Pop Burns’ expression changed. His eyes narrowed, and the lines about his mouth deepened. His hands clenched until they looked like solid balls of brown leather. “Suppose you just forget about that,” he said evenly, an unwonted dignity coming into the old man’s voice and manner. “Understand? We ain’t in the habit of talkin’ out in public about another man’s affairs. Gus was a friend of mine, I ain’t aimin’ to listen to a coyote like you makin’ fun of him. Get me?” The Pup started to reply, then took a second look at Pop’s face, and thought better of it. With an uneasy laugh he turned away and walked toward the corral, where his pony was tied. Pop motioned to Teddy, who was filling a can of flour some distance away. “Hear that?” Teddy nodded. “Some of it. I didn’t want to interfere, so I kept quiet. Dad wants The Pup off the place as soon as possible. He blames him for the whole affair.” “Yore dad’s right about that, Teddy. The Pup has got a streak of orneriness in him a yard wide. He ain’t no good to no one, least of all himself. Wouldn’t be surprised if we saw some more of him, at that, one way or another.” “You mean he’ll make trouble?” “Well, he ain’t appeared to be a dove of peace so far, has he?” Pop countered. “An’ he’ll not hang his tail between his laigs an’ run without one more nip at somebody. You mark my words! I knew them kind of waddies. Long ago, when yore grandpop was alive--an’ yore dad was only a shaver then, like you are--we had a cuss by the name of--” He broke off suddenly. “All right, boss! Comin’!” Pop called out, and he hurried off in response to Mr. Manley’s call. Teddy watched him disappear in the direction of the ranch house, then reflectively continued packing the can with flour. But as he worked with his hands, a frown came to his face. He was remembering Pop’s prophecy. It would be a shame if anything unpleasant happened now. Why, it was not so long ago that they had rescued Belle and Nell Willis and Ethel Carew from the kidnappers. How were the girls on the 8 X 8 getting on? Teddy wondered. He came to a sudden decision to ride over to Peter Ball’s place to visit them as soon as this business was over. Clamping the lid tight on the flour can, the boy thought of the cattle on Whirlpool River and of the absent Gus Tripp. “Mighty queer that Gus would go to pieces like that,” he muttered to himself. “There’s a reason behind it all, or I miss my guess. Gus sure looked downhearted when he rode out.”