CHAPTER VI

“Good-bye, flowers!” shouted Teddy Manley, and ran closer to the scene of impending disaster with a vague notion of doing something to stop the onrushing monster. But as he took another look at the murderous knives, he slowed up and halted. It was hopeless even to think of causing Hortense to hesitate.

Mrs. Ball, attracted by the noise, rushed out to the porch, followed by the three girls. When she saw the machine bearing down upon her precious lilies, she let out a shriek of dismay.

“Stop it, somebody! Stop it! My flowers!”

“Might as well try to stop a herd of wild elephants!” Roy yelled. “Bug Eye, can’t you—” he turned toward the puncher. To his surprise Bug Eye had vanished.

“Where in thunder is that bucker?” he called. “Bug Eye! Come out here!”

By this time Hortense had approached to within ten feet of the flower bed. Mrs. Ball leaned over the railing, calling frantically for someone to do something.

“My lilies! My lovely lilies,” she groaned. “Can’t you stop that thing? Bug Eye! Where—”

“Comin’, ma’am!”

Teddy and Roy swung around toward the bunkhouse. They saw a figure burst through the door, arms waving. It was the missing puncher.

“I’ll stop her or bust!” he exclaimed. “Get ready, boys. You gotta’ help me pull!”

Then they saw the reason of his haste. In his hand he held a lariat, and as he ran he began whirling it about his head.

“Yip-ee! Go get him!” Teddy shouted, and sprang after Bug Eye. “Rope ’er, cowboy!”

Faster and faster spun the rope. Now it was making a perfect circle over the running punchers.

“Toss it! Be too late in a second!” Roy exclaimed.

But Bug Eye knew his business. Just at the moment when Hortense was about to fall upon the flowers and grind them under her flashing knives, the bucker threw. Like a striking rattlesnake the rope snapped forward, and the loop settled hungrily full about the raised motor.

“Yay! He made it! Grab hold, Roy! Yank!”

Yank they did. Three pair of well-muscled arms seized the rope and pulled.

The lariat jerked taut. Hortense, on the very edge of the flower bed, was halted. She seemed to pause uncertainly, as though an unwelcome stranger had tapped her on the shoulder. Then, with a protesting roar, she reared on her hind wheels and fell over backwards.

“Yow! Hog tie her, Bug Eye! Three seconds flat! That’s first prize, sure!”

Like some giant bug, Hortense lay on her back with her wheels spinning madly. Her roar gradually sank lower and lower. She coughed once—twice, trembled in the throes of a death struggle, and yielded up the ghost. The flowers were saved.

Bug Eye, his face drawn into lines of despair, contemplated the wrecked machine. Then he sighed.

“She’s done for,” he said sadly. “Poor Hortense! Just temperament, that’s all ailed her!”

“Just—just—” Roy stuttered, and choked. “She was only eccentric, Bug Eye! That’s all! Poor—”

“Bug Eye Wilson, come here!”

Mrs. Ball, her head thrust forward, stood on the steps. “Come here to me!”

“Yes, ma’am,” and Bug Eye, sighing profoundly, walked meekly forward. As he passed the still form of his beloved Hortense, with the rope, like a long, thin tail, still hanging from her, he shook his head and muttered:

“You weren’t long for this world, old girl! Motor busted clean off the chassis. Well—”

“Bug Eye, what do you mean by sending that engine of destruction on to my flower bed?”

“I didn’t go for to send it on to the flower bed, ma’am,” Bug Eye answered gently. “That was her own doin’s. I aimed her across the yard, an’ the rest she did herself. Reckon she got tired of the straight an’ narrow.”

Speechless, Mrs. Ball stared at him. Then with a what-can-you-do-with-a-man-like-that gesture of her hands, she turned and entered the house.

The girls, who had stood watching the scene, let out peals of laughter. The woebegone expression on Bug Eye’s face changed not a bit as he rested a hand on one of Hortense’s wheels. To think that he, himself, had been the cause of his beloved’s untimely decease was an added reason for sadness.

“Cheer up, Bug Eye. You may be able to fix her,” Teddy called, struggling hard against laughter.

“Nope—she’ll never be the same,” the puncher sighed. “Her life is finished. But I sure saved the lilies, didn’t I?” he added in a brighter tone.

“You certainly did,” Roy agreed. “I never saw a neater exhibition of roping in my life. Think he ought to get a prize, girls?” he called to Belle and her friends.

“He should—and I’ll see that he does!” Nell promised. “If I have to bake it myself. Which do you like, Bug Eye—apple or lemon?”

“Huh? Oh, that’s all right. I’m used to tough breaks. Don’t worry about me. Maybe it’s better off this way, anyhow.”

“He’s still thinking about Hortense,” Ethel whispered to Nell. “He was so anxious to show Teddy and Roy how it worked, and the first time he took it out it smashed. Let’s go in and leave him to his dead darling!”

Bug Eye, with the help of Teddy and Roy, at last carted the remains away. And before they had decently disposed of her behind the bunkhouse Bug Eye was aflame with a new idea—a way to utilize the parts for which Hortense had no more use.

“Off with the old love—on with the new!” Teddy laughed. “What’s this one to be, Bug Eye?”

“I’m not sure yet,” the puncher answered musingly. “Maybe a fire extinguisher. Maybe—well, anything. But I know one thing! It won’t have no way to move about!”

Teddy and Roy, with faces that were prone to grin suddenly when some incident of the runaway Hortense was recalled, wandered about the yard, leaving Bug Eye to his thoughts. They had decided to start back in an hour or so, in order to be at the X Bar X for supper. Anxious as they were to prolong their visit, so that they might talk to Nell and Ethel, they knew there was plenty to be done at home. Round-up season is a busy time for all.

Soon after dinner they said good-bye to the girls and started. The ride home was uneventful, and they reached the ranch at four-thirty. As they drove the flivver into the yard they saw that their father was talking to a stranger down by the corral. When they had put the car away he called them over.

“Boys, this is Mr. Peterson,” he said. “These are my two sons, Mr. Peterson—Teddy and Roy.”

“Howdy!” the stranger greeted them. He offered his hand. The boys thought they had never shaken hands with a man who seemed so lacking in muscle. The hand was soft and flabby and limp.

Mr. Peterson was short, but not plump. Somehow, he appeared unsubstantial, as though even a fair punch could knock him over. Neither Teddy nor Roy realized that they were thinking of punching in connection with Mr. Peterson.

“He wants some of our dogies,” Mr. Manley continued. “Six hundred head, I think you said?”

Roy started, as if the figure brought some thought to his memory.

“Six hundred—that’s right,” Peterson replied. His voice was like his manner, querulous, overbearing. “Of the best you got.”

“Don’t worry about that. What you pay for, you get,” Mr. Manley declared shortly. Teddy got the impression that he shared their dislike of the man. But business knows no likes or fancies.

“There’s one condition, but don’t suppose it makes much difference to you,” Peterson said. “The firm I work for is in the habit of requiring the seller to post a forfeit, so we’ll sure get the cattle we bargain for. Just a matter of form—but the firm demands it. That’s all right with you, isn’t it?”

“A forfeit?” Mr. Manley turned toward the boys. “Ever hear of that bein’ done before, Roy?”

“Once in a while,” Roy answered. He looked at his father queerly. Why had he asked him a question the answer of which he must have known himself?

“Once in a while, hey? Well, Mr. Peterson, I guess we can accommodate you. How much do you need?”

“Five hundred,” Peterson declared. “You can put it in the bank at Eagles. Now that that’s settled, I’ll pay my deposit, just to make matters shipshape. Here’s five hundred on our part. That enough?”

“Plenty. In fact, it isn’t necessary,” Mr. Manley said. “We do a great deal of business on trust out here. But you’re the doctor.” He thrust the roll of bills into his pocket. “Now where and when do you want these cattle shipped?”