They rode on quietly for some little while, each man busy with his own thoughts. The day was perfect--bright, with the tang of coming winter in the air. Everything seemed to be going perfectly--too perfectly, Roy thought, to last. There came vividly to him the memory of Professor Sullivan and of what the professor had heard the Leftons say: “--got ’em sewed up cold.” For all the beauty of the tall, imposing mountains surrounding them and the deep blue sky overhead, Roy found it hard to shake off a feeling of uneasiness. It appeared to him like the calm before a storm. He did not confide his fears to his father, however, for he realized that they were based on mere suspicion. “Trouble with me is, I think too much,” he said grimly to himself. “Chances are the Leftons and Mob Jamisson aren’t within miles of this place. Keeping out of sight of the sheriff, most likely. But if they wanted to, they sure could cause us plenty of trouble now.” This was no more than the truth. Anything can happen in round-up time, and it does not take much to cause it to happen. “Have to forget that stuff,” Roy thought, and chuckled. Teddy looked over at him. “Joke?” he asked. “No--just ideas. Hope Sing Lung has got some grub rustled for us when we get there. I’m hungry.” “What, again? Better save it till dinner. It’s a long time between meals out here. Well, a mile more, and we’ll arrive.” “Um, arrive. That’s a good word, too. Much more elegant than saying we’ll be there.” Teddy bowed mockingly, though it failed to impress Roy because Flash stepped into a badger hole at the moment and interrupted the gesture. “Nell likes big words, you know,” he said loftily, when he had straightened out the pony. “You should practice up a bit.” “Counting on Curley coming to the rodeo?” Roy asked innocently. “What for--to see me fall off? Hope not.” “Yes-s-s-s, you hope not! Hear that, Dad? He doesn’t want Curley to see him in the rodeo!” “That so, Son?” Mr. Manley said, grinning. “You’ve got to have someone to hand the first prize to. Might as well be Ethel.” “That doesn’t worry me,” Teddy laughed. “All the first prizes I get I’ll carry home in a handkerchief.” They now came in sight of the corral, or rather the corral they were to use as a base. The chuck wagon was already there, with smoke pouring out of the stack. “We eat, boys!” Mr. Manley called to those following. The breakfast at the ranch house had been a sketchy affair, and he felt, wisely, that a good meal would do more than anything else to urge the punchers on to their labors. As the riders spurred their horses forward, Sing Lung appeared at the door of the chuck wagon. “Come gettee!” he yelled. “An’ we will, brother--we will!” Nat Raymond shouted. The men dismounted, and, picketing their horses, crowded around the wagon. They realized that this was to be their last meal for a good many hours, and they were going to make the most of it. “What is it, Sing--stew?” “Bet it’s bean soup!”