The X Bar X boys at Nugget Camp

“Old guy, ain’t he? Looks like a miner. Think he’s any relation to Pop Burns?”

“Oh, you noticed it too, did you? He certainly looks enough like him to be his brother. Wonder what his name is?”

“Maybe we’ll never know that.” Bug Eye kicked somberly at a lower rail. “It’ll be bad business if he cashes in his checks.”

“Forget that kind of talk,” Teddy said sharply. “I have an idea that he’ll pull through.” He hesitated a moment. “Say, what’s the doc’s name?”

“Ring, I think. Don’t know his first name. Seems like a good feller.”

“He does, for a fact.” Teddy examined his thumb carefully. “Hope Belle won’t get sick, helping him. She’s not so old to be doing that sort of thing.”

“Belle is plenty there,” Bug Eye exclaimed decidedly, if not too clearly. “She won’t welsh.”

“Anyhow, I’ll take a look and see,” Teddy said suddenly. “I think it would be all right to go in now.”

He and Bug Eye climbed to the ground and started for the house. As they neared the entrance, Belle appeared at the door. Her cheeks were a little pale, but, otherwise, she was perfectly composed.

“He’s conscious,” she said clearly. “And Doctor Ring says he has a good chance. Where’s Roy?”

“Looking after Star. How do you feel, Belle? Did you—”

She shook her head.

“Didn’t bother me in the least. I’m thirteen, you know—almost fourteen. Say, Teddy, you and Roy are wanted inside.” She held the door open. “The man who was hurt has been asking for you.”

CHAPTER VI

Stolen Nuggets

“Tell him the truth,” the doctor said suddenly. “We can’t lie, although if it meant saving a patient’s life I’d lie like Ananias. But he’ll ask to see the money if we tell it’s been saved. We can’t take a chance on that. Tell him the truth.”

“Right.”

Teddy went slowly toward the cot. As the man heard him coming, he turned his whole body and stared at the boy. The neck was swathed in heavy gauze, making it impossible for him to move his head.

“Well, sir,” Teddy called cheerfully, “how are things?”

The bloodless lips moved and a disappointed look came into the eyes.

“That’s not the one,” the man whispered. “He looks like him, but he ain’t. I want—” His breath caught, and he stopped, his bony hands clenching.

“Where’s Roy?” Belle asked quickly. She was standing beside Teddy. “Can’t somebody get him?”

But there was no need for that. The screen door whined and Roy entered. As the man on the cot saw him, his face lighted up.

“Come here,” he whispered weakly. “I want to—ask—”

Roy glanced toward the doctor for directions, and received a nod. He went to the side of the man.

“I’m glad to see you’re better,” he said simply. “What was it that you wanted to ask me?”

The man’s hand tapped the coverlet impatiently.

“That’s right,” he breathed. “You’re the—one. Listen, boy—listen—” He raised up on one elbow, and the doctor crossed swiftly to him.

“None of that,” he said sternly. “You promised to keep quiet if I let you see him. Lie back, now.”

“Right—you’re the doctor.” A mirthless grin twisted the thin lips. “I’ll be good. Listen, boy!” He took a deep breath. “Where’s my nugget?”

“Nugget!” Roy started back. “Is that what you—what nugget?” he asked blankly.

“My nugget! My nugget! The one I worked for, slaved for, fought for! Where is it?” The eyes were burning.

“I’m afraid—” Roy hesitated. “Say, what’s your name?”

“Decker. Jerry Decker. I’m a miner. I had a nugget with me that was worth—” He stopped. “Some smaller ones, too,” he continued in a toneless voice. The excitement seemed to drain his strength. “My nuggets—where are they?” he finished faintly.

Roy glanced down at him pityingly.

“Mr. Decker, your nuggets are gone,” he said slowly. “You’ve been robbed.”

“Robbed!” The word was wrung from him. “Robbed! The nuggets I worked for—slaved for! Worth—”

His eyes opened wide, his whole body tensed. Then, with a sigh, he relaxed. The eyes closed. The corners of the mouth went down.

“Watch it,” came a voice behind Roy. It was the doctor. “Get his arm out from under that blanket—quick!”

Roy, understanding, did as he was told. There was a swift jab of a hypodermic needle. In a moment the breathing resumed, the pulse fluttered.

Doctor Ring watched the face anxiously.

“I was afraid of that,” he said softly. “It was too much for him.” There was a moment’s silence. Then the lips moved again, and a faint flush of color came to the cheeks.

The doctor gave a “whew!” of relief.

“He’ll come out of it now,” he said finally. “It’s better to have it over with. Besides, he may have needed just that stimulus to help him fight. Now he’ll get well just to recover his nuggets.” His tone was hopeful. Plainly he had been in doubt as to whether or not he had done the right thing in letting Roy see and talk to the patient.

Roy walked to the other side of the room after giving one more glance at the unconscious man. At that moment Mr. Ball descended the stairs.

“How’s he comin’?” he whispered. “Any better?”

The doctor nodded.

“I think so,” he replied. “I’ll have to stay here for a while yet.”

“All right,” Peter Ball remarked. “I sure hope he makes out. What happened to him? Miner, ain’t he?”

Mr. Ball, Teddy, and Roy went into the yard. Bug Eye was waiting for them.

“He’s a miner, and he’s been robbed,” Roy declared. “Name’s Jerry Decker.”

“Robbed! Jumpin’ catamounts! What’s he been robbed of?”

“Nuggets, he says,” Teddy replied. “He was just going to tell us how much they were worth when he went off again. Wonder where he was mining.”

“The most likely place would be Nugget Camp,” Mr. Ball said. “They been placerin’ around there for the last ten years, but I never heard tell of anybody gettin’ rich from it.”

“Nugget Camp!” Bug Eye burst out. “I know where that is, boss! Say, I heard tell around town of a strike bein’ made there. But nobody seemed to know who made it. Nugget Camp, hey? So that’s where he come from!”

“Well, I’m only guessin’,” Mr. Ball admitted. “But that’s the only minin’ place anywheres near here.”

“That’s where he came from, all right,” Teddy asserted. “He must have been on his way to town when he got shot up and robbed.” He stopped, and looked over at Mr. Ball. “Do you think there’s a chance—” he began.

“We’ll try it,” the rancher interrupted quickly, sensing what Teddy meant. “They’re probably out of this vicinity now, but we owe it to that poor old geezer to have a look, anyhow. Bug Eye, get my bronc. You’re comin’, too.”

“Sure, boss!” the puncher answered eagerly. “Right away?”

“Right away. I’ll tell my wife.” He walked swiftly toward the house.

“Looks like business,” Teddy declared. “How’d you find Star?”

“O. K. Jules Kolto fixed him up for me. He’ll be all right to ride. Take some of the stiffness out of him. Come on, let’s get going.”

“Hey!” Mr. Ball called from the porch. Then, as he recalled the sick man within, he motioned with his arm. When Teddy and Roy approached, he said: “We’ll get some chuck first. Might be a long ride.”

He, Teddy, Roy, and Bug Eye ate together. In the middle of the meal Mr. Ball saw the cut on Roy’s head, as the boy unwittingly brushed back his hair. The rancher heard the story of the spill into the river and insisted that Roy should see the doctor before the party started.

So with a strip of adhesive tape covering the wound, Roy mounted Star and waited for Mr. Ball to give the signal to start. The doctor had declared that Roy’s cut was superficial, and there would be no danger in riding.

“All set, boys?” Mr. Ball called. He had provided Teddy and Roy with dry clothes—although their own were nearly dry by that time—and with guns.

“All set, boss,” Bug Eye answered. “Let’s go!”

The three girls, Nell, Ethel, and Belle Ada, waved to them from the porch.

“Good luck!” Belle called softly.

With a swirl of their hats the boys leaped their broncos forward. The hunt was on.

They made for the clump of woods where Decker had been found.

“That’ll be a starting point, anyhow,” Mr. Ball asserted. “We may strike something there that’ll help us. Otherwise, it’ll be like lookin’ for a needle in a haystack.”

“Sure will,” Teddy agreed. “Baby, I’d like to come across those waddies!”

“I’ll tell a maverick!” Roy ejaculated. “Knocking off an old man after robbing him, then taking his bronc!”

There was little more said until they reached the woods. Roy showed just where they had picked Decker up, and even the marks where his body had lain, his head supported by Roy’s leg.

“We saw ’em come riding out of there,” Teddy declared, pointing to the edge of the trees. “See—where it makes sort of a triangle?”

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Ball responded. “Which direction did they take?”

“Swung to the right. Teddy yelled at me then, and I turned back. Oh, they’re well on their way by now.”

“Afraid so.” Mr. Ball had dismounted, and was examining the ground intently. “Suppose you fellers get off an’ take a look around. May spot something.”

“Clues, hey, boss?” Bug Eye cried excitedly. “Snakes!”

“Yea, clues. Make believe you’re a detective.” The rancher stood directly on the place where Roy had told him Decker was lying. Then he faced about.

“This way they went,” he said, more to himself than to the others. “You can see the hoofprints of their broncos. One, two, three ponies.”

“They took his so he couldn’t follow, I reckon,” Teddy said.

Mr. Ball did not reply. He walked slowly forward.

Presently he uttered an exclamation and stopped. Then he bent to the ground.

“What is it, boss—find somethin’?” Bug Eye asked eagerly.

Mr. Ball nodded.

“Take a look,” he said in a queer voice. “Never saw one of these out here before.”

The others grouped about him. He held something up to them.

“Know what it is?” he said quietly.

Bug Eye shook his head. Teddy and Roy answered nothing.

“It’s a German pistol—a Mauser,” the rancher said deliberately. “One shell has been fired.”

CHAPTER VII

The Gold Rush

“Don’t go flingin’ words away regardless,” Mr. Ball said dryly. “Actually, we don’t know an awful lot more than we did before. But this might help—it might help.”

“What’s the plan now?” Roy asked. “Do we start to search for ’em?”

“Well—” Mr. Ball looked down again at the weapon he held in his hand. “It’s gettin’ late,” he went on. “We can’t just roam around like a bunch of steers, hopin’ to run across the waddies who shot Decker. I think—” he deliberated. “I think we’d better go back. When you boys got to head for the X Bar X?”

“To-morrow morning,” Roy replied. “Dad expects us.”

“O. K. Then we’ll hit for home now. I want to think this thing out.”

They made a further search, but found nothing else, and shortly afterward headed their ponies toward the 8 X 8. Nothing was said of their discovery when they reached the ranch.

The wounded man was no better; but he was no worse. Doctor Ring had left after giving positive directions that Decker was to talk to no one. Thus the boys were still wondering how much he had been robbed of.

Early the next morning Roy, Teddy, and Belle started for home. Decker seemed stronger and was able to take some milk through a tube. Neither of the boys saw him again before they left, obeying the doctor’s instructions.

“Thanks again for catching my pony,” Nell called to Roy as he was riding out of the yard. “Maybe I’ll do as much for you some day!”

“Maybe,” Roy laughed. “In the meantime—take keer o’ yo’self!”

“Say good-bye to Doctor Ring for me!” Belle exclaimed.

Teddy and Roy turned to look at her.

“So-o-o!” Teddy drawled. “That’s the way the land lies, does it?”

“Well, well,” Roy mocked. “Our icicle sister going to be a nurse! Hm! Did you notice the doc’s eye-lashes, Teddy? Such nice, splendid ones!”

“And he’s got a wonderful voice,” Teddy went on. “It’s thrilling! It makes you feel—oh, just like—”

“Oh, hush up!” Belle cried, her face a fiery red. “I could tell plenty about you two, if I wanted to! Curly, Teddy told me the other day that you—”

“So long! Got to be going now! So long! So long! Sorry to rush away like this!” Teddy seized Belle’s bronco by the bridle and led him out of the yard. The boy was talking loudly, trying his best to drown out his sister’s voice, but she managed to shout, “were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen!” before he succeeded in taking her so far away that her words would not carry to the interested listeners.

The bout was declared a draw, and the two brothers and the sister went on their way with grins on their faces. The talk naturally veered to the happenings of yesterday, and Belle told what had occurred while she was helping Doctor Ring.

“Mr. Decker talked a lot,” she declared. “Mostly about Nugget Camp. He spoke about—”

“Then it was Nugget Camp!” Teddy interrupted. “Maybe he made a real strike!”

“I think he did, because he was babbling of ten and twenty thousand dollars,” Belle said seriously.

“Twenty thousand!” Roy gave vent to a long whistle. “That’s some money!”

“Did he say his nuggets were worth that much?” Teddy demanded.

“No, he didn’t. But I gathered that’s what he meant.”

“That is a big loss,” the boy remarked. “No wonder he was worried. Me, I’d be worried, too. Poor geezer! After working for maybe two years then making a strike—and he gets robbed of it! Not only that, but he may even die in the bargain.”

“I really think he’ll recover,” Belle said. “He’s thin, but he’s lived in the open most of his life. His stamina is good. He lost a lot of blood, but—”

“A-ha, words of wisdom!” Teddy laughed. “So doc said all this, did he?”

“Well, what if he did?” Belle answered, raising her chin defiantly. “It’s all true!”

“Sure it is,” Roy comforted her. “I certainly hope he pulls through. Moreover, I hope we get his nuggets back for him.”

The morning was clear, the air keen, and each of the three rode as though this was the thing they wanted most of all to do—ride and breathe and live. They were at a period in life when the world showed itself to be a particularly wonderful place. Every bird that winged overhead, every cloud that veiled the sun for a moment, every breeze that blew, seemed to exist just for them.

And how were they to know that circumstances were about to fling them into a maelstrom of activity, that the next few weeks were to be charged with excitement?

Even as they rode, talking calmly, the events of the past fading almost into insignificance beside the wonder of the morning, a rider approached them. He was coming swiftly, his pony kicking up little spurts of dust.

“Some one’s in a mighty hurry,” Teddy observed.

They reined in, watching the horseman.

“Looks familiar,” Roy remarked. “Say, by golly—”

“It’s Jim Casey from home!” Teddy exclaimed. “Wonder if anything happened?” A frown came to his face.

“Oh, I hope dad’s all right,” Belle breathed. “Do you suppose he’d be sent after us?”

“He’s got something over his shoulder,” said Teddy. “Looks like a pick or a shovel. Hey, Jim! Yo-o-o!”

The rider came closer, and stopped his pony, stiff-legged.

“What-a-ya say!” he yelled. “Heard the news?”

They saw then that it was a pick Casey had on his shoulder. Hanging from his saddlehorn was a bundle of clothes.

“What news? What happened? Everything all right at home?” Roy asked quickly.

“Sure, as far as I know! It ain’t that!” Jim, a tall, well-built puncher, of about thirty-five, swung the pick down. “It ain’t that. Nothin’s happened there. But some place else there has!”

“Well, what?”

“A gold strike! A bonanza! At Nugget Camp! Millions of dollars lyin’ around loose! Me, I’m on my way to stake a claim. One guy found a nugget worth—oh, fifty thousand! Maybe more! Boy, we’ll all be rich!” He was prancing his pony around excitedly. “I told yore pop I was goin’, an’ I am! What’s the use of workin’ for wages when you can lean over an’ pick up gold! Hey?” He paused, breathless.

“At Nugget Camp, you said?” Teddy asked, looking at the cowboy strangely.

“That’s what! An’ I’m goin’ to be one of the lucky ones. No passin’ up a chance like that for yours truly!”

“But listen—” Roy began, when Jim Casey cut him short.

“I’d like to, Roy, but I ain’t got time. There’s lots goin’ out. I want to get a good claim. So long! Wish me luck!” and he was off.

“Well, what do you know about that!” Teddy said slowly. “One of our own men got the fever!”

“And he’s a man we can’t spare, either,” Roy remarked. “There’s plenty of work to be done around the ranch just now. Hope he’s the only one. A strike at Nugget Camp!”

“That’s where Mr. Decker found his nuggets!” Belle exclaimed. “There must be some truth in it, Roy.”

“Oh, I suppose there is.” He was frowning intently at the ground. “But I sure hope the other boys don’t get bitten by the gold bug. We need every man we have.”

“Oh, there’s always one or two who want to make money easily,” Teddy replied. “Jim will come back soon enough. I bet he got a fine razzing for leaving the ranch.”

“Well, I hope he’s the only one,” Roy said again. “Nugget Camp—a played-out placer station! And they find gold now!”

“And see what it’s brought already!” Belle said indignantly. “A poor old man gets shot and robbed, all because of the gold! Oh, I hope nothing else will happen!”

“Gold brings trouble, always,” Teddy mused. “If the word gets around—and it looks as though it had—that a strike has been made out here, it’ll mean the riff-raff of the West will be down on our necks. Gamblers, swindlers, gunmen—”

“Lucky we started to-day and not to-morrow,” Roy said, as they urged their horses forward. “Dad will need us, now this thing has come.”

“Oh, it isn’t as serious as all that,” Teddy remarked easily. “It’s true that Jim was a good man, but we can get along without him if we have to. Anyway, he may be back soon.”

“Yes, that’s all right as far as it goes,” Roy declared. “But suppose more of them decide to quit and go gold hunting? Then where’ll we be, with the fall coming on? We need—”

“Who’s that?” Belle interrupted. “Another rider—no, two of them! And they’re coming fast!”

The boys, startled, not knowing what to expect, looked up. Bearing down upon them were two horsemen, partly hidden in a cloud of dust. The wind shifted, the dust cloud parted, and Teddy gave a cry.

“It’s two more from home, Roy, as sure as you’re a foot high! It’s—”

“Nat Raymond and Gus Tripp! Well, for the love of Pete! To think that those two—” He stopped, overwhelmed.

The riders, with picks, shovels, and kits hanging from their saddles, rapidly approached. As they came within hailing distance the boys heard a yell that caused them to draw breath quickly. It came from Gus Tripp.

“Yey, Teddy! Roy! Come on, join the rush! Head in with us! Jim Casey’s gone, an’ the rest are goin’!”

“Where?”

The answer was already known to them even before Gus shouted:

“To Nugget Camp!”

CHAPTER VIII

Pop Lays Down the Law

“Good wold, he fly coop,” Sing replied, waving his hand expressively. His grin faded somewhat. “Yo’ daddy want see you boys inside.”

“I reckon,” Roy breathed. “There’ll be plenty to talk about, too. Right, Sing!” he said aloud. “Come on, Teddy, let’s get our broncs some water. Belle, you hop off and run in to say hello to mother and dad.”

Belle nodded, and slid from her horse. Teddy and Roy watered and fed the ponies, then hastened toward the house. Their mother met them at the door.

“Have a nice visit?” she asked, smiling, although her eyes appeared tired. Her golden hair was greying just the tiniest bit. Roy, his chin on a level with his mother’s eyes, seized her in his arms.

“Hello, Mumsey!” He kissed her tenderly. “Boy, I’m glad to see you!”

“Hey, push over!” Teddy exclaimed. “She has another son, you know!” He took her gently from his brother and bending his head rubbed his cheek against hers. “Hello, old girl,” he said softly. “How’s everything?”

“Stop—you’re mussing me!” Mrs. Manley laughed. “My goodness, such polar bears as I have for children!” Her eyes were shining now, the tired look gone from them. “Now sit down like good boys and get something to eat. Unless—” she motioned with her head. “Want to see father?”

“Yes,” Teddy replied laconically. “We’re not hungry—at least I’m not.”

“Goes for me, too,” Roy declared. “Say, Mom, where is dad?”

“In his office. He’s waiting for you.”

Teddy kissed her again, and, followed by Roy, started toward the next room, beyond which Mr. Manley had his small office. As Teddy opened the door, his father, who had been sitting at his desk, a corn-cob pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth, arose.

Once in a while one sees a man who instinctively reminds one of the plains, of bucking broncos, and of ropes snaking through the air to settle over the horns of a steer. He seems the very spirit of the West. In a parlor or drawing-room or on Broadway, he appears out of place. One is apt to mutter, “How’d he get so far from home? Wonder where he left his pony?”

Such a man was Bardwell Manley—tall, lean, and with that peculiar power about him that hovers over those who are simple and direct men; a mustache that drooped, the ends coming below his mouth on either side; steel-blue eyes, that could twinkle with humor or narrow into two pin-points of light; a skin that stayed brown all the year round.

He thrust out his hand and gripped the hand of Teddy, then of Roy.

“Boys,” he said quietly, “I’m glad to see you. Both all right?” Just that. Yet there was a world of meaning in the simple words.

“Great, Dad,” Roy answered. “Feeling fine!” He waited. “Mother looked a little tired,” he said finally.

Mr. Manley frowned. “I know,” he said softly. “We’ve been a little worried. The thing came so quick—say, had grub?”

“Not hungry,” Roy stated. “We ate a big meal before we left and Mrs. Ball put us up a snack to eat on the way home. We’ll wait for supper. It’s four o’clock now.”

“All right.” He almost sighed the words. “Well, you might as well sit. Everything all right at the 8 X 8?”

“Yea, everything’s all right, except—”

“Except what?”

“Well, Teddy and I were riding yesterday, trying to catch a runaway, and we heard a yell then a shot. We found a miner, fellow by name of Decker, with a bullet through his neck. Brought him back to the ranch and got a doctor. Don’t know whether he’ll pull through or not. He was robbed.”

“Robbed! What of?” Mr. Manley leaned forward.

“Of some nuggets,” Teddy said casually. “Worth quite a bit of money, from all indications. He was mining at Nugget Camp.”

“Mining at—” Mr. Manley’s face took on a tinge of red. “So that’s it,” he muttered thickly. “Listen, boys. I have something to tell you.”

“I think, Dad, we know it already,” Roy said gently. “You mean about Nat and Gus and Jim pulling stakes?”

“Yes. How’d you know?” Mr. Manley looked at them quickly.

“We met ’em on the way as we were riding in. Jim was pretty excited, and so were the others. Just what does it mean, Dad?”

“It means we’re in sort of a hole, for the time being,” Mr. Manley answered bitterly. “Oh, I can’t really blame ’em. I’d probably do the same thing myself. You see, late last night a puncher rode in and started a wild story of how people were gettin’ rich at Nugget Camp. No one believed him at first, but he pulled out a pocket full of nuggets. Then he told how some old feller—the one you found, I reckon—came across with a pan worth fifty thousand. I reckon that’s a bit exaggerated, though. So he got robbed! Boys, I don’t like the looks of things—not a little bit, I don’t!” The frown came again to his face. “Something tells me we’re in for some mighty dirty weather.”

“And then three of our men hit the trail?” Teddy asked.

“Uh-huh, three; and another just an hour ago. You missed him.”

“Four men gone!” Roy gave a long whistle. “That’s past the joking stage. And there’s plenty to be done just now, isn’t there, Dad?”

“Plenty! Well, we’ll have to get along, that’s all. You boys will have to take the range.”

“Sure, we will!” Teddy said heartily. “Feels good to get back on the job again. Now don’t worry about this, Dad. Things will shape up.”

“I reckon,” Mr. Manley agreed, and grinned. “Or you two will shape ’em up, hey?”

“Right!”

“Now you can go an’ talk to the boys if you feel like it. Pop Burns didn’t go—said they’d have to give him a guarantee before he’d believe in any strike. He’s seen too many of ’em.”

“We want to ask Pop something, anyway,” Teddy said. “That man we found, Decker, looks enough like Pop to be his brother. He hasn’t got any relatives around here, has he, Dad?”

“Not that I know of. Better ask him. All right, boys. I guess I’ve finished—the powwow’s over.” He turned back to his desk. Teddy and Roy walked slowly out the door and into the yard.

“He’s worried, whether he admits it or not,” Roy declared when they were out of earshot. “If any more leave we’ll be in a nice fix.”

“Let’s see who’s around the bunk-house,” Teddy suggested. “Maybe Pop will be holding forth.”

He was right in this assumption. As they reached the bunk-house an argumentative voice came to them:

“You waddies think you’re so all-fired smart, wantin’ to hit the trail just ’cause some hombre picks up a pan of fool’s gold! Listen, an’ bend yore ears this-a-way. I may not be an expert at math-a-matics. I’m a leedle shy on geography. Sometimes I misspell a word—sometimes. But I do know somethin’ about minin’!”

“That’s Pop,” Teddy asserted. “He’s laying down the law!”

“I’ve seen fourteen rushes,” Pop went on, “in one place or ’nother. Fourteen! An’ in thirteen of ’em the boys came back licked. Done up, frazzled, socked in the nose! Savvy? Only one of ’em was successful!”

“Yea, but listen, Pop,” a voice interrupted. “We got proof! Didn’t that galoot show us the stuff? Didn’t he swear that a big strike had been made? Didn’t—”

“You tell ’em, Pop!” Roy exclaimed, and he stepped toward the group. “What’s the big argument?”

“Here now—here now—Teddy, Roy! You come here an’ listen to what these bozos are tryin’ to get away with! Boys, I’m sure glad to see yuh!”

Pop, the oldest hand on the X Bar X, as bald as the day he was born and as lean as a piece of gristle, waved toward them.

“Boys,” he shouted, “we got news for you! These here spavined, sway-backed, horny-handed sons of toil say they’re gonna toss up their jobs and go out to Nugget Camp an’ pick up golden dollars! Speak up, boys—let’s hear yore opinions!”

CHAPTER IX

Roy Makes a Statement

Roy was thinking hard. As the elder brother, it would be his place to answer Pop’s appeal, and he knew Teddy was leaving the decision to him. Again the thought occurred—even if it were in his power to stem the rush by telling the men there was little or no gold at Nugget Camp, did he have that right? Would it be honest?

“Seems you’ve been saying about all there is to say, haven’t you, Pop?” Roy asked quizzically, more to gain time to think than for any other reason.

“Rolls off ’em like water from a duck’s back,” Pop said in a disgusted tone. “Can’t tell these hombres nothin’. They was all born wise an’ have been gettin’ wiser every day of their lives, accordin’ to them. I tell ’em somethin’ an’ they give it the merry ha-ha. By golly, I have seen fourteen rushes! That’s somethin’, ain’t it? How many have you fellers seen?” He glared at the assembled punchers, his eyes afire under the tightly stretched skin of his forehead.

“Now, Pop, we ain’t disputin’ yore word,” Rad Schmell said uneasily. “But, snakes, if these here reports are true—”

“But they ain’t, blame it! They ain’t!” Pop shouted. “Listen, Roy! Have you heard anything of some old miner strikin’ it rich at Nugget Camp, then gettin’ robbed of his nuggets? Likely story, ain’t it!” Pop sneered. “If it was true I’d hear about it first thing, ’cause I got a cousin that’s been pannin’ that section for goin’ on two years now. All he ever made out of it was enough gold to fill his back tooth where he bit into a hickory nut without peelin’ it first. Well, Roy?”

The boy hesitated no longer. There was but one thing to do—tell the truth and trust to the loyalty of some of the punchers to stay on the ranch until the boss could get others to fill their places. Two men they could be sure of—Pop Burns and Nick Looker. Nick was not in this crowd.

“Well, Pop, I’ll tell you,” Roy said slowly. “Part of the story’s true. Teddy and I both saw the man who was robbed—in fact, we carried him to the 8 X 8. He was a pretty old geezer. Can’t say how much he was robbed of, because he went under before he could tell us. The doctor’s opinion is that he has a chance to pull through. The bullet caught him in the neck.”

Pop was gazing at Roy with a surprised, hurt stare.

“So it did happen, after all!” the old man muttered. “Say, boys—” his voice was toneless—“what was his name? Do you know?”

“Decker,” Teddy replied.

Pop sprang to his feet.

“Decker! What was his first name?”

“Jerry, I think. He looks sort of like—”

“Jerry Decker! My cousin! That poor old washed-out bronco-forker! Jerry Decker!” Pop shook his head sadly. “Listen, boys—” he looked at them appealingly. “How bad’s he hurt?”

“Pretty bad, I’m afraid, Pop,” Roy said seriously. “Tell you—I’ll go in and telephone to the 8 X 8 for you and find out how he is now.”

“Wish you would, Roy. I wish you would.” Pop appeared dazed by the news. “An’ say—” his eyes flashed—“who done it? Got any idea a-tall?”

“Not any definite one,” Teddy said. “We did find something that might help.” He told about the German gun. “But I never heard of any Germans around here except that family over near Sanborn’s Point. They wouldn’t hurt a fly. Never saw any more law-abiding people.”

“No, it wasn’t them,” Pop agreed. “A German gun, hey! Baby, I hope—” He clenched his fists. Then his mood changed and he glanced at Roy. “Say, would you mind—”

“Right away,” Roy declared. “You wait here.”

The punchers crowded about Teddy as Roy walked toward the house. He answered their questions as best he could, thankful that their minds were somewhat diverted from the idea of leaving immediately by their curiosity over Pop’s cousin.

Supper would be ready in half an hour. Other men drifted toward the bunk-house, tossing saddle blankets under their beds, pouring water into tin basins and removing, somewhat, the traces of their alkalied trade. The talk was subdued, strained, as though each was waiting for the other to say something that remained unsaid. They greeted Teddy heartily, and exchanged a few words with him. Pop, sitting on the top of the three steps that led into the bunk-house, moved his form slightly as each puncher brushed by him and offered an unintelligible grunt to all remarks.

Nick Looker arrived, and, seeing Teddy, thrust an arm about the boy’s shoulders. These two were such friends as one often sees in the West—friendship based, not only on a sincere liking one for the other, but also on an appreciation of the other’s worth. They had been together for six years, ever since Nick, a mere youngster, had thrown his fortunes in with the X Bar X. He was in his early twenties even now. In build he resembled Teddy—rather tall, sinewy, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip. In feature he was what the young cow puncher is supposed to be, but scarcely ever is, high cheek bones, thin nose, deep blue eyes set wide, sensitive mouth, firm chin.

He and Teddy, as they stood there, framed against the reddening evening sky, were a picture to capture the eye of an artist.

“And the mommer bear said to the little bear, ‘well, it’s about time you showed up, you tyke; where you been till this hour in the mornin’?’” Nick exclaimed, grinning.

“Visiting,” Teddy said, answering Nick’s grin with one of his own. “Seen quite a lot of excitement lately. Say, Nick—” He moved his head slightly. Nick understood and walked to one side.

“I suppose you know what’s up?” Teddy asked seriously.

“You mean about that gold strike? Yea, I know. But it don’t mean nothin’ to me. The story’s around that some old geezer made a find—a big nugget—an’ that he got knocked off an’ robbed. Me, I don’t see much to it.”

“But it’s true, Nick!” Teddy watched the cowboy’s face.

“True?” Nick’s eyes opened wide. “Somebody did make a strike an’ got robbed?”

“Uh-huh. And, what’s more, it was Pop’s cousin.” Teddy told the puncher of finding Decker. “So, Nick, it isn’t all wind,” he finished.

“Well, bust my boilers!” Nick said slowly. “Pop’s cousin! What do you know about that? Snakes, I hope he makes the grade! Have you heard—”

“Here comes Roy now,” Teddy interrupted. “He just ’phoned to the 8 X 8 for news.”

Roy’s face was reassuring as he approached them. Pop leaped to his feet and ran forward.

“Let’s have it, Roy,” he said anxiously. “What’s the news?”

“He’s better,” the boy answered. “Much better. The doc’s just been there, and, unless infection sets in, he’s got much better than an even chance.”

“Boy, I’m glad of that!” Pop sighed. “I ain’t got many relatives left, an’ I sure like to keep track of ’em an’ make ’em last as long as I kin. Thanks, Roy!”

The old man walked toward the rear of the bunk-house. The boys watched, saying nothing until he was out of earshot.

“That hit him sort of hard,” Teddy remarked. “I never knew Pop Burns had a cousin.”

“Neither did the rest of us,” Roy said. “Well, Nick?” He thrust out his hand. “How’s everything?”

“Well enough, considerin’,” Nick replied. “This here life is sure tryin’ on a feller, ain’t it?” He grasped Roy’s hand firmly, then released it. “Golly, somethin’ happenin’ all the time! Last week Nat Raymond caught his pants on a nail in the flour barrel an’ tore ’em pretty. Couple of days ago Hank Foley, over at Eagles, lost his false teeth an’ a bronc stepped right plumb on ’em. Now Pop’s cousin goes an’ gets shot up. An’ the boys are talkin’ about leavin’ here an’ headin’ for Nugget Camp. Snakes!” Nick drew a deep breath.

“Not only talking, they’re going,” Teddy declared. “Nat Raymond, Jim Casey, and Gus Tripp have taken up their beds and—rode. They’re heading for Nugget Camp now. The boys here—” he lowered his voice. The three were talking some little distance from the bunk-house. “The boys here were listening to Pop tell them how crazy they’d be to join the rush. But I don’t think they were agreeing with him. Then he asked me what I thought about it, and lucky for me I had to go in and ’phone.” He stopped and turned his head, gazing hard at the fast greying hills. Night was rushing upon them.

“Why, you could tell ’em there was nothing to it,” Nick said wonderingly. “I bet they’d calm down then. Or some of ’em would, anyhow.”

“That’s just it,” Roy declared. “There is something to it!” He hesitated, then spoke more quickly. “There’s no doubt that a strike has been made at Nugget Camp. I’m sure of that.”

“You are?” Nick demanded interestedly. “Then—”

“And where one strike is made, another is likely to be found. That field has been hanging fire a long time. I barely remember—it’s such a long time ago—when they opened it up. Just like now, some one found a rich deposit of gold. Then it got the name Nugget Camp. From that time until now a few prospectors have been messing around with it. But they had no luck. Then here comes a man who finds a small fortune. At least, we think he had quite a load with him when he was shot down. By golly—”

Teddy gazed at his brother in surprise.

“Well, why by golly? It’s true—all you’ve said. What can we do? If the boys want to go, we can’t stop ’em. This is a free country. We’ll have to do the best we can, that’s all.”

“I was thinking,” Roy went on slowly, as though Teddy had not spoken, “that I’d like to join that rush myself.”

CHAPTER X

Silent Packs a Gun

Finally the deal was completed and arrangements were made to ship the beeves the following week. With the additional hands Mr. Manley anticipated no real trouble in cutting out the cattle and getting them into the cars. Before the day set for the work to begin, he gave Pop permission to go to see his cousin, Jerry Decker, who was still at the 8 X 8.

Pop started early one morning and returned at nightfall. Bug Eye, Roy, and Teddy were sitting on the top rail of the corral as he drove into the yard, his tall, skinny figure looking strangely ghostlike in the dusk. He dismounted, watered, and fed his mount and turned it into the corral.

The boys waited for him to speak first.

“Well,” he said finally, removing his hat and slapping the dust from his legs, “I see the ranch is still runnin’.”

“Just about,” Teddy answered. “How’s your cousin?”

“Better in health, worse in spirits,” Pop replied. “He got taken over the ropes for plenty, that bird did.”

“How much?” Bug Eye asked eagerly.

“Just twenty thousand dollars’ worth of nuggets,” Pop drawled.

“Twenty thousand!” Roy repeated. “What a haul!”

“An’ that’s at gov’ment valuation. He had his own testin’ apparatus, an’ a accurate scale. Knew just how much his nuggets were worth. Now he’s lying’ with a hole through his neck an’ twenty thousand gone,” Pop finished bitterly.

“Tough luck, all right,” came from Teddy in a sympathetic tone. “Bet he worked hard for ’em, too.”

“Well, as to that, there’s two ways of lookin’ at it. He stuck at that camp till he made his strike, an’ that took two years. On the other hand, he didn’t have no trouble at all in pickin’ up the nuggets.”

“Then it’s a fact that—” Bug Eye began.

“Oh, the monkey wrapped his tail around the flag-pole,” Pop sang loudly. “Do-do-do-do, do-do do-do!” He stopped and looked around him. He saw no one, and came closer. “Suppose you waddies swim down from there an’ we’ll have a talk,” he said meaningly.

The boys jumped to the ground. Evidently Pop had something on his mind. When they were gathered about him, he said:

“Now listen. I had a long talk with Jerry. I saw the gun that knocked him off, too. An’ I’ll remember if I ever see another like it. All right! Jerry told me that Nugget Camp was the richest strike that’s been made within a thousand miles of here—ever! He said that!” Pop’s voice was low, deadly in earnest. “An’ if the boys on this here ranch hear about it, there won’t be enough left to get up a good rousin’ game of solitaire! Think that over!” He stuck his hands deep in his pockets. “Think that over an’ lose some sleep!”

There was a moment’s silence while the import of Pop’s words sank in. Perhaps only to one—Roy—did they mean anything but anxiety as to when the news would be circulated. But Roy’s mind was running on another track. He appreciated, of course, that the business of ranching would be seriously interrupted if any more hands left, if the new men joined the rush. But he saw further than that. He saw a chance for him and his brother to enlist in a new series of adventures, and at the same time with a possibility of getting rich.

“And what do you think about it, Pop?” Roy asked at length. “Any pronounced opinions on the subject?”

“You mean about goin’?”

“I mean about the chances of striking gold at Nugget Camp.”

“Oh!” the old puncher rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, if you really want to know, Roy—I think the chances are pretty blame good!”

“What about you telling the boys that they’d be crazy to leave here and head for Nugget Camp?”

“Oh, well—” Pop moved uneasily. “I hadn’t heard what Jerry had to say then. An’, anyhow, we couldn’t afford to lose ’em all in a bunch. It gave ’em somethin’ to think about an’ slowed ’em up sufficient so’s we could get some new hands. Not that the ones we got are any wonders,” he added musingly. “But they’ll do, an’ they ain’t nuts over gold.”

“So there’s somethin’ to the story,” Bug Eye said slowly. “Nugget Camp ain’t just a basket full of fool’s gold.”

“Not any,” Pop said positively. “Jerry wouldn’t kid me about a thing like that. He believes in it all right. Twenty thousand gone!” Pop shook his head sadly. “I wish I had those galoots here for a minute and a half,” he declared bitterly. “A hole in the neck’s nothin’ to what they’d get. An’ say, Teddy an’ Roy, Jerry wants me to be sure an’ tell you how much he’s thankful for you two fellers bringin’ him in. If it hadn’t been for you he’d be pushin’ up the daisies right now. An’ then some!” Pop looked keenly at the brothers. He was at all times undemonstrative, and the boys took the look for what it was intended—the old puncher’s heartfelt thanks.

“Glad we were there,” Roy said. “But I’m sure sorry it happened. It means that a nasty bunch are getting into the district. Over at Nugget Camp—”

“Things will be spinnin’ out some lively,” Bug Eye drawled. “Well, there’s plenty to be done to-morrow. Me, I’m goin’ to catch some sleep.”

With a gold-mining camp springing up within riding distance of the X Bar X, the work of cutting out cattle for delivery seemed especially prosaic. But it had to be done, and, early the next morning, Teddy and Roy were in the saddle.

It was Mr. Manley’s idea to take one herd that had gathered near Harver’s Gully and round them up and drive them to the railroad yards. There were about six hundred head in the herd. Of these, about one hundred and fifty would be sent back to the range for one reason or another—some might have calves not yet weaned and some would not come up to specifications. It meant a good three or four days’ work, and Mr. Manley felt keenly the loss of his regular punchers.

Among the new hands were two who had more or less drifted in. They told Mr. Manley that they were out of a job—“temporarily.” Both looked to be real punchers, and Mr. Manley took them on. One of them, called “Silent” by his partner, was a surly, ill-tempered fellow, who continually wore a frown. He mixed not at all with the others and spoke only to his friend, and then in monosyllables. The nickname “Silent” fitted him like a glove.

Roy and Teddy found that he was especially antagonistic to them. He accepted their orders with a scowl, but as long as he did his work they said nothing. This was no time to be particular. They had to take what they could get, and be glad of it.

His partner was more friendly, and soon became one of the gang. He, also, did his work well, and to careful questions concerning “Silent” answered that “he was kinda queer.” In the West a man is taken at his face value, and if he wants to keep to himself, that’s his own affair. Silent and Jack Conroy were accepted as part of the X Bar X outfit. On the payroll Silent was down as Hap Neville.

The round-up of the herd at Harver’s Gully started in clear weather. Pop Burns stayed at the ranch with Mr. Manley, and Teddy and Roy were in charge. Nick and Bug Eye rode with them.

Just before they left the X Bar X, Teddy noticed Silent strapping a rifle case to his saddle. Later this was filled with a weapon.

“Any special reason?” Teddy asked easily.

Silent looked over at him with a frown. The puncher was about twenty-five or six, although the lines in his face seemed to add a few years to this total. He was short and stocky, and anything but handsome.

“Any objection?” Silent demanded. His tone was hostile.

“No, I reckon not—but there isn’t much sense to it.”

“My business,” Silent growled.

Teddy looked at him for a moment.

“As you say, it’s your business,” he said slowly. “But if you’re intending to use it on anything except animals, then it’s my business. Take me?”

Silent did not reply, but went on with his preparation. Teddy watched him.

“What kind of a gun is that?” he asked suddenly.

Silent spun around, a look of fury on his face.

“Listen here, you!” he snarled. “I’ll take your orders when it’s part of my job. I’m gettin’ paid for it. But I’m not gettin’ paid to answer questions! Understand?”

Teddy’s eyes narrowed. He stepped toward the man.

“You just forget I’m a boss,” the boy said deliberately. “I’ll forget it too. There’s little room in this outfit for a bird like you. But you know how we’re fixed. We have to take what comes. Now, if you crave action, drop that cinch-strap and—”

“Hey, Teddy!” It was Pop, yelling from the ranch-house porch. “Yore dad wants to speak to you!”

The boy did not turn immediately. Instead, he stood staring at Silent.

The puncher released his hold on the strap, but he did not face about.

“Fade,” Silent said briefly. “I’m busy.”

“You can be a lot busier,” Teddy declared. “Maybe we’ll talk this over later.”

He went slowly toward the house. Pop was waiting for him, a quizzical look on his face.

“Talkin’ to that human phonograph?” he asked.

Teddy nodded.

“Some,” he answered dryly. “Wants a going over, I’m afraid. I hate to make trouble, but that bird isn’t going to be any dove of peace around here.”

“Yea, I know.” Pop regarded Teddy closely. “Take it easy, son,” he said quietly. “You’ll live longer. Yore dad’s waitin’.”

CHAPTER XI

The Fight

The puncher carried a double-thonged whip in his hand, a short, wicked looking instrument. Suddenly Teddy, who was standing near, saw him slash down with it and catch a cow full across the back. A red weal sprang up and blood dripped from where he had struck.

Teddy, his cheeks burning, leaped from his horse and seized the puncher’s arm.

“Let’s see that whip!” he cried, and yanked it toward him. Silent stood quietly, a sardonic look on his face.

In the ends of the whip-thongs were set jagged pieces of tin, and to give them weight just behind them were sewed lead “sinkers.”

Teddy, as he saw them, clenched his fists, and tossed the whip from him.

“So that’s it!” he exclaimed, and leaped. His first blow caught Silent on the side of the face.

The puncher drew a sudden breath and shook his head to clear it. Then he went into the fight.

The punchers of the neighborhood still talk about that scrap. Teddy, ten pounds lighter than his antagonist, danced about, now getting in a blow and stepping out, then in again. Silent fought with short, vicious swings. One of these caught the boy fairly on the jaw, and he went down.

Roy rushed toward him, as did Nick and Bug Eye.

“Keep back!” Teddy yelled. “This is mine!”

He scrambled up and returned to the attack. The tide of battle now had taken the fighters some distance from the cattle, which was fortunate, otherwise one of them might have been stepped on or gored.

The other punchers stopped their work to watch. The cattle were quiet, and there was no danger of a break. From all directions the railroad men came running, quick to sense excitement. There was soon a circle of yelling men about the two battlers.

“Sock him, Teddy, sock him!” Bug Eye shouted. “Atta baby!”

“Stick in there, Silent!” Jack Conroy implored. “I’m with you, anyhow! Let him have it!”

Roy said nothing. He was watching the fight intently.

Teddy got in a straight right to the stomach, then a left to the face. But as he did so Silent crossed him and sent Teddy staggering with a left that cut the boy’s cheek. Both were breathing hard.

“Back at him, Teddy!” Nick yelled hoarsely. “Another to the bread-basket!”

This was what Teddy did. He set himself, and drove his right fist into Silent’s “bread-basket,” otherwise his stomach. Silent gave ground and the circle opened. Teddy, seeing his chance, rushed in and planted a right to the jaw.

But Silent did not fall. He gave more ground, and then, so suddenly that no one was aware of it, he was in front of the cattle, between them and the runway which led into the car that was being loaded.

There was a shout of warning. The cows, frightened at the strange figure that was catapulted before them, moved restlessly, and one of them started forward.

Silent saw the beast coming, but could not avoid those menacing horns. Those near him heard a groan, and the puncher thrust out his hands, as though to ward off the impending danger.

But it was Teddy, who was closest to him, Teddy, whose face was dripping blood, that saved Silent’s life. There was but one thing to do, and Teddy did it.

He left his feet and made a football dive toward Silent. His outstretched arms swept the puncher from under the hoofs of that cow—from under the sharp hoofs that would have trampled the puncher in another moment. The cow went on up the runway and into the car. Teddy and Silent hit the ground together, and were pulled from further danger by ready hands. The fight was over.

The contestants were led into the shade of the station, and Roy put his hands on Teddy’s shoulders.

“Let’s see,” he said.

The cut on Teddy’s cheek was red and angry looking, but not deep. Silent was a bit worse, as one of his eyes was closed and he seemed unable to walk straight. But he staggered over to Teddy.

“Buddy,” he said breathlessly, “thanks!”

Teddy nodded. “All right! Say—” he hesitated. “What was the idea of hitting the cow with that thing?”

Silent touched his chin tenderly.

“Baby, you sure can sock! Oh, that cow? I saw her duck her head. She’d have started a break in another second. I had to take her mind off it quick. Sometimes cows are like that. Hey, I ain’t apologizin’!” This last rather frantically. “What I done, I done! Only, I never hit a cow with that thing unless there’s danger. I reckon—” he drew a deep breath—“I’ll sit down.”

Teddy stared at the man a moment. Somehow he seemed different, as though there was something in him that had not been apparent before.

“You didn’t do it just out of meanness, then?”

Jack Conroy stepped forward.

“Mean?” he shouted. “Silent, mean? Say, buddy, he’s the kindest—”

“Buckle it up!” Silent tersely ordered from his place on the ground. “This ain’t no debatin’ society.”

The men wandered away. Nick and Bug Eye returned to the cows. Teddy bent down and thrust out his hand.

“Want to shake?” he asked quietly.

Silent got to his feet and eyed the boy in amazement.

“You mean I ain’t fired?”

“Not any! I didn’t get the idea, that was all. I thought you did it for fun.”

Silent grasped Teddy’s hand.

“Buddy,” he said feelingly, “you’re O. K. with me. I owe you plenty.” He grinned. “Besides this here eye an’ jaw, I mean. Reckon I had ’em comin’ to me.”

The hands gripped and parted. There was that pause that so often comes when two people suddenly meet as friends. It was Roy who broke the silence.

“Personally, I’d recommend a visit to the old pump for both of you,” he said dryly. “You’re enough to scare any cows.”

“Let’s go,” Teddy suggested quickly. “There’s some water behind the station. I have a clean handkerchief that’ll do for a towel.”

“An’ with that he walks off,” Conroy snickered. “Baby, wasn’t that a scrap? Never saw the like. Fightin’ fools, them two. Silent, he ain’t no slouch, let me tell you. Yet your brother certainly laid him out pretty. Laid him out, an’ saved his life. Say, listen, Manley.” His tone grew more serious. “Some people get a wrong slant on Silent. They think he’s ornery. He ain’t, nothin’ like it. He’s just naturally quiet. Most people think his breakfast soured on him. But if you’d had your brother shot down before your eyes, an’ seen your old man try to get the killers an’ stop a bullet hisself, I reckon—” he stopped in confusion. “An’ I promised Silent I wouldn’t say nothin’ about it!” he declared regretfully.

“Did that happen to Neville?” Roy demanded.

“It sure did. They had a cabin about three hundred miles from here—him, his dad, an’ brother. Then—well, here he is.”

“Who shot them?”

“Oh, a couple of waddies. Silent saw ’em, him lyin’ on a cot burnin’ up with fever. He tried to get ’em, but, shucks, what could he do? They robbed the shack of a thousand dollars in gold that old man Neville had just bought from a miner and vamoosed. So here I am, an’ here Silent is.” He turned away.