“You all right, Dad?� Roy and Teddy asked in almost the same breath.
“All right, boys,� their father answered cheerfully. “He never touched me.�
“What’ll we do with this varmint, boss?� Pop asked, poking the barkeeper with the barrel of his gun.
“I cracked him one on the wrist,� Mr. Manley said. “Guess we’ll let him alone, Pop. He won’t do no harm for a long while yet. Say, where’d that other hombre get to?�
“He ducked out,� Teddy answered. “Went through a side door. I didn’t chase him, because I didn’t know where he’d gone. I thought maybe Nick or Gus would spot him.�
“Maybe. I hope so. That bucker knows something about our ponies, or I’m a ring-tailed doodlebug. Pop, quit pokin’ that geezer with your gun. Hey, you—â€� this to the “geezerâ€� sharply, “better have that arm bandaged, or it’ll go bad on you.â€� This was characteristic of Bardwell Manley—solicitous even of a man who had tried to attack him from the back.
“Boss, we better get out of here,� Pop declared. “If you want to hunt them broncs, we ought to get goin’.�
“As usual, Pop, your lips gives forth words of wisdom. We shall leave. Stranger, you tend to that arm of yours.�
Mr. Manley, followed by Teddy, Roy, and Pop, made for the door. Outside, in the street, a crowd awaited them. That is, a crowd for Eagles—population one hundred and fifty in a rush season. Three cowboys, one woman, and five children stood staring curiously at the four men as they emerged from Rimor’s Place. Nick and Gus Tripp were prancing about on restless ponies, rifles held in readiness. As these two saw the four men, their faces cleared and Nick yelled:
“Everything O. K., boss?�