CHAPTER IX

ROY MAKES A STATEMENT

Teddy and Roy Manley exchanged glances. Pop was, in effect, asking them to give their definite approval or disapproval of the rush toward the new gold fields. Whether or not the men would take their words to heart was another question. It might be that with a simple sentence they could stop the stampede and save the remainder of the men for the ranch.

But were they justified? Could they honestly say they knew the claims at Nugget Camp to be worthless and that the cowboys would only be wasting their time if they threw up their jobs and went mining? Could they?

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.”