CHAPTER IV
Joe Marino
Always, as long as Nick Looker had been on the ranch—five years this coming winter—he had done his work cheerfully and well. The men on the X Bar X had more than mere employees’ interest in the ranch. They looked upon it as a home, and, as such, to be well cared for.
“This here Pup—” Nick observed, “now, I don’t like to say nothin’ against a man when he ain’t here fer a come-back; but—well, boss, The Pup sure likes his liquor. I don’t mind a man takin’ a nip now and then, if he’s built that-away. But not during workin’ hours.”
“Do you mean to say Joe Marino has been drunk while he’s on the job?” Teddy asked quickly.
“Now, maybe we’d better wait till The Pup shows up,” Nick countered, shifting his shoulders uneasily. “He’ll be around soon. Maybe he’s rode to town with Gus Tripp. Most likely that’s it.”
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?”
The Pup disdained to answer. An ugly look on his face, he lashed his horse savagely, and jumped him toward the hitching rail. Then he dismounted and walked toward Gus.
“Come on,” he snarled. “Don’t sit there talkin’. We got to see the boss. Ain’t you heard orders?” and he looked at Roy, a sneer on his face.
Roy flushed. He did not wish to seem above the men, but rather as working with them. Joe intimated with his glance that Roy’s authority was given by virtue of his being “the boss’s son,” and not because he deserved it. Roy opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and walked slowly away. The Pup laughed loudly. Roy felt his muscles tighten, but he did not turn. He would not argue with a man who had been drinking.
He was not present at the scene between Mr. Manley and Gus and The Pup. Teddy told him of it later.
“There’s two we will have no longer with us,” Teddy said that night. “Dad was feeding General sugar when they came up. Soon as he heard them he whirled around and he knew in a second that they had been hitting the bottle. Gus just looked kind of ashamed, but The Pup had a mean look on his face.
“‘Gus, where you been?’ dad wanted to know. Gus said he’d been to town, to get a letter that didn’t come. Said he’d been expecting it for two weeks, and he was kind of disappointed. Say, Roy, I thought he was sweet on Norine?” Norine was the daughter of Mrs. Moore, who was the housekeeper on the X Bar X. “How about that?”
“Don’t know,” Roy replied. “Gus told me about the letter, too. I have an idea that had something to do with his drinking—he never used to touch it before. But go ahead. What happened next?”
“Well, as I said, dad caught on right away, and he was some sore. Told ’em both to get out—that he wouldn’t have men on his ranch who drank during working hours. Then he asked The Pup what was the idea, lying to Nick and getting him to change places with him, so The Pup could ride herd. At first Joe wouldn’t tell, but when Gus let out a few secrets the whole thing came forth. It seems that The Pup wanted to take the cows so he could slip away to town when he felt like it and liquor up and no one would know about it. How he ever got Gus to consent to a thing like that is beyond me unless, as you say, Gus isn’t himself on account of that letter.”
“What did Gus do when The Pup spilled the beans?”
“Just acted as if he was mighty sorry. Roy, it isn’t like Gus to pull a stunt like that. He isn’t built that way. Joe Marino, now—I wouldn’t put it past him. I don’t like that hombre for a cent. When he came here last month, dad was short a hand, or he never would have taken him. And now look at the trouble he’s got us in. Jake Trummer, one of dad’s oldest friends, turned into an enemy. You know, Roy, I think something happened up on Whirlpool River at Jake’s ranch besides the mere fact that our cattle wandered there. That, in itself, wouldn’t cause Jake to raise the row he did. I’ll bet The Pup said something to Jake that he didn’t want to repeat, knowing dad as he does. So he took it all out in being sore about the cattle.”
“Maybe,” Roy said slowly. “So Gus is going to leave, is he?”
“Yep! Fact is, he’s gone now. When dad finished, Gus straightened up like a man and shook his head to clear it. Then he spoke right out and admitted he’d been in the wrong—that he’d got it coming to him. Said it was all his fault about the cows and that dad was perfectly right to fire him, and that he’s blamed sorry.”
“He did?” Roy’s eyes lighted. “Good for Gus! I knew he was a straight shooter, even if he did make a mistake. What did The Pup say then?”
“He looked at Gus with a kind of funny expression on his face. Then he let a gob of tobacco juice ride at the ground, laughed, and walked away. Gus took it all. He sure feels pretty low over this.”
At that moment Mrs. Manley came to the door, saw Teddy and Roy seated on the porch steps, and called to them.
“Boys,” she said, “will you come in a minute? Your father wants to see you.”
“And so do I,” a girl’s voice added. Belle Ada, the sister of Roy and Teddy, walked out on the porch. “Where’s that new whip you promised me, Teddy? Got it?”
“Haven’t had time yet, Belle,” Teddy answered. “Have it to-morrow sure. I’m going in to town then, and I’ll stop by and pick it up. It ought to be at the express office by now. I ordered it last week.”
“Oh, you’ll forget it,” Belle declared, and then laughed.
Belle was twelve years old, with dark hair and eyes. In disposition she was a great deal like Teddy—happy-go-lucky, always ready for fun.
“You’d better tie a string around your finger. Or, better still, around your toe. You’re liable to miss it on your finger, and you stub your toe so often that you can’t miss it there.”
“Aw, take a rest,” and Teddy grinned. “Come on, Roy, we’ll hop in and see dad. Where is he, Mother?”
“In his room. I think it’s about Gus that he wants to talk to you. I’m so sorry that happened, boys! I told your father that he should go more slowly. He was so worked up over Mr. Trummer’s visit that he wasn’t quite himself. I tried to calm him as much as I could, and now I think he regrets that he acted so hastily. But you go in and let him tell you himself.”
Mr. Manley was seated in a chair in his room, with his corncob pipe, unlit, between his teeth. This was always a sign of mental uneasiness with him. When smoke came from the pipe, all was well. When it reposed in his mouth cold and dead, there was usually something up.
“Want us, Dad?” Teddy asked.
“Yes. Want to make talk. Come in. Shut the door. Either one of you see Gus?”
“He’s gone, Dad,” Roy answered. “Teddy, you saw him go, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. He rode away with a bag on his saddle about two hours ago. He owned his own horse, didn’t he, Dad?”
“Yes! Gus came to me with a pony, saddle, and nothin’ else, three years ago. Wanted a job. I gave it to him. So he’s gone, eh?”
“Afraid so, Dad. Didn’t you tell him to clear out?”
“I did, and I’m sorry now that I did it. Your mother’s been talkin’ to me, and, as usual, she’s made me see the error of my ways. I was too fast. Jake Trummer got me all worked up. He used to be my best friend, next to Pete Ball. Well, it’s too late now, I guess. As for Joe Marino, I don’t care when he leaves. We never should have taken him. He didn’t know much about punchin’, and the first day he was here I kind of got set against him. He’s gone, too, I suppose?”
“No, he hasn’t,” Teddy declared. “I saw him at the bunk-house talkin’ to Pop Burns a little while ago. Pop didn’t seem to care much about listening. He said something sharp and turned away. Guess The Pup must have been beefing about you throwing him out.”
“He won’t get far with Pop,” Mr. Manley chuckled. “Imagine Pop hearin’ anything against the X Bar X! Not him. Well, I guess that’s all, boys. I was hopin’ I could catch Gus and explain to him. The poor geezer must have been worried about something, or he never would have done a thing like he did.”
“You’re right, Dad,” Teddy declared. “I noticed he hasn’t looked well for some time. Keeps talking about a letter all the while. Yep, it’s too bad. But it can’t be helped now.”
“No,” and Mr. Manley sighed. Then he arose.
“We got a job ahead of us to-morrow. Got to get those cows off Trummer’s land. I don’t want no man but me to feed my cattle. So be ready to start early. If you see Marino, you can tell him, for me, that the sooner he leaves the better I’ll like it.” Again Mr. Manley sighed. “But I sure wish it had been some one else besides Gus,” he added.