CHAPTER XXV

The cars were old and their joints rusty, and the noise they made as they rumbled along resembled an avalanche. The pistol shots, puncturing the roar, sounded like the popping of corks.

“Try to stop us now!” Roy shouted gleefully. “Yow! Ride ’em, cowboy! Out of my way!”

The rustlers had reached the top of the hill and were firing desperately. One of them sought to leave his horse and catch the last car, but his pony shied, and threw the man from his back, to go tumbling down the steep embankment.

“Have a sleigh-ride!” Teddy called. “Tell us when you hit bottom!”

Bill Lefton tried to swing his pony and ride parallel with the moving freight, but the road bed was too narrow, and his horse, with a neigh of protest, refused to follow this rumbling Juggernaut, then whirled, and almost on its haunches, started down the slope. The train picked up speed rapidly, and amid a fusillade of ineffectual shots it rounded a curve, bearing Teddy and Roy to safety.

The last glimpse the boys had of the rustlers was the sight of Peterson waving his arms madly and shaking his fist—not at them, but at one of his gang.

“Mob Jamisson having the law laid down to him,” Teddy chuckled. “They’ll blame him for this, sure as shooting. Boy, we’ve saved the cattle! They’ll never be able to drive ’em far enough to hide ’em before we’re on their necks.” He drew a deep breath. “Yes, it was worth it—it sure was worth it.”

They sat up now, and drew closer together. They had flung themselves flat when the train began to move, one in the middle of the center car—which, they afterwards discovered, was the key car—and the other at the end. It was Teddy who had released the brake which really set the train in motion.

The grade was not very steep at this point, and the speed at which the cars were running was not high enough to be dangerous. Teddy sat for a moment watching the scenery “roll by,” as he expressed it, and then he grinned.

“I just happened to think,” he said, “that dad has Peterson’s deposit. Maybe he’ll come and claim it—maybe not!”

“The only deposit he’ll get will be deposited in jail,” Roy said laughingly. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for them to be seated on top of a freight car, at two o’clock in the morning, running downgrade toward the end of the line. Gone was their weariness—their thirst. All they thought of was that they had succeeded—the cattle were saved—a good night’s work had been well done.

The train jolted and swung along. Teddy and Roy sat on the board which runs along the top, the walking plank, arms about their knees, swaying from side to side with the motion, happy, contented. They would soon come to the end of the line, not far from Hawley. They could rout the sheriff out of bed, organize a posse, and chase Peterson and his crowd from here to the borders of the state—farther, if necessary. The cattle would be safe until they rounded them up with the others, to-morrow. Yes, it was a good night’s work.

The grade was leveling off now, and the train ran more slowly. It reached a curve, on the right of which the ground dipped, so that they had a clear view for miles.

“Teddy! Take a look!”

Far to the right the lights of a town glimmered.

“That’s Hawley! Let’s get off here. No telling how far this train will run, and the end of the line is much farther from Hawley than this is. It stops away off in some deserted hole, Pop said. Get busy with those brakes. Hawley, Ha-a-a-aw-ley!” he cried, in the manner of a conductor announcing a station. “All out for Hawley!”

They ran from one car to another, applying the hand brakes. When the train had slackened speed sufficiently they climbed down the ladder and jumped to the ground.

“Now we’ve got a nice little jaunt,” Roy said, peering toward Hawley. “But it might be worse. So long, old Twentieth-century!” He waved his hand as the train, barely moving, disappeared around a curve. “You sure helped us out of a bad hole! Come on, Teddy—get those legs of yours moving. One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!”

They set out joyfully, and in an hour reached the town, tired, but still happy. Hawley was a fair-sized place and they found a restaurant on the main street open. There was a telephone within, and they called the sheriff. At first he was angry at having his sleep disturbed, but when the boys told them who they were, he declared eagerly that he’d be right down. He was as good as his word. Not five minutes elapsed before he entered the door of the restaurant, fully dressed, two guns hanging from his belt.

The boys soon explained the situation to him, and then he, in his turn, sat down at the ’phone and called many numbers. His orders were short and to the point. His men were to arise, saddle their horses, and meet him at the Alpha in six minutes—no longer. “Understand? All right! ’bye!”

When he had finished he turned to the boys.

“So you rode the empties down to here! Well, well! Boys, that’s as good as a movie. Now listen. You ought to be pretty tired. I told my wife that you’d be right over to the house, and to get a room ready. You sleep—hear me? We’ll finish this job for you. We’ll let yore dad know where you are right quick, so he won’t worry. Then we’ll take the trail of them rustlers. Mob Jamisson with ’em, hey? Well, I’ll be plumb glad to see him again, not sayin’ the same fer him. My house is the fifth one down on this side of the street. Red brick. You can’t miss it. Just ring the bell. Mary’s up, an’ waitin’ fer you. Here comes my gang.”

He hesitated as the sound of the arrival of several horses sounded outside the door.

“I’ll go now. Don’t worry about yore dad. I’ll let him know first thing. We can find his camp all right if it’s anywheres on the X Bar X. Tell you a secret—I used to work fer that ranch when I was a kid. That was when yore grandfather had it. Well, so long! Pete—” to the man behind the counter—“if they’re hungry, you feed ’em an’ charge it to me. So long, boys!”

Hungry? Weren’t they, though! They scarcely saw the sheriff burst through the door nor heard the noise of his departure. They were intent on a whole ham which hung in a glass-enclosed refrigerator.

“Could we—could we have some of that?” Roy asked, pointing.

“Ham! You betcha! Fried ham an’ eggs. Sliced tomatoes. Potatoes. Coffee. Pie a-la-mode. O.K.?”

“I’ll tell a maverick it is!”

Then they sat down to the best meal they ever remembered eating. At three o’clock in the morning, just these two, in the restaurant in Hawley, they ate until they could eat no more. When they had finished, the waiter looked at them critically.

“I’m thinkin’,” he said softly, “that they don’t need no bed to-night. Maybe the sheriff’s house is only down a block, but they’ll never make it, unless they walk in their sleep.”

He moved softly to one side and turned low the light. Quietly he tiptoed to the door and closed it behind him. And Roy and Teddy, their heads resting on their arms, feet tucked under them, slept the remainder of that eventful night on a table in the restaurant in Hawley.

They awoke to find the sunlight streaming in on their faces and a voice, miles off, calling:

“Hey! Come to! ’Phone for you! ’Phone!”

“What? Somebody wants us? What time is it? Gosh, this bed is hard! Well, for the love of Pete—”

Teddy, gazing about him stupidly, found the waiter grinning down at him. It took a full minute for realization to come to the boy, and another minute to explain to Roy. Sleep had sunk them so deep that they simply could not understand what had occurred. Finally, however, Pete convinced them that they were really in Hawley, and, what was more important, that Mr. Manley was on the ’phone.

“Dad!” Roy exclaimed, jumping. “I’ll take it, Teddy. Where’s that ’phone? Huh? Oh!” Almost next to his elbow, and he could scarcely see it. He picked up the receiver.

“Hello, Dad! Sure! Fine! Right next to me. Yep, he’s all right too. Sort of sleepy. We fell asleep on a restaurant table—stayed there all night. Get up there, Teddy. What’s that, Dad? Say it again, will you? You caught—” He turned to his brother, eyes shining with excitement.

“Teddy, they caught the rustlers! Every one of ’em! The sheriff found our camp, and dad and the others went right out on the trail. Here, Dad, tell Ted. He won’t believe me.”

Then Teddy:

“Hello, Dad! Is that straight? Got ’em all? And the cattle? Oh, boy! What luck! Say, how about Flash and Star? Came home? You! That’s a relief! How’s Star? That’s good.” Aside:

“He says Star wasn’t hurt much. Bullet just grazed him.” Into the ’phone again:

“Where’d you get the rustlers, Dad? Uh-huh! Tried to drive the cattle away after all, did they? Didn’t think they were that stupid. Probably figured we’d ride to the end of the line and wouldn’t be able to get help before morning. Listen, Dad—did you get Mob Jamisson? Well, hold him for me—he owes me a new hat! Yep. All right, Dad! Want me to tell Roy anything!” A pause, and a grin stole over Teddy’s face. He looked at his brother and winked. “Sure thing, Dad! Tell ’em we’ll see ’em this afternoon! So long, Dad!”

The receiver clicked down. Pete, the waiter, was watching the two brothers with an amused smile.

“Dad wanted me to tell you something,” Teddy said slowly.

“Well, what?”

“Oh, maybe you won’t be glad to hear it. I don’t know. Perhaps I’d better wait till later. I don’t like to—”

“Tell me now, you Indian! What is it?”

“Well, he wants us to get home as soon as we can, because Nell and Curly are there and they’re going to see us in the rodeo! So, hit the trail, cowboy—hit the trail!”

---

A perfect fall day, with the bright sun laughing down on a scene of vivid beauty. Flags flying in the fresh breeze. Bands playing. Girls, in picture hats, gazing forward eagerly. Cow punchers, resplendent in silver mounted belts, checkered shirts, and big woolly chaps, swaggering proudly about. A crowd roaring its approval of a man in the center of the arena astride a bucking, twisting bronco. The rodeo!

The governor of the state had a box directly in the center of the grandstand. Next to his was the Manley box.

Within it sat Mr. and Mrs. Manley, with Belle Ada, Nell Willis, and Ethel—no, Curly—Carew. And one other. In the rear, inconspicuous as possible, a little man, tanned of face, with blue, kindly eyes, looked out upon the scene. It was Mohammed Ben Ali Suliman—alias Professor Sullivan, psychologist. He leaned forward and touched Mr. Manley on the shoulder.

“Does—er—our boy ride soon?”

“Teddy, you mean? Yep. Next. Did you see Roy win that Pony Express contest? Man, I’ve been with him all my life, and never knew he could ride like that. First prize! Great, eh? Look—that man’s finished. There he goes!”

The rider gave a shout and flew over the pony’s head. He was out of the race, but he arose gamely and shook his fist in mock rage at the horse that had unseated him, then walked, a trifle unsteadily, to the side.

“Teddy rides now?” Mrs. Manley asked in a small voice.

“Sure, Mother! An’ don’t you worry! He’ll take that bronc under his wing as easy as pie. Watch! Here he comes!”

A yell went up as another rider shot out from a corner, seated on a bit of leaping horse-flesh. Roy, who stood leaning against the fence, shouted:

“Stick with him, boy! Hang on! You! Atta baby! Look at him go—! Oh, look at him go! Sweet daddy! You’re sure ridin’ now, Teddy! Don’t go to leather! Yay! Ride ’im, cowboy!”

And Teddy did “ride ’im.” For every trick of the squirming pony, he knew a better one. Up went his hat, and down on the bronco’s flank. He was fanning him, and the crowd, quick to realize that here was no ordinary rider, roared delightedly.

Excitement reigned in the Manley box.

“Oh, Mr. Manley, isn’t he wonderful!”

“Splendid! Teddy’s splendid!” Mrs. Manley forgot her momentary fears and gave way to the occasion, cheering with the rest.

“Dad, he’s sticking—he’s sticking!” shouted Belle, wild with joy and excitement.

Finally the pony gave up. Head lowered, breath coming in gasps, he submitted to the guiding rein. Over to the judges’ stand the boy rode him, as easily as though he had been a saddle horse for years. Teddy had won.

Roy, unable to contain himself, jumped the fence, ran into the arena, and, reaching up, grasped his brother’s hand. Those in the stand saw the occurrence, and another yell went up. Brother greeting brother—two expert riders, each a prize winner! The crowd went wild. Here was romance, real Western life.

“Teddy, congrats!” Roy said. “You’re a rider, boy!”

“And how about you?” Teddy laughed, looking down at Roy. “The same thing goes for you! You wait, and we’ll bring our cups over together. Hold this bronc a second.”

He dismounted, and another puncher took the horse away. Those in the Manley box were watching with eager eyes.

“I believe,” Professor Sullivan said slowly, “that riding like this has its place among the arts. When I return to my college I shall suggest that they add a Chair of Horsemanship to their curriculum. My dear Mr. Manley, let me congratulate you. I shall leave it to our two friends—” he smiled at Nell and Curly, who sat entranced, hands tightly clasped—“to congratulate our boys. That was wonderful riding.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” Mr. Manley chuckled, “that gets Teddy a first prize. And Roy won the Pony Express contest. Not bad, hey, Barbara?” He turned to Mrs. Manley. “What do you think of these boys of mine? They save my cattle for me, get the sheriff after the rustlers, get ’em captured an’ put in jail, then come back an’ win two first prizes! Well, mother, what about it? How about those two boys of mine?”

Mrs. Manley looked at her husband and smiled. Then she saw coming toward them Roy and Teddy, each one carrying a silver cup. They strode along, heads held high, the light of conquest shining in their eyes. Two horses stood awaiting them—Star and Flash. They mounted, and rode over to the Manley box. As they approached they held the cups out and grinned.

“Yes, Bardwell,” Mrs. Manley said softly, “they’re fine boys, those sons of yours. But you musn’t forget—” she smiled again—“I’m not to be left out of this! They’re mine, too!”

THE END