“Why, who’s the manager now, then?” asked Adrian, rather startled; for he had not had any intimation of a change; and certainly nothing of the kind had ever been instituted with his consent.
At that the three cow-punchers chuckled some more.
“Why, you see, everybody reckons as how Mrs. Fred Comstock she holds the whip hand over pore old Fred; and runs things as she feels like at the Bar-S,” came the puzzling reply.
Then Adrian remembered that a year and more ago he had heard that Uncle Fred, being an old
bachelor, had married; though the woman whom he had taken to his heart was utterly unknown to the boy. He had sent them his best wishes, and a generous present at the time, and then forgotten all about it, because a boy of Adrian’s age could hardly be expected to care in the slightest degree about such things.
“Oh! is that it?” remarked Donald, elevating his eyebrows. “Seems to me I heard that this same Fred Comstock was a little terror, and his punchers minded him from the word go. Has he changed any since he got in double harness, boys?”
“Changed any?” echoed one of the rough riders, with a grin; “well, you’d never know it was the same old Fred Comstock these fine days. He ain’t got a bit of spunk any more, seems like. She just orders him around like he was a waterboy. Reckon that woman must be a terror when she gets mad, and everybody says as how Fred he had both his eyes black for a month before he give in. She runs the ranch as she sees fit. But that ain’t the wust of it, neither.”
“Why, what more could there be, with poor old Fred Comstock sat down on in such a way?” demanded Donald, noticing that the three men looked toward each other, and acted in a mysterious fashion, as though afraid about saying too much.
“Well, we don’t want our names mentioned in the matter,” said one, finally; “but you see, this Mrs.
Fred was one of the Walkers before she got spliced.”