“Now, I don’t know,” Teddy replied slowly. “They’ve got some good punchers over on the 8 X 8. Way I figure it, those rustlers are mighty clever. They ride into a herd at night, cut out as many head as they can handle, and drive ’em away before the riders can get to them. But, by jinks, they’d better not try to get away with any of the X Bar X cattle! They’ll have one sweet fight on their hands if they do;” Teddy looked down at the side of his saddle where the insignia X--X, burned in the leather, could be plainly seen. The X Bar X was proud of its mark. It stood for many years of upright, square dealing. Pop Burns, the oldest hand on the X Bar X ranch, claimed that he had “invented” the brand for Temple Manley, the grandfather of Roy and Teddy. Pop was inordinately boastful of this distinction, which he had conferred on himself, and he never tired of telling newcomers how he had happened to hit on the device of the “two sawbucks with a piece of rail fence in between,” as he sometimes described it. So vain was he of the mark that he placed it on everything brandable--saddles, bridles, wagons, the autos, and all. Jim Casey claimed he had even caught Pop marking Jim’s fancy vest with the X Bar X, but this the veteran denied. “Yes, sir, there’ll certainly be something doing if those rustlers take any of our stuff,” Teddy went on. “Pop would be on their necks in a minute! I can just see the old geezer raving mad, and frothing around about: ‘Steal one of my brands, will ye? I’ll get ye fer that if it takes me ten years!’ Oh, baby!” and Teddy laughed. “That’s right!” Roy remarked. “But, say, I hope dad’s train is late. If it isn’t, we’ll never make it! Come on, let’s hit it up!” The boys urged the horses to a faster pace, and, somewhat winded, reached the station at Eagles in a cloud of dust, much of which clung to them and their mounts, where they slipped from the saddles with grunts of relief. They tied the three horses to a hitching rail not far from the station and concealed from the highway and the railroad office by a rough shack that served as freight and express depot. “Yep, she’s late, all right,” announced Foley, the ticket agent, as the boys tramped into the station. “All of thirty minutes behind time. Your dad’s comin’ today, ain’t he? I see you got General out there. Spotted him when ye swung around to tie up. That road to your place must be some dusty, with the wind blowin’ up your back, hey?” “I’ll tell a maverick it is!” agreed Roy, and then he and his brother, after a glance about the dingy waiting room, sauntered out to look over the town.