CHAPTER VII

Peterson passed his hand over his chin as though he were thinking up the answer to this last question. But his hesitation was too obvious to be real. Roy knew he had made his choice long ago.

“Know where Red Rock is?” he asked finally.

“Sure,” replied Mr. Manley. “Jump-off place. Tracks run upgrade there. Pretty high, where the station is. Why?”

“Thinkin’ I’d like the cattle delivered there. Railroad gave me an option on some box cars that are restin’ on a siding at Red Rock. Might as well use them—save money in the end. Well?”

“You mean you’d rather have the cattle driven there instead of to Eagles?” Teddy interrupted.

“That’s it. If they went to Eagles they’d have to go by the regular route. You get the idea?”

“Partly—partly.” Mr. Manley hitched his belt up and glanced about him. “Reckon your price entitles you to have ’em driven where you want ’em, within reason. Teddy, just get my account book, will you? It’s in the top drawer of my desk. I want to put this all down.”

“That’s the way I like to do business,” Peterson declared a trifle importantly. “Have everything in black an’ white. I been in this game now for eleven years, an’ I never lost nothin’ yet by puttin’ it on paper.”

Then, as Teddy returned with the notebook, he began to tell the items off on his fingers:

“First, I gave you five hundred dollars deposit. Second, you agreed to post a five hundred dollar forfeit, to become mine in case of non-delivery. Third, six hundred head of your best cattle. Fourth, they’re to be delivered at Red Rock. I’ll let you know the exact time later.”

“An’ fifth, it looks a mite like rain,” Mr. Manley drawled, closing his book. “All right, Mr. Peter Peterson. I’ll see that your orders are obeyed to the letter.”

“I didn’t mean to sound like a sergeant,” Peterson said uneasily. “Just wanted to make certain you had it all straight.”

“Sure! I know. Well, I reckon I have. Course, I’m a new man at this game, you might say, an’ I appreciate any advice from a man who knows more than I do.”

“So?” A light appeared in Peterson’s eyes, then died down, like a door suddenly closed to conceal the entrance of the house from passers-by. “I kind of thought you hadn’t been at this so long. You ain’t got the look of a veteran rancher. Well, I hope we succeed in puttin’ this deal through.”

“Hope so,” Mr. Manley repeated, smiling innocently. “Well, so long, Mr. Peterson. Thanks!”

“You’re welcome,” Peterson replied pompously. “Always like to help anyone. Cattle dealing is a risky business. There’s always some crook in it trying to get the best of an honest man.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Manley agreed solemnly. “You can’t be too careful.”

Mr. Peterson nodded, and mounted his pony which had been standing quietly near by. Then, waving his hand genially, he rode off.

“He cuts quite a figure, according to himself,” Teddy laughed. “So you’re a new hand at this game, Dad?”

“I couldn’t help that,” Mr. Manley said, grinning. “He was too allfired sure and certain of everything. And a man with a hand-shake like his always did set me on my ear.”

“Felt like a piece of mutton,” Roy commented.

“He wanted to tie you up tight with his forfeit, didn’t he, Dad?”

“Oh, well, we don’t have to worry about that. We’ll make delivery all right. The thing that strikes me funny is wantin’ the cattle driven to Red Rock instead of Eagles. His story of the cars he’s rentin’ sounds fishy. It’s much cheaper to send them over the regular route. But that’s his business. Belle Ada get to the 8 X 8 all right?”

Teddy replied that she did, and told his father about Bug Eye’s latest venture and its result. Mr. Manley laughed heartily over the description of the puncher’s skill in roping Hortense, and then Teddy and Roy went in to wash for supper. At the table the talk veered naturally around to the rodeo to be held on the thirtieth of September at Silver City, a large town seventy miles from Eagles.

“Round-up will be finished by the twelfth anyway,” Mr. Manley declared. “Pass the bread, Teddy. Suppose you boys are countin’ on entering?”

Teddy and Roy looked at their mother. She smiled, and nodded.

“Of course they are!” she declared. “They’re certainly not going to stay out on my account.”

“That’s the stuff!” Roy exclaimed, his eyes alight. He reached over and seized his mother’s hand. “You’re a game sport, Mom! But we’ll be careful—no bulldogging, or stuff like that. I’m going to try for the fancy riding prize.”

“Trick ridin’, we used to call it,” Mr. Manley said. “You’ll need lots of practice for that, Roy. Better begin soon.”

“I am. To-morrow, if I get a chance. How about you, Teddy?”

“Bronc riding,” Teddy declared laconically. “And there’s one more I’d like to try—wild cow milking.”

“Wild cow milking!” Mrs. Manley repeated. “Is that really a contest, Teddy?”

“I’ll say it is!” her husband broke in. “In my younger days that was one of the big things.” He chuckled reminiscently. “I remember one year when they held the events at San Antonio. Me, I thought I was the champion wild cow milker. Pop can tell you about this, ’cause he went in it too. Well, I gets my pail in action right away. Goin’ fine, for the first five seconds. Then things started to happen. Anyway, I didn’t win. But neither did Pop.”

“Bardwell, I can’t imagine you trying to milk a cow,” Mrs. Manley laughed. “What other contests do they have, boys?”

“Anything you can think of,” Roy answered. “Calf roping, steer bulldogging—eight hundred pound steers, too. Races, bell calf roping—”

“How is that done?”

“Usually they have five riders, and six calves to be roped. The one who ropes his calf first then gets his lariat over the calf with the bell on it—they have only one of them—wins.”

“They rope those poor little calves!” Mrs. Manley exclaimed. “I should think it would hurt them!”

“Only their dignity,” Teddy laughed. “Say, Roy, how about trying for the Pony Express? You could use Star and Flash and that other pony I broke this spring. You’d have a good chance of coming through in that. Don’t you think so, Dad?”

“Sure,” Mr. Manley answered forcibly. “I want to see one of you boys get a prize. Reckon we’ll go down an’ watch ’em, hey, Mother?”

“Yes, I’d like to very much,” said Mrs. Manley, in a small voice. Then she looked at her husband anxiously. “I suppose no one gets hurt in those—those things?”

“Not often,” Mr. Manley assured her. “Seein’ as how this is the first one the boys have ever been in, I reckon they’ll be plenty careful. You’ve never even seen one, have you, Mother? We’ll have to go, sure. When that there band gets playin’ an’ a ridin’ fool is on top of a pony that’s headin’ for the sky, an’ all the people are yellin’ an’ shoutin’—by jinks, it makes you tingle all over! I been waitin’ for the day my boys would be big enough to get in the rodeo. An’ I want to see one prize, even if it’s only a booby prize.”

“We’ll steer clear of that one,” Roy declared. “I’m going to get Nick and Pop to give me some pointers. Come on, Teddy, we’ll go over now and talk to them!”

“You’re excused,” Mr. Manley chuckled. “Golly, Barbara, how it does bring back the days I used to ride in those events! The first one I went in kept me awake the whole night before, thinkin’ of it! Now I got two grown sons to keep up the good work. Guess we haven’t had such a bad time of it after all, hey, girlie?”

“You talk like a grandfather!” his wife laughed. “Run along, boys—your father is getting sentimental! But do be careful of those—those wild cows, won’t you?”

The boys found Nick Looker, Pop Burns and Gus Tripp playing mumblety-peg on the ground in front of the bunkhouse. They stood for a moment watching the game, until Nick gave up in disgust when he took a small slice out of his hand. Declaring that the light was too uncertain for a master to show his stuff, he arose.

“I see yore dad talkin’ to another cattle dealer,” he proclaimed. “Anything stirrin’?”

On the X Bar X the hands were treated almost as partners in the business, so Nick’s question was perfectly proper.

“Made a deal,” Roy answered. “Six hundred head. Dad had to post a forfeit.”

“Don’t like this forfeit business,” Pop Burns declared. Pop, as the oldest man on the ranch—and the baldest—took upon himself the privileges of seniority. Needless to say his place in the sun was hotly contested by the other punchers.

“Too easy to lose money that way,” he continued. “I remember one time—”

“Carry me back to old Virginy!” Gus caroled. “Where the—”

“Funny, ain’t you?” Pop sniffed. “But let me tell you one thing! I was bustin’ broncos when you was bustin’ baby crackers. An’ that’s no song, either!”