Nick nodded. Mr. Manley had told them of the cowboy in the checkered shirt.
“Want any company, boss?� Gus Tripp drawled. “Just say the word, an’ we’ll come a-runnin’!�
“No, thanks,� the cattle owner replied. “Teddy, hang on to this rifle for me. Don’t want to look like a stick-up artist when I go in the door. Roy, just grab this bronc’s rein, will you?�
Mr. Manley slid from the saddle.
“Sure you don’t want me to come with you, Dad?� Teddy asked, a bit wistfully.
“I know what you’re thinkin’ of,� his father answered, as he looked up at his son. “But you’d better stay out here until I get what I want. If I need help, you’ll know it!� he added meaningly.
He walked toward Rimor’s, and, pushing open the door, entered.
“Hope dad doesn’t get into any trouble,� Roy said, a frown upon his face. “I’ve heard of some funny things that happened in Rimor’s.�
“Now don’t you go worryin’ about your dad,� Pop Burns advised, squinting his eyes at the door through which Mr. Manley had disappeared. “He can take care of himself. There’s plenty in this town that ’ud like to see the boss in trouble, ’cause he wouldn’t agree to loadin’ them cattle scales at the corral over there. They wanted to put lead weights on the bottom of the scale so the Durhams would weigh ’bout half again what they really did. Your dad wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with the scheme.� Pop removed his hat and thwacked it in a dust-raising gesture across his leg. “But snakes! I never did see the buckaroo that could catch your dad sleepin’. He’s safe enough.�
Still the veteran puncher stared intently at the door of Rimor’s. He knew of the “hombre in the checkered shirt.� He knew him for a “bad-actin’ bucker.�