CHAPTER VI
THE THREE HORSEMEN
When Mr. Manley entered Rimor’s he looked sharply about him. After the bright sunshine of the street, the subdued light in the restaurant, due to shaded windows, caused the cattleman to squint his eyes. He hitched up his belt, from which, in a holster, hung a heavy revolver, and walked forward.
A bar, ostensibly for the serving of soft drinks, ran from the front of Rimor’s place to the rear. To the right of this, on the other side of the room, were a number of tables, three with signs on them, “Reserved for Ladies.� These tables were the excuse for the title “Restaurant.�
An odor of staleness permeated the room. Flies buzzed lazily in the hot, close air. When the ranchman entered the only other person in the place was the bartender, an aproned figure with “New York� plainly written on his patent leather shoes and slick plastered-down hair. He sat on a chair in front of the bar, eagerly reading a week-old copy of a Manhattan paper.
As the cattleman approached, the barkeeper raised his eyes from the paper and calmly surveyed Mr. Manley.
“Well, Manley, what can I do for you?� he asked in a surly voice. Bardwell Manley was no favorite with the Rimor outfit.
“You might do a whole lot,� Mr. Manley replied slowly. “Then, again, you might not. You know a puncher who hangs around here with a checkered shirt?�
“Do I know a puncher who hangs around here with a checkered shirt?� the barkeeper repeated. “Well, now, I can’t say that I do. There’s plenty of punchers that come in here, but I never knew one yet that hung around with a checkered shirt. Sure it’s the puncher, and not a collar that you’re lookin’ for?�
Mr. Manley flushed beneath his tan, but he held himself in check.
“I guess you know right enough what I mean,� he said genially. “So you ain’t seen him, hey?�
“No, I ain’t,� the man replied, with an accent of irony on the last word. He resumed his reading.
Mr. Manley stood for a moment looking down at the hunched figure before him. He tightened his jaw, and little knobs of muscles showed just below his ears. To those who knew Bardwell Manley, this was a sign not to be ignored.
“Mind if I take a look around?� the cattleman said easily.
“Nope! Go as far as you like.� The barkeeper did not look up.
Mr. Manley walked toward the rear of the place. As he did so, a man stepped from a side door and confronted him. It was the cowboy in the checkered shirt.
“Lookin’ for some one?� he asked.
“Was. Found him now,� Mr. Manley answered shortly. “I want to talk to you. Do you know Gilly Froud?�
“Suppose I do?� the puncher answered insolently.
“This much. I think you know something about my broncs that were stolen from the hitchin’ rail out there a while ago.� Mr. Manley looked at the man keenly.
“Yea?� The puncher drew a sack of tobacco and cigarette papers from his shirt pocket. Deftly he rolled a cigarette and applied a match to it. “Well, suppose I do?� he asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke. His right hand slid inside his heavy shirt and toward his left armpit.
Mr. Manley saw the motion and his own hand flashed down to his side. Suddenly there was a wild yell behind him, and an empty bottle whizzed past his head. The barkeeper, seeing Mr. Manley going for his gun, had picked up the bottle and aimed for the ranchman’s head.
Swift as light Mr. Manley turned. His gun leaped from its holster, and he brought down the butt end on the barkeeper’s wrist.
The rascal’s right arm went limp. He uttered another yell and sank back in alarm.
At that moment the door burst open, and Pop, followed by Roy and Teddy, leaped into the room. The barkeeper bent to pick up a bottle with his left hand, but before he could reach it Roy kicked it into the corner and shoved his revolver into the man’s ribs. Teddy, seeing that his father was uninjured, made a dash for the man in the checkered shirt.
But the lad was too late. The puncher, realizing the turn affairs had taken, disappeared through the side door, slamming it behind him. When Teddy reached it and flung it open, the man was gone. It would be useless, as well as foolhardly, to follow down that dark passageway upon which the door gave entrance. Best to hunt for the fellow outside the place, or to hope Gus and Nick, who had waited at the front of the restaurant, had seen and stopped him. Teddy turned back.
“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?�
“Yes!� Mr. Manley answered. Then, as his eye roved over the small crowd in front of the restaurant, he added. “We were havin’ a little argument, that’s all. It’s all over now.�
The cowboys looked dubious at this explanation of the yelling, but the gathered people slowly drifted away. The boys remounted their ponies, which, like good Western horses, had stood quiet when the reins were thrown over their heads and left dangling.
Roy urged his animal over to Nick.
“Say, Nick,� he said in a low voice, “you and Gus didn’t see anything of a puncher in a checkered shirt busting out of Rimor’s, did you?�
“No, we didn’t, Roy,� Nick answered.
“He the bucker what was doin’ the yelling?� Gus asked casually. It would take a great deal to startle Gus out of his placid way. When he acted, he acted quickly. When he did nothing, to quote himself, he “did it just as slow as he knew how.� Gus was a product of New Mexico.
“He didn’t do any yelling,� Teddy answered. “That was done by the New York plug-ugly they’ve got in there for a barkeeper. Dad taught him a few things about the use of a revolver.�
“Kill him?� Gus drawled, as though he were asking the time of day.
“Certainly not!� Roy answered, startled. “He just clubbed him. Put his right arm out of commission by a crack from the butt of his gun.�
Nick Looker nodded approvingly. Nick was young and fair-haired. He had not the assumed callousness of Gus. He knew, though, that beneath this pretended hardness, Gus had a heart as soft as a woman’s.
“We’ll be gettin’ on,� Mr. Manley said. He had heard Nick say he had not seen “checkered shirt,� as Roy called the puncher, and he knew there would be no use in delaying further. They could get no information in Eagles.
The six swung down the main street and out of the town. They were riding directly away from the X Bar X and into a valley separating Bitter Cliff Mountain from its neighbor, Mica Mountain. Here the road lost its travel-worn appearance and dwindled into an uphill trail. Up this trail the six men rode.
Teddy and Roy were in the rear of the riders, about two hundred yards from the rest.
The trail turned now, and in a moment those ahead were out of sight of the two boys.
“Come on, let’s get along,� Roy said. “Dad’s hitting a good gait, all right.�
Touching spurs to the ponies, Roy and Teddy galloped forward. They came to a fork in the trail, and here halted for a moment.
“This way,� Teddy advised, with a gesture. “That other’s only a little path. I rode over it just the other day.�
Roy did not reply. He pulled his horse to a halt and stared up the left trail. Seeing him stop, his brother did likewise.
“What’s the matter, Roy?� Teddy asked in a puzzled tone.
“Ahead there!� Roy exclaimed in a tense voice. “Those horses! See them?�
Teddy stared intently up the steep trail. Then he gave a yell.
“Our broncs! Flash and Star and General, or I’m a Lottie Blue-bird! Who’s ridin’ ’em? Let’s go get ’em!�
A quarter of a mile above them, three men on three horses turned and looked down the trail. For a moment they stood, watching Roy and Teddy dashing toward them. Then, without a word, they wheeled and disappeared around a bend.