Bad News
Teddy treated the riding of the wild bronco as an incident in the day’s work. It might well have turned out disastrously for him, but, now that it was over, the youth thought no more about it except to remember that it would be well to ride him again to-morrow before the pony forgot his lesson. Thus, while the two boys rode toward Hawley, their conversation was mostly taken up with the note Mr. Manley had received and the possibility of trouble.
“Though I don’t see exactly what they could do,” Roy mused, shifting in his saddle.
The day was warm, even for Indian summer, the heat seemed to beat up from the stretch of bare ground the boys were riding over.
“I can’t understand it!” exclaimed Teddy. “Those hombres are in jail, aren’t they? What in thunder can they do? Unless they have a gang of friends around. And that isn’t so likely. Honestly, I don’t believe that Gilly Froud has a friend in the world. Why, even the men he rustled with, hate him. I guess we can count him out, anyway.”
Roy removed his sombrero and ran his finger around the sweat band, bringing it forth as wet as though he had dipped it in a pail of water.
“I’m not worrying about Froud,” he stated, picking up his reins, which he had allowed to fall loosely on Star’s neck. “He’s had his turn and has said his little piece. He won’t do any more talking in public for a long time. But I tell you, Teddy, that puncher with the riding slouch has got me thinking. How about it—was he one of the rustlers?”
“Question—who struck Bill Patterson?” Teddy grinned. “That reminds me. Mother said that Curly—”
“Leaping lizards!” Roy groaned. “Can’t you be serious for a minute? This is important, I tell you! Suppose the rustlers—er—well, suppose they—”
“No! They couldn’t do that! You know they couldn’t! That ’ud be fearful—simply fearful! And, besides, I think it’s going to rain to-morrow. No rustler wants to go out in the rain. ’Cause why? ’Cause somebody has to tell them to come in, and if there’s no one around, they just get al-l-l-l wet.”
“And there’s another thing,” Roy went on, ignoring his brother’s somewhat sarcastic levity. “What or who is ‘Reltsur?’ I mean the name that was signed to the note.”
“I know!” Teddy’s face was alight with a sudden idea. “There’s a fellow down at Eagles who just came to town. Gus Tripp was telling me about him—said he saw him when he rode in for the mail yesterday. Well, this geezer—”
“What about him?” Roy asked eagerly.
“He sells patent medicine! And I bet Reltsur is the name of one of his cures. Good for man or beast—positive cure or your money back. Read our testimonials. Mr. L. J. McPhoff, of Chickawalla, says: ‘I have used Reltsur now for thirteen years. When I started I was only twenty years old. Now, I’m thirty-three.’ Or hear what Mr. Specknoodle reports: ‘I highly recommend Reltsur for—’ Hey, cut it out! Don’t get that hat dirty!”
But it was too late. Roy had scaled his brother’s sombrero as far as he could. Then he clucked to Star, and, yelling like an Indian, bore down upon the hat.
“Pony express!” he yelled. “Buck Wallace in his famous picture ‘The Bad man of the Bad Lands!’ You! Yip-yip-e-e-e-e!”
Leaning over, he swept the hat from the ground as he dashed by. Then he wheeled, and, with a bow, presented it to Teddy.
“Just found it,” he said, with a grin. “Yours, maybe? Allow me! Rather warm isn’t it? But it’ll be cooler this winter, I expect.”
“My nice new Stetson,” Teddy remarked ruefully as he dusted it off. “Suppose Star had stepped on it? Fine pony express you are!”
“He didn’t,” Roy said, with a laugh. “Now what was that about Curly, Teddy?”
“Well, who do you think Reltsur is?”
Roy let out a roar of laughter. Then for some minutes Teddy was content to discuss their visitor of the night, but neither of the boys reached any conclusion, and at last they dismissed the subject.
Both were eager to hear what their father had to report when he returned from Hawley. The trail they were on led to the town where the rustlers were jailed, and the boys had hopes of meeting Mr. Manley on his way home. Yet the 8 X 8 Ranch was not out of their way, and if they missed their father, Teddy and Roy would not be at all averse to stopping off for a short visit.
The 8 X 8 was owned by Peter Ball, a neighbor and friend of Bardwell Manley. His two nieces from New York were paying their first visit to the West, and, as Teddy had said, they were planning to stay all winter at the Ball ranch. Since the girls were young and comely, it is not to be wondered at that Teddy and Roy took advantage of every opportunity to see them. Ethel Carew, or “Curly,” as the boys called her, seemed to hold special attraction for Teddy, while Nell Willis and Roy found each other’s company mutually agreeable.
Thus, while both boys declared their purpose in riding out was to meet Mr. Manley, they would not bother to avoid the 8 X 8 by circuitous riding.
After his imitation of the “pony express,” Roy settled into a moody silence, which all Teddy’s efforts failed to disperse. Roy was given to these spells of thoughtfulness, though perhaps more so lately than before. His brother had accused him of being in love, but Roy denied this so calmly that Teddy knew that the thrust was ineffectual. The only other conclusion was that the older youth felt a responsibility growing with his years, and was taking more of a burden upon his shoulders than the occasion warranted.
As they rode along, Teddy stole a glance at the boy at his side. He noted the stiffness of the back, and the firm set of the head upon the shoulders.
“He’s worrying about something,” the younger lad thought. “He always takes everything so seriously! I’ll bet it’s that note. Maybe I shouldn’t have kidded him about it. But, golly, there’s no reason to get so low over it! Roy!” he said aloud. “Snap out of it! What’s on your mind?”
“Who, me?” the other turned, startled. Then he grinned. “Was I asleep? Guess I must have been thinking. What was that you asked me?”
“Why, I just wanted to know what you were mooning about. You were riding along staring straight ahead as though you were in a trance. What in thunder is the matter with you lately, Roy?”
“Oh, nothing,” the boy answered, laughing a bit uneasily. “I was wondering about that note, that’s all. I’d hate to have anything happen just when we’ve got over our trouble with the rustlers. Although I’ll admit we had some exciting times for a while,” and Roy’s eyes sparkled. Then he grew grave again. “But dad sort of counts on us to keep things going, you know. That’s why I’m anxious to see what he has to say when he gets back from Hawley. That gang can—”
“Aw, what can they do?” Teddy demanded. “They’re all in jail. Forget about ’em, Roy. What’s the use of crossing bridges before you reach ’em?”
“That’s true enough. But you know I saw that slouched puncher right after the landslide. If he’s really one of the rustlers, he doesn’t bear us any love, I reckon.” The boy patted Star on the side to brush off a fly. “And seeing him right after the landslide—”
“Well, for Pete’s sake!” Teddy burst out, “you don’t think he started the slide, do you? Roy, come to life! Be yourself! Now how in the name of cackling cows could he have anything to do with that?”
Roy shook his head.
“I don’t mean that,” he explained. “But it sure looked as though he’d been following us. At least it did to me. How’d he know when to ride by last night? He timed that perfectly! By jinks, I’ll bet he was watching us all the time!”
“Maybe,” Teddy said laconically. “But wondering won’t get us any place. We’ll have to sit tight and watch our step, that’s all. Come on, it’s gettin’ late.”
As they rode forward at a faster gait, Teddy suddenly called his brother’s attention to a figure on horseback coming toward them.
“It’s dad!” Roy exclaimed. Then, as the figure neared: “He looks worried, too. Wonder what happened?”
“Howdy, boys!” called Mr. Manley, as he rode up. “Come to meet the old man, hey?”
“What’s the news, Dad?” Teddy asked eagerly.
A frown came to Mr. Manley’s face.
“Not so good,” he said slowly. “We won’t be able to prosecute those hoss thieves after all.”
Hesitating, he drew a corncob pipe from his pocket and stuck it between his lips, unlighted.
“The whole caboodle of ’em escaped yesterday,” he added tersely.
“Escaped? The prisoners?” Roy Manley looked at his father incredulously. “What do you mean, Dad?”
“Just what I said, son,” and the pipe never wavered between the set teeth. “They took French leave. Yesterday morning, early—’bout five o’clock, they said—two men started to shoot up the town. Of course the sheriff an’ his two deputies got on the job. When they come back, after chasin’ the gunman out, they found the jail empty an’ the bars in the windows sprung. Guess that’s all.”