“That is certainty the name of his uncle; over in Rahway,” declared Andy, “yes, and I remember hearing that name Collins before. I guess you’ve struck pay dirt this time, Buckskin. And I’m glad, for one, that now we know no man on this ranch would be guilty of such a mean game as setting our machine on fire.”
Buckskin was immensely pleased with the remarkable results of his figuring, and detective work. He hastened over to tell Mr. Witherspoon all about it; and soon afterward the rancher was seen to wring his hand until he undoubtedly made the tears come in to the stunted cow-puncher’s eyes.
Great was the indignation among the rest of the boys when they learned what appeared to be the probable truth. Some of them were making hurriedly for their horses, muttering under their breath; and Mr. Witherspoon had to do some quick hustling in order to cut the threatening mutiny off.
“Let the snake go, boys,” he said. “He didn’t carry out his contemptible scheme, after all, thanks to your promptness and bravery. I give you permission that if ever he shows his head around these diggings again, which isn’t likely, you can treat him to a nice warm coat, even if you have to borrow my tar kettle, and steal one of my best down pillows. That goes, boys; so just turn back now.”
Which the impulsive ones did, knowing that the rancher was a man of his word, and evidently did not want the affair carried any further. But doubtless they would manage to get word to the Parson, if so be he had found employment anywhere in the country, that unless he felt cold, and wanted a splendid down coat applied, regardless of cost, he would be wise to keep away from Double X Ranch.
Andy begged that scrap of paper from his uncle. He declared he meant to keep it carefully and compare the writing with some of Percy Carberry’s later on; and if this convicted him, he would throw the matter up to him right on the school campus in the presence of a score of the higher scholars, and spread his proofs before them, so that they could let the cur know what they thought of his mean actions.
Andy could be a good hater when he had occasion for it; he always declared that he had a strain of good old Scotch blood in him that rose to the surface every now and then.
“Seems to me that lets Rustler Carlos out of it,” remarked Buckskin, turning to some of the others with a wide grin, a little later, when he came back feeling tenderly of his digits, that had a pinched look, where they had lain in the tremendous grip of the rancher.
“Well,” said another puncher, an old fellow called “Shorty,” though he was six feet in height, “he’d be guilty of anything just as bad, if so be he happened around; and for one I’m a-goin’ to keep my eyes skinned for signs of him. Some say he crossed the line again below here fifty miles, and made a swoop through the Underwood section; but that report has been denied, and none of us know what to believe. So it stands to reason we ought to keep on guard, and remember that Carlos, he don’t hold our crowd in high esteem.”
The boys felt in splendid spirits as night came on again. Apparently, now, all clouds had rolled by, and they ought to have clear sailing after this. There were dozens of other thrills they were holding back in store for future exhibitions; for the Bird Boys had already learned that secret of exhibitors to always keep the best in reserve.