“Shake, Bug Eye,” he said solemnly. “You an’ me are together on that. I’m lookin’ fer that very same rattlesnake!” “What happened to you?” Bug Eye asked, in surprise. “Little accident,” and Gus grinned sardonically. “Accident caused by that hombre with the scar on his face you tell about bein’ interested in. He shot me.” “Yea? You don’t say! Well, by golly, we’ll get him! Shake!” “Here, we’re in on this!” Pop Burns cried, stepping forward. “He stole three of our best horses, each one with the purtiest X Bar X brand on it you ever see, ’cause I branded ’em myself!” “What do you say, boys?” Mr. Manley cried, turning to the punchers. “Do we go after ’em? Hey?” “You bet!” came his answer in a roaring chorus. “Let’s go! Nick, throw that mouth-organ of yours out the window! We got business!” “All right, boys! On our way!” There was a rush for the door. Decorations were scattered ruthlessly. Chairs were tossed aside. And where, but a moment before, was a crowd of jostling, happy, overdressed cowpunchers, now stood only Mrs. Manley, Belle, Ethel, Nell and Norine, looks of anxiety on their faces. Even Gus Tripp had gone with the rest. “Our evening dresses!” Ethel exclaimed mournfully. “We can say good-bye to them, I guess!” “You may get them back!” Belle insisted. “When dad goes after some one he usually lands him; doesn’t he, Mother?” Mrs. Manley did not reply. She stood twisting her handkerchief into a tight knot. In her heart was a prayer that her two boys and her husband would come through safely. Outside, Teddy, Roy, and the others were running for the corral. “Hold on! Wait a minute!” Mr. Manley called. “We can’t all go! Gus, where in thunder do you think you’re bound for? Come back here! Want to be in bed two days more?” “Aw, please, boss!” Gus coaxed. “I’m all right, honest! I want to get a crack at the guy who laid me up! Can’t I come, boss?” “No!” Mr. Manley said with finality. “You’re too good a man to lose. You get back into the house. Anyway, we have to keep some men here. Teddy, Roy, Nick, Pop, Jim, Bug Eye an’ I will do the chasin’. The rest of you punchers hang around here. Can’t tell but that Fr--I mean the thieves who stole the flivver--may have done it to draw us away from the X Bar X. We have to keep our heads up. They’re not goin’ to pull off any more robberies if I can help it! Climb aboard your broncs, boys, an’ let’s go! Nick, get a mount for Bug Eye.” Without stopping to change their resplendent attire for something more serviceable, the X Bar X punchers whom Mr. Manley had named flung themselves on to their horses. White shirt fronts stuck out grotesquely from vivid-colored vests. Green ties flaunted free in the night wind. “City trousers” tickled the horses’ sides. Yet from each belt hung a heavy revolver. “Step on it!” Mr. Manley yelled as they swept out of the yard. “All you’ve got, boys! Don’t waste any time! We’ll get those rustlers, or know the reason why! No slip-ups this time!”