“You tell ’em, Pop!” Roy exclaimed, and he stepped toward the group. “What’s the big argument?”
“Here now—here now—Teddy, Roy! You come here an’ listen to what these bozos are tryin’ to get away with! Boys, I’m sure glad to see yuh!”
Pop, the oldest hand on the X Bar X, as bald as the day he was born and as lean as a piece of gristle, waved toward them.
“Boys,” he shouted, “we got news for you! These here spavined, sway-backed, horny-handed sons of toil say they’re gonna toss up their jobs and go out to Nugget Camp an’ pick up golden dollars! Speak up, boys—let’s hear yore opinions!”
CHAPTER IX
Roy Makes a Statement
Teddy and Roy Manley exchanged glances. Pop was, in effect, asking them to give their definite approval or disapproval of the rush toward the new gold fields. Whether or not the men would take their words to heart was another question. It might be that with a simple sentence they could stop the stampede and save the remainder of the men for the ranch.
But were they justified? Could they honestly say they knew the claims at Nugget Camp to be worthless and that the cowboys would only be wasting their time if they threw up their jobs and went mining? Could they?
Roy was thinking hard. As the elder brother, it would be his place to answer Pop’s appeal, and he knew Teddy was leaving the decision to him. Again the thought occurred—even if it were in his power to stem the rush by telling the men there was little or no gold at Nugget Camp, did he have that right? Would it be honest?
“Seems you’ve been saying about all there is to say, haven’t you, Pop?” Roy asked quizzically, more to gain time to think than for any other reason.
“Rolls off ’em like water from a duck’s back,” Pop said in a disgusted tone. “Can’t tell these hombres nothin’. They was all born wise an’ have been gettin’ wiser every day of their lives, accordin’ to them. I tell ’em somethin’ an’ they give it the merry ha-ha. By golly, I have seen fourteen rushes! That’s somethin’, ain’t it? How many have you fellers seen?” He glared at the assembled punchers, his eyes afire under the tightly stretched skin of his forehead.