CHAPTER XIV

That Gus Tripp was the bearer of news was easy to be seen. It fairly oozed from him, and he had a hard time to keep from shouting it as he approached. But he managed to contain himself, and when he came closer he asked:

“You fellers busy just now?”

“Well, not so very,” Teddy replied. “You look as though you had something to say. Go ahead, spill it!”

“Sure I ain’t interruptin’?”

“No, no! For Pete’s sake, get it out of yore system!” Nick chuckled. “You’ll bust in another minute. What’s the joke?”

“There’s a medium down at the bunkhouse!”

“What’s that?”

“Huh? Say it again, an’ say it slow. What’s down at the bunkhouse?”

“A medium!”

“Medium what?”

“Medium nothin’—just a medium! A guy what tells the future!”

Light dawned slowly.

“You mean a fortune-teller!” Roy exclaimed. “That it?”

“Uh-huh. Say, he’s a pip! You ought to see him! Got a funny thing around his head. Rode up in a little buckboard. Talks some funny kind of language. He’s waitin’ down there now. Wish my wife was here, ’stead of in the city. She loves that stuff. She’s mostly Mexican, you know. Come on down!”

“Where did you say he was?”

“Waitin’ near the bunkhouse. Golly, I wish Pop was here—an’ Bug Eye! We could sure have some fun! Pop just pulled out as this gink came in.”

“Wait till we put these broncs up, and we’ll be with you.”

“All right; but hurry along.”

The horses were tied to the hitching-rail, and the four punchers walked toward the bunkhouse, led by Gus. He was greatly delighted with the new experience of meeting a medium. Chances for entertainment are few and far between on Western ranches, and when it comes the buckers make the most of it.

“There he is! See him?” Gus whispered in a thrilled tone, pointing. “Snakes, ain’t he a beaut?”

And indeed he was a “beaut.”

Seated on the ground near the door of the bunkhouse, legs curled up out of sight under him, was a strange figure. A bright blue fez crowned a dark, swarthy countenance. A long, flowing robe of green and yellow enveloped him. A vivid red sash was wound several times about his waist, giving him the appearance of a bag of potatoes—but a bag of such colors as was never seen in that part of the world. Close to him was the buckboard, a forlorn donkey standing dejectedly between the shafts.

Catching sight of the four men, the medium arose smoothly, like a snake unwinding, and, spreading his hands wide, he bowed.

“Come in, come in, gent’men,” he droned in a low monotone. “I wait for you.”

“Come in where?” Nick asked blankly.

“What matter? Into my fold. I see before me—” he paused.

“What do you see before you?” Gus inquired curiously.

“That I weesh to know,” and the medium smiled blandly. “You mus’ tell me, no?”

“I don’t exactly get—” Nick began, when Teddy interrupted.

“He wants to know who we are. This is Nick Looker, and this is Gus Tripp. The gentleman there is my brother, Roy Manley. I’m Teddy Manley. This is our ranch, the X Bar X. That do you?”

“Please no get angry,” the man pleaded, and smiled again, sensing a slight antagonism in Teddy’s voice. “I mean no harm. I help you. I tell you—” He looked up at the sky, and waved his arms. “I tell you everything! What has been, what is to be! Nothing is hidden! You listen, no?” His voice dropped suddenly, leaving him gazing eagerly forward.

“Well, maybe,” Roy answered, not wishing to commit himself. “How much?”

“That—the gold—I care not for. It is for the happiness of you that I tell, young man. But—we must live. Shall we say five dollars—each one?”

“We shall not,” Teddy said. “That’s too much. Two dollars apiece.”

“Three dollars?”

“Two, I said.”

The man bowed.

“You know best. It is not good that we become greedy for gold. For two dollars I will give you a life reading.”

“What’s that?” Gus demanded, watching the man with a fascinated stare.

“It is the telling of your life—what has been, what is to be. I do it thus.”

From the folds of his robe the man produced a crystal globe with such suddenness that Nick unconsciously dodged. The East Indian, if such he was, smiled.

“You think I hurt you, no? You think I have about me a cobra or a boomslang, no? That is foolishment. I am no cheat. I do not deal in trickery. I am a true fakir.”

“Yo’re a faker, an’ you admit it?” Nick asked, with surprise in his voice. “How do you expect—”

“Not faker, fakir,” the man corrected gently. “My name is Mohammed Ali Ben Suliman, by which you may know that I am of the true faith.”

“Seems like a sincere little cuss,” Roy said in an aside to Teddy. “Probably has a hard time of it out here. What say we give him two bucks and let him do his stuff?”

“Sure! Suits me. It’ll be fun, anyhow.” He turned to Mohammed. “Where do you do this crystal-gazing?”

“Any place where I and my friend can be alone.” The blue eyes twinkled for a moment. “If you are afraid, young man,—”

“Afraid of what?” Gus asked wonderingly and truculently.

“Of what I shall tell you.”

“Guess that needn’t worry us,” Nick snickered. “Go ahead, boy; we’ll stand for anything!”

“Yes?” the little man smiled again, inscrutably. “I wish for you a good fortune. Who will be the first?”

“You, Nick,” Gus whispered. “See what he says. Go on.”

“Naw, you try it first. You found him. Or maybe Roy or Teddy—”

“We’re in no hurry,” Roy declared, grinning. “You can have the freedom of the bunkhouse.”

“Bunkhouse? What is that?” Mohammed asked curiously.

Roy pointed. “In there. Where the boys sleep. That all right?”

The mystic bowed. “What you say. We shall go into the bunkhouse.”

“Good name for it,” Teddy chuckled, but not so Mohammed could hear him. He had no wish to offend the man, who appeared slightly frightened and not at all assertive. He kept eyeing the guns the boys, in obedience to the command of their father, had by their sides.

“Well, I’ll go first,” Gus declared at last. “Can’t Nick come in with me?”

“I do not like it,” Mohammed said dubiously. “Better alone. But it can be done. If the man wishes, anyone can listen.”

“Then we can all go in!” said Gus, and Teddy fancied his voice expressed relief. “I don’t care who hears my future. The past—well, let ’er come. Reckon I can stand that, too.”

“If you will go first—” and Mohammed made a motion with his slim, nervous hand. “I shall follow.”

Gus entered, and Mohammed walked slowly behind him. Teddy asked him if it was all right to leave the donkey.

“Stamboul will stand for days,” the little man declared solemnly. “He has the true gift of patience. I have taught him.”

Once within the bunkhouse, he looked about him eagerly.

“You sleep here?”

“Sure do,” Nick replied. “All of us. Good, too. Why?”

“Nothing,” and Mohammed sighed. “Under these so blue skys, I myself would live. No roof would cover me. Still—”

“Not in the winter you wouldn’t,” Gus chuckled. “Gets thirty below out here.”

Mohammed nodded absently. It is doubtful if he understood.

“I use the table, yes?” he asked, after a moment.

“Sure. Go to it,” Roy agreed. “Here’s a chair.” He pulled one up. “Take a seat.”

“Take a—ah, yes. Now young man,” he looked at Gus. “If you will be across from me—”

Gus, a trifle nervously, seated himself on the other side of the table.

“Not goin’ to hypnotize, are you?” he asked, with an attempt at humor. “We had a feller do that once. He didn’t make out so well.”

“I do not do thus,” Mohammed answered seriously. “That is black magic. I am afraid for that. Now you will give me your hand, please?”

Gus forced a smile, and stretched out his hand limply. Mohammed grasped it.

“Tight, please. That is it. Now for a moment, quiet. You will make a wish. When you have made it, say ‘yes’.”