“Somethin’ wrong, Bardwell?� he asked Mr. Manley. “Thought I heard your voice takin’ a work-out.�
“You did,� Mr. Manley answered grimly. “Our hosses are gone.�
“Sho!� Foley looked across to the hitching rail. “By golly, they are! I was outside and saw Teddy and Roy tie ’em up there, too! Now that’s right queer. Where you suppose they went?�
“They didn’t go no place, Hank! They were stolen!�
“Sho! You don’t say! Stolen!� Foley gave a long whistle, and, removing his hat, scratched the bald spot on the top of his head. “Mighty queer how they could be stolen with so many people around. You ask anybody if they saw ’em?�
Mr. Manley gave a short laugh.
“I just had a sweet bit o’ conversation with one of your choice characters,� he said. “Puncher that was standin’ right here all the time an’ must have seen the broncs taken. He told us to go chase our own hosses.�
“What did he look like?� Foley asked in an interested tone.
“Tall, kind of stringy looking,� Teddy answered quickly. “Squint eyes. Checkered wool shirt. No vest. He’s inside Rimor’s now.�
The ticket agent nodded sagely.