Soon after dinner they said good-bye to the girls and started. The ride home was uneventful, and they reached the ranch at four-thirty. As they drove the flivver into the yard they saw that their father was talking to a stranger down by the corral. When they had put the car away he called them over. “Boys, this is Mr. Peterson,” he said. “These are my two sons, Mr. Peterson--Teddy and Roy.” “Howdy!” the stranger greeted them. He offered his hand. The boys thought they had never shaken hands with a man who seemed so lacking in muscle. The hand was soft and flabby and limp. Mr. Peterson was short, but not plump. Somehow, he appeared unsubstantial, as though even a fair punch could knock him over. Neither Teddy nor Roy realized that they were thinking of punching in connection with Mr. Peterson. “He wants some of our dogies,” Mr. Manley continued. “Six hundred head, I think you said?” Roy started, as if the figure brought some thought to his memory. “Six hundred--that’s right,” Peterson replied. His voice was like his manner, querulous, overbearing. “Of the best you got.” “Don’t worry about that. What you pay for, you get,” Mr. Manley declared shortly. Teddy got the impression that he shared their dislike of the man. But business knows no likes or fancies. “There’s one condition, but don’t suppose it makes much difference to you,” Peterson said. “The firm I work for is in the habit of requiring the seller to post a forfeit, so we’ll sure get the cattle we bargain for. Just a matter of form--but the firm demands it. That’s all right with you, isn’t it?” “A forfeit?” Mr. Manley turned toward the boys. “Ever hear of that bein’ done before, Roy?” “Once in a while,” Roy answered. He looked at his father queerly. Why had he asked him a question the answer of which he must have known himself? “Once in a while, hey? Well, Mr. Peterson, I guess we can accommodate you. How much do you need?” “Five hundred,” Peterson declared. “You can put it in the bank at Eagles. Now that that’s settled, I’ll pay my deposit, just to make matters shipshape. Here’s five hundred on our part. That enough?” “Plenty. In fact, it isn’t necessary,” Mr. Manley said. “We do a great deal of business on trust out here. But you’re the doctor.” He thrust the roll of bills into his pocket. “Now where and when do you want these cattle shipped?” CHAPTER VII POP WAXES WROTH Peterson passed his hand over his chin as though he were thinking up the answer to this last question. But his hesitation was too obvious to be real. Roy knew he had made his choice long ago. “Know where Red Rock is?” he asked finally. “Sure,” replied Mr. Manley. “Jump-off place. Tracks run upgrade there. Pretty high, where the station is. Why?” “Thinkin’ I’d like the cattle delivered there. Railroad gave me an option on some box cars that are restin’ on a siding at Red Rock. Might as well use them--save money in the end. Well?”