CHAPTER VIII

POP LAYS DOWN THE LAW

Belle, Roy, and Teddy Manley rode into the ranch yard of the X Bar X. They had been away for three days, and Teddy looked about him to see if anything had changed--that gesture we all make when coming back to a place we love after being absent for even a short while. It is a gesture not so much of inquiry as of reassurance.

Yet, as his eyes searched the familiar outlines of the buildings, something did seem different. True, Sing Lung stood at the door of his cook house, a broad grin on his face. That grin was a permanent fixture. The corral, toward the rear, embraced with its wooden arms the usual number of horses. The ranch house offered a friendly welcome.

Yet, with all this, there was an air of strangeness about the place. Teddy sensed it, as did Roy and Belle. Yes, things _had_ changed.

“Howdy, Sing!” Teddy shouted. “What’s the good word?”

“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!”