CHAPTER XIII

Late as it was when Teddy and Roy Manley reached home that night, a conference was called. Mr. Manley sat in his office, a room set aside for his exclusive use, and listened to Teddy’s story, the while he puffed thoughtfully on his corncob pipe and, now and again, tugged at the ends of his mustache. When the tale was finished he clapped his hands together in the manner of a man who has come to a sudden decision.

“Mob Jamisson has attempted to commit murder!” he ejaculated.

Teddy and Roy started. It had not seemed so serious to them. They had not the advantage of Mr. Manley’s years in interpreting the occurrence. To them it had merely appeared that a man with a grudge against them had tried to injure them.

“Murder!” Roy repeated slowly. “Sounds nasty, Dad.”

Mr. Manley nodded. He picked up the ’phone and called a number at the Hawley exchange.

“Hello—speak to the Sheriff. What? This is Bardwell Manley, at the X Bar X Ranch. Right.”

He waited a moment, evidently while someone was being called to the instrument. Then he said:

“This you, Sheriff? This is Bardwell Manley. X Bar X Ranch. What do you know about a man who goes by the name of Mob Jamisson? Wanted, is he? What for? Yes.... Uh-huh. Listen. Add attempted murder to that charge, and see—he tried to kill my boy, Teddy. Shot at him. We have proof all right. And there was another man with him, name of Lefton—Jerry Lefton. Heard of him too, hey? Well, I’d like you to get out warrants for both of them. Soon as possible. That’s it. Let me know if you find ’em. Sure. Thanks. So long!” Mr. Manley hung up the receiver, and faced about.

“That’s the first gun,” he said. “We’ll take no more chances on waddies like that. Makay is a good man. He’ll bring ’em in if they’re still around. Now—” he tapped the ashes from the bowl of his pipe and arose—“the next time you boys go out you wear guns. If Jamisson and his gang have the idea they’re bad men of the West, we’ll just show ’em that the old West isn’t dead yet. Round-up is next week. I don’t want anything to happen, especially with that big order we got. Six hundred head is a large-size bit.”

His face clouded, and the boys waited for him to finish his thought.

“Peterson—he called me up to-day. Wanted to be sure I could make delivery. Never said a word about money, and the market is goin’ down every day, too. Way it stands now, he’s payin’ three a head more than Pete Ball, at the 8 X 8, expects to get. I don’t understand it.”

“What did he say when he called up?” Roy asked curiously.

“Nothin’ much—just asked me how things were comin’. Told him fine. They are, too. I don’t want to lose that forfeit. Five hundred isn’t exactly pin-money.”

“I’ll tell a maverick it isn’t!” Impressed with the seriousness of this talk, Roy’s voice unconsciously assumed a deeper tone.

Mr. Manley, under cover of a cough, looked at his sons. They were growing to manhood quickly, these boys. Their eyes had a steadier light in them, and he noticed how straight they sat, as though they were holding their muscles taut. In the past two years they had gone through many adventures, and had come out of each with an increased feeling of reliance upon themselves. He knew now that it was wise to have allowed them to stop school when they wished. The West had been their school, as it had been his, and when one graduated from it one was well equipped for the battle of life.

Under his prolonged stare, the boys shifted and looked up inquiringly. Mr. Manley chuckled and rested a hand on a shoulder of each of his sons.

“I was just thinkin’, boys, that soon you’ll be wantin’ to run this ranch yourselves. You can, too. You’ve grown up, both of you. Grown up into sons I can be proud of.” Abruptly his manner changed, and he pulled them toward him affectionately. “Hit the hay now, buckers! You’re not too old for me to spank if you stay up too late!” Laughing, he released them. “Up early to-morrow. Plenty to do. Good-night, boys!”

“Good-night, Dad!”

Halfway up the stairs Teddy paused.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that dad is a regular fellow. I’d do anything for him.”

Roy replied with a single sentence, but so fervent was it that it seemed almost like a prayer:

“I’ll tell a maverick he is!”

And they continued to their room.

Early the next day the telephone in Mr. Manley’s office rang, and Roy answered it. His father was not in at the moment, and he asked if he could take the message.

“This is Peterson,” the voice at the other end said. “Will you tell your father that I’ve heard talk of rustlers in this vicinity, and warn him to guard his stock well? I’ll tell you now that I’ll hold him to that forfeit if he can’t deliver, for it means a great deal to me.”

“We’ll deliver all right,” Roy declared. “Don’t worry about that. Who told you there were rustlers around?”

“Oh, it’s general talk,” Peterson said evasively. “Just remember I warned you. Good-bye.”

“Wait a—”

There was a click as the other end disconnected, and Roy hung his receiver. He turned to find Teddy watching him.

“More news?”

“You might call it that. Peterson just called up. Told me to tell dad that he’s heard there are rustlers around, and to keep track of our stock. Said he’d demand the forfeit if we didn’t deliver.”

“Huh! Sort of knocks our theory into a cocked hat—about his being in with the Lefton crowd. If he—I mean Peterson—was a rustler, the last thing he’d want to do would be to warn us to watch the cows.”

“Yea. Does look like that. Well, I’ll tell dad what he said. Coming?”

The two boys walked out of the office and into the yard. When Mr. Manley heard Roy’s story he merely nodded, and gave no thought to Teddy’s suggestion that this proved Peterson “was O.K.”

“Maybe, an’ maybe not,” he said, and returned to his work of repairing his saddle. The boys waited for a moment, then wandered off.

“Hard to tell what he does think about it,” Roy commented.

“That’s a fact. Dad never did much talking. Wonder if the sheriff in Hawley heard anything from Jamisson?”

“Not likely. He’ll lay low for a while, I reckon. The skunk! Every time I think of him trying to shoot you in the back—”

“Me, too! You know, I have an idea that your remark of the bullet being meant for you wasn’t so far wrong. Here’s how I figure: he knew you’d heard them talking that night you went back after your knife. And whatever you heard he didn’t want broadcast. Say, that means something else, too! It means that what they said was important! By golly, I just thought of that! Now let’s see. We’ll work this thing out.”

“Good stuff, Teddy. Let’s walk over this way.” He started for the side porch, and Teddy followed. They sat on the lower step.

“Now, what they said was this,” Roy began. “First they said something about six hundred head. That’s cattle. Then they mentioned cars, and an eight mile run, and the old Jarmey place. We heard ’em talk about the Jarmey place when we saw ’em at Red Rock, too.”

“Yep. Say, just where is the Jarmey place?”

“I have a rather hazy idea. It’s near Red Rock, I know. Suppose we ask Pop?”

Teddy nodded, and arose.

“Think he’s around?”

“We can try. Might be near the bunkhouse.”

They walked over. Pop was cleaning a rifle, and looked up as the two boys approached.

“Mornin’, gents. Got an hour to myself, an’ I decided to get this here shootin’ iron into shape. Set!”

In response to the invitation, the boys squatted on the ground near him.

“Pop,” Teddy said, “we want to ask some questions.”

Pop removed his hat and scratched his bald head.

“Ain’t riddles, are they?”

“Nope. Say, just what do you know about the old Jarmey place?”

“Hum—thought I told you about that once before. Well, it’s about four miles from Red Rock. Know where that is, don’t you?”

“Sure. We’ve been there.”

“Well, after you leave there you go west, up a steep grade. The Jarmey place is right on top of a hill, with the tracks runnin’ down. Used to be a railroad depot, but it ain’t used for nothin’ now.”

“Can you get to it from Red Rock by following the tracks?”

“Nope. You got to go around Shock Mountain. That’s between, an’ you can’t climb it with a horse. The trail around is about ten or twelve miles long.”

“But you said four miles—”

“As the crow flies. Now look. Suppose we start at Eagles.” He laid his rifle down carefully, and with his forefinger drew a map in the dust. “This here is Eagles. The main line comes in this way—you know that part of it. Now, there’s a pair of tracks that run from Eagles to Red Rock, on a branch. They ain’t used no more, since the main line came in. Eagles is pretty high up, you know—higher’n Red Rock. The branch that runs to Red Rock starts a little above Eagles. Well, you follow these tracks down to Red Rock. Then they dip pretty sharp an’ curve, an’ four miles farther come into the Jarmey station. I think they run about eight miles beyond this, then peter out near Hawley. At least, that’s my recollection of it.”

“Then, practically speaking, it’s down grade all the way from Eagles to where that branch railroad ends?”

“Uh-huh. That’s one of the reasons they had to make a new railroad—the engines couldn’t pull cattle cars up the hills.”

“Are there any cars on the siding now?”

“You mean down at the Jarmey place?”

“Well, either there or above Eagles.”

“Can’t say for certain. Might be. More chance of ’em bein’ above Eagles than down at the other end. But if there are any, I wouldn’t want to ride in ’em.”

“Think the tracks are still there, all the way to Red Rock?”

“Sure, an’ some distance beyond. There ain’t never been nobody with enough gumption to root ’em up, so I reckon they’ll stay there till they rust to pieces.”

“How far is it from Red Rock to where the tracks end?”

“Eight miles, didn’t you say, Pop?” Teddy broke in.

“About that. Why, thinkin’ of buyin’ the shebang?”

“Not any,” Roy laughed. “Eight miles!” He thought for a moment. “And all down grade?”

“Yep. Reckon you could coast a bicycle all the way down, if you was so minded. Or sky, for that matter.”

“Sky?”

“Sure! Ever hear of that? You put two barrel staves on your feet and use ’em like skates. Course there has to be snow on the ground.”

“Oh, I see,” Teddy said, and turned his head away to hide his smiles. “Well, that’s all, I guess. Thanks for the information, Pop.”

“Welcome. Any time at all. Glad to oblige.” He picked up his rifle again. “Still practicin’ for the rodeo?”

“Haven’t to-day,” Roy answered. “Suppose we try a little, Teddy? Let’s see what we can do with the pony express.”

“All right. I was thinking we might—But never mind. Sure, we’ll practice some.”

“Like to watch you, boys, but I got to ride out in a few minutes. Usin’ Star an’ Flash, I suppose?”

“Sure are! Well, see you later.”

Pop nodded, and they left him to his labors.

“Eight miles, and all down grade,” Roy mused. “Those words seem familiar, Teddy?”

“They do, sonny; they do! That was the song Mob Jamisson was singing, with the Lefton brothers, tenors, joining in the chorus. Wonder when they go into their dance?”

“You think they will, then?”

“Every good team does a song and dance. Unless they get the hook first. You and I, Roy, will try to be the so-called hook.”

“Uh-huh. Before they get to the dance. But I’d like to know just what kind of a dance they’re best at, and where it’ll be staged. It’ll be our job to find out.”

“Right! We’ll keep our eyes peeled, lest we get our knuckles skinned. Now let’s try this pony express stuff.”

They had come to the corral, wherein were Star and Flash, and they soon had the horses saddled.

“Pony express” is the art of quick dismounting and mounting, as practiced by the mail riders in the days of Wild Bill Hickock. A man dashes up, throws himself from his bronco, transfers his mailbag to another and fresher mount, and dashes away again with the loss of as few seconds as possible. It calls into action all the expertness a rider possesses. A single slip means ill-afforded delay.

Nick Looker was called upon to help, since he was idle at the moment, and he saddled the bronco that Teddy had lately broken. The start was at the extreme end of the yard, the first change half way across, and another change at the end, when the rider would swing back over his route.

“You go first, Teddy,” said Roy.

“All right; it’s all one, I suppose,” was Teddy’s reply.

He mounted Flash, and was in readiness for the signal. At some distance Roy waited with Star, and farther on still was Nick with the other bronco, which they decided to call, sarcastically, Angelica.

“All set?” Teddy called.

“O.K. here!” was Roy’s answer. “How about you, Nick?”

“Ri-i-i-ight!”

Roy looked at his wrist watch. When the minute hand pointed to zero he yelled:

“Go!”

Teddy bent low, and Flash leaped forward. Across the yard the pony tore, his feet lost in the haze of dust. Ears laid back, fine head thrust forward, he made a wonderfully pretty sight. Teddy sat on him as though he were a part of the horse, riding beautifully. Straight for Roy and the waiting Star he dashed.

Reaching him, the boy fairly flew from the saddle before Flash had fully halted. Springing the short distance separating him from Roy, he bounded into the saddle again, and in a second had Star racing toward Nick at full speed. The change had been made with scarcely a moment’s delay.

But as Star hurtled for Angelica, the new pony shied and pulled away from Nick, who had relaxed his hand in his excitement at Teddy’s riding ability. Thus, when the boy jumped off, there was no horse there to receive him. It took precious seconds to catch the pony, and when Teddy pulled up, panting, at the end of the run, Roy looked up from gazing at his watch.

“Two-fifty-six. Not so bad. Would have been much better if Nick hadn’t let go Angelica. But you have to expect those accidents. We’ll try again later. Say, here comes Gus, and he’s got a grin on him a mile wide. Wonder what’s up?”