The next morning when Mr. Manley came toward the bunk-house to speak to one of the punchers, Nick, who was standing in the doorway, noticed with surprise that the boss had a six-gun fastened to his belt.
“Goin’ huntin’, boss?” the puncher asked.
“Mebbe,” Mr. Manley answered laconically. “Want to be ready in case any two-legged rattlesnakes are wanderin’ around. Where’s Jim Casey?”
“Around back. Want him?”
“Yea.”
When Jim approached he was given directions to set three more men to riding the cattle.
“Tell Teddy who they’ll be,” Mr. Manley directed. “He’s foreman this week. If you want anything else, ask him. And listen. If you see any strangers around here, ask ’em their business. Especially if you see a puncher that rides leanin’ a little to the left in his saddle. I guess you all know who I mean. I’m going to head for town. Be back in a few hours.”
“The boss means business,” Gus Tripp declared, when Mr. Manley had left. “There’s Teddy. Yo-o-o, Teddy! Yore dad was just here. Told Jim to put some extra riders out.”
“I know,” Teddy nodded. “Who do you want, Jim? How about Rad Sell, Nat Raymond, and—well, you want to take it, Gus?”
“Sure,” Gus answered. “Nick can hang around here. But don’t you go serenadin’ Norine, Nick. Guess I’d better have Pop keep an eye on you.”