“Don’t get funny,” Teddy advised, his eyes narrowing. “Roy and I both saw you here when we rode up. You know we tied the ponies to that hitching rail. And you’ve been here ever since. The broncs are gone. Who took them?” The cowboy removed the cigarette from his mouth and straightened. Then he hitched up his belt and faced Teddy. “Listen, kid,” he said slowly, “I don’t know nothin’ about yore horses. Mebby I was here all the time, an’ mebby I wasn’t. That’s my business. But get this straight! No baby is goin’ to order me around. I don’t know who you are, an’ I don’t give a hoot. I ain’t in the habit of mindin’ broncs, an’ you can pack that behind the rim of yore derby. Understand?” Deliberately he flicked his cigarette toward Teddy, sending a shower of sparks into the boy’s face. Turning abruptly he entered the restaurant. Eyes flashing, Teddy started forward. His father laid a hand on the boy’s arm. “Not here,” he said in a tense voice. “Don’t start a fight here. You know what Rimor’s is. We have women-folks along.” Unconsciously the man slid his hand to his side, where in the old days would have hung his gun. Now his hand came away empty. “All right, Dad--if you say so,” Teddy said through clenched teeth. “But I’ll remember that bird! I’ll remember him!” It was difficult for the boy to hold himself in check. He could not trust himself to say more. Roy hurried over to his brother. “Come on, Teddy. Let’s go,” he said evenly. “Maybe Foley can tell us something about the ponies.” At that moment the ticket agent came hurriedly across the street. “Somethin’ wrong, Bardwell?” he asked Mr. Manley. “Thought I heard your voice takin’ a work-out.” “You did,” Mr. Manley answered grimly. “Our hosses are gone.” “Sho!” Foley looked across to the hitching rail. “By golly, they are! I was outside and saw Teddy and Roy tie ’em up there, too! Now that’s right queer. Where you suppose they went?” “They didn’t _go_ no place, Hank! They were stolen!” “Sho! You don’t say! Stolen!” Foley gave a long whistle, and, removing his hat, scratched the bald spot on the top of his head. “Mighty queer how they could be stolen with so many people around. You ask anybody if they saw ’em?” Mr. Manley gave a short laugh. “I just had a sweet bit o’ conversation with one of your choice characters,” he said. “Puncher that was standin’ right here all the time an’ must have seen the broncs taken. He told us to go chase our own hosses.” “What did he look like?” Foley asked in an interested tone. “Tall, kind of stringy looking,” Teddy answered quickly. “Squint eyes. Checkered wool shirt. No vest. He’s inside Rimor’s now.” The ticket agent nodded sagely. “I know the waddy. Came to town about three days ago. Don’t know where he sleeps, but he spends most of his time hanging around Duck Rimor’s.” Teddy nodded. “Stranger here. From up around Montana, most likely. So he was nasty, hey?” “He wasn’t any too polite, from what I saw,” Roy broke in.