CHAPTER V
Guarded Words
Sadly enough, however, it was Gus Tripp who was the storm center. This thing had been the only blot on his escutcheon during the three years he had worked for the X Bar X. Willingly would Mr. Manley have wiped it clean had Gus given him the opportunity. But the die was cast. Gus—he of the drawling speech and eyes which were wont to grow languid while Norine was near—had gone.
No one gave much thought to Joe Marino, “The Pup.” Though he had worked for Bardwell Manley, somehow he had never become a part of the ranch, as the rest had. He was a man apart, neither seeking nor admitting intimate friendship. His fondness for the cup, alleged to cheer, was early discovered, but Mr. Manley was loath to discharge a man for a personal defect so long as it did not affect his work. Up to this time The Pup had been a lone drinker, but now, when it became necessary to send him forth because he shirked his job, he dragged one of the most popular boys on the ranch with him.
Pop Burns was loud in his denunciation of the tempter. While the boys were saddling their broncos the next morning, preparing to head for Whirlpool River, the old man halted The Pup as he was lurching past toward the cook house.
“You still eatin’ here?” he wanted to know.
“I am. Anything to you?” The Pup’s eyes, red from the effect of the last night’s indiscretion, glared evilly. “Want to ask any more questions?”
“Well, now, maybe jest one or two,” the veteran puncher said slowly. “First, where’d Gus duck to?”
“How should I know? Think I’m his keeper?”
“Keeper? Not any! I thought you pretended to be his friend, but I guess I was mistaken. Usually, when a man tells a fellow certain things, that other man kind of likes to keep track of his buddy.”
“Hey? What do you mean—certain things? I don’t know nothin’ about Gus. He rode with me a few times, that’s all.” The Pup leered suggestively. “If you mean the letter he was waitin’ for from that skirt down Togas way, why—”
Pop Burns’ expression changed. His eyes narrowed, and the lines about his mouth deepened. His hands clenched until they looked like solid balls of brown leather.
“Suppose you just forget about that,” he said evenly, an unwonted dignity coming into the old man’s voice and manner. “Understand? We ain’t in the habit of talkin’ out in public about another man’s affairs. Gus was a friend of mine, I ain’t aimin’ to listen to a coyote like you makin’ fun of him. Get me?”
The Pup started to reply, then took a second look at Pop’s face, and thought better of it. With an uneasy laugh he turned away and walked toward the corral, where his pony was tied. Pop motioned to Teddy, who was filling a can of flour some distance away.
“Hear that?”
Teddy nodded.
“Some of it. I didn’t want to interfere, so I kept quiet. Dad wants The Pup off the place as soon as possible. He blames him for the whole affair.”
“Yore dad’s right about that, Teddy. The Pup has got a streak of orneriness in him a yard wide. He ain’t no good to no one, least of all himself. Wouldn’t be surprised if we saw some more of him, at that, one way or another.”
“You mean he’ll make trouble?”
“Well, he ain’t appeared to be a dove of peace so far, has he?” Pop countered. “An’ he’ll not hang his tail between his laigs an’ run without one more nip at somebody. You mark my words! I knew them kind of waddies. Long ago, when yore grandpop was alive—an’ yore dad was only a shaver then, like you are—we had a cuss by the name of—” He broke off suddenly. “All right, boss! Comin’!” Pop called out, and he hurried off in response to Mr. Manley’s call.
Teddy watched him disappear in the direction of the ranch house, then reflectively continued packing the can with flour. But as he worked with his hands, a frown came to his face. He was remembering Pop’s prophecy.
It would be a shame if anything unpleasant happened now. Why, it was not so long ago that they had rescued Belle and Nell Willis and Ethel Carew from the kidnappers. How were the girls on the 8 X 8 getting on? Teddy wondered.
He came to a sudden decision to ride over to Peter Ball’s place to visit them as soon as this business was over.
Clamping the lid tight on the flour can, the boy thought of the cattle on Whirlpool River and of the absent Gus Tripp.
“Mighty queer that Gus would go to pieces like that,” he muttered to himself. “There’s a reason behind it all, or I miss my guess. Gus sure looked downhearted when he rode out.”
Teddy carried the can and the flour bin toward the house. It was now about eight o’clock, and the bright fall sun brought the landscape out in bold relief. Teddy paused a moment before he entered the house and peered toward the mountains to the west, where he and Roy had lately come to grips with the gang that had run off with his sister and her two friends. Then his gaze shifted, and he looked over the rolling prairie toward the spot where they had earlier captured this same gang of rustlers, though they had later escaped to make more mischief. A grim smile curved the boy’s lips.
“Did some one say the West was a quiet place to live in?” he muttered, and laughed shortly. “Seems to me we do nothing but meet trouble out here! Well, I suppose it’s all in the game. Now we’ve got a mean job to get the cows off Whirlpool River. However—” He shrugged his shoulders, replaced the flour bin, while the can he had filled he carried to the yard and fastened to his saddle. His father had told them to prepare for a journey of several days, and this flour, mixed as it was with other ingredients, made fine “pan bread.”
Roy met him at the corral.
“Can’t leave just yet,” he said. “Dad wants to wait until Nick comes back. He rode down to see one of the boys from Jake Trummer’s place who has been in town several days, hanging around. Dad wants to get all the dope he can on this before he goes ahead, and Nick knows this puncher pretty well and said he’d find out all he could. Nick ought to be back in about two hours.”
“As soon as Nick returns we go—that the idea?”
“That’s it. Unless dad wants to start sooner, and I don’t think he does. Say, is The Pup still around?”
“Yep.” Teddy smiled grimly. “Around, and noisy. He had a session with Pop not over ten minutes ago. Pop told him where to get off, too. I heard part of it. Started to gas about Gus and his letter. But he got shut up quick, let me tell you. Pop wouldn’t stand for hearing Gus made fun of. Where does this bacon go—on my saddle?”
“Guess so. I’ve got enough to carry. Golly, dad must expect to spend Christmas on Whirlpool River, from the load we’re packing. Bet when we get there Jake Trummer will forget his sore-headedness and invite us to keep our cows there the rest of the year. That’s the kind Jake is—quick to anger, but he gets over it just as fast. He’s a good friend of dad’s too. At least he was before this happened. That’s what made me think there’s more in this than we suspect. However, we’ll know as soon as we hit the river. Jimminy! what in thunder is that?”
Roy stopped and gazed up the road that led past the ranch house. From behind the house came curious sounds—reminiscent of a load of junk being pulled over cobblestones. Now and then a splutter, like the gasp of some huge animal, made itself heard over the noise. Teddy grinned.
“It will arrive in a moment,” he said.
It did. There soon came into sight one of the strangest contraptions ever seen on four wheels. Once it had been a flivver, but those days were gone forever. Its body was of shiny red and made to resemble a boat, with a rudder in the rear, and a propeller. The wheels were nearly concealed in the “hull.” From its pointed bow, blue smoke arose.
Within it, on the front seat, sat a cow puncher, his face alight with the joy of possession. In the rear were two girls, some two or three years older than Belle Manley, trying in vain to suppress the laughter that would bubble over.
“Bug Eye!” Teddy yelled. “And Nell and Curly! But what in the name of seven sledges is that thing they’re riding in?”
“Howdy, boys!” Bug Eye called, waving one arm and reaching toward the “in’ards” of the machine with the other. With a groan the contraption subsided. “What do you think of my Fishmobile?”
“Your what?” Roy shouted.
“Fishmobile! P-s-y-c-h-e—Fish. I saw it on a boat once. And this is a boat and an automobile, so I call it a Fishmobile. Good, hey?”
“Did you two ride in that all the way over from the 8 X 8?” Roy laughed, walking toward Nell and Ethel, the good-looking nieces of Peter Ball.
“We certainly did!” Nell answered. “It runs splendidly, doesn’t it, Ethel?”
“Great!” was the laughing answer. “How are you, boys? We came to visit Belle, though, as I remember, Nell did say something about Roy—”
“Oh, hush!” Nell interrupted, blushing. “Teddy, I haven’t seen you since you and Roy found us in those terrible caves at Thunder Canyon,” and she shuddered slightly. “But we want to forget that—although we’ll never forget what you did for us,” and she looked quickly at Roy. “But where is Belle?”
“Right here!” a voice called from the porch, and Belle Ada ran into the yard.
Greetings were soon over, and then the young folks gathered around to inspect Bug Eye’s new creation.
“She goes on land or water,” he explained proudly. “See? Got a propeller on her and everything. Works on the fly wheel. The boss give me that old flivver—remember?—an’ said I could do what I wanted with it. So I done it. Looks great, hey? An’ when I come to a lake, why all I have to do is throw the propeller in gear, an’ away we go!”
“Yes! But, Bug Eye,” Teddy broke in, with a look at Roy, “where is this lake you’re going to sail on?”
A look of amazement spread over the puncher’s face. He snapped his fingers and frowned.
“Golly!” he exclaimed. “Never thought about that. Well, I’ll be jiggered! Of course there’s Lomley’s Lake—but that would never do. Too small. Well, now, that’s too bad.” Then he brightened. “But if I do find a lake somewheres, I’ll be all set for it!”
A laugh arose, which did not at all disconcert Bug Eye. All but the proprietor of “Psyche, the Fish,” wandered into the house. Bug Eye drove toward the bunk-house, there to be the center of a crowd of sarcastic cowpunchers. The remarks made concerning the Fishmobile were graphic if not flattering.
Much as Roy and Teddy wanted to talk to the visitors, they knew that they must continue preparations for the journey to Whirlpool River. It was nine-thirty now, and Nick had not yet returned. Mr. Manley was pacing about the yard nervously, anxious to get started.
Roy was currying Star over by the hitching rail at the side of the cook house. Suddenly he heard a voice that caused him to start. It came from behind the cooking shack, and Roy made as though to go forward, then thought again and remained where he was.
It was Gus Tripp talking. At first Roy did not recognize the tones of his companion, but as the other talked louder, he knew it to be The Pup. Gus seemed to be strangely insistent over something.
“No, sir,” he was saying. “Not me! Count me out! The boss only gave me what I deserved. I hit the bottle and got fired. All right. I got no kick comin’. I’m sorry I did it, but let that go. It’s all over now, and you can count me out of any scheme like that, Joe. I may be an idiot, but, by golly, I’m no polecat!”