A Man in the Corral
At nine o’clock that evening the boys started for home. Roy had half-heartedly suggested leaving earlier, but he was overruled. So it was not until the moon was well above the horizon that the two young ranchers got away. Belle was to stay at the 8 X 8 for a few days, after which Roy and Teddy were to come for her.
Good-byes were said, and the boys started. As the car rolled toward home, Teddy, who was driving, sang softly under his breath. Roy was content to sit quietly and observe the splendor of the prairie night.
The white moonlight painted the ground with an almost phosphorescent glow. On either side of the road quakermasts reared their heads, like tall, gaunt giants. Now and then would come the cry of some animal in the distance, weirdly human. The hills ahead seemed to be crouched in attitudes of slumber.
Teddy squirmed in his seat.
“Itch,” he declared briefly, as Roy looked at him. “Flea, maybe.”
“Good heavens!” Roy groaned. “On a night like this, you talk about itches and fleas! Man! where is your appreciation?”
“My what? Oh, my appreciation. Got it sewed up in my pocket, where I won’t lose it. Say, Roy, you reckon that bunch that vamoosed from Hawley will really start something?”
“Hope not.” A frown crossed the boy’s face. “You know what a cattle war means in this country. Well, it seems to me those birds are laboring under the impression that they have something on us, and they think it’s all right to injure dad if that will square their account with the X Bar X. Doesn’t make any difference to them that they’re outlaws. They figure the country owes them a living, I guess, and they’ll take it by force if they can’t get it for nothing.”
There was silence for a few moments before Teddy said slowly: