Mr. Manley puffed thoughtfully at his pipe. Through half shut eyes he observed Nick. It was several moments before he spoke.
“Gus hasn’t been doin’ any promiscuous galivantin’, has he, Nick? But never mind,” he added quickly, as he saw the cowboy move his head from side to side. “I don’t want you to tell tales out of school. We’ll wait. Whereabouts were all those breaks in the fences?”
It was late in the afternoon before Gus Tripp rode in. With him was The Pup. Roy, who had been seated outside the ranch house on a bench, mending a broken stirrup, saw them come up. He dropped the leather and hurried forward.
“Gus,” he called, “dad wants to see you. Tie your pony and come over to the corral, will you? Joe, you too.”
“He want to see me?” The Pup asked, and Roy noticed that his voice seemed unduly loud. “Well, I’m all set. Where is he?”
“Over by the corral, as I said. Hurry up. Get your letter Gus?”
“Nope—not any,” Gus answered. As he spoke he swayed slightly in the saddle. “Funny—I kind of expected she might write. Guess I’m a back number—ha—that’s funny—me a back number! Can ya imagine that, Roy? A back number! Like a last year’s calendar! Say, that’s pretty good. Get that one—that—that one, Roy? A last year’s calendar. Huh! Pretty good! Made it up all—all by myself, too. Yesser! Pretty good—pretty good,” and he wagged his head stupidly.
Roy looked at the cowboy sharply. This was unlike Gus. It was plain to be seen that he had been drinking, probably at Rimor’s in town. Roy approached, and laid hold of the bridle of Gus’s pony.
“Where have you been all day, Gus?” he asked quietly.
“Who, me?” Exaggerated surprise was on the man’s face. “Why, I—I been busy. Me an’ The Pup. We both been busy. Awful busy. Ain’t we, Joe?”