
charge. Nick and Bug Eye rode with them.
Just before they left the X Bar X, Teddy noticed Silent strapping a
rifle case to his saddle. Later this was filled with a weapon.
“Any special reason?” Teddy asked easily.
Silent looked over at him with a frown. The puncher was about
twenty-five or six, although the lines in his face seemed to add a few
years to this total. He was short and stocky, and anything but handsome.
“Any objection?” Silent demanded. His tone was hostile.
“No, I reckon not--but there isn’t much sense to it.”
“My business,” Silent growled.
Teddy looked at him for a moment.
“As you say, it’s your business,” he said slowly. “But if you’re
intending to use it on anything except animals, then it’s my business.
Take me?”
Silent did not reply, but went on with his preparation. Teddy watched
him.
“What kind of a gun is that?” he asked suddenly.
Silent spun around, a look of fury on his face.
“Listen here, you!” he snarled. “I’ll take your orders when it’s part of
my job. I’m gettin’ paid for it. But I’m not gettin’ paid to answer
questions! Understand?”
Teddy’s eyes narrowed. He stepped toward the man.
“You just forget I’m a boss,” the boy said deliberately. “I’ll forget it
too. There’s little room in this outfit for a bird like you. But you
know how we’re fixed. We have to take what comes. Now, if you crave
action, drop that cinch-strap and--”
“Hey, Teddy!” It was Pop, yelling from the ranch-house porch. “Yore dad
wants to speak to you!”
The boy did not turn immediately. Instead, he stood staring at Silent.
The puncher released his hold on the strap, but he did not face about.
“Fade,” Silent said briefly. “I’m busy.”
“You can be a lot busier,” Teddy declared. “Maybe we’ll talk this over
later.”
He went slowly toward the house. Pop was waiting for him, a quizzical
look on his face.
“Talkin’ to that human phonograph?” he asked.
Teddy nodded.
“Some,” he answered dryly. “Wants a going over, I’m afraid. I hate to
make trouble, but that bird isn’t going to be any dove of peace around
here.”
“Yea, I know.” Pop regarded Teddy closely. “Take it easy, son,” he said
quietly. “You’ll live longer. Yore dad’s waitin’.”