The lone horseman on Mica Mountain, the day of the slide, who rode with that slouch so reminiscent of another puncher. The delivery of the note. The escape of the rustlers from jail. The hoofbeats behind the car as the boys rode home from the 8 X 8. And, had they but known it, the figure lurking near the corral on that same bright moonlight night when the horses neighed and moved restlessly. All this presaged something.
Lucky that Froud, at least, was out of the way. Then a sudden thought struck Teddy, and he chuckled. Perhaps it was lucky for Froud, too, that he was safe in jail! Just before his capture he had knifed the head of the band of rustlers of which he was a member, so that he might take the leader’s place and thus get a larger share of the booty for himself. He had left the man for dead, but, with a desperate effort, the leader, who named himself Brand, which was particularly appropriate, finally reached a cabin where Teddy and Roy had taken shelter from a storm. They had bound up Brand’s wounds and later, out of thankfulness for their services, he had told them of a plan the rustlers had made to steal the cattle of the X Bar X. Then he left—left, possibly, to hunt Froud, who had knifed him. Thus it was well for Froud that he was still in safety behind prison bars.
Teddy’s mind was revolving these thoughts during the time that the rain beat down upon the range, converting it into an ocean of mist, with the mountains sticking their heads out like the tall masts of ships. But at last a brisk wind arose, the clouds were blown away, and the sun greeted the dripping trees with a warm smile.
That afternoon Mrs. Manley asked Roy and Teddy to take a car to Peter Ball’s place and bring Belle home.
“I’m afraid she may have outstayed her welcome already,” their mother added, with a smile. “She may want to bring Nell and Ethel back with her. I don’t suppose you boys will object?”
“Well, not very loudly, Mom,” Teddy answered, with a laugh. “I know Roy won’t, anyhow. I caught him using a rhyming dictionary the other day.”
“Like fun you did!” his brother retorted, his face fiery red. “That was just an ordinary, plain, every-day dictionary! Where do you get that stuff—‘rhyming dictionary’? What would I do with a rhyming dictionary? What would be the sense of it? I don’t even know how to use one—that is, not very well. And, anyway, that wasn’t one! It was—”
“Whoa, baby! Tighten up that cinch-strap—you’re slipping! Wow! Listen to him, Mom! He’s going to be a politician! I can tell!”
“Well, it wasn’t a rhyming dictionary,” Roy grumbled, laughing a little. “And you’d better take a look at the car, Teddy. We don’t want another puncture or another scare like—like—that landslide,” he finished quickly. “What time shall we start, Mom?”
Mrs. Manley wanted them to leave as soon as possible, so they might get back before dark; so, making sure the auto was filled with gas and oil, they began their journey. After the storm, the air was cool and invigorating, and, as they rode along, Roy explained the theory of “low pressure areas” until Teddy remarked that he thought an area was a song from an opera. It took a minute for this to penetrate, but when it did Roy snorted in disgust and refused to say another word until Teddy hit an especially large bump, sending Roy flying toward the top of the car. Even then Roy’s description of Teddy’s driving had very little to do with opera.