“He won’t get far with Pop,” Mr. Manley chuckled. “Imagine Pop hearin’ anything against the X Bar X! Not him. Well, I guess that’s all, boys. I was hopin’ I could catch Gus and explain to him. The poor geezer must have been worried about something, or he never would have done a thing like he did.” “You’re right, Dad,” Teddy declared. “I noticed he hasn’t looked well for some time. Keeps talking about a letter all the while. Yep, it’s too bad. But it can’t be helped now.” “No,” and Mr. Manley sighed. Then he arose. “We got a job ahead of us to-morrow. Got to get those cows off Trummer’s land. I don’t want no man but me to feed my cattle. So be ready to start early. If you see Marino, you can tell him, for me, that the sooner he leaves the better I’ll like it.” Again Mr. Manley sighed. “But I sure wish it had been some one else besides Gus,” he added. CHAPTER V Guarded Words Sadly enough, however, it was Gus Tripp who was the storm center. This thing had been the only blot on his escutcheon during the three years he had worked for the X Bar X. Willingly would Mr. Manley have wiped it clean had Gus given him the opportunity. But the die was cast. Gus--he of the drawling speech and eyes which were wont to grow languid while Norine was near--had gone. No one gave much thought to Joe Marino, “The Pup.” Though he had worked for Bardwell Manley, somehow he had never become a part of the ranch, as the rest had. He was a man apart, neither seeking nor admitting intimate friendship. His fondness for the cup, alleged to cheer, was early discovered, but Mr. Manley was loath to discharge a man for a personal defect so long as it did not affect his work. Up to this time The Pup had been a lone drinker, but now, when it became necessary to send him forth because he shirked his job, he dragged one of the most popular boys on the ranch with him. Pop Burns was loud in his denunciation of the tempter. While the boys were saddling their broncos the next morning, preparing to head for Whirlpool River, the old man halted The Pup as he was lurching past toward the cook house. “You still eatin’ here?” he wanted to know. “I am. Anything to you?” The Pup’s eyes, red from the effect of the last night’s indiscretion, glared evilly. “Want to ask any more questions?” “Well, now, maybe jest one or two,” the veteran puncher said slowly. “First, where’d Gus duck to?” “How should I know? Think I’m his keeper?” “Keeper? Not any! I thought you pretended to be his friend, but I guess I was mistaken. Usually, when a man tells a fellow certain things, that other man kind of likes to keep track of his buddy.” “Hey? What do you mean--certain things? I don’t know nothin’ about Gus. He rode with me a few times, that’s all.” The Pup leered suggestively. “If you mean the letter he was waitin’ for from that skirt down Togas way, why--”