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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4922-0.txt b/4922-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2603283 --- /dev/null +++ b/4922-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7941 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bar-20 Days, by Clarence E. Mulford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bar-20 Days + +Author: Clarence E. Mulford + +Release Date: April 22, 2006 [EBook #4922] +Last Updated: March 16, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BAR-20 DAYS *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers + + + + + +BAR-20 DAYS + +By Clarence E. Mulford + + + +AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO “M. D.” + + + + + +BAR-20 DAYS + + + +CHAPTER I + +ON A STRANGE RANGE + +Two tired but happy punchers rode into the coast town and dismounted in +front of the best hotel. Putting up their horses as quickly as possible +they made arrangements for sleeping quarters and then hastened out to +attend to business. Buck had been kind to delegate this mission to them +and they would feel free to enjoy what pleasures the town might afford. +While at that time the city was not what it is now, nevertheless it was +capable of satisfying what demands might be made upon it by two very +active and zealous cow-punchers. Their first experience began as they +left the hotel. + +“Hey, you cow-wrastlers!” said a not unpleasant voice, and they turned +suspiciously as it continued: “You've shore got to hang up them guns +with the hotel clerk while you cavorts around on this range. This is +_fence_ country.” + +They regarded the speaker's smiling face and twinkling eyes and laughed. +“Well, yo're the foreman if you owns that badge,” grinned Hopalong, +cheerfully. “We don't need no guns, nohow, in this town, we don't. +Plumb forgot we was toting them. But mebby you can tell us where lawyer +Jeremiah T. Jones grazes in daylight?” + +“Right over yonder, second floor,” replied the marshal. “An' come +to think of it, mebby you better leave most of yore cash with the +guns--somebody'll take it away from you if you don't. It'd be an awful +temptation, an' flesh is weak.” + +“Huh!” laughed Johnny, moving back into the hotel to leave his gun, +closely followed by Hopalong. “Anybody that can turn that little trick +on me an' Hoppy will shore earn every red cent; why, we've been to +Kansas City!” + +As they emerged again Johnny slapped his pocket, from which sounded a +musical jingling. “If them weak people try anything on us, we may come +between them and _their_ money!” he boasted. + +“From the bottom of my heart I pity you,” called the marshal, watching +them depart, a broad smile illuminating his face. “In about twenty-four +hours they'll put up a holler for me to go git it back for 'em,” he +muttered. “An' I almost believe I'll do it, too. I ain't never seen none +of that breed what ever left a town without empty pockets an' aching +heads--an' the smarter they think they are the easier they fall.” A +fleeting expression of discontent clouded the smile, for the lure of the +open range is hard to resist when once a man has ridden free under +its sky and watched its stars. “An' I wish I was one of 'em again,” he +muttered, sauntering on. + +Jeremiah T. Jones, Esq., was busy when his door opened, but he leaned +back in his chair and smiled pleasantly at their bow-legged entry, +waving them towards two chairs. Hopalong hung his sombrero on a letter +press and tipped his chair back against the wall; Johnny hung grimly to +his hat, sat stiffly upright until he noticed his companion's pose, +and then, deciding that everything was all right, and that Hopalong was +better up in etiquette than himself, pitched his sombrero dexterously +over the water pitcher and also leaned against the wall. Nobody could +lose him when it came to doing the right thing. + +“Well, gentlemen, you look tired and thirsty. This is considered good +for all human ailments of whatsoever nature, degree, or wheresoever +located, in part or entirety, _ab initio_,” Mr. Jones remarked, filling +glasses. There was no argument and when the glasses were empty, he +continued: “Now what can I do for you? From the Bar-20? Ah, yes; I was +expecting you. We'll get right at it,” and they did. Half an hour later +they emerged on the street, free to take in the town, or to have the +town take them in,--which was usually the case. + +“What was that he said for us to keep away from?” asked Johnny with keen +interest. + +“Sh! Not so loud,” chuckled Hopalong, winking prodigiously. + +Johnny pulled tentatively at his upper lip but before he could reply his +companion had accosted a stranger. + +“Friend, we're pilgrims in a strange land, an' we don't know the trails. +Can you tell us where the docks are?” + +“Certainly; glad to. You'll find them at the end of this street,” and he +smilingly waved them towards the section of the town which Jeremiah T. +Jones had specifically and earnestly warned them to avoid. + +“Wonder if you're as thirsty as me?” solicitously inquired Hopalong of +his companion. + +“I was just wondering the same,” replied Johnny. “Say,” he confided in +a lower voice, “blamed if I don't feel sort of lost without that Colt. +Every time I lifts my right laig she goes too high--don't feel natural, +nohow.” + +“Same here; I'm allus feeling to see if I lost it,” Hopalong responded. +“There ain't no rubbing, no weight, nor nothing.” + +“Wish I had something to put in its place, blamed if I don't.” + +“Why, now yo're talking--mebby we can buy something,” grinned Hopalong, +happily. “Here's a hardware store--come on in.” + +The clerk looked up and laid aside his novel. “Good-morning, gentlemen; +what can I do for you? We've just got in some fine new rifles,” he +suggested. + +The customers exchanged looks and it was Hopalong who first found his +voice. “Nope, don't want no rifles,” he replied, glancing around. +“To tell the truth, I don't know just what we do want, but we want +something, all right--got to have it. It's a funny thing, come to think +of it; I can't never pass a hardware store without going in an' buying +something. I've been told my father was the same way, so I must inherit +it. It's the same with my pardner, here, only he gets his weakness from +his whole family, and it's different from mine. He can't pass a saloon +without going in an' buying something.” + +“Yo're a cheerful liar, an' you know it,” retorted Johnny. “You know the +reason why I goes in saloons so much--you'd never leave 'em if I didn't +drag you out. He inherits that weakness from his grandfather, twice +removed,” he confided to the astonished clerk, whose expression didn't +know what to express. + +“Let's see: a saw?” soliloquized Hopalong. “Nope; got lots of 'em, an' +they're all genuine Colts,” he mused thoughtfully. “Axe? Nails? Augurs? +Corkscrews? Can we use a corkscrew, Johnny? Ah, thought I'd wake you up. +Now, what was it Cookie said for us to bring him? Bacon? Got any bacon? +Too bad--oh, don't apologize; it's all right. Cold chisels--that's the +thing if you ain't got no bacon. Let me see a three-pound cold chisel +about as big as that,”--extending a huge and crooked forefinger,--“an' +with a big bulge at one end. Straight in the middle, circling off into +a three-cornered wavy edge on the other side. What? Look here! You can't +tell us nothing about saloons that we don't know. I want a three-pound +cold chisel, any kind, so it's cold.” + +Johnny nudged him. “How about them wedges?” + +“Twenty-five cents a pound,” explained the clerk, groping for his +bearings. + +“They might do,” Hopalong muttered, forcing the article mentioned into +his holster. “Why, they're quite hocus-pocus. You take the brother to +mine, Johnny.” + +“Feels good, but I dunno,” his companion muttered. “Little wide at the +sharp end. Hey, got any loose shot?” he suddenly asked, whereat Hopalong +beamed and the clerk gasped. It didn't seem to matter whether they +bought bacon, cold chisels, wedges, or shot; yet they looked sober. + +“Yes, sir; what size?” + +“Three pounds of shot, I said!” Johnny rumbled in his throat. “Never +mind what size.” + +“We never care about size when we buy shot,” Hopalong smiled. “But, +Johnny, wouldn't them little screws be better?” he asked, pointing +eagerly. + +“Mebby; reckon we better get 'em mixed--half of each,” Johnny gravely +replied. “Anyhow, there ain't much difference.” + +The clerk had been behind that counter for four years, and executing +and filling orders had become a habit with him; else he would have given +them six pounds of cold chisels and corkscrews, mixed. His mouth was +still open when he weighed out the screws. + +“Mix 'em! Mix 'em!” roared Hopalong, and the stunned clerk complied, and +charged them for the whole purchase at the rate set down for screws. + +Hopalong started to pour his purchase into the holster which, being open +at the bottom, gayly passed the first instalment through to the floor. +He stopped and looked appealingly at Johnny, and Johnny, in pain from +holding back screams of laughter, looked at him indignantly. Then a +guileless smile crept over Hopalong's face and he stopped the opening +with a wad of wrapping paper and disposed of the shot and screws, Johnny +following his laudable example. After haggling a moment over the bill +they paid it and walked out, to the apparent joy of the clerk. + +“Don't laugh, Kid; you'll spoil it all,” warned Hopalong, as he noted +signs of distress on his companion's face. “Now, then; what was it we +said about thirst? Come on; I see one already.” + +Having entered the saloon and ordered, Hopalong beamed upon the +bartender and shoved his glass back again. “One more, kind stranger; +it's good stuff.” + +“Yes, feels like a shore-enough gun,” remarked Johnny, combining two +thoughts in one expression, which is brevity. + +The bartender looked at him quickly and then stood quite still and +listened, a puzzled expression on his face. + +_Tic--tickety-tick--tic-tic_, came strange sounds from the other side of +the bar. Hopalong was intently studying a chromo on the wall and Johnny +gazed vacantly out of the window. + +“What's that? What in the deuce is that?” quickly demanded the man with +the apron, swiftly reaching for his bung-starter. + +_Tickety-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic_, the noise went on, and Hopalong, slowly +rolling his eyes, looked at the floor. A screw rebounded and struck his +foot, while shot were rolling recklessly. + +“Them's making the noise,” Johnny explained after critical survey. + +“Hang it! I knowed we ought to 'a' got them wedges!” Hopalong exclaimed, +petulantly, closing the bottom of the sheath. “Why, I won't have no gun +left soon 'less I holds it in.” The complaint was plaintive. + +“Must be filtering through the stopper,” Johnny remarked. “But don't it +sound nice, especially when it hits that brass cuspidor!” + +The bartender, grasping the mallet even more firmly, arose on his toes +and peered over the bar, not quite sure of what he might discover. He +had read of infernal machines although he had never seen one. “What the +blazes!” he exclaimed in almost a whisper; and then his face went hard. +“You get out of here, quick! You've had too much already! I've seen +drunks, but--G'wan! Get out!” + +“But we ain't begun yet,” Hopalong interposed hastily. “You see--” + +“Never mind what I see! I'd hate to see what you'll be seeing before +long. God help you when you finish!” rather impolitely interrupted the +bartender. He waved the mallet and made for the end of the counter with +no hesitancy and lots of purpose in his stride. “G'wan, now! Get out!” + +“Come on, Johnny; I'd shoot him only we didn't put no powder with the +shot,” Hopalong remarked sadly, leading the way out of the saloon and +towards the hardware store. + +“You better get out!” shouted the man with the mallet, waving the weapon +defiantly. “An' don't you never come back again, neither,” he warned. + +“Hey, it leaked,” Hopalong said pleasantly as he closed the door of the +hardware store behind him, whereupon the clerk jumped and reached for +the sawed-off shotgun behind the counter. Sawed-off shotguns are great +institutions for arguing at short range, almost as effective as dynamite +in clearing away obstacles. + +“Don't you come no nearer!” he cried, white of face. “You git out, or +I'll let _this_ leak, an' give you _all_ shot, an' more than you can +carry!” + +“Easy! Easy there, pardner; we want them wedges,” Hopalong replied, +somewhat hurriedly. “The others ain't no good; I choked on the very +first screw. Why, I wouldn't hurt you for the world,” Hopalong assured +him, gazing interestedly down the twin tunnels. + +Johnny leaned over a nail keg and loosed the shot and screws into it, +smiling with childlike simplicity as he listened to the tintinnabulation +of the metal shower among the nails. “It _does_ drop when you let go of +it,” he observed. + +“Didn't I tell you it would? I allus said so,” replied Hopalong, looking +back to the clerk and the shotgun. “Didn't I, stranger?” + +The clerk's reply was a guttural rumbling, ninety per cent profanity, +and Hopalong, nodding wisely, picked up two wedges. “Johnny, here's yore +gun. If this man will stop talking to hisself and drop that lead-sprayer +long enough to take our good money, we'll wear em.” + +He tossed a gold coin on the table, and the clerk, still holding tightly +to the shotgun, tossed the coin into the cash box and cautiously +slid the change across the counter. Hopalong picked up the money and, +emptying his holster into the nail keg, followed his companion to +the street, in turn followed slowly by the suspicious clerk. The door +slammed shut behind them, the bolt shot home, and the clerk sat down on +a box and cogitated. + +Hopalong hooked his arm through Johnny's and started down the street. “I +wonder what that feller thinks about us, anyhow. I'm glad Buck sent Red +over to El Paso instead of us. Won't he be mad when we tell him all the +fun we've had?” he asked, grinning broadly. + +They were to meet Red at Dent's store on the way back and ride home +together. + + + +They were strangely clad for their surroundings, the chaps glaringly out +of place in the Seaman's Port, and winks were exchanged by the regular +_habitues_ when the two punchers entered the room and called for drinks. +They were very tired and a little under the weather, for they had made +the most of their time and spent almost all of their money; but any one +counting on robbing them would have found them sober enough to look out +for themselves. Night had found them ready to go to the hotel, but on +the way they felt that they must have one more bracer, and finish their +exploration of Jeremiah T. Jones' tabooed section. The town had begun to +grow wearisome and they were vastly relieved when they realized that the +rising sun would see them in the saddle and homeward bound, headed for +God's country, which was the only place for cow-punchers after all. + +“Long way from the home port, ain't you, mates?” queried a tar of +Hopalong. Another seaman went to the bar to hold a short, whispered +consultation with the bartender, who at first frowned and then finally +nodded assent. + +“Too far from home, if that's what yo're driving at,” Hopalong replied. +“Blast these hard trails--my feet are shore on the prod. Ever meet my +side pardner? Johnny, here's a friend of mine, a salt-water puncher, an' +he's welcome to the job, too.” + +Johnny turned his head ponderously and nodded. “Pleased to meet you, +stranger. An' what'll you all have?” + +“Old Holland, mate,” replied the other, joining them. + +“All up!” invited Hopalong, waving them forward. “Might as well do +things right or not at all. Them's my sentiments, which I holds +as proper. Plain rye, general, if you means me,” he replied to the +bartender's look of inquiry. + +He drained the glass and then made a grimace. “Tastes a little +off--reckon it's my mouth; nothing tastes right in this cussed town. +Now, up on our--” He stopped and caught at the bar. “Holy smoke! That's +shore alcohol!” + +Johnny was relaxing and vainly trying to command his will power. +“Something's wrong; what's the matter?” he muttered sleepily. + +“Guess you meant beer; you ain't used to drinking whiskey,” grinned the +bartender, derisively, and watching him closely. + +“I can--drink as much whiskey as--” and, muttering, Johnny slipped to +the floor. + +“That wasn't whiskey!” cried Hopalong, sleepily, “that liquor was +_fixed_!” he shouted, sudden anger bracing him. “An' I'm going to fix +_you_, too!” he added, reaching for his gun, and drawing forth a wedge. +His sailor friend leaped at him, to go down like a log, and Hopalong, +seething with rage, wheeled and threw the weapon at the man behind the +bar, who also went down. The wedge, glancing from his skull, swept a row +of bottles and glasses from the shelf and, caroming, went through the +window. + +In an instant Hopalong was the vortex of a mass of struggling men +and, handicapped as he was, fought valiantly, his rage for the time +neutralizing the effects of the drug. But at last, too sleepy to stand +or think, he, too, went down. + +“By the Lord, that man's a fighter!” enthusiastically remarked the +leader, gently touching his swollen eye. “George must 'a' put an awful +dose in that grog.” + +“Lucky for us he didn't have no gun--the wedge was bad enough,” groaned +a man on the floor, slowly sitting up. “Whoever swapped him that wedge +for his gun did us a good turn, all right.” + +A companion tentatively readjusted his lip. “I don't envy Wilkins his +job breaking in that man when he gets awake.” + +“Don't waste no time, mates,” came the order. “Up with 'em an' aboard. +We've done our share; let the mate do his, an' be hanged. Hullo, +Portsmouth; coming around, eh?” he asked the man who had first felt the +wedge. “I was scared you was done for that time.” + +“No more shanghaiing hair pants for me, no more!” thickly replied +Portsmouth. “Oh, my head, it's bust open!” + +“Never mind about the bartender--let him alone; we can't waste no time +with him now!” commanded the leader sharply. “Get these fellers on board +before we're caught with 'em. We want our money after that.” + +“All clear!” came a low call from the lookout at the door, and soon a +shadowy mass surged across the street and along a wharf. There was a +short pause as a boat emerged out of the gloom, some whispered orders, +and then the squeaking of oars grew steadily fainter in the direction of +a ship which lay indistinct in the darkness. + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE REBOUND + +A man moaned and stirred restlessly in a bunk, muttering incoherently. +A stampeded herd was thundering over him, the grinding hoofs beating him +slowly to death. He saw one mad steer stop and lower its head to gore +him and just as the sharp horns touched his skin, he awakened. Slowly +opening his bloodshot eyes he squinted about him, sick, weak, racking +with pain where heavy shoes had struck him in the melee, his head +reverberating with roars which seemed almost to split it open. Slowly he +regained his full senses and began to make out his surroundings. He +was in a bunk which moved up and down, from side to side, and was never +still. There was a small, round window near his feet--thank heaven it +was open, for he was almost suffocated by the foul air and the heat. +Where was he? What had happened? Was there a salty odor in the air, or +was he still dreaming? Painfully raising himself on one elbow he looked +around and caught sight of a man in the bunk across. It was Johnny +Nelson! Then, bit by bit, the whole thing came to him and he cursed +heartily as he reviewed it and reached the only possible conclusion. +He was at sea! He, Hopalong Cassidy, the best fighting unit of a good +fighting outfit, shanghaied and at sea! Drugged, beaten, and stolen to +labor on a ship. + +Johnny was muttering and moaning and Hopalong slowly climbed out of the +narrow bunk, unsteadily crossed the moving floor, and shook him. “Reckon +he's in a stampede, too!” he growled. “They shore raised h--l with us. +Oh, what a beating we got! But we'll pass it along with trimmings.” + +Johnny's eyes opened and he looked around in confusion. “Wha', +Hopalong!” + +“Yes; it's me, the prize idiot of a blamed good pair of 'em. How'd you +feel?” + +“Sleepy an' sick. My eyes ache an' my head's splitting. Where's Buck an' +the rest?” + +Hopalong sat down on the edge of the bunk and sore luridly, eloquently, +beautifully, with a fervor and polish which left nothing to be desired +in that line, and caused his companion to gaze at him in astonishment. + +“I had a mighty bad dream, but you must 'a' had one a whole lot worse, +to listen to you,” Johnny remarked. “Gee, you're going some! What's the +matter with you. You sick, too?” + +Thereupon Hopalong unfolded the tale of woe and when Johnny had +grasped its import and knew that his dream had been a stern reality, he +straightway loosed his vocabulary and earned a draw. “Well, I'm going +back again,” he finished, with great decision, arising to make good his +assertion. + +“Swim or walk?” asked Hopalong nonchalantly. + +“Huh! Oh, Lord!” + +“Well, I ain't going to either swim or walk,” Hopalong soliloquized. +“I'm just going to stay right here in this one-by-nothing cellar an' +spoil the health an' good looks of any pirate that comes down that +ladder to get me out.” He looked around, interested in life once more, +and his trained eye grasped the strategic worth of their position. “Only +one at a time, an' down that ladder,” he mused, thoughtfully. “Why, +Johnny, we owns this range as long as we wants to. They can't get us +out. But, say, if only we had our guns!” he sighed, regretfully. + +“You're right as far as you go; but you don't go to the eating part. +We'll starve, an' we ain't got no water. I can drink about a bucketful +right now,” moodily replied his companion. + +“Well, yo're right; but mebby we can find food an' water.” + +“Don't see no signs of none. Hey!” Johnny exclaimed, smiling faintly +in his misery. “Let's get busy an' burn the cussed thing up! Got any +matches?” + +“First you want to drown yoreself swimming, an' now you want to roast +the pair of us to death,” Hopalong retorted, eyeing the rear wall of the +room. “Wonder what's on the other side of that partition?” + +Johnny looked. “Why, water; an' lots of it, too.” + +“Naw; the water is on the other sides.” + +“Then how do I know?--sh! I hear somebody coming on the roof.” + +“Tumble back in yore bunk--quick!” Hopalong hurriedly whispered. “Be +asleep--if he comes down here it'll be our deal.” + +The steps overhead stopped at the companionway and a shadow appeared +across the small patch of sunlight on the floor of the forecastle. +“Tumble up here, you blasted loafers!” roared a deep voice. + +No reply came from the forecastle--the silence was unbroken. + +“If I have to come down there I'll--” the first mate made promises in no +uncertain tones and in very impolite language. He listened for a moment, +and having very good ears and hearing nothing, made more promises and +came down the ladder quickly and nimbly. + +“_I'll_ bring you to,” he muttered, reaching a brawny hand for +Hopalong's nose, and missing. But he made contact with his own face, +which stopped a short-arm blow from the owner of the aforesaid nose, a +jolt full of enthusiasm and purpose. Beautiful and dazzling flashes of +fire filled the air and just then something landed behind his ear and +prolonged the pyrotechnic display. When the skyrockets went up he lost +interest in the proceedings and dropped to the floor like a bag of meal. + +Hopalong cut another piece from the rope in his hand and watched his +companion's busy fingers. “Tie him good, Johnny; he's the only ace we've +drawn in this game so far, an' we mustn't lose him.” + +Johnny tied an extra knot for luck and leaned forward, his eyes riveted +on the bump under the victim's coat. His darting hand brought into sight +that which pleased him greatly. “Oh, joy! Here, Hoppy; you take it.” + +Hopalong turned the weapon over in his hand, spun the cylinder and +gloated, the clicking sweet music to his ears. “Plumb full, too! I never +reckoned I'd ever be so tickled over a snub-nosed gun like this--but I +feel like singing!” + +“An' I feel like dying,” grunted Johnny, grabbing at his stomach. “If +the blamed shack would only stand still!” he groaned, gazing at the +floor with strong disgust. “I don't reckon I've ever been so blamed sick +in all my--” the sentence was unfinished, for the open porthole caught +his eye and he leaped forward to use it for a collar. + +Hopalong gazed at him in astonishment and sudden pity took possession of +him as his pallid companion left the porthole and faced him. + +“You ought to have something to eat, Kid--I'm purty hungry myself--what +the blazes!” he exclaimed, for Johnny's protesting wail was finished +outside the port. Then a light broke upon him and he wondered how soon +it would be his turn to pay tribute to Neptune. + +“Mr. Wilkins!” shouted a voice from the deck, and Hopalong moved back +a step. “Mr. Wilkins!” After a short silence the voice soliloquized: +“Guess he changed his mind about it; I'll get 'em up for him,” and feet +came into view. When halfway down the ladder the second mate turned his +head and looked blankly down a gun barrel while a quiet but angry voice +urged him further: “Keep a-coming, keep a-coming!” The second mate +complained, but complied. + +“Stick 'em up higher--now, Johnny, wobble around behind the nice man an' +take _his_ gun--you shut yore yap! I'm bossing this trick, not you. Got +it, Kid? There's the rope--that's right. Nobody'd think you sick to see +you work. Well, that's a good draw; but it's only a pair of aces against +a full, at that. Wonder who'll be the next. Hope it's the foreman.” + +Johnny, keeping up by sheer grit, pointed to the rear wall. “What about +that?” + +For reply his companion walked over to it, put his shoulder to it and +pushed. He stepped back and hurled his weight against it, but it was +firm despite its squeaking protest. Then he examined it foot by foot and +found a large knot, which he drove in by a blow of the gun. Bending, he +squinted through the opening for a full minute and then reported: + +“Purty black in there at this end, but up at the other there's a light +from a hole in the roof, an' I could see boxes an' things like that. I +reckon it's the main cellar.” + +“If we could get out at the other end with that gun you've got we could +raise blazes for a while,” suggested Johnny. “Anyhow, mebby they can +come at us that way when they find out what we've gone an' done.” + +“Yo're right,” Hopalong replied, looking around. Seeing an iron bar +he procured it and, pushing it through the knot hole in the partition, +pulled. The board, splitting and cracking under the attack, finally +broke from its fastenings with a sharp report, and Hopalong, pulling it +aside, stepped out of sight of his companion. Johnny was grinning at the +success of his plan when he was interrupted. + +“Ahoy, down there!” yelled a stentorian voice from above. “Mr. Wilkins! +What the devil are you doing so long?” and after a very short wait other +feet came into sight. Just then the second mate, having managed to slip +off the gag, shouted warning: + +“Look out, Captain! They've got us and our guns! One of them has--” but +Johnny's knee thudded into his chest and ended the sentence as a bullet +sent a splinter flying from under the captain's foot. + +“Hang these guns!” Johnny swore, and quickly turned to secure the gag +in the mouth of the offending second mate. “You make any more yaps like +that an' I'll wing you for keeps with yore own gun!” he snapped. “We're +caught in yore trap an' we'll fight to a finish. You'll be the first to +go under if you gets any smart.” + +“Ahoy, men!” roared the captain in a towering rage, dancing frantically +about on the deck and shouting for the crew to join him. He filled the +air with picturesque profanity and stamped and yelled in passion at such +rank mutiny. + +“Hand grenades! Hand grenades!” he cried. Then he remembered that his +two mates were also below and would share in the mutineers' fate, and +his rage increased at his galling helplessness. When he had calmed +sufficiently to think clearly he realized that it was certain death for +any one to attempt going down the ladder, and that his must be a waiting +game. He glanced at his crew, thirteen good men, all armed with windlass +bars and belaying pins, and gave them orders. Two were to watch the +hatch and break the first head to appear, while the others returned to +work. Hunger and thirst would do the rest. And what joy would be his +when they were forced to surrender! + +Hopalong groped his way slowly towards the patch of light, barking his +shins, stumbling and falling over the barrels and crates and finally, +losing his footing at a critical moment, tumbled down upon a box marked +“Cotton.” There was a splintering crash and the very faint clink of +metal. Dazed and bruised, he sat up and felt of himself--and found that +he had lost his gun in the fall. + +“Now, where in blazes did it fly to?” he muttered angrily, peering +about anxiously. His eyes suddenly opened their widest and he stared in +surprise at a field gun which covered him; and then he saw parts of two +more. + +“Good Lord! Is this a gunboat?” he cried. “Are we up against bluejackets +an' Uncle Sam?” He glanced quickly back the way he had come when he +heard Johnny's shot, but he could see nothing. He figured that Johnny +had sense enough to call for help if he needed it, and put that +possibility out of his mind. “Naw, this ain't no gunboat--the Government +don't steal men; it enlists 'em. But it's a funny pile of junk, all the +same. Where in blazes is that toy gun? _Well_, I'll be hanged!” and he +plunged toward the “Cotton” box he had burst in his descent, and worked +at it frantically. + +“Winchesters! Winchesters!” he cried, dragging out two of them. “Whoop! +Now for the cartridges--there shore must be some to go with these +guns!” He saw a keg marked “Nails,” and managed to open it after great +labor--and found it full of army Colts. Forcing down the desire to turn +a handspring, he slipped one of the six-shooters in his empty holster +and patted it lovingly. “Old friend, I'm shore glad to see you, all +right. You've been used, but that don't make no difference.” Searching +further, he opened a full box of _machetes_, and soon after found +cartridges of many kinds and calibres. It took him but a few minutes to +make his selection and cram his pockets with them. Then he filled two +Colts and two Winchesters--and executed a short jig to work off the +dangerous pressure of his exuberance. + +“But what an unholy lot of weapons,” he soliloquized on his way back to +Johnny. “An' they're all second-hand. Cannons, too--an' _machetes_!” he +exclaimed, suddenly understanding. “Jumping Jerusalem!--a filibustering +expedition bound for Cuba, or one of them wildcat republics down south! +Oh, ho, my friends; I see where you have bit off more'n you can chew.” + In his haste to impart the joyous news to his companion, he barked his +shins shamefully. + +“'Way down south in the land o' cotton, cinnamon seed an''--whoa, blast +you!” and Hopalong stuck his head through the opening in the partition +and grinned. “Heard you shoot, Kid; I reckoned you might need me--an' +these!” he finished, looking fondly upon the weapons as he shoved them +into the forecastle. + +Johnny groaned and held his stomach, but his eyes lighted up when he saw +the guns, and he eagerly took one of each kind, a faint smile wreathing +his lips. “Now we'll show these water snakes what kind of men they +stole,” he threatened. + +Up on the deck the choleric captain still stamped and swore, and his +crew, with well-concealed mirth, went about their various duties as +if they were accustomed to have shanghaied men act this way. They +sympathized with the unfortunate pair, realizing how they themselves +would feel if shanghaied to break broncos. + +Hogan, A. B., stated the feelings of his companions very well in his +remarks to the men who worked alongside: “In me hear-rt I'm dommed glad +av it, Yensen. I hope they bate the old man at his own game. 'T is a +shame in these days for honest men to be took in that unlawful way. I've +heard me father tell of the press gangs on the other side, an' 't is +small business.” + +Yensen looked up to reply, chanced to glance aft, and dropped his +calking iron in his astonishment. “Yumping Yimminy! Luk at dat fallar!” + +Hogan looked. “The deuce! That's a man after me own heat-rt! Kape yore +pagan mouth shut! If ye take a hand agin 'em I'll swab up the deck wid +yez. G'wan wor-rking like a sane man, ye ijit!” + +“Ay ent ban fight wit dat fallar! Luk at the gun!” + +A man had climbed out of the after hatch and was walking rapidly towards +them, a rifle in his hands, while at his thigh swung a Colt. He watched +the two seamen closely and caught sight of Hogan's twinkling blue eyes, +and a smile quivered about his mouth. Hogan shut and opened one eye and +went on working. + +As soon as Hopalong caught sight of the captain, the rifle went up and +he announced his presence without loss of time. “Throw up yore hands, +you pole-cat! I'm running this ranch from now on!” + +The captain wheeled with a jerk and his mouth opened, and then clicked +shut as he started forward, his rage acting galvanically. But he stopped +quickly enough when he looked down the barrel of the Winchester and +glared at the cool man behind it. + +“What the blank are you doing?” he yelled. + +“Well, I ain't kidnapping cow-punchers to steal my boat,” replied +Hopalong. “An' you fellers stand still or I'll drop you cold!” he +ordered to the assembled and restless crew. “Johnny!” he shouted, and +his companion popped up through the hatch like a jack-in-the-box. +“Good boy, Johnny. Tie this coyote foreman like you did the others,” he +ordered. While Johnny obeyed, Hopalong looked around the circle, and +his eyes rested on Hogan's face, studying it, and found something there +which warmed his heart. “Friend, do you know the back trail? Can you +find that runt of a town we left?” + +“Aye, aye.” + +“Shore, you; who'd you think I was talking to? Can you find the way +back, the way we came?” + +“Shure an' I can that, if I'm made to.” + +“You'll swing for mutiny if you do, you bilge-wallering pirate!” roared +the trussed captain. “Take that gun away from him, d'ye hear!” he yelled +at the crew. “I'm captain of this ship, an' I'll hang every last one of +you if you don't obey orders! This is mutiny!” + +“You won't do no hanging with that load of weapons below!” retorted +Hopalong. “Uncle Sam is looking for filibusters--this here gun is +'cotton,'” he said, grinning. He turned to the crew. “But you fellers +are due to get shot if you sees her through,” he added. + +“I'm captain of this ship--” began the helpless autocrat. + +“You shore look like it, all right,” Hopalong replied, smiling. “If +yo're the captain you order her turned around and headed over the back +trail, or I'll drop you overboard off yore own ship!” Then fierce anger +at the thought of the indignities and injuries he and his companion had +suffered swept over him and prompted a one-minute speech which left +no doubt as to what he would do if his demand was not complied with. +Johnny, now free to watch the crew, added a word or two of endorsement, +and he acted a little as if he rather hoped it would not be complied +with: he itched for an excuse. + +The captain did some quick thinking; the true situation could not be +disguised, and with a final oath of rage he gave in. “'Bout ship, Hogan; +nor' by nor'west,” he growled, and the seaman started away to execute +the command, but was quickly stopped by Hopalong. + +“Hogan, is that right?” he demanded. “No funny business, or we'll clean +up the whole bunch, an' blamed quick, too!” + +“That's the course, sor. That's the way back to town. I can navigate, +an' me orders are plain. Ye're Irish, by the way av ye, and 't is back +to town ye go, sor!” He turned to the crew: “Stand by, me boys.” And in +a short time the course was nor' by nor'west. + +The return journey was uneventful and at nightfall the ship lay at +anchor off the low Texas coast, and a boat loaded with men grounded on +the sandy beach. Four of them arose and leaped out into the mild surf +and dragged the boat as high up on the sand as it would go. Then the +two cow-punchers followed and one of them gave a low-spoken order to the +Irishman at his side. + +“Yes, sor,” replied Hogan, and hastened to help the captain out onto the +sand and to cut the ropes which bound him. “Do ye want the mates, too, +sor?” he asked, glancing at the trussed men in the boat. + +“No; the foreman's enough,” Hopalong responded, handing his weapons to +Johnny and turning to face the captain, who was looking into Johnny's +gun as he rubbed his arms to restore perfect circulation. + +“Now, you flat-faced coyote, yo're going to get the beating of yore +life, an' I'm going to give it to you!” Hopalong cried, warily advancing +upon the man whom he held to be responsible for the miseries of the past +twenty-four hours. “You didn't give me a square deal, but I'm man enough +to give you one! When you drug an' steal any more cow-punchers--” action +stopped his words. + +It was a great fight. A filibustering sea captain is no more peaceful +than a wild boar and about as dangerous; and while this one was not at +his best, neither was Hopalong. The latter luckily had acquired some +knowledge of the rudiments of the game and had the vigor of youth to +oppose to the captain's experience and his infuriated but well-timed +rushes. The seamen, for the honor of their calling and perhaps with a +mind to the future, cheered on the captain and danced up and down in +their delight and excitement. They had a lot of respect for the prowess +of their master, and for the man who could stand up against him in a +fair and square fist fight. To give assistance to either in a fair fight +was not to be thought of, and Johnny's gun was sufficient after-excuse +for non-interference. + +The _sop! sop!_ of the punishing blows as they got home and the steady +circling of Hopalong in avoiding the dangerous attacks, went on minute +after minute. Slowly the captain's strength was giving out, and he +resorted to trickery as his last chance. Retreating, he half raised his +arms and lowered them as if weary, ready as a cat to strike with all +his weight if the other gave an opening. It ought to have worked--it had +worked before--but Hopalong was there to win, and without the momentary +hesitation of the suspicious fighter he followed the retreat and his +hard hand flashed in over the captain's guard a fraction of a second +sooner than that surprised gentleman anticipated. The ferocious frown +gave way to placid peace and the captain reclined at the feet of the +battered victor, who stood waiting for him to get up and fight. The +captain lay without a sign of movement and as Hopalong wondered, Hogan +was the first to speak. + +“Fer the love av hiven, let him be! Ye needn't wait--he's done; I know +by the sound av it!” he exclaimed, stepping forward. “'T was a purty +blow, an' 't was a gr-rand foight ye put up, sor! A gr-rand foight, but +any more av that is murder! 'T is an Irishman's game, sor, an' ye did +yersilf proud. But now let him be--no man, least av all a Dootchman, +iver tuk more than that an' lived!” + +Hopalong looked at him and slowly replied between swollen lips, “Yo're +right, Hogan; we're square now, I reckon.” + +“That's right, sor,” Hogan replied, and turned to his companions. “Put +him in the boat; an' mind ye handle him gintly--we'll be sailing under +him soon. Now, sor, if it's yer pleasure, I'll be after saying good-bye +to ye, sor; an' to ye, too,” he said, shaking hands with both punches. +“Fer a sick la-ad ye're a wonder, ye are that,” he smiled at Johnny, +“but ye want to kape away from the water fronts. Good-bye to ye both, +an' a pleasant journey home. The town is tin miles to me right, over +beyant them hills.” + +“Good-bye, Hogan,” mumbled Hopalong gratefully. “Yo're square all the +way through; an' if you ever get out of a job or in any kind of trouble +that I can help you out of, come up to the Bar-20 an' you won't have to +ask twice. Good luck!” And the two sore and aching punchers, wiser in +the ways of the world, plodded doggedly towards the town, ten miles +away. + +The next morning found them in the saddle, bound for Dent's hotel and +store near the San Miguel Canyon. When they arrived at their destination +and Johnny found there was some hours to wait for Red, his restlessness +sent him roaming about the country, not so much “seeking what he might +devour” as hoping something might seek to devour him. He was so sore +over his recent kidnapping that he longed to find a salve. He faithfully +promised Hopalong that he would return at noon. + + + +CHAPTER III + +DICK MARTIN STARTS SOMETHING + +Dick Martin slowly turned, leaned his back against the bar, and +languidly regarded a group of Mexicans at the other end of the room. +Singly, or in combinations of two or more, each was imparting all he +knew, or thought he knew about the ghost of San Miguel Canyon. Their +fellow-countryman, new to the locality, seemed properly impressed. That +it was the ghost of Carlos Martinez, murdered nearly one hundred years +before at the big bend in the canyon, was conceded by all; but there was +a dispute as to why it showed itself only on Friday nights, and why it +was never seen by any but a Mexican. Never had a Gringo seen it. The +Mexican stranger was appealed to: Did this not prove that the murder +had been committed by a Mexican? The stranger affected to consider the +question. + +Martin surveyed them with outward impassiveness and inward contempt. A +realist, a cynic, and an absolute genius with a Colt .45, he was well +known along the border for his dare-devil exploits and reckless courage. +The brainiest men in the Secret Service, Lewis, Thomas, Sayre, and +even old Jim Lane, the local chief, whose fingers at El Paso felt every +vibration along the Rio Grande, were not as well known--except to those +who had seen the inside of Government penitentiaries--and they were +quite satisfied to be so eclipsed. But the Service knew of the ghost, +as it knew everything pertaining to the border, and gave it no serious +thought; if it took interest in all the ghosts and superstitions +peculiar to the Mexican temperament it would have no time for serious +work. Martin once, in a spirit of savage denial, had wasted the better +part of several successive Friday nights in the San Miguel, but to no +avail. When told that the ghost showed itself only to Mexicans he had +shrugged his shoulders eloquently and laughed, also eloquently. + +“A Greaser,” he replied, “is one-half fear and superstition, an' the +other half imagination. There ain't no ghosts, but I know the _Greasers_ +have seen 'em, all right. A Greaser can see anything scary if he makes +up his mind to. If _I_ ever see one an' he keeps on being one after +I shoot, I'll either believe in ghosts, or quit drinking.” His eyes +twinkled as he added: “An' of the two, I think I'd _prefer_ to see +ghosts!” + +He was flushed and restless with deviltry. His fifth glass always +made him so; and to-night there was an added stimulus. He believed +the strange Mexican to be Juan Alvarez, who was so clever that the +Government had never been able to convict him. Alvarez was fearless to +recklessness and Martin, eager to test him, addressed the group with the +blunt terseness for which he was famed, and hated. + +“Greasers are cowards,” he asserted quietly, and with a smile which +invited excitement. He took a keen delight in analyzing the expressions +on the faces of those hit. It was one of his favorite pastimes when +feeling coltish. + +The group was shocked into silence, quickly followed by great unrest and +hot, muttered words. Martin did not move a muscle, the smile was set, +but between the half-closed eyelids crouched Combat, on its toes. The +Mexicans knew it was there without looking for it--the tone of his +voice, the caressing purr of his words, and his unnatural languor were +signs well known to them. Not a criminal sneaking back from voluntary +banishment in Mexico who had seen those signs ever forgot them, if he +lived. Martin watched the group cat-like, keenly scrutinizing each face, +reading the changing emotions in every shifting expression; he had this +art down so well that he could tell when a man was debating the pull of +a gun, and beat him on the draw by a fraction of a second. + +“De senor ees meestak,” came the reply, as quiet and caressing as the +words which provoked it. The strange Mexican was standing proudly and +looking into the squinting eyes with only a grayness of face and a +tigerish litheness to tell what he felt. + +“None go through the canyon after dark on Fridays,” purred Martin. + +“_I_ go tro' de canyon nex' Friday night. Eef I do, then you mak apology +to me?” + +“I'll limit my remark to all but one Greaser.” + +The Mexican stepped forward. “I tak' thees gloove an' leave eet at +de Beeg Ben', for you to fin' in daylight,” he said, tapping one of +Martin's gauntlets which lay on the bar. “You geev' me eet befo' I go?” + +“Yes; at nine o'clock to-morrow night,” Martin replied, hiding his +elation. He was sure that he knew the man now. + +The Mexican, cool and smiling, bowed and left the room, his companions +hastening after him. + +“Well, I'll bet twenty-five dollars he flunks!” breathed the bartender, +straightening up. + +Martin turned languidly and smiled at him. “I'll take that, Charley,” he +replied. + + + +Johnny Nelson was always late, and on this occasion he was later than +usual. He was to have joined Hopalong and Red, if Red had arrived, at +Dent's at noon the day before, and now it was after nine o'clock at +night as he rode through San Felippe without pausing and struck east +for the canyon. The dropping trail down the canyon was serious enough +in broad daylight, but at night to attempt its passage was foolhardy, +unless one knew every turn and slant by heart, which Johnny did not. He +was thirty-three hours late now, and he was determined to make up what +he could in the next three. + +When Johnny left Hopalong at Dent's he had given his word to be back on +time and not to keep his companions waiting, for Red might be on time +and he would chafe if he were delayed. But, alas for Johnny's good +intentions, his course took him through a small Mexican hamlet in which +lived a senorita of remarkable beauty and rebellious eyes; and Johnny +tarried in the town most of the day, riding up and down the streets, +practising the nice things he would say if he met her. She watched +him from the heavily draped window, and sighed as she wondered if her +dashing Americano would storm the house and carry her off like the +knights of old. Finally he had to turn away with heavy and reluctant +heart, promising himself that he would return when no petulant and +sarcastic companions were waiting for him. Then--ah! what dreams youth +knows. + +Half an hour ahead of him on another trail rode Juan, smiling with +satisfaction. He had come to San Felippe to get a look at the canyon on +Friday nights, and Martin had given him an excuse entirely unexpected. +For this he was truly grateful, even while he knew that the American +had tried to pick a quarrel with him and thus rid the border of a man +entirely too clever for the good of customs receipts; and failing in +that, had hoped the treacherous canyon trail would gain that end in +another manner. Old Jim Lane's fingers touched wires not one whit more +sensitive than those which had sent Juan Alvarez to look over the San +Miguel--and Lane's wires had been slow this time. When Juan had left the +saloon the night before and had seen Manuel slip away from the group and +ride off into the north, he had known that the ghost would show itself +the following night. + +But Juan was to be disappointed. He was still some distance from the +canyon when a snarling bulk landed on the haunches of his horse. He +jerked loose his gun and fired twice and then knew nothing. When he +opened his eyes he lay quietly, trying to figure it out with a head +throbbing with pain from his fall. The cougar must have been desperate +for food to attack a man. He moved his foot and struck something soft +and heavy. His shots had been lucky, but they had not saved him his +horse and a sprained arm and leg. There would be no gauntlet found at +the Big Bend at daylight. + +When Johnny Nelson reached the twin boulders marking the beginning of +the sloping run where the trail pitched down, he grinned happily at +sight of the moon rising over the low hills and then grabbed at his +holster, while every hair in his head stood up curiously. A wild, +haunting, feminine scream arose to a quavering soprano and sobbed away +into silence. No words can adequately describe the unearthly wail in +that cry and it took a full half-minute for Johnny to become himself +again and to understand what it was. Once more it arose, nearer, and +Johnny peered into the shadows along a rough backbone of rock, his Colt +balanced in his half-raised hand. + +“You come 'round me an' you'll get hurt,” he muttered, straining his +eyes to peer into the blackness of the shadows. “Come on out, Soft-foot; +the moon's yore finish. You an' me will have it out right here an' +now--I don't want no cougar trailing me through that ink-black canyon on +a two-foot ledge--” he thought he saw a shadow glide across a dim patch +of moonlight, but when his smoke rifted he knew he had missed. “Damn +it! You've got a mate 'round here somewhere,” he complained. “Well, +I'll have to chance it, anyhow. Come on, bronc! Yo're shaking like a +leaf--get out of this!” + +When he began to descend into the canyon he allowed his horse to pick +its own way without any guidance from him, and gave all of his attention +to the trail behind him. The horse could get along better by itself in +the dark, and it was more than possible that one or two lithe cougars +might be slinking behind him on velvet paws. The horse scraped along +gingerly, feeling its way step by step, and sending stones rattling and +clattering down the precipice at his left to tinkle into the stream at +the bottom. + +“Gee, but I wish I'd not wasted so much time,” muttered the rider +uneasily. “This here canyon-cougar combination is the worst _I_ ever +butted up against. I'll never be late again, not never; not for all the +girls in the world. Easy, bronc,” he cautioned, as he felt the animal +slip and quiver. “Won't this trail ever start going up again?” he +growled petulantly, taking his eyes off the black back trail, where no +amount of scrutiny showed him anything, and turned in the saddle to peer +ahead--and a yell of surprise and fear burst from him, while chills ran +up and down his spine. An unearthly, piercing shriek suddenly rang out +and filled the canyon with ear-splitting uproar and a glowing, sheeted +half-figure of a man floated and danced twenty feet from him and over +the chasm. He jerked his gun and fired, but only once, for his mount had +its own ideas about some things and this particular one easily headed +the list. The startled rider grabbed reins and pommel, his blood +congealed with fear of the precipice less than a foot from his side, and +he gave all his attention to the horse. But scared as he was he heard, +or thought that he heard, a peculiar sound when he fired, and he would +have sworn that he hit the mark--the striking of the bullet was not +drowned in the uproar and he would never forget the sound of that +impact. He rounded Big Bend as if he were coming up to the judge's +stand, and when he struck the upslant of the emerging trail he had made +a record. Cold sweat beaded his forehead and he was trembling from head +to foot when he again rode into the moonlight on the level plain, where +he tried to break another record. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +JOHNNY ARRIVES + +Meanwhile Hopalong and Red quarrelled petulantly and damned the erring +Johnny with enthusiastic abandon, while Dent smiled at them and joked; +but his efforts at levity made little impression on the irate pair. Red, +true to his word, had turned up at the time set, in fact, he was half +an hour ahead of time, for which miracle he endeavored to take great and +disproportionate credit. Dent was secretly glad about the delay, for he +found his place lonesome. He thoroughly enjoyed the company of the two +gentlemen from the Bar-20, whose actions seemed to be governed by whims +and who appeared to lack all regard for consequences; and they squabbled +so refreshingly, and spent their money cheerfully. Now, if they would +only wind up the day by fighting! Such a finish would be joy indeed. And +speaking of fights, Dent was certain that Mr. Cassidy had been in one +recently, for his face bore marks that could only be acquired in that +way. + +After supper the two guests had relapsed into a silence which endured +only as long as the pleasing fulness. Then the squabbling began again, +growing worse until they fell silent from lack of adequate expression. +Finally Red once again spoke of their absent friend. + +“We oughtn't get peevish, Hoppy--he's only thirty-six hours late,” + suggested Red. “An' he might be a week,” he added thoughtfully, as his +mind ran back over a long list of Johnny's misdeeds. + +“Yes, he might. An' won't he have a fine cock-an'-bull tale to explain +it,” growled Hopalong, reminiscently. “His excuses are the worst part of +it generally.” + +“Eh, does he--make excuses?” asked Dent, mildly surprised. + +“He does to _us_,” retorted Red savagely. “He's worse than a woman; take +him all in all an' you've got the toughest proposition that ever wore +pants. But he's a good feller, at that.” + +“Well, you've got a lot of nerve, you have!” retorted Hopalong. “You +don't want to say anything about the Kid--if there's anybody that can +beat him in being late an' acting the fool generally, it's you. An' +what's more, you know it!” + +Red wheeled to reply, but was interrupted by a sudden uproar outside, +fluent swearing coming towards the house. The door opened with a bang, +admitting a white-faced, big-eyed man with one leg jammed through the +box he had landed on in dismounting. + +“Gimme a drink, quick!” he shouted wildly, dragging the box over to +the bar with a cheerful disregard for chairs and other temporary +obstructions. “Gimme a drink!” he reiterated. + +“Give you six hops in the neck!” yelled Red, missing and almost sitting +down because of the enthusiasm he had put into his effort. Johnny +side-stepped and ducked, and as he straightened up to ask for whys +and wherefores, Red's eyes opened wide and he paused in his further +intentions to stare at the apparition. + +“Sick?” queried Hopalong, who was frightened. + +“Gimme that drink!” demanded Johnny feverishly, and when he had it he +leaned against the bar and mopped his face with a trembling hand. + +“What's the matter with you, anyhow?” asked Red, with deep anxiety. + +“Yes; for God's sake, what's happened to you?” demanded Hopalong. + +Johnny breathed deeply and threw back his shoulders as if to shake off +a weight. “Fellers, I had a cougar soft-footing after me in that +dark canyon, my cayuse ran away on a two-foot ledge up the +wall,_--an'--I--saw--a--ghost_!” + +There was a respectful silence. Johnny, waiting a reasonable length of +time for replies and exclamations, flushed a bit and repeated his +frank and candid statement, adding a few adjectives to it. “_A real, +screeching, flying ghost_! An' I'm going _home_, an' I'm going to _stay_ +there. I ain't never coming back no more, not for anything. Damn this +border country, _anyhow_!” + +The silence continued, whereupon Johnny grew properly indignant. “You +act like I told you it was going to rain! Why don't you say something? +Didn't you hear what I said, you fools!” he asked pugnaciously. “Are you +in the habit of having a thing like that told you? Why don't you show +some interest, you dod-blasted, thick-skulled wooden-heads?” + +Red looked at Hopalong, Hopalong looked at Red, and then they both +looked at Dent, whose eyes were fixed in a stare on Johnny. + +“Huh!” snorted Hopalong, warily arising. “Was that all?” he asked, +nodding at Red, who also arose and began to move cautiously toward their +erring friend. “Didn't you see no more'n one ghost? Anybody that can see +one ghost, an' no more, is wrong somewhere. Now, stop, an' think; didn't +you see _two_?” He was advancing carefully while he talked, and Red was +now behind the man who saw one ghost. + +“Why, you--” there was a sudden flurry and Johnny's words were cut short +in the melee. + +“Good, Red! Ouch!” shouted Hopalong. “Look out! Got any rope, Dent? +Well, hurry up: there ain't no telling what he'll do if he's loose. The +mescal they sells down in this country ain't liquor--it's poison,” he +panted. “An' he can't even stand whiskey!” + +Finding the rope was easier than finding a place to put it, and the +unequal battle raged across the room and into the next, where it sounded +as if the house were falling down. Johnny's voice was shrill and full of +vexation and his words were extremely impolite and lacked censoring. +His feet appeared to be numerous and growing rapidly, judging from the +amount of territory they covered and defended, and Red joyfully kicked +Hopalong in the melee, which in this instance also stands for stomach; +Red always took great pains to do more than his share in a scrimmage. +Dent hovered on the flanks, his hands full of rope, and begged with +great earnestness to be allowed to apply it to parts of Johnny's +thrashing anatomy. But as the flanks continued to change with +bewildering swiftness he begged in vain, and began to make suggestions +and give advice pleasing to the three combatants. Dent knew just how +it should be done, and was generous with the knowledge until Johnny +zealously planted five knuckles on his one good eye, when the engagement +became general. + +The table skidded through the door on one leg and caromed off the bar at +a graceful angle, collecting three chairs and one sand-box cuspidor on +the way. The box on Johnny's leg had long since departed, as Hopalong's +shin could testify. One chair dissolved unity and distributed itself +lavishly over the room, while the bed shrunk silently and folded itself +on top of Dent, who bucked it up and down with burning zeal and finally +had sense enough to crawl from under it. He immediately celebrated his +liberation by getting a strangle hold on two legs, one of which happened +to be the personal property of Hopalong Cassidy; and the battle raged on +a lower plane. Red raised one hand as he carefully traced a neck to its +own proper head and then his steel fingers opened and swooped down and +shut off the dialect. Hopalong pushed Dent off him and managed to catch +Johnny's flaying arm on the third attempt, while Dent made tentative +sorties against Johnny's spurred boots. + +“Phew! Can he fight like that when he's sober?” reverently asked +Dent, seeing how close his fingers could come to his gaudy eye without +touching it. “I won't be able to see at all in an hour,” he added, +gloomily. + +Hopalong, seated on Johnny's chest, soberly made reply as he tenderly +flirted with a raw shin. “It's the mescal. I'm going to slip some of +that stuff into Pete's cayuse some of these days,” he promised, happy +with a new idea. Pete Wilson had no sense of humor. + +“That ghost was plumb lucky,” grunted Red, “an' so was the sea-captain,” + he finished as an afterthought, limping off toward the bar, slowly and +painfully followed by his disfigured companions. “One drink; then to +bed.” + +After Red had departed, Hopalong and Dent smoked a while and then, +knocking the ashes out of his pipe, Hopalong arose. “An' yet, Dent, +there are people that believe in ghosts,” he remarked, with a vast and +settled contempt. + +Dent gave critical scrutiny to the scratched bar for a moment. “Well, +the Greasers all say there _is_ a ghost in the San Miguel, though I +never saw it. But some of them have seen it, an' no Greasers ride that +trail no more.” + +“Huh!” snorted Hopalong. “Some Greasers must have filled the Kid up on +ghosts while he was filling hisself up on mescal. Ghosts? R-a-t-s!” + +“It shows itself only to Greasers, an' then only on Friday nights,” + explained Dent, thoughtfully. This was Friday night. Others had seen +that ghost, but they were all Mexicans; now that a “white” man of +Johnny's undisputed calibre had been so honored Dent's skepticism +wavered and he had something to think about for days to come. True, +Johnny was not a Greaser; but even ghosts might make mistakes once in a +while. + +Hopalong laughed, dismissing the subject from his mind as being beneath +further comment. “Well, we won't argue--I'm too tired. An' I'm sorry you +got that eye, Dent.” + +“Oh, that's all right,” hastily assured the store-keeper, smiling +faintly. “I was just spoiling for a fight, an' now I've had it. Feels +sort of good. Yes, first thing in the morning--breakfast'll be ready +soon as you are. Good-night.” + +But the proprietor couldn't sleep. Finally he arose and tiptoed into +the room where Johnny lay wrapped in the sleep of the exhausted. After +cautious and critical inspection, which was made hard because of his +damaged eye, he tiptoed back to his bunk, shaking his head slowly. “He +wasn't drunk,” he muttered. “He saw that ghost all right; an' I'll bet +everything I've got on it!” + + + +At daybreak three quarrelling punchers rode homeward and after a +monotonous journey arrived at the bunk house and reported. It took +them two nights adequately to describe their experiences to an envious +audience. The morning after the telling of the ghost story things began +to happen. Red starting it by erecting a sign. + + +NOTISE--NO GHOSTS ALOWED + + +An exuberant handful of the outfit watched him drive the last nail and +step back to admire his work, and the running fire of comment covered +all degrees of humor, and promised much hilarity in the future at the +expense of the only man on the Bar-20 who had seen a ghost. + +In a week Johnny and his acute vision had become a bye-word in that part +of the country and his friends had made it a practice to stop him and +gravely discuss spirit manifestations of all kinds. He had thrashed Wood +Wright and been thrashed by Sandy Lucas in two beautiful and memorable +fights and was only waiting to recover from the last affair before +having the matter out with Rich Finn. These facts were beginning to have +the effect he strove for; though Cowan still sold a new concoction of +gin, brandy, and whiskey which he called “Flying Ghost,” and which he +proudly guaranteed would show more ghosts per drink than any liquor +south of the Rio Grande--and some of his patrons were eager to back up +his claims with real money. + +This was the condition of affairs when Hopalong Cassidy strolled into +Cowan's and forgot his thirst in the story being told by a strange +Mexican. It was Johnny's ghost, without a doubt, and when he had +carelessly asked a few questions he was convinced that Johnny had really +seen something. On the way home he cogitated upon it and two points +challenged his intelligence with renewed insistence: the ghost showed +itself only on Friday, and then only to “Greasers.” His suspicious mind +would not rest until he had reviewed the question from all sides, and +his opinion was that there was something more than spiritual about the +ghost of the San Miguel--and a cold, practical reason for it. + +When he rode into the corral at the ranch he saw that another sign had +been put on the corral wall. He had destroyed the first, speaking his +mind in full at the time. He swept his gloved hand upward with a rush, +tore the flimsy board from its fastenings, broke it to pieces across +his saddle, and tossed the fragments from him. He was angry, for he had +warned the outfit that they were carrying the joke too far, that Johnny +was giving way to hysterical rage more frequently, and might easily do +something that they all would regret. And he felt sorry for the Kid; he +knew what Johnny's feelings were and he made up his mind to start a few +fights himself if the persecution did not cease. When he stepped into +the bunk house and faced his friends they listened to a three-minute +speech that made them squirm, and as he finished talking the deep voice +of the foreman endorsed the promises he had just heard made, for Buck +had entered the gallery without being noticed. The joke had come to an +end. + +When Johnny rode in that evening he was surprised to find Hopalong +waiting for him a short distance from the corral and he replied to his +friend's gesture by riding over to him. “What's up now?” he asked. + +“Come along with me. I want to talk to you for a few minutes,” and +Hopalong led the way toward the open, followed by Johnny, who was more +or less suspicious. Finally Hopalong stopped, turned, and looked his +companion squarely in the eyes. “Kid, I'm in dead earnest. This ain't +no fool joke--now you tell me what that ghost looked like, how he acted, +an' all about it. I mean what I say, because now I know that you saw +_something_. If it wasn't a ghost it was made to look like one, anyhow. +Now go ahead.” + +“I've told you a dozen times already,” retorted Johnny, his face +flushing. “I've begged you to believe me an' told you that I wasn't +fooling. How do I know you ain't now? I'm not going to tell--” + +“Hold on; yes, you are. Yo're going to tell it slow, an' just like you +saw it,” Hopalong interrupted hastily. “I know I've doubted it, but who +wouldn't! Wait a minute--I've done a heap of thinking in the past few +days an' I know that you saw a ghost. Now, everybody knows that there +ain't no such thing as ghosts; then what was it you saw? There's a game +on, Kid, an' it's a dandy; an' you an' me are going to bust it up an' +get the laugh on the whole blasted crowd, from Buck to Cowan.” + +Johnny's suspicions left him with a rush, for his old Hoppy was one man +in a thousand, and when he spoke like that, with such sharp decision, +Johnny knew what it meant. Hopalong listened intently and when the short +account was finished he put out his hand and smiled. + +“We're the fools, Kid; not you. There's something crooked going on in +that canyon, an' I know it! But keep mum about what we think.” + +Johnny lost his grouch so suddenly and beamed upon his friends with such +a superior air that they began to worry about what was in the wind. +The suspense wore on them, for with Hopalong's assistance, Johnny might +spring some game on them all that would more than pay up for the fun +they had enjoyed at his expense; and the longer the suspense lasted the +worse it became. They never lost sight of him while he was around and +Hopalong had to endure the same surveillance; and it was no uncommon +thing to see small groups of the anxious men engaged in deep discussion. +When they found that Buck must have been told and noticed his smile was +as fixed as Hopalong's or Johnny's, they were certain that trouble of +some nature was in store for them. + +Several weeks later Buck Peters drew rein and waited for a stranger to +join him. + +“Howdy. Is yore name Peters?” asked the newcomer, sizing him up in one +trained glance. + +“Well, who are you, an' what do you want?” + +“I want to see Peters, Buck Peters. That yore name?” + +“Yes; what of it?” + +“My name's Fox. Old Jim Lane gave me a message for you,” and the +stranger spoke earnestly to some length. “There; that's the situation. +We've got to have shrewd men that they don't know an' won't suspect. +Lane wants to pay a couple of yore men their wages for a month or two. +He said he was shore he could count on you to help him out.” + +“He's right; he can. I don't forget favors. I've got a couple of men +that--there's one of 'em now. Hey, Hoppy! Whoop-e, Hoppy!” + +Mr. Cassidy arrived quickly, listened eagerly, named Red and Johnny +to accompany him, overruled his companions by insisting that if Johnny +didn't go the whole thing was off, carried his point, and galloped off +to find the lucky two, his eyes gleaming with anticipation and joy. Fox +laughed, thanked the foreman, and rode on his way north; and that night +three cow-punchers rode south, all strangely elated. And the friends who +watched them go heaved signs of relief, for the reprisals evidently were +to be postponed for a while. + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE GHOST OF THE SAN MIGUEL + +Juan Alvarez had not been in San Felippe since Dick Martin left, which +meant for over a month. Martin was down the river looking for a man who +did not wish to be found; and some said that Martin cared nothing about +international boundaries when he wanted any one real bad. And there was +that geologist who wore blue glasses and was always puttering around in +the canyon and hammering chips of rock off the steep walls; he must have +slipped one noon, because his body was found on a flat boulder at the +edge of the stream. Manuel had found it and wanted to be paid for his +trouble in bringing it to town--but Manuel was a fool. Who, indeed, +would pay good money for a dead Gringo, especially after he was dead? +And there were three cow-punchers holding a herd of 6-X cattle up +north, an hour or so from the town. They wanted to buy steers from Senor +Rodriguez, but said that he was a robber and threatened to cut his ears +off. Cannot a man name his own price? These cow-punchers liked to get +drunk and gallop through San Felippe, shooting like crazy men. They got +drunk one Friday night and went shouting and singing to the Big Bend in +the canyon to see the flying ghost, and they called it names and fired +off their pistols and sang loudly; and for a week they insulted all the +Mexicans in town by calling them liars and cowards. Was it the fault +of any one that the ghost would show itself only to Mexicans? Oh, these +Gringos--might the good God punish them for their sins! + +Thus the peons complained to the padre while they kept one eye open for +the advent of the rowdy cow-punchers, who always wanted to drink, and +then to fight with some one, either with fists or pistols. Why should +any one fight with them, especially with such things as fists? + +“Let them fight among themselves. What have you to do with heretics?” + reproved the good padre, who ostracized himself from the pleasant parts +of the wide world that he might make easier the life and struggles of +his ignorant flock. “God is not hasty--He will punish in His own way +when it best suits Him. And perhaps you will profit much if you are more +regular to mass instead of wasting the cool hours of the morning in bed. +Think well of what I have said, my children.” + +But the cow-punchers were not punished and they swore they would not +leave the vicinity until they had all the steers they wanted, and at +their own price. And one night their herd stampeded and was checked +only in time to save it from going over the canyon's edge. And for some +reason Sanchez kept out of the padre's way and did not go to confess +when he should, for the padre spoke plainly and set hard obligations for +penance. + +The cow-punchers swore that it had been done by some Mexican and said +that they would come to town some day soon and kill three Mexicans +unless the guilty one was found and brought to them. Then the padre +mounted his donkey and went out to them to argue and they finally told +him they would wait for two weeks. But the padre was too smart for +them--he sent a messenger to find Senor Dick Martin, and in one week +Senor Martin came to town. There was no fight. The Gringo rowdies were +cowards at heart and Martin could not shoot them down in cold blood, +and he could not arrest them, because he was not a policeman or even a +sheriff, but only a revenue officer, which was a most foolish law. But +he watched them all the time and wanted them to fight--there was no more +shooting or drunkenness in town. Nobody wanted to fight Senor Martin, +for he was a great man. He even went so far as to talk with them about +it and wave his arms, but they were as frightened at him as little +children might be. + +So the Mexicans gossiped and exulted, some of the bolder of them even +swaggering out to the Gringo camp; but Martin drove them back again, +saying he would not allow them to bully men who could not retaliate, +which was right and fair. Then, afraid to go away and leave the mad +cow-punchers so close to town, he ordered them to drive their herd +farther east, nearer to Dent's store, and never to return to San Felippe +unless they needed the padre; and they obeyed him after a long talk. +After seeing them settled in their new camp, which was on Monday +morning, Martin returned to San Felippe and told the padre where he +could be found and then rode away again. San Felippe celebrated for +a whole day and two Mexican babies were christened after Senor Dick +Martin, which was honor all around. + +Friday, when Manuel went over to spy upon the cow-punchers in their new +camp, he found them so drunk that they could not stand, and before he +crept away at dusk two of them were sleeping like gorged snakes and the +third was firing off his revolver at random, which diversion had not a +little to do with Manuel's departure. + +When Manuel crept away he headed straight for a crevice near the wall of +the canyon at the Big Bend and, reaching it, looked all around and then +dropped into it. Not long thereafter another Mexican appeared, this one +from San Felippe, and also disappeared into the crevice. As darkness +fell Manuel reappeared with something under his jacket and a moment +later a light gleamed at the base of a slender sapling which grew on the +edge of the canyon wall and leaned out over the abyss. It was cleverly +placed, for only at one spot on the Mexican side of the distant Rio +Grande could it be seen--the high canyon walls farther down screened it +from any one who might be riding on the north bank of the river. In a +moment there came an answering twinkle and Manuel, covering the lantern +with a blanket, was swallowed up in the darkness of the crevice. + +Without a trace of emotion, Dick Martin, from his place of concealment, +caught the answering gleam, and he watched Manuel disappear. “Cassidy +was right in every point; Lewis or Sayre couldn't 'a' done this +better. I hope he won't be late,” he muttered, and settled himself more +comfortably to wait for the cue for action, smiling as the moon poked +its rim over the low hills to his right. “This means promotion for me, +or I've very much mistaken,” he chuckled. + +Hopalong was not late and as soon as it was dark he and his companions +stole into the canyon on foot. They felt their way down the east end of +the trail, not far from Dent's, toward the Big Bend, which they gained +without a mishap. Johnny was sent up to a place they had noticed and +marked in their memories at the time they had rioted down to defy the +ghost. He was to stop any one trying to escape up the San Felippe end +of the canyon trail, and his confidence in his ability to do this was +exuberant. Hopalong and Red slowly and laboriously worked their way down +the perilous path leading to the bottom, forded the stream, and crept up +the other side, where they found cover not far from a wide crack in the +canyon wall. Upon the occasion of their hilarious visit to the Big Bend +they had observed that a faint trail led to the crack and had cogitated +deeply upon this fact. + +Three hours passed before the watchers in and above the canyon were +rewarded by anything further; and then a light flickered far down the +canyon and close to the edge of the stream. Immediately strange noises +were heard and suddenly the ghost swung out of the opening in the rock +wall near Hopalong and Red and danced above their heads, while the +shrieking which had so frightened Johnny and his horse filled the canyon +with uproar and sent Martin wriggling nearer to the crevice which he had +watched so closely. The noise soon ceased, but the ghost danced on, and +the sound of men stumbling along the rocky ledge bordering the stream +became more and more audible. Four were in the party and they all +carried bulky loads on their backs and grunted with pleasure and +relief as they entered the entrance in the wall. When the last man had +disappeared and the noise of their passing had died out, Johnny's rope +sailed up and out, and the ghost swayed violently and then began to sag +in an unaccountable manner towards the trail as the owner of the rope +hitched its free end around a spur of rock and made it fast. Then he +feverishly scrambled down the steep path to join his friends. + +Hopalong and Red, wriggling on their stomachs towards the crack in the +wall, paused in amazement and stared across the canyon; and then the +former chuckled and whispered something in his companion's ear. “That +was why he lugged his rope along! He's just idiot enough to want +a souveneer an' plaything at the risk of losing the game. Come +on!--they'll tumble to what's up an' get away if we don't hustle.” + +When the two punchers cautiously and noiselessly entered the crack +and felt their way along its rock walls they heard fluent swearing in +Spanish by the man who worked the ghost, and who could not understand +its sudden ambition to take root. It was made painfully clear to him +a moment later when a pair of brawny hands reached out of the darkness +behind him and encircled his throat a hand's width below his gleaming +cigarette. Another pair used cords with deftness and despatch and he was +left by himself to browse upon the gag when all his senses returned. + +Hopalong, with Red inconsiderately stepping on his heels, felt his +way along the wall of the crevice, alert and silent, his Colt nestling +comfortably in his right hand, while the left was pushed out ahead +feeling for trouble. As they worked farther away from the canyon distant +voices could be heard and they forthwith proceeded even more cautiously. +When Hopalong came to the second bend in the narrow passage he peered +around it and stopped so abruptly that Red's nose almost spread itself +over the back of his head. Red's indignation was all the harder to bear +because it must bloom unheard. + +In a huge, irregular room, whose roof could not be discerned in the dim +light of the few candles, five men were resting in various attitudes +of ease as they discussed the events of the night and tried to compute +their profits. They were secure, for Manuel, having by this time put +away the ghost and megaphone, was on duty at the mouth of the crevice, +and he was as sensitive to danger as a hound. + +“The risk is not much and the profits are large,” remarked Pedro, in +Spanish. “We must burn a candle for the repose of the soul of Carlos +Martinez. It is he that made our plans safe. And a candle is not much +when we--” + +“Hands up!” said a quiet voice, followed by grim commands. The Mexicans +jumped as if stung by a scorpion, and could just discern two of the +rowdy gringo cow-punchers in the heavy shadows of the opposite wall, but +the candle light glinted in rings on the muzzles of their six-shooters. +Had Manuel betrayed them? But they had little time or inclination for +cogitation regarding Manuel. + +“Easy there!” shouted Red, and Pedro's hand stopped when half way to his +chest. Pedro was a gambler by nature, but the odds were too heavy and he +sullenly obeyed the command. + +“Stick 'em up! Stick 'em up! Higher yet, an' hold 'em there,” purred +a soft voice from the other end of the room, where Dick Martin smiled +pleasantly upon them and wondered if there was anything on earth harder +to pound good common sense into than a “Greaser's” head. His gun was +blue, but it was, nevertheless, the most prominent part of his make-up, +even if the light was poor. + +One of the Mexicans reached involuntarily for his gun, for he was a +gun-man by training; while his companions felt for their knives, deadly +weapons in a melee. Martin, crying, “Watch 'em, Cassidy!” side-stepped +and lunged forward with the speed and skill of a boxer, and his hard +left hand landed on the point of Juan Alvarez' jaw with a force and +precision not to be withstood. But to make more certain that the +Mexican would not take part in any possible demonstration of resistance, +Martin's right circled up in a short half-hook and stopped against +Juan's short ribs. Martin weighed one hundred and eighty pounds and +packed no fat on his well-knit frame. + +At this moment a two-legged cyclone burst upon the scene in the person +of Johnny Nelson, whose rage had been worked up almost to the weeping +point because he had lost so much time hunting for the crevice where +it was not. Seeing Juan fall, and the glint of knives, he started in +to clean things up, yelling, “I'm a ghost! I'm a ghost! Take 'em alive! +Take 'em alive!” + +Hopalong and Red felt that they were in his way, and taking care of one +Mexican between them, while Martin knocked out another, they watched the +exits,--for anything was possible in such a chaotic mix-up,--and gave +Johnny plenty of room. The latter paused, triumphant, looked around to +see if he had missed any, and then advanced upon his friends and shoved +his jaw up close to Hopalong's face. “Tried to lose me, didn't you! +Wouldn't wait for me! For seven cents an' a toothbrush I'd give you +what's left!” + +Red grabbed him by trousers and collar and heaved him into the +passageway. “Go out an' play with yore souveneer or we'll step on you!” + +Johnny sat up, rubbed certain portions of his anatomy, and grinned. “Oh, +I've got it, all right! I'm shore going to take that ghost home an' make +some of them fools _eat_ it!” + +Martin smiled as he finished tying the last prisoner. “That's right, +Nelson; you've got it on 'em this time. Make 'em chew it.” + + + +CHAPTER VI + +HOPALONG LOSES A HORSE + +For a month after their return from the San Miguel, Hopalong and his +companions worked with renewed zest, and told and retold the other +members of the outfit of their unusual experiences near the Mexican +border. Word had come up to them that Martin had secured the conviction +of the smugglers and was in line for immediate advancement. No one on +the range had the heart to meet Johnny Nelson, for Johnny carried with +him a piece of the ghost, and became pugnacious if his once-jeering +friends and acquaintances refused to nibble on it. Cowan still sold his +remarkable drink, but he had yielded to Johnny's persuasive methods and +now called it “Nelson's Pet.” + +One bright day the outfit started rounding up a small herd of +three-year-olds, which Buck had sold, and by the end of the week the +herd was complete and ready for the drive. This took two weeks and when +Hopalong led his drive outfit through Hoyt's Corners on its homeward +journey he felt the pull of the town of Grant, some miles distant, and +it was too strong to be resisted. Flinging a word of explanation to the +nearest puncher, he turned to lope away, when Red's voice checked him. +Red wanted to delay his home-coming for a day or two and attend to a +purely personal matter at a ranch lying to the west. Hopalong, knowing +the reason for Red's wish, grinned and told him to go, and not to +propose until he had thought the matter over very carefully. Red's reply +was characteristic, and after arranging a rendezvous and naming the +time, the two separated and rode toward their destinations, while the +rest of the outfit kept on towards their ranch. + +“A man owes something to _all_ his friends,” Hopalong mused. In this +case he owed a return game of draw poker to certain of Grant's leading +citizens, and he liked to pay his obligations when opportunity offered. + +It was mid-afternoon when he topped a rise and saw below him the handful +of shacks making up the town. A look of pleased interest flickered +across his face as he noticed a patched and dirty tent pitched close up +to the nearest shack. “Show!” he exclaimed. “Now, ain't that luck! +I'll shore take it in. If it's a circus, mebby it has a trick mule to +ride--I'll never forget that one up in Kansas City,” he grinned. But +almost instantly a doubt arose and tempered the grin. “Huh! Mebby it's +the branding chute of some gospel sharp.” As he drew near he focussed +his eyes on the canvas and found that his fears were justified. + +“All Are Welcome,” he spelled out slowly. “Shore they are!” he muttered. +“I never nowhere saw such hard-working, all-embracing rustlers as them +fellers. They'll stick their iron on anything from a wobbly calf or +dying dogie to a staggering-with-age mosshead, an' shout 'tally one' +with the same joy. Well, not for mine, _this_ trip. I'm going to graze +loose an' buck-jump all I wants. Anyhow, if I did let him brand me I'd +only backslide in a week,” and Hopalong pressed his pony to a more rapid +gait as two men emerged from the tent. “There's the sky-pilot now,” he +muttered--“an' there's Dave!” he shouted, waving his arm. “Oh, Dave! +Dave!” + +Dave Wilkes looked up, and his grin of delight threatened to engulf +his ears. “Hullo, Cassidy! Glad to see you! Keep right on for the +store--I'll be with you in a minute.” When David told his companion the +visitor's name the evangelist held up his hand eloquently and spoke. + +“I know all about him!” he exclaimed sorrowfully. “If I can lead him out +of his wickedness I will rest content though I save no more souls this +fortnight. Is it all true?” + +“Huh! What true?” + +“All that I have heard about him.” + +“Well, I dunno what you've heard,” replied Dave, with grave caution, +“but I reckon it might be if it didn't cover lying, stealing, cowardice, +an' such coyote traits. He's shore a holy terror with a short gun, all +right, but lemme tell you something mebby you _ain't_ heard: There ain't +a square man in this part of the country that won't feel some honored +an' proud to be called a friend of Hopalong Cassidy. Them's the +sentiments rampaging hereabouts. I ain't denying that he's gone an' +killed off a lot of men first an' last--but the only trouble there is +that he didn't get 'em soon enough. They all had lived too blamed long +when they went an' stacked up agin him an' that lightning short gun of +hissn. But, say, if yo're calculating to tackle him at yore game, lead +him gentle--don't push none. He comes to life real sudden when he's +shoved. So long; see you later, mebby.” + +The revivalist looked after him and mused, “I hope I was informed wrong, +but this much I have to be thankful for: The wickedness of most of these +men, these over-grown children, is manly, stalwart, and open; few of +them are vicious or contemptible. Their one great curse is drink.” + +When Hopalong entered the store he was vociferously welcomed by two +men, and the proprietor joining them, the circle was complete. When the +conversation threatened to repeat itself cards were brought and the next +two hours passed very rapidly. They were expensive hours to the Bar-20 +puncher, who finally arose with an apologetic grin and slapped his thigh +significantly. + +“Well, you've got it all; I'm busted wide open, except for a measly +dollar, an' I shore hopes you don't want that,” he laughed. “You play a +whole lot better than you did the last time I was here. I've got to move +along. I'm going east an' see Wallace an' from there I've got to meet +Red an' ride home with him. But you come an' see us when you can--it's +_me_ that wants revenge this time.” + +“Huh; you'll be wanting it worse than ever if we do,” smiled Dave. + +“Say, Hoppy,” advised Tom Lawrence, “better drop in an' hear the +sky-pilot's palaver before you go. It'll do you a whole lot of good, an' +it can't do you no harm, anyhow.” + +“You going?” asked Hopalong suspiciously. + +“Can't--got too much work to do,” quickly responded Tom, his brother Art +nodding happy confirmation. + +“Huh; I reckoned so!” snorted Hopalong sarcastically, as he shook hands +all around. “You all know where to find us--drop in an' see us when you +get down our way,” he invited. + +“Sorry you can't stay longer, Cassidy,” remarked Dave, as his friend +mounted. “But come up again soon--an' be shore to tell all the boys we +was asking for 'em,” he called. + +Considering the speed with which Hopalong started for Wallace's, he +might have been expecting a relay of “quarter” horses to keep it going, +but he pulled up short at the tent. Such inconsistency is trying to the +temper of the best-mannered horse, and this particular animal was not in +the least good-mannered, wherefore its rider was obliged to soothe its +resentment in his own peculiar way, listening meanwhile to the loud and +impassioned voice of the evangelist haranguing his small audience. + +“I wonder,” said Hopalong, glancing through the door, “if them friends +of mine reckon I'm any ascared to go in that tent? Huh, I'll just show +'em anyhow!” whereupon he dismounted, flung the reins over his horse's +head, and strode through the doorway. + +The nearest seat, a bench made by placing a bottom board of the +evangelist's wagon across two up-ended boxes, was close enough to the +exhorter and he dropped into it and glanced carelessly at his nearest +neighbor. The carelessness went out of his bearing as his eyes fastened +themselves in a stare on the man's neck-kerchief. Hopalong was hardened +to awful sights and at his best was not an artistic soul, but the +villainous riot of fiery crimson, gaudy yellow, and pugnacious and +domineering green which flaunted defiance and insolence from the +stranger's neck caused his breath to hang over one count and then come +double strong at the next exhalation. “Gee whiz!” he whispered. + +The stranger slowly turned his head and looked coldly upon the impudent +disturber of his reverent reflections. “Meaning?” he questioned, with +an upward slant in his voice. The neck-kerchief seemed to grow suddenly +malignant and about to spring. “Meaning?” repeated the other with great +insolence, while his eyes looked a challenge. + +While Hopalong's eyes left the scrambled color-insult and tried to +banish the horrible after-image, his mind groped for the rules of +etiquette governing free fist fights in gospel tents, and while he +hesitated as to whether he should dent the classic profile of the +color-bearer or just twist his nose as a sign of displeasure, the voice +of the evangelist arose to a roar and thundered out. Hopalong ducked +instinctively. + +“--Stop! Stop before it is too late, before death takes you in the +wallow of your sins! Repent and gain salvation--” + +Hopalong felt relieved, but his face retained its expression of +childlike innocence even after he realized that he was not being +personally addressed; and he glanced around. It took him ninety-seven +seconds to see everything there was to be seen, and his eyes were drawn +irresistibly back to the stranger's kerchief. “Awful! Awful thing for +a drinking man to wear, or run up against unexpectedly!” he muttered, +blinking. “Worse than snakes,” he added thoughtfully. + +“Look ahere, you--” began the owner of the offensive decoration, if it +might be called such, but the evangelist drowned his voice in another +flight of eloquence. + +“--_Peace_! _Peace_ is the message of the Lord to His children,” roared +the voice from the upturned soap box, and when the speaker turned and +looked in the direction of the two men-with-a-difference he found them +sitting up very straight and apparently drinking in his words with great +relish; whereupon he felt that he was making gratifying progress toward +the salvation of their spotted souls. He was very glad, indeed, that he +had been so grievously misinformed about the personal attributes of one +Hopalong Cassidy,--glad and thankful. + +“Death cometh as a thief in the night,” the voice went on. “Think of +the friends who have gone before; who were well one minute and gone the +next! And it must come to all of us, to all of us, to me and to you--” + +The man with the afflicted neck started rocking the bench. + +“Something is coming to somebody purty soon,” murmured Hopalong. He +began to sidle over towards his neighbor, his near hand doubled up into +a huge knot of protuberant knuckles and white-streaked fingers; but as +he was about to deliver his hint that he was greatly displeased at the +antics of the bench, a sob came to his ears. Turning his head swiftly, +he caught sight of the stranger's face, and sorrow was marked so +strongly upon it that the sight made Hopalong gape. His hand opened +slowly and he cautiously sidled back again, disgruntled, puzzled, +and vexed at himself for having strayed into a game where he was so +hopelessly at sea. He thought it all over carefully and then gave it up +as being too deep for him to solve. But he determined one thing: He was +not going to leave before the other man did, anyhow. + +“An' if I catch that howling kerchief outside,” he muttered, smacking +his lips with satisfaction at what was in store for it. His visit +to Wallace was not very important, anyway, and it could wait on more +important events. + +“There sits a sinner!” thundered out the exhorter, and Hopalong looked +stealthily around for a sight of a villain. “God only has the right to +punish. 'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord, and whosoever takes the +law into his own hands, whosoever takes human life, defies the Creator. +There sits a man who has killed his fellow-men, his brothers! Are you +not a sinner, _Cassidy_?” + +Cassidy jumped clear of the bench as he jerked his head around and +stared over the suddenly outstretched arm and pointing finger of the +speaker and into his accusing eyes. + +“Answer me! Are you not a sinner?” + +Hopalong stood up, confused, bewildered, and then his suspended thoughts +stirred and formed. “Guilty, I reckon, an' in the first degree. But they +didn't get no more'n what was coming to 'em, no more'n they earned. An' +that's straight!” + +“How do you know they didn't? How do you know they earned it? How do you +_know_?” demanded the evangelist, who was delighted with the chance to +argue with a sinner. He had great faith in “personal contact,” and +his was the assurance of training, of the man well rehearsed and fully +prepared. And he knew that if he should be pinned into a corner by logic +and asked for _his_ proofs, that he could squirm out easily and take the +offensive again by appealing to faith, the last word in sophistry, and a +greater and more powerful weapon than intelligence. _This_ was his game, +and it was fixed; he could not lose if he could arouse enough interest +in a man to hold him to the end of the argument. He continued to drive, +to crowd. “What right have you to think so? What right have you to judge +them? Have you divine insight? Are you inspired? 'Judge not lest ye be +judged,' saith the Lord, and you _dare_ to fly in the face of that great +command!” + +“You've got me picking the pea in _this_ game, all right,” responded +Hopalong, dropping back on the bench. “But lemme tell you one thing; +Command or no command, devine or not devine, I know when a man has +lived too long, an' when he's going to try to get me. An' all the gospel +sharps south of heaven can't stop me from handing a thief what he's +earned. Go on with the show, but count me out.” + +While the evangelist warmed to the attack, vaguely realizing that he +had made a mistake in not heeding Dave Wilkes' tip, Hopalong became +conscious of a sense of relief stealing over him and he looked around +wonderingly for the cause. The man with the kerchief had “folded his +tents” and departed; and Hopalong, heaving a sigh of satisfaction, +settled himself more comfortably and gave real attention to the +discourse, although he did not reply to the warm and eloquent man on the +soap box. Suddenly he sat up with a start as he remembered that he had a +long and hard ride before him if he wished to see Wallace, and arising, +strode towards the exit, his chest up and his chin thrust out. The only +reply he made to the excited and personal remarks of the revivalist was +to stop at the door and drop his last dollar into the yeast box before +passing out. + +For a moment he stood still and pondered, his head too full of what +he had heard to notice that anything out of the ordinary had happened. +Although the evangelist had adopted the wrong method he had gained +more than he knew and Hopalong had something to take home with him and +wrestle out for himself in spare moments; that is, he would have had +but for one thing: As he slowly looked around for his horse he came to +himself with a sharp jerk, and hot profanity routed the germ of religion +incubating in his soul. His horse was missing! Here was a pretty mess, +he thought savagely; and then his expression of anger and perplexity +gave way to a flickering grin as the probable solution came to his mind. + +“By the Lord, I never saw such a bunch to play jokes,” he laughed. +“Won't they never grow up? They was watching me when I went inside an' +sneaked up and rustled my cayuse. Well, I'll get back again without much +trouble, all right. They ought to know me better by this time.” + +“Hey, stranger!” he called to a man who was riding past, “have you seen +anything of a skinny roan cayuse fifteen han's high, white stocking on +the near foreleg, an' a bandage on the off fetlock, Bar-20 being the +brand?” + +The stranger, knowing the grinning inquisitor by sight, suspected that +a joke was being played: he also knew Dave Wilkes and that gentleman's +friends. He chuckled and determined to help it along a little. “Shore +did, pardner; saw a man leading him real cautious. Was he yourn?” + +“Oh, no; not at all. He belonged to my great-great-grandfather, who left +him to my second cousin. You see, I borrowed it,” he grinned, making his +way leisurely towards the general store, kept by his friend Dave, the +joker. “Funny how everybody likes a joke,” he muttered, opening the door +of the store. “Hey, Dave,” he called. + +Mr. Wilkes wheeled suddenly and stared. “Why, I thought you was half-way +to Wallace's by now!” he exclaimed. “Did you come back to lose that lone +dollar?” + +“Oh, I lost that too. But yo're a real smart cuss, now ain't you?” + queried Hopalong, his eyes twinkling and his face wreathed with good +humor. “An' how innocent you act, too. Thought you could scare me, +didn't you? Thought I'd go tearing 'round this fool town like a house +afire, hey? Well, I reckon you can guess again. Now, I'm owning up that +the joke's on me, so you hand over my cayuse, an' I'll make up for lost +time.” + +Dave Wilkes' face expressed several things, but surprise was dominant. +“Why, I ain't even seen yore ol' cayuse, you chump! Last time I saw it +you was on him, going like the devil. Did somebody pull you off it an' +take it away from you?” he demanded with great sarcasm. “Is somebody +abusing you?” + +Hopalong bit into a generous handful of dried apricots, chewed +complacently for a moment, and replied: “'At's aw right; I want my +cayuse.” Swallowing hastily, he continued: “I want it, an' I've come to +the right place for it, too. Hand it over, David.” + +“Dod blast it, I tell you I ain't got it!” retorted Dave, beginning +to suspect that something was radically wrong. “I ain't seen it, an' I +don't know nothing about it.” + +Hopalong wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Well, then, Tom or Art does, +all right.” + +“No, they don't, neither; I watched 'em leave an' they rode straight +out of town, an' went the other way, same as they allus do.” Dave was +getting irritated. “Look here, you; are you joking or drunk, or both, or +is that animule of yourn really missing?” + +“Huh!” snorted Hopalong, trying some new prunes. “'Ese prunes er purty +good,” he mumbled, in grave congratulation. “I don' get prunes like 'ese +very of'n.” + +“I reckon you don't! They ought to be good! Cost me thirty cents a +half-pound,” Dave retorted with asperity, anxiously shifting his feet. +It didn't take much of a loss to wipe out a day's profits with him. + +“An' I don't reckon you paid none too much for 'em, at that,” Mr. +Cassidy responded, nodding his head in comprehension. “Ain't no worms in +'em, is there?” + +“Shore there is!” exploded Dave. “Plumb full of 'em!” + +“You don't say! Hardly know whether to take a chance with the worms or +try the apricots. Ain't no worms in them, anyhow. But when am I going to +get my cayuse? I've got a long way to go, an' delay is costly--how much +did you say these yaller fellers cost?” he asked significantly, trying +another handful of apricots. + +“On the dead level, cross my heart an' hope to die, but I ain't seen +yore cayuse since you left here,” earnestly replied Dave. “If you don't +know where it is, then somebody went an' lifted it. It looks like it's +up to you to do some hunting, 'stead of cultivating a belly-ache at _my_ +expense. _I_ ain't trying to keep you, God knows!” + +Hopalong glanced out of the window as he considered, and saw, entering +the saloon, the same puncher who had confessed to seeing his horse. “Hey +Dave; wait a minute!” and he dashed out of the store and made good time +towards the liquid refreshment parlor. Dave promptly nailed the covers +on the boxes of prunes and apricots and leaned innocently against the +cracker box to await results, thinking hard all the while. It looked +like a plain case of horse-stealing to him. + +“Stranger,” cried Hopalong, bouncing into the bar-room, “where did you +see that cayuse of mine?” + +“The ancient relic of yore family was aheading towards Hoyt's Corners,” + the stranger replied, grinning broadly. “It's a long walk. Have +something before you starts?” + +“Damn the walk! Who was riding him?” + +“Nobody at all.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“He wasn't being rid when I saw him.” + +“Hang it, man; that cayuse was stole from me!” + +“Somewhat in the nature of a calamity, now ain't it?” smiled the +stranger, enjoying his contributions to the success of the joke. + +“You bet yore life it is!” shouted Hopalong, growing red and then pale. +“You tell me who was leading him, understand?” + +“Well, I couldn't see his face, honest I couldn't,” replied the +stranger. “Every time I tried it I was shore blinded by the most awful +an' horrible neck-kerchief I've ever had the hard luck to lay my eyes +on. Of all the drunks I ever met, them there colors was--Hey! Wait a +minute!” he shouted at Hopalong's back. + +“Dave, gimme yore cayuse an' a rifle--quick!” cried Hopalong from +the middle of the street as he ran towards the store. “Hypocrite +son-of-a-hoss-thief went an' run mine off. Might 'a' knowed nobody but a +thief could wear such a kerchief!” + +“I'm with you!” shouted Dave, leading the way on the run towards the +corral in the rear of his store. + +“No, you ain't with me, neither!” replied Hopalong, deftly saddling. +“This ain't no plain hoss-thief case--it's a private grudge. See you +later, mebby,” and he was pacing a cloud of dust towards the outskirts +of the town. + +Dave looked after him. “Well, that feller has shore got a big start on +you, but he can't keep ahead of that Doll of mine for very long. She can +out-run anything in these parts. 'Sides, Cassidy's cayuse looked sort +of done up, while mine's as fresh as a bird. That thief will get what's +coming to him, all right.” + + + +CHAPTER VII + +MR. CASSIDY COGITATES + +While Hopalong tried to find his horse, Ben Ferris pushed forward, +circling steadily to the east and away from the direction of Hoyt's +corners, which was as much a menace to his health and happiness as the +town of Grant, twenty miles to his rear. If he could have been certain +that no danger was nearer to him than these two towns, he would have +felt vastly relieved, even if his horse was not fresh. During the last +hour he had not urged it as hard as he had in the beginning of his +flight and it had dropped to a walk for minutes at a stretch. This was +not because he felt that he had plenty of time, but for the reason that +he understood horses and could not afford to exhaust his mount so early +in the chase. He glanced back from time to time as if fearing what might +be on his trail, and well he might fear. According to all the traditions +and customs of the range, both of which he knew well, somewhere between +him and Grant was a posse of hard-riding cow-punchers, all anxious and +eager for a glance at him over their sights. In his mind's eye he +could see them, silent, grim, tenacious, reeling off the miles on that +distance-eating lope. He had stolen a horse, and that meant death if +they caught him. He loosened his gaudy kerchief and gulped in fear, +not of what pursued, but of what was miles before him. His own saddle, +strapped behind the one he sat in, bumped against him with each reach of +the horse and had already made his back sore--but he must endure it for +a time. Never in all his life had minutes been so precious. + +Another hour passed and the horse seemed to be doing well, much better +than he had hoped--he would rest it for a few minutes at the next water +while he drank his fill and changed the bumping saddle. As he rounded a +turn and entered a heavily grassed valley he saw a stream close at hand +and, leaping off, fixed the saddle first. As he knelt to drink he caught +a movement and jumped up to catch his mount. Time after time he almost +touched it, but it evaded him and kept up the game, cropping a mouthful +of grass during each respite. + +“All right!” he muttered as he let it eat. “I'll get my drink while you +eat an' then I'll get you!” + +He knelt by the stream again and drank long and deep. As he paused for +breath something made him leap up and to one side, reaching for his +Colt at the same instant. His fingers found only leather and he swore +fiercely as he remembered--he had sold the Colt for food and kept the +rifle for defence. As he faced the rear a horseman rounded the turn and +the fugitive, wheeling, dashed for the stolen horse forty yards away, +where his rifle lay in its saddle sheath. But an angry command and the +sharp hum of a bullet fired in front of him checked his flight and he +stopped short and swore. + +“I reckon the jig's up,” remarked Mr. Cassidy, balancing the up-raised +Colt with nicety and indifference. + +“Yea; I reckon so,” sullenly replied the other, tears running into his +eyes. + +“Well, I'm damned!” snorted Hopalong with cutting contempt. “Crying like +a li'l baby! Got nerve enough to steal my cayuse, an' then go an' +beller like a lost calf when I catch you. Yo're a fine specimen of a +hoss-thief, I don't think!” + +“Yo're a liar!” retorted the other, clenching his fists and growing red. + +Mr. Cassidy's mouth opened and then clicked shut as his Colt swung down. +But he did not shoot; something inside of him held his trigger finger +and he swore instead. The idea of a man stealing his horse, being caught +red-handed and unarmed, and still possessed of sufficient courage to +call his captor a name never tolerated or overlooked in that country! +And the idea that he, Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20, could not shoot +such a thief! “Damn that sky pilot! He's shore gone an' made me loco,” + he muttered, savagely, and then addressed his prisoner. “Oh, you ain't +crying? Wind got in yore eyes, I reckon, an' sort of made 'em leak a +little--that it? Or mebby them unholy green roses an' yaller grass on +that blasted fool neck-kerchief of yourn are too much for _your_ eyes, +too!” + +“Look ahere!” snapped the man on the ground, stepping forward, one fist +upraised. “I came nigh onto licking you this noon in that gospel sharp's +tent for making fun of that scarf, an' I'll do it yet if you get any +smart about it! You mind yore own business an' close yore fool eyes if +you don't like my clothes!” + +“Say! You ain't no cry-baby after all. Hanged if I even think yo're a +real genuine hoss-thief!” enthused Mr. Cassidy. “You act like a twin +brother; but what the devil ever made you steal that cayuse, anyhow?” + +“An' that's none of yore business, neither; but I'll tell you, just the +same,” replied the thief. “I had to have it; that's why. I'll fight +you rough-an'-tumble to see if I keep it, or if you take the cayuse an' +shoot me besides: is it a go?” + +Hopalong stared at him and then a grin struggled for life, got it, and +spread slowly over his tanned countenance. “Yore gall is refreshing! +Damned if it ain't worse than the scarf. Here, you tell me what made you +take a chance like stealing a cayuse this noon--I'm getting to like you, +bad as you are, hanged if I ain't!” + +“Oh, what's the use?” demanded the other, tears again coming into his +eyes. “You'll think I'm lying an' trying to crawl out--an' I won't do +neither.” + +“_I_ didn't say _you_ was a liar,” replied Hopalong. “It was the other +way about. Reckon you can try me, anyhow; can't you?” + +“Yes; I s'pose so,” responded the other, slowly, and in a milder tone +of voice. “An' when I called you that I was mad and desperate. I was +hasty--you see, my wife's dying, or dead, over in Winchester. I was +riding hard to get to her before it was too late when my cayuse stepped +into a hole just the other side of Grant--you know what happened. I shot +the animal, stripped off my saddle an' hoofed it to town, an' dropped +into that gospel dealer's layout to see if he could make me feel any +better--which he could not. I just couldn't stand his palaver about +death an' slipped out. I was going to lay for you an' lick you for the +way you acted about this scarf--had to do something or go loco. But when +I got outside there was yore cayuse, all saddled an' ready to go. I +just up an' threw my saddle on it, followed suit with myself an' was +ten miles out of town before I realized just what I'd done. But the +realizing part of it didn't make no difference to me--I'd 'a' done +it just the same if I had stopped to think it over. That's flat, an' +straight. I've got to get to that li'l woman as quick as I can, an' I'd +steal all the cayuses in the whole damned country if they'd do me any +good. That's all of it--take it or leave it. I put it up to you. That's +yore cayuse, but you ain't going to get it without fighting me for it! +If you shoot me down without giving me a chance, all right! I'll cut a +throat for that wore-out bronc!” + +Hopalong was buried in thought and came to himself just in time to cover +the other and stop him not six feet away. “Just a minute, before you +make me shoot you! I want to think about it.” + +“Damn that gun!” swore the fugitive, nervously shifting his feet and +preparing to spring. “We'd 'a' been fighting by this time if it wasn't +for that!” + +“You stand still or I'll blow you apart,” retorted Hopalong, grimly. “A +man's got a right to think, ain't he? An' if I had somebody here to mind +these guns so you couldn't sneak 'em on me I'd fight you so blamed quick +that you'd be licked before you knew you was at it. But we ain't going +to fight--_stand still_! You ain't got no show at all when yo're dead!” + +“Then you gimme that cayuse--my God, man! Do you know the hell I've been +through for the last two days? Got the word up at Daly's Crossing an' +ain't slept since. I'll go loco if the strain lasts much longer! She +asking for me, begging to see me: an' me, like a damned idiot, wasting +time out here talking to another. Ride with me, behind me--it's only +forty miles more--tie me to the saddle an' blow me to pieces if you find +I'm lying--do anything you wants; but let me get to Winchester before +dark!” + +Hopalong was watching him closely and at the end of the other's outburst +threw back his head. “I reckon I'm a plain fool, a jackass; but I don't +care. I'll rope that cayuse for you. You come along to save time,” + Hopalong ordered, spurring forward. His borrowed rope sailed out, +tightened, and in a moment he was working at the saddle. “Here, you; I'm +going to swamp mounts with you--this one is fresher an' faster.” He had +his own saddle off and the other on in record time, and stepped back. +“There; don't stand there like a fool--wake up an' hustle! I might +change my mind--that's the way to move! Gimme that neck-kerchief for +a souveneer, an' get out. Send that cayuse back to Dave Wilkes, at +Grant--it's hissn. Don't thank me; just gimme that scarf an' ride like +the devil.” + +The other, already mounted, tore the kerchief from his throat and handed +it quickly to his benefactor. “If you ever want a man to take you out of +hell, send to Winchester for Ben Ferris--that's me. So long!” + +Mr. Cassidy sat on his saddle where he had dropped it after making the +exchange and looked after the galloping horseman, and when a distant +rise had shut him from sight, turned his eyes on the scarf in his hand +and cogitated. Finally, with a long-drawn sigh he arose, and, placing +the scarf on the ground, caught and saddled his horse. Riding gloomily +back to where the riot of color fluttered on the grass he drew his Colt +and sent six bullets through it with a great amount of satisfaction. Not +content with the damage he had inflicted, he leaned over and swooped +it up. Riding further he also swooped up a stone and tied the kerchief +around it, and then stood up in his stirrups and drew back his arm with +critical judgment. He sat quietly for a time after the gaudy missile had +disappeared into the stream and then, wheeling, cantered away. But he +did not return to the town of Grant--he lacked the nerve to face Dave +Wilkes and tell his childish and improbable story. He would ride on and +meet Red as they had agreed; a letter would do for Mr. Wilkes, and after +he had broken the shock in that manner he could pay him a personal visit +sometime soon. Dave would never believe the story and when it was told +Hopalong wanted to have the value of the horse in his trousers pocket. +Of course, Ben Ferris _might_ have told the truth and he might return +the horse according to directions. Hopalong emerged from his reverie +long enough to appeal to his mount: + +“Bronc, I've been thinking: am I or am I not a jackass?” + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +RED BRINGS TROUBLE + +After a night spent on the plain and a cigarette for his breakfast, +Hopalong, grouchy and hungry, rode slowly to the place appointed for his +meeting with Red, but Mr. Connors was over two hours late. It was now +mid-forenoon and Hopalong occupied his time for a while by riding out +fancy designs on the sand; but he soon tired of this makeshift diversion +and grew petulant. Red's tardiness was all the worse because the erring +party to the agreement had turned in his saddle at Hoyt's Corners and +loosed a flippant and entirely uncalled-for remark about his friend's +ideas regarding appointments. + +“Well, that red-headed Romeo is shore late this time,” Hopalong +muttered. “Why don't he find a girl closer to home, anyhow? Thank the +Lord I ain't got no use for shell games of any kind. Here I am, without +anything to eat an' no prospects of anything, sitting up on this locoed +layout like a sore thumb, an' can't move without hitting myself! An' +it'll be late to-day before I can get any grub, too. Oh, well,” he +sighed, “I ain't in love, so things might be a whole lot worse with me. +An' he ain't in love, neither, only he won't listen to reason. He gets +mad an' calls me a sage hen an' says I'm stuck on myself because some +fool told me I had brains.” + +He laughed as he pictured the object of his friend's affections. “Huh; +anybody that got one good, square look at her wouldn't ever accuse him +of having brains. But he'll forget her in a month. That was the life of +his last hobbling fit an' it was the worst he ever had.” + +Grinning at his friend's peculiarly human characteristics he leaned back +in the saddle and felt for tobacco and papers. As he finished pouring +the chopped alfalfa into the paper he glanced up and saw a mounted man +top the sky-line of the distant hills and shoot down the slope at full +speed. + +“I knowed it: started three hours late an' now he's trying to make it up +in the last mile,” Hopalong muttered, dexterously spreading the tobacco +along the groove and quickly rolling the cigarette. Lighting it he +looked up again and saw that the horseman was wildly waving a sombrero. + +“Huh! Wigwagging for forgiveness,” laughed the man who waited. “Old +son-of-a-gun, I'd wait a week if I had some grub, an' he knows it. +Couldn't get mad at him if I tried.” + +Mr. Connors' antics now became frantic and he shouted something at the +top of his voice. His friend spurred his mount. “Come on, bronc; wake +up. His girl said 'yes' an' now he wants me to get him out of his +trouble.” Whereupon he jogged forward. “What's that?” he shouted, +sitting up very straight. “What's that?” + +Red energetically swept the sombrero behind him and pointed to the rear. +“War-whoops! W-a-r w-h-o-o-p-s! Injuns, you chump!” Mr. Connors appeared +to be mildly exasperated. + +“Yes?” sarcastically rejoined Mr. Cassidy in his throat, and then +shouted in reply: “Love an' liquor don't mix very well in you. Wake up! +Come out of it!” + +“That's straight--I mean it!” cried Mr. Connors, close enough now to +save the remainder of his lungs. “It's a bunch of young bucks on their +first war-trail, I reckon. 'T ain't Geronimo, all right; I wouldn't be +here now if it was. Three of 'em chased me an' the two that are left are +coming hot-foot somewhere the other side of them hills. They act sort of +mad, too.” + +“Mebby they ain't acting at all,” cheerily replied his companion. “An' +then that's the way you got that graze?” pointing to a bloody furrow on +Mr. Connors' cheek. “But just the same it looks like the trail left by a +woman's finger nail.” + +“Finger nail nothing,” retorted Mr. Connors, flushing a little. “But, +for God's sake, are you going to sit here like a wart on a dead dog +an' wait for 'em?” he demanded with a rising inflection. “Do you reckon +yo're running a dance, or a party, or something like that?” + +“How many?” placidly inquired Mr. Cassidy, gazing intently towards the +high sky-line of the distant hills. + +“Two--an' I won't tell you again, neither!” snapped the owner of the +furrowed cheek. “The others are 'way behind now--but we're standing +_still_!” + +“Why didn't you say there was others?” reproved Hopalong. “Naturally +I didn't see no use of getting all het up just because two sprouted +papooses feel like crowding us a bit; it wouldn't be none of _our_ +funeral, would it?” and the indignant Mr. Cassidy hurriedly dismounted +and hid his horse in a nearby chaparral and returned to his companion at +a run. + +“Red, gimme yore Winchester an' then hustle on for a ways, have an +accident, fall off yore cayuse, an' act scared to death, if you know +how. It's that little trick Buck told us about, an' it shore ought to +work fine here. We'll see if two infant feather-dusters can lick the +Bar-20. Get a-going!” + +They traded rifles, Hopalong taking the repeater in place of the +single-shot gun he carried, and Red departed as bidden, his face +gradually breaking into an enthusiastic grin as he ruminated upon the +plan. “Level-headed old cuss; he's a wonder when it comes to planning or +fighting. An' lucky,--well, I reckon!” + +Hopalong ran forward for a short distance and slid down the steep bank +of a narrow arroyo and waited, the repeater thrust out through the dense +fringe of grass and shrubs which bordered the edge. When settled to his +complete satisfaction and certain that he was effectually screened from +the sight of any one in front of him, he arose on his toes and looked +around for his companion, and laughed. Mr. Connors was bending very +dejectedly apparently over his prostrate horse, but in reality was +swearing heartily at the ignorant quadruped because it strove with might +and main to get its master's foot off its head so it could arise. The +man in the arroyo turned again and watched the hills and it was not +long before he saw two Indians burst into view over the crest and gallop +towards his friend. They were not to be blamed because they did not +know the pursued had joined a friend, for the second trail was yet some +distance in front of them. + +“Pair of budding warriors, all right; an' awful important. Somebody must +'a' told _them_ they had brains,” Mr. Cassidy muttered. “They're just +at the age when they knows it all an' have to go 'round raising hell all +the time. Wonder when they jumped the reservation.” + +The Indians, seeing Mr. Connors arguing with his prostrate horse, and +taking it for granted that he was not stopping for pleasure or to view +the scenery, let out a yell and dashed ahead at grater speed, at the +same time separating so as to encircle him and attack him front and rear +at the same time. They had a great amount of respect for cowboys. + +This manoeuvre was entirely unexpected and clashed violently with Mr. +Cassidy's plan of procedure, so two irate punchers swore heartily at +their rank stupidity in not counting on it. Of course everybody that +knew anything at all about such warfare knew that they would do just +such a thing, which made it all the more bitter. But Red had cultivated +the habit of thinking quickly and he saw at once that the remedy +lay with him; he astonished the exultant savages by straddling his +disgruntled horse as it scrambled to its feet and galloping away from +them, bearing slightly to the south, because he wished to lure his +pursuers to ride closer to his anxious and eager friend. + +This action was a success, for the yelling warriors, slowing perceptibly +because of their natural astonishment at the resurrection and speed of +an animal regarded as dead or useless, spurred on again, drawing closer +together, and along the chord of the arc made by Mr. Connors' trail. +Evidently the fool white man was either crazy or had original and +startling ideas about the way to rest a horse when hard pressed, which +pleased them much, since he had lost so much time. The pleasures of the +war-trail would be vastly greater if all white men had similar ideas. + +Hopalong, the light of fighting burning strong in his eyes, watched them +sweep nearer and nearer, splendid examples of their type and seeming to +be a part of their mounts. Then two shots rang out in quick succession +and a cloud of pungent smoke arose lazily from the edge of the arroyo +as the warriors fell from their mounts not sixty yards from the hidden +marksman. + +Mr. Connors' rifle spat fire once to make assurance doubly sure and he +hastily rejoined his friend as that person climbed out of the arroyo. + +“Huh! They must have been half-breeds!” snorted Red in great disgust, +watching his friend shed sand from his clothes. “I allus opined that +'Paches was too blamed slick to bite on a game like that.” + +“Well, they are purty 'lusive animals, 'Paches; but there are +exceptions,” replied Hopalong, smiling at the success of their scheme. +“Them two ain't 'Paches--they're the exceptions. But let me tell you +that's a good game, just the same. It is as long as they don't see the +second trail in time. Didn't Buck and Skinny get two that way?” + +“Yes, I reckon so. But what'll we do now? What's the next play?” asked +Red, hurriedly, his eyes searching the sky-line of the hills. “The rest +of the coyotes will be here purty soon, an' they'll be madder than ever +now. An' you better gimme back that gun, too.” + +“Take yore old gun--who wants the blamed thing, anyhow?” Hopalong +demanded, throwing the weapon at his friend as he ran to bring up the +hidden horse. When he returned he grinned pleasantly. “Why, we'll go on +like we was greased for calamity, that's what we'll do. Did you reckon +we was going to play leap-frog around here an' wait for the rest of them +paint-shops, like a blamed fool pair of idiots?” + +“I didn't know what _you_ might do, remembering how you acted when I met +you,” retorted Red, shifting his cartridge belt so the empty loops were +behind and out of the way. “But I shore knowed what we ought to do, all +right.” + +“Well, mebby you also know how many's headed this way; do you?” + +“You've got me stumped there; but there's a round dozen, anyway,” Red +replied. “You see, the three that chased me were out scouting ahead of +the main bunch; an' I didn't have no time to take no blasted census.” + +“Then we've got to hit the home trail, an' hit it hard. Wind up that +four-laigged excuse of yourn, an' take my dust,” Hopalong responded, +leading the way. “If we can get home there'll be a lot of disgusted +braves hitting the high spots on the back trail trying to find a way +out. Buck an' the rest of the boys will be a whole lot pleased, too. We +can muster thirty men in two hours if we gets to Buckskin, an' that's +twenty more than we'll need.” + +“Tell you one thing, Hoppy; we can get as far as Powers' old ranch +house, an' that's shore,” replied Red, thoughtfully. + +“Yes!” exploded his companion in scorn and pity. “That old sieve of a +shack ain't good enough for _me_ to die in, no matter what you think +about it. Why, it's as full of holes as a stiff hat in a melee. Yo're on +the wrong trail; think again.” + +Mr. Cassidy objected not because he believed that Powers' old ranch +house was unworthy of serious consideration as a place of refuge and +defence, but for the reason that he wished to reach Buckskin so his +friends might all get in on the treat. Times were very dull on the +ranch, and this was an occasion far too precious to let slip by. +Besides, he then would have the pleasure of leading his friends against +the enemy and battling on even terms. If he sought shelter he and +Red would have to fight on the defensive, which was a game he hated +cordially because it put him in a relatively subordinate position and +thereby hurt his pride. + +“Let me tell you that it's a whole lot better than thin air with a +hard-working circle around us--an' you know what that means,” retorted +Mr. Connors. “But if you don't want to take a chance in the shack, why +mebby we can make Wallace's, or the Cross-O-Cross. That is, if we don't +get turned out of our way.” + +“We don't head for no Cross-O-Cross or Wallace's,” rejoined his friend +with emphasis, “an' we won't waste no time in Powers' shack, neither; +we'll push right through as hard as we can go for Buckskin. Let them +fellers find their own hunting--our outfit comes first. An' besides +that'll mean a detour in a country fine for ambushes. We'd never get +through.” + +“Well, have it yore own way, then!” snapped Red. “You allus was a +hard-headed old mule, anyhow.” In his heart Red knew that Hopalong was +right about Wallace's and the Cross-O-Cross. + +Some time after the two punchers had quitted the scene of their trap, +several Apaches loped up, read the story of the tragedy at a glance, and +galloped on in pursuit. They had left the reservation a fortnight before +under the able leadership of that veteran of many war-trails--Black +Bear. Their leader, chafing at inaction and sick of the monotony of +reservation life, had yielded to the entreaties of a score of restless +young men and slipped away at their head, eager for the joys of raiding +and plundering. But instead of stealing horses and murdering isolated +whites as they had expected, they met with heavy repulses and were +now without the mind of their leader. They had fled from one defeat to +another and twice had barely eluded the cavalry which pursued them. Now +two more of their dwindling force were dead and another had been found +but an hour before. Rage and ferocity seethed in each savage heart and +they determined to get the puncher they had chased, and that other whose +trail they now saw for the first time. They would place at least one +victory against the string of their defeats, and at any cost. Whips rose +and fell and the war-party shot forward in a compact group, two scouts +thrown ahead to feel the way. + +Red and Hopalong rode on rejoicing, for there were three less Apaches +loose in the Southwest for the inhabitants to swear about and fear, and +there was an excellent chance of more to follow. The Southwest had +no toleration for the Government's policy of dealing with Indians and +derived a great amount of satisfaction every time an Apache was killed. +It still clung to the time-honored belief that the only good Indian +was a dead one. Mr. Cassidy voiced his elation and then rubbed an +empty stomach in vain regret,--when a bullet shrilled past his head, +so unexpectedly as to cause him to duck instinctively and then glance +apologetically at his red-haired friend; and both spurred their mounts +to greater speed. Next Mr. Connors grabbed frantically at his perforated +sombrero and grew petulant and loquacious. + +“Both them shots was lucky, Hoppy; the feller that fired at me did it +on the dead run; but that won't help us none if one of 'em connects +with us. You gimme that Sharps--got to show 'em that they're taking big +chances crowding us this way.” He took the heavy rifle and turned in the +saddle. “It's an even thousand, if it's a yard. He don't look very big, +can't hardly tell him from his cayuse; an' the wind's puffy. Why don't +you dirty or rust this gun? The sun glitters all along the barrel. Well, +here goes.” + +“Missed by a mile,” reproved Hopalong, who would have been stunned by +such a thing as a hit under the circumstances, even if his good-shooting +friend had made it. + +“Yes! Missed the coyote I aimed for, but I got the cayuse of his off +pardner; see it?” + +“Talk about luck!” + +“That's all right: it takes blamed good shooting to miss that close in +this case. Look! It's slowed 'em up a bit, an' that's about all I hoped +to do. Bet they think I'm a real, shore-'nuff medicine-man. Now gimme +another cartridge.” + +“I will not; no use wasting lead at this range. We'll need all the +cartridges we got before we get out of this hole. You can't do nothing +without stopping--an' that takes time.” + +“Then I'll stop! The blazes with the time! Gimme another, d'ye hear?” + +Mr. Cassidy heard, complied, and stopped beside his companion, who was +very intent upon the matter at hand. It took some figuring to make a +hit when the range was so great and the sun so blinding and the wind +so capricious. He lowered the rifle and peered through the smoke at the +confusion he had caused by dropping the nearest warrior. He was said to +be the best rifle shot in the Southwest, which means a great deal, +and his enemies did not deny it. But since the Sharps shot a special +cartridge and was reliable up to the limit of its sight gauge, a matter +of eighteen hundred yards, he did not regard the hit as anything worthy +of especial mention. Not so his friend, who grinned joyously and loosed +his admiration. + +“Yo're a shore wonder with that gun, Red! Why don't you lose that +repeater an' get a gun like mine? Lord, if I could use a rifle like you, +I wouldn't have that gun of yourn for a gift. Just look at what you did +with it! Please get one like it.” + +“I'm plumb satisfied with the repeater,” replied Red. “I don't miss very +often at eight hundred with it, an' that's long enough range for most +anybody. An' if I do miss, I can send another that won't, an' right on +the tail of the first, too.” + +“Ah, the devil! You make me disgusted with yore fool talk about that +carbine!” snapped his companion, and the subject was dropped. + +The merits of their respective rifles had always been a bone of +contention between them and one well chewed, at that. Red was very well +satisfied with his Winchester, and he was a good judge. + +“You did stop 'em a little,” asserted Mr. Cassidy some time later when +he looked back. “You stopped 'em coming straight, but they're spreading +out to work up around us. Now, if we had good cayuses instead of these +wooden wonders, we could run away from 'em dead easy, draw their best +mounted warriors to the front an' then close with 'em. Good thing their +cayuses are well tired out, for as it is we've got to make a stand purty +soon. Gee! They don't like you, Red; they're calling you names in the +sign language. Just look at 'em cuss you!” + +“How much water have you got?” inquired his friend with anxiety. + +“Canteen plumb full. How're you fixed?” + +“I got the same, less one drink. That gives us enough for a couple of +days with some to spare, if we're careful,” Mr. Connors replied. +New Mexican canteens are built on generous lines and are known as +life-preservers. + +“Look at that glory-hunter go!” exclaimed Red, watching a brave who was +riding half a mile to their right and rapidly coming abreast of them. +“Wonder how he got over there without us seeing him.” + +“Here; stop him!” suggested Hopalong, holding out his Sharps. “We can't +let him get ahead of us and lay in ambush--that's what he's playing to +do.” + +“My gun's good, and better, for me, at this range; but you know, I can't +hit a jack-rabbit going over rough country as fast as that feller is,” + replied his companion, standing up in his stirrups and firing. + +“Huh! Never touched him! But he's edging off a-plenty. See him cuss you. +What's he calling you, anyhow?” + +“Aw, shut up! How the devil do _I_ know? I don't talk with my arms.” + +“Are you superstitious, Red?” + +“No! Shut up!” + +“Well, I am. See that feller over there? If he gets in front of us it's +a shore sign that somebody's going to get hurt. He'll have plenty of +time to get cover an' pick us off as we come up.” + +“Don't you worry--his cayuse is deader'n ours. They must 'a' been +pushing on purty hard the last few days. See it stumble?--what'd I tell +you!” + +“Yes; but they're gaining on us slow but shore. We've got to make a +stand purty soon--how much further do you reckon that infernal shack is, +anyhow?” Hopalong asked sharply. + +“'T ain't fur off--see it any minute now.” + +“Here,” remarked Hopalong, holding out his rifle, “stencil yore mark on +his hide; catch him just as he strikes the top of that little rise.” + +“Ain't got time--that shack can't be much further.” + +And it wasn't, for as they galloped over a rise they saw, half a mile +ahead of them, an adobe building in poor state of preservation. It was +Powers' old ranch house, and as they neared it, they saw that there was +no doubt about the holes. + +“Told you it was a sieve,” grunted Hopalong, swinging in on the tail of +his companion. “Not worth a hang for anything,” he added bitterly. + +“It'll answer, all right,” retorted Red grimly. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +MR. HOLDEN DROPS IN + +Mr. Cassidy dismounted and viewed the building with open disgust, +walking around it to see what held it up, and when he finally realized +that it was self-supporting his astonishment was profound. Undoubtedly +there were shacks in the United States in worse condition, but he hoped +their number was small. Of course he knew that the building was small. +Of course he knew that the building would make a very good place of +defence, but for the sake of argument he called to his companion and +urged that they be satisfied with what defence they could extemporize in +the open. Mr. Connors hotly and hastily dissented as he led the horses +into the building, and straightway the subject was arbitrated with much +feeling and snappy eloquence. Finally Hopalong thought that Red was a +chump, and said so out loud, whereat Red said unpleasant things about +his good friend's pedigree, attributes, intelligence, et al., even going +so far as to prognosticate his friend's place of eternal abode. The +remarks were fast getting to be somewhat personal in tenor when a whine +in the air swept up the scale to a vicious shriek as it passed between +them, dropped rapidly to a whine again and quickly died out in the +distance, a flat report coming to their ears a few seconds later. +Invisible bees seemed to be winging through the air, the angry and +venomous droning becoming more pronounced each passing moment, and the +irregular cracking of rifles grew louder rapidly. An angry _s-p-a-t!_ +told of where a stone behind them had launched the ricochet which hurled +skyward with a wheezing scream. A handful of 'dobe dust sprang from the +corner of the building and sifted down upon them, causing Red to cough. + +“That ricochet was a Sharps!” exclaimed Hopalong, and they lost no time +in getting into the building, where the discussion was renewed as they +prepared for the final struggle. Red grunted his cheerful approval, for +now he was out of the blazing sun and where he could better appreciate +the musical tones of the flying bullets; but his companion, slamming +shut the door and propping it with a fallen roof-beam, grumbled and +finally gave rein to his rancor by sneering at the Winchester. + +“It shore gets me that after all I have said about that gun you will +tote it around with you and force yoreself into a suicide's grave,” + quoth Mr. Cassidy, with exuberant pugnacity. “I ain't in no way +objecting to the suicide part of it, but I can't see that it's at all +fair to drag _me_ onto the edge of everlasting eternity with you. If you +ain't got no regard for yore own life you shore ought to think a little +about yore friend's. Now you'll waste all yore cartridges an' then +come snooping around me to borrow my gun. Why don't you lose the damned +thing?” + +“What I pack ain't none of yore business, which same I'll uphold,” + retorted Mr. Connors, at last able to make himself heard. “You get over +on yore own side an' use yore Colt; I've wondered a whole lot where you +ever got the sense to use a Colt--_I_ wouldn't be a heap surprised to +see you toting a pearl-handled .22, like the kids use. Now you 'tend to +yore grave-yard aspirants, an' lemme do the same with mine.” + +“The Lord knows I've stood a whole lot from you because you just can't +help being foolish, but I've got plumb weary and sick of it. It stops +right here or you won't get no 'Paches,” snorted Hopalong, peering +intently through a hole in the shack. The more they squabbled the better +they liked it,--controversies had become so common that they were +merely a habit; and they served to take the grimness out of desperate +situations. + +“Aw, you can't lick one side of me,” averred Red loftily. “You never did +stop anybody that was anything,” he jeered as he fired from his window. +“Why, you couldn't even hit the bottom of the Grand Canyon if you leaned +over the edge.” + +“You could, if you leaned too far, you red-headed wart of a half-breed,” + snapped Hopalong. “But how about the Joneses, Tarantula Charley, Slim +Travennes, an' all the rest? How about them, hey?” + +“Huh! You couldn't 'a' got any of 'em if they had been sober,” and Mr. +Connors shook so with mirth that the Indian at whom he had fired got +away with a whole skin and cheerfully derided the marksman. “That 'Pache +shore reckons it was you shooting at him, I missed him so far. Now, you +shut up--I want to get some so we can go home. I don't want to stay out +here all night an' the next day as well,” Red grumbled, his words dying +slowly in his throat as he voiced other thoughts. + +Hopalong caught sight of an Apache who moved cautiously through a +chaparral lying about nine hundred yards away. As long as the distant +enemy lay quietly he could not be discerned, but he was not content +with assured safety and took a chance. Hopalong raised his rifle to his +shoulder as the Indian fired and the latter's bullet, striking the +edge of the hole through which Mr. Cassidy peered, kicked up a generous +handful of dust, some of which found lodgment in that individual's eyes. + +“Oh! Oh! Oh! Wow!” yelled the unfortunate, dancing blindly around the +room in rage and pain, and dropping his rifle to grab at his eyes. “Oh! +Oh! Oh!” + +His companion wheeled like a flash and grabbed him as he stumbled past. +“Are you plugged bad, Hoppy? Where did they get you? Are you hit bad?” + and Red's heart was in his voice. + +“No, I ain't plugged bad!” mimicked Hopalong. “I ain't plugged at all!” + he blazed, kicking enthusiastically at his solicitous friend. “Get me +some water, you jackass! Don't stand there like a fool! I ain't going to +fall down. Don't you know my eyes are full of 'dobe?” + +Red, avoiding another kick, hastily complied, and as hastily left +Mr. Cassidy to wash out the dirt while he returned to his post by the +window. “Anybody'd think you was full of red-eye, the way you act,” + muttered Red peevishly. + +Hopalong, rubbing his eyes of the dirt, went back to the hole in the +wall and looked out. “Hey, Red! Come over here an' spill that brave's +conceit. I can't keep my eyes open long enough to aim, an' it's a nice +shot, too. It'd serve him right if you got him!” + +Mr. Connors obeyed the summons and peered out cautiously. “I can't see +him, nohow; where is the coyote?” + +“Over there in that little chaparral; see him now? _There!_ See him +moving. Do you mean to tell me--” + +“Yep; I see him, all right. You watch,” was the reply. “He's just over +nine hundred--where's yore Sharps?” He took the weapon, glanced at the +Buffington sight, which he found to be set right, and aimed carefully. + +Hopalong blinked through another hole as his friend fired and saw the +Indian flop down and crawl aimlessly about on hands and knees. “What's +he doing now, Red?” + +“Playing marbles, you chump; an' here goes for his agate,” replied the +man with the Sharps, firing again. “There! Gee!” he exclaimed, as a +bullet hummed in through the window he had quitted for the moment, and +thudded into the wall, making the dry adobe fly. It had missed him by +only a few inches and he now crept along the floor to the rear of the +room and shoved his rifle out among the branches of a stunted mesquite +which grew before a fissure in the wall. “You keep away from that windy +for a minute, Hoppy,” he warned as he waited. + +A terror-stricken lizard flashed out of the fissure and along the wall +where the roof had fallen in and flitted into a hole, while a fly buzzed +loudly and hovered persistently around Red's head, to the rage of that +individual. “Ah, ha!” he grunted, lowering the rifle and peering through +the smoke. A yell reached his ears and he forthwith returned to his +window, whistling softly. + +Evidently Mr. Cassidy's eyes were better and his temper sweeter, for he +hummed “Dixie” and then jumped to “Yankee Doodle,” mixing the two +airs with careless impartiality, which was a sign that he was thinking +deeply. “Wonder what ever became of Powers, Red. Peculiar feller, he +was.” + +“In jail, I reckon, if drink hasn't killed him.” + +“Yes; I reckon so,” and Mr. Cassidy continued his medley, which prompted +his friend quickly to announce his unqualified disapproval. + +“You can make more of a mess of them two songs than anybody I ever heard +murder 'em! _Shut up!_”--and the concert stopped, the vocalist venting +his feelings at an Indian, and killing the horse instead. + +“Did you get him?” queried Red. + +“Nope; but I got his cayuse,” Hopalong replied, shoving a fresh +cartridge into the foul, greasy breech of the Sharps. “An' here's where +I get him--got to square up for my eyes some way,” he muttered, firing. +“Missed! Now what do you think of that!” he exclaimed. + +“Better take my Winchester,” suggested Red, in a matter-of-fact way, but +he chuckled softly and listened for the reply. + +“Aw, you go to the devil!” snapped Mr. Cassidy, firing again. “Whoop! +Got him that time!” + +“Where?” asked his companion, with strong suspicion. + +“None of yore business!” + +“Aw, darn it! Who spilled the water?” yelled Red, staring blankly at the +overturned canteen. + +“Pshaw! Reckon I did, Red,” apologized his friend ruefully. “Now of all +the cussed luck!” + +“Oh, well; we've got another, an' you had to wash out yore eyes. Lucky +we each had one--_Holy smoke!_ It's most all gone! The top is loose!” + +Heartfelt profanity filled the room and the two disgusted punchers went +sullenly back to their posts. It was a calamity of no small magnitude, +for, while food could be dispensed with for a long time if necessary, +going without water was another question. It was as necessary as +cartridges. + +Then Hopalong laughed at the ludicrous side of the whole affair, thereby +revealing one of the characteristics which endeared him to his friends. +No matter how desperate a situation might be, he could always find in it +something at which to laugh. He laughed going into danger and coming out +of it, with a joke or a pleasantry always trembling on the end of his +tongue. + +“Red, did it ever strike you how cussed thirsty a feller gets just +as soon as he knows he can't have no drink? But it don't make much +difference, nohow. We'll get out of this little scrape just as we've +allus got out of trouble. There's some mad war-whoops outside that are +worse off than we are, because they are at the wrong end of yore gun. I +feel sort of sorry for 'em.” + +“Yo're shore a happy idiot,” grinned Red. “Hey! Listen!” + +Galloping was heard and Hopalong, running to the door, looked out +through a crack as sudden firing broke out around the rear of the shack, +and fell to pulling away the props, crying, “It's a puncher, Red; he's +riding this way! Come on an' help him in!” + +“He's a blamed fool to ride this way! I'm with you!” replied Red, +running to his side. + +Half a mile from the house, coming across the open space as fast as he +could urge his horse, rode a cowboy, and not far behind him raced about +a dozen Apaches, yelling and firing. + +Red picked up his companion's rifle, and steadying it against the +jamb of the door, fired, dropping one of the foremost of the pursuers. +Quickly reloading again, he fired and missed. The third shot struck +another horse, and then taking up his own gun he began to fire rapidly, +as rapidly as he could work the lever and yet make his shots tell. +Hopalong drew his Colt and ran back to watch the rear of the house, and +it was well that he did so, for an Apache in that direction, believing +that the trapped punchers were so busily engaged with the new +developments as to forget for the moment, sprinted towards the +back window; and he had gotten within twenty paces of the goal when +Hopalong's Colt cracked a protest. Seeing that the warrior was no longer +a combatant, Mr. Cassidy ran back to the door just as the stranger fell +from his horse and crawled past Red. The door slammed shut, the props +fell against it, and the two friends turned to the work of driving back +the second band, which, however, had given up all hope of rushing the +house in the face of Red's telling fire, and had sought cover instead. + +The stranger dragged himself to the canteens and drank what little water +remained, and then turned to watch the two men moving from place to +place, firing coolly and methodically. He thought he recognized one of +them from the descriptions he had heard, but he was not sure. + +“My name's Holden,” he whispered hoarsely, but the cracking of the +rifles drowned his voice. During a lull he tried again. “My name's +Holden,” he repeated weakly. “I'm from the Cross-O-Cross, an' can't get +back there again.” + +“Mine's Cassidy, an' that's Connors, of the Bar-20. Are you hurt very +bad?” + +“No; not very bad,” lied Holden, trying to smile. “Gee, but I'm glad I +fell in with you two fellers,” he exclaimed. He was but little more than +a boy, and to him Hopalong Cassidy and Red Connors were names with which +to conjure. “But I'm plumb sorry I went an' brought you more trouble,” + he added regretfully. + +“Oh, pshaw! We had it before you came--you needn't do no worrying about +that, Holden; besides, I reckon you couldn't help it,” Hopalong grinned +facetiously. “But tell us how you came to mix up with that bunch,” he +continued. + +Holden shuddered and hesitated a moment, his companions alertly +shifting from crack to crack, window to window, their rifles cracking at +intervals. They appeared to him to act as if they had done nothing else +all their lives but fight Indians from that shack, and he braced up a +little at their example of coolness. + +“It's an awful story, awful!” he began. “I was riding towards Hoyt's +Corners an' when I got about half way there I topped a rise an' saw a +nester's house about half a mile away. It wasn't there the last time I +rode that way, an' it looked so peaceful an' home-like that I stopped +an' looked at it a few minutes. I was just going to start again when +that war-party rode out of a barranca close to the house an' went +straight for it at top speed. It seemed like a dream, 'cause I thought +Apaches never got so far east. They don't, do they? I thought not--these +must 'a' got turned out of their way an' had to hustle for safety. +Well, it was all over purty quick. I saw 'em drag out two women +an'--an'--purty soon a man. He was fighting like fury, but he didn't +last long. Then they set fire to the house an' threw the man's body up +on the roof. I couldn't seem to move till the flames shot up, but then +I must 'a' went sort of loco, because I emptied my gun at 'em, which was +plumb foolish at that distance, for me. The next thing I knowed was that +half of 'em was coming my way as hard as they could ride, an' I lit +out instanter; an' here I am. I can't get that sight outen my head +nohow--it'll drive me loco!” he screamed, sobbing like a child from the +horror of it all. + +His auditors still moved around the room, growing more and more +vindictive all the while and more zealously endeavoring to create a +still greater deficit in one Apache war-party. They knew what he had +looked upon, for they themselves had become familiar with the work of +Apaches in Arizona. They could picture it vividly in all its devilish +horror. Neither of them paid any apparent attention to their companion, +for they could not spare the time, and, also, they believed it best to +let him fight out his own battles unassisted. + +Holden sobbed and muttered as the minutes dragged along, at times acting +so strangely as to draw a covert side-glance from one or both of the +Bar-20 punchers. Then Mr. Connors saw his boon companion suddenly lean +out of a window and immediately become the target for the hard-working +enemy. He swore angrily at the criminal recklessness of it. “Hey, you! +Come in out of that! Ain't you got no brains at all, you blasted idiot! +Don't you know that we need every gun?” + +“Yes; that's right. I sort of forgot,” grinned the reckless one, obeying +with alacrity and looking sheepish. “But you know there's two thundering +big tarantulas out there fighting like blazes. You ought to see 'em +jump! It's a sort of a leap-frog fight, Red.” + +“Fool!” snorted Mr. Connors belligerently. “_You'd_ 'a' jumped if one of +them slugs had 'a' got you! Yo're the damnedest fool that ever walked on +two laigs, you blasted sage-hen!” Mr. Connors was beginning to lose his +temper and talk in his throat. + +“Well, they didn't get me, did they? What you yelling about, anyhow?” + growled Hopalong, trying to brazen it out. + +“An' _you_ talking about suicide to me!” snapped Mr. Connors, determined +to rub it in and have the last word. + +Mr. Holden stared, open-mouthed, at the man who could enjoy a miserable +spider fight under such distressing circumstances, and his shaken nerves +became steadier as he gave thought to the fact that he was a companion +of the two men about whose exploits he had heard so much. Evidently the +stories had not been exaggerated. What must they think of him for giving +way as he had? He rose to his feet in time to see a horse blunder into +the open on Red's side of the house, and after it blundered its owner, +who immediately lost all need of earthly conveyances. Holden laughed +from the joy of being with a man who could shoot like that, and he +took up his rifle and turned to a crack in the wall, filled with the +determination to let his companions know that he was built of the right +kind of timber after all, wounded as he was. + +Red's only comment, as he pumped a fresh cartridge into the barrel, was, +“He must 'a' thought he saw a spider fight, too.” + +“Hey, Red,” called Hopalong. “The big one is dead.” + +“What big one?” + +“Why, don't you remember? That big tarantula I was watching. One was +bigger than the other, but the little feller shore waded into him an'--” + +“Go to the devil!” shouted Red, who had to grin, despite his anger. + +“Presently, presently,” replied Hopalong, laughing. + +So the day passed, and when darkness came upon them all of the defenders +were wounded, Holden desperately so. + +“Red, one of us has got to try to make the ranch,” Hopalong suddenly +announced, and his friend knew he was right. Since Holden had appeared +upon the scene they had known that they could not try a dash; one of +them had to stay. + +“We'll toss for it; heads, I go,” Red suggested, flipping a coin. + +“Tails!” cried Hopalong. “It's only thirty miles to Buckskin, an' if I +can get away from here I'm good to make it by eleven to-night. I'll stop +at Cowan's an' have him send word to Lucas an' Bartlett, so there'll be +enough in case any of our boys are out on the range in some line house. +We can pick 'em up on the way back, so there won't be no time lost. If +I get through you can expect excitement on the outside of this sieve +by daylight. You an' Holden can hold her till then, because they never +attack at night. It's the only way out of this for us--we ain't got +cartridges or water enough to last another day.” + +Red, knowing that Hopalong was taking a desperate chance in working +through the cordon of Indians which surrounded them, and that the house +was safe when compared to running such a gantlet, offered to go through +the danger line with him. For several minutes a wordy war raged and +finally Red accepted a compromise; he was to help, but not to work +through the line. + +“But what's the use of all this argument?” feebly demanded Holden. “Why +don't you both go? I ain't a-going to live nohow, so there ain't no use +of anybody staying here with me, to die with me. Put a bullet through me +so them devils can't play with me like they do with others, an' then get +away while you've got a chance. Two men can get through as easy as one.” + He sank back, exhausted by the effort. + +“No more of that!” cried Red, trying to be stern. “I'm going to stay +with you an' see things through. I'd be a fine sort of a coyote to sneak +off an' leave you for them fiends. An', besides, I can't get away; my +cayuse is hit too hard an' yourn is dead,” he lied cheerfully. “An' +yo're going to get well, all right. I've seen fellers hit harder than +you are pull through.” + +Hopalong walked over to the prostrate man and shook hands with him. “I'm +awful glad I met you, Holden. Yo're pure grit all the way through, an' +I like to tie to that kind of a man. Don't you worry about nothing; Red +can handle this proposition, an' we'll have you in Buckskin by to-morrow +night; you'll be riding again in two weeks. So long.” + +He turned to Red and shook hands silently, led his horse out of the +building and mounted, glad that the moon had not yet come up, for in the +darkness he had a chance. + +“Good luck, Hoppy!” cried Red, running to the door. “Good luck!” + +“You bet--an' lots of it, too,” groaned Holden, but he was gone. Then +Red wheeled. “Holden, keep yore eyes an' ears open. I'm going out to see +that he gets off. He may run into a--” and he, too, was gone. + +Holden watched the doors and windows, striving to resist the weak, giddy +feeling in his head, and ten minutes later he heard a shot and then +several more in quick succession. Shortly afterward Red called out, and +almost immediately the Bar-20 puncher crawled in through a window. + +“Well?” anxiously cried the man on the floor. “Did he make it?” + +“I reckon so. He got away from the first crowd, anyhow. I wasn't very +far behind him, an' by the time they woke up to what was going on he +was through an' riding like blazes. I heard him call 'em half-breeds a +moment later an' it sounded far off. They hit me,--fired at my flash, +like I drilled one of them. But it ain't much, anyhow. How are you +feeling now?” + +“Fine!” lied the other. “That Cassidy is shore a wonder--he's all right, +an' so are you. I'll never see him again, but I shore hope he gets +through!” + +“Don't be foolish. Here, you finish the water in yore canteen--I picked +it up outside by yore cayuse. Then go to sleep,” ordered Red. “I'll do +all the watching that's necessary.” + +“I will if you'll call me when you get sleepy.” + +“Why, shore I will. But don't you want the rest of the water? I ain't a +bit thirsty--I had all I could hold just before you came,” Red remarked +as his companion pushed the canteen against him in the dark. He was +choking with thirst. “Well, then; all right,” and Red pretended to +drink. “Now, then, you go to sleep; a good snooze will do you a world of +good--it's just what you need.” + + + +CHAPTER X + +BUCK TAKES A HAND + +Cowan's saloon, club, and place of general assembly for the town of +Buckskin and the nearby ranches, held a merry crowd, for it was pay-day +on the range and laughter and liquor ran a close race. Buck Peters, +his hands full of cigars, passed through the happy-go-lucky, +do-as-you-please crowd and invited everybody to smoke, which nobody +refused to do. Wood Wright, of the C-80, tuned his fiddle anew and swung +into a rousing quick-step. Partners were chosen, the “women” wearing +handkerchiefs on their arms to indicate the fact, and the room shook and +quivered as the scraping of heavy boots filled the air with a cloud of +dust. “Allaman left!” cried the prompter, and then the dance stopped as +if by magic. The door had crashed open and a blood-stained man staggered +in and towards the bar, crying, “Buck! Red's hemmed in by 'Paches!” + +“Good God!” roared the foreman of the Bar-20, leaping forward, the +cigars falling to the floor to be crushed and ground into powder by +careless feet. He grasped his puncher and steadied him while Cowan slid +an extra generous glassful of brandy across the bar for the wounded man. +The room was in an uproar, men grabbing rifles and running out to get +their horses, for it was plain to be seen that there was hard work to be +done, and quickly. Questions, threats, curses filled the air, those +who remained inside to get the story listening intently to the jerky +narrative; those outside, caring less for the facts of an action past +than for the action to come, shouted impatiently for a start to be made, +even threatening to go on and tackle the proposition by themselves if +there were not more haste. Hopalong told in a graphic, terse manner all +that was necessary, while Buck and Cowan hurriedly bandaged his wounds. + +“Come on! Come on!” shouted the mounted crowd outside, angry, and +impatient for a start, the prancing of horses and the clinking of metal +adding to the noise. “Get a move on! _Will_ you hurry up!” + +“Listen, Hoppy!” pleaded Buck, in a furore. “Shut up, you outside!” he +yelled. “You say they know that you got away, Hoppy?” he asked. “All +right--_Lanky!_” he shouted. “_Lanky!_” + +“All right, Buck!” and Lanky Smith roughly pushed his way through the +crowd to his foreman's side. “Here I am.” + +“Take Skinny and Pete with you, an' a lead horse apiece. Strike straight +for Powers' old ranch house. Them Injuns'll have pickets out looking for +Hoppy's friends. You three get the pickets nearest the old trail through +that arroyo to the southeast, an' then wait for us. We'll come along the +high bank on the left. Don't make no noise doing it, neither, if you can +help it. Understand? Good! Now ride like the devil!” + +Lanky grabbed Pete and Skinny on his way out and disappeared into the +corral; and very soon thereafter hoof-beats thudded softly in the sandy +street and pounded into the darkness of the north, soon lost to the ear. +An uproar of advice and good wishes crashed after them, for the game had +begun. + +“It's Powers' old shack, boys!” shouted a man in the door to the +restless force outside, which immediately became more restless. “Hey! +Don't go yet!” he begged. “Wait for me an' the rest. Don't be a lot of +idiots!” + +Excited and impatient voices replied from the darkness, vexed, grouchy, +and querulous. “Then get a move on--_whoa!_--it'll be light before we +get there if you don't hustle!” roared one voice above the confusion. +“You know what _that_ means!” + +“Come on! Come on! For God's sake, are you tied to the bar?” + +“Yo're a lot of old grandmothers! Come on!” + +Hopalong appeared in the door. “I'll show you the way, boys!” he +shouted. “Cowan, put my saddle on yore cayuse--_pronto_!” + +“Good for you, Hoppy!” came from the street. “We'll wait!” + +“You stay here; yo're hurt too much!” cried Buck to his puncher, as he +grabbed up a box of cartridges from a shelf behind the bar. “Ain't you +got no sense? There's enough of us to take care of this without you!” + +Hopalong wheeled and looked his foreman squarely in the eyes. “Red's +out there, waiting for me--I'm going! I'd be a fine sort of a coyote to +leave him in that hell hole an' not go back, wouldn't I!” he said, with +quiet determination. + +“Good for you, Cassidy!” cried a man who hastened out to mount. + +“Well, then, come on,” replied Buck. “There's blamed few like you,” he +muttered, following Hopalong outside. + +“Here's the cayuse, Cassidy,” cried Cowan, turning the animal over to +him. “_Wait_, Buck!” and he leaped into the building and ran out again, +shoving a bottle of brandy and a package of food into the impatient +foreman's hand. “Mebby Red or Hoppy'll need it--so long, an' good +luck!” and he was alone in a choking cloud of dust, peering through the +darkness along the river trail after a black mass that was swallowed up +almost instantly. Then, as he watched, the moon pushed its rim up over +the hills and he laughed joyously as he realized what its light would +mean to the crowd. “There'll be great doings when _that_ gang cuts +loose,” he muttered with savage elation. “Wish I was with 'em. Damn +Injuns, anyhow!” + +Far ahead of the main fighting force rode the three special-duty men, +reeling off the miles at top speed and constantly distancing their +friends, for they changed mounts at need, thanks to the lead horses +provided by Mr. Peters' cool-headed foresight. It was a race against +dawn, and every effort was made to win--the life of Red Connors hung in +the balance and a minute might turn the scale. + + + +In Powers' old ranch house the night dragged along slowly to the grim +watcher, and the man huddled in the corner stirred uneasily and babbled, +ofttimes crying out in horror at the vivid dreams of his disordered +mind. Pacing ceaselessly from window to window, crack to crack, when +the moon came up, Mr. Connors scanned the bare, level plain with anxious +eyes, searching out the few covers and looking for dark spots on the +dull gray sand. They never attacked at night, but still--. Through the +void came the quavering call of a coyote, and he listened for the reply, +which soon came from the black chaparral across the clearing. He knew +where two of them were hiding, anyhow. Holden was muttering and tried +to answer the calls, and Red looked at him for the hundredth time that +night. He glanced out of the window again and noticed that there was a +glow in the eastern sky, and shortly afterwards dawn swiftly developed. + +Pouring the last few drops of the precious water between the wounded +man's parched and swollen lips, he tossed the empty canteen from him and +stood erect. + +“Pore devil,” he muttered, shaking his head sorrowfully, as he realized +that Holden's delirium was getting worse all the time. “If you was all +right we could give them wolves hell to dance to. Well, you won't +know nothing about it if we go under, an' that's some consolation.” He +examined his rifle and saw that the Colt at his thigh was fully loaded +and in good working order. “An' they'll pay us for their victory, by +God! They'll pay for it!” He stepped closer to the window, throwing the +rifle into the hollow of his arm. “It's about time for the rush; about +time for the game--” + +There was movement by that small chaparral to the south! To the east +something stirred into bounding life and action; a coyote called +twice--and then they came, on foot and silently as fleeting shadows, +leaning forward to bring into play every ounce of energy in the slim, +red legs. Smoke filled the room with its acrid sting. The crashing of +the Winchester, worked with wonderful speed and deadly accuracy by the +best rifle shot in the Southwest, brought the prostrate man to his +feet in an instinctive response to the call to action, the necessity of +defence. He grasped his Colt and stumbled blindly to a window to help +the man who had stayed with him. + +On Red's side of the house one warrior threw up his arms and fell +forward, sprawling with arms and legs extended; another pitched to one +side and rolled over twice before he lay still; the legs of the third +collapsed and threw him headlong, bunched up in a grotesque pile +of lifeless flesh; the fourth leaped high into the air and turned a +somersault before he struck the sand, badly wounded, and out of the +fight. Holden, steadying himself against the wall, leaned in a window +on the other side of the shack and emptied his Colt in a dazed +manner--doing his very best. Then the man with the rifle staggered back +with a muttered curse, his right arm useless, and dropped the weapon to +draw his Colt with the other hand. + +Holden shrieked once and sank down, wagging his head slowly from side +to side, blood oozing from his mouth and nostrils; and his companion, +goaded into a frenzy of blood-lust and insane rage at the sight, threw +himself against the door and out into the open, to die under the clear +sky, to go like the man he was if he must die. “Damn you! It'll cost you +more yet!” he screamed, wheeling to place his back against the wall. + +The triumphant yells of the exultant savages were cut short and turned +to howls of dismay by a fusillade which thundered from the south where a +crowd of hard-riding, hard-shooting cow-punchers tore out of the thicket +like an avalanche and swept over the open sand, yelling and cursing, and +then separated to go in hot pursuit of the sprinting Apaches. Some stood +up in their stirrups and fired down at a slant, making a short, chopping +motion with their heavy Colts; others leaned forward, far over the necks +of their horses, and shot with stationary guns; while yet others, with +reins dangling free, worked the levers of blue Winchesters so rapidly +that the flashes seemed to merge into a continuous flame. + +“Thank God! Thank God--an' Hoppy!” groaned the man at the door of the +shack, staggering forward to meet the two men who had lost no time in +pursuit of the enemy, but had ridden straight to him. + +“I was scared stiff you was done fer!” cried Hopalong, leaping off his +horse and shaking hands with his friend, whose hand-clasp was not as +strong as usual. “How's Holden?” he demanded, anxiously. + +“He passed. It was a close--” began Red, weakly, but his foreman +interposed. + +“Shut up, an' drink this!” ordered Buck, kindly but sternly. “We'll do +the talking for a while; you can tell us all about it later on. Why, +_hullo_!” he cried as Lanky Smith and his two happy companions rode up. +“Reckon you must 'a' got them pickets.” + +“Shore we did! Stalked 'em on our bellies, didn't we, Skinny?” modestly +replied Mr. Smith, the roping expert of the Bar-20. “Ropes an' clubbed +guns did the rest. Anyhow, there was only two anywhere near the trail.” + +“We didn't see you,” responded the foreman, tying the knot of a bandage +on Mr. Connors' arm. “An' we looked sharp, too.” + +“Reckon we was hunting for more; we sort of forgot what you said about +waiting for you,” Mr. Smith replied, grinning broadly. + +“An' you've got a good memory now,” smiled Mr. Peters. + +“We didn't find no more, though,” offered Mr. Pete Wilson, with grave +regret. “An' we looked good, too. But we got Red, an' that's the whole +game. Red, you old son-of-a-gun, you can lick yore weight in powder!” + +“It's too bad about Holden,” muttered Red, sullenly. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +HOPALONG NURSES A GROUCH + +After the excitement incident to the affair at Powers' shack had died +down and the Bar-20 outfit worked over its range in the old, placid way, +there began to be heard low mutterings, and an air of peevish discontent +began to be manifested in various childish ways. And it was all caused +by the fact that Hopalong Cassidy had a grouch, and a big one. It +was two months old and growing worse daily, and the signs threatened +contagion. His foreman, tired and sick of the snarling, fidgety, +petulant atmosphere that Hopalong had created on the ranch, and +driven to desperation, eagerly sought some chance to get rid of the +“sore-thumb” temporarily and give him an opportunity to shed his +generous mantle of the blues. And at last it came. + +No one knew the cause for Hoppy's unusual state of mind, although there +were many conjectures, and they covered the field rather thoroughly; but +they did not strike on the cause. Even Red Connors, now well over all +ill effects of the wounds acquired in the old ranch house, was forced to +guess; and when Red had to do that about anything concerning Hopalong he +was well warranted in believing the matter to be very serious. + +Johnny Nelson made no secret of his opinion and derived from it a great +amount of satisfaction, which he admitted with a grin to his foreman. + +“Buck,” he said, “Hoppy told me he went broke playing poker over in +Grant with Dave Wilkes and them two Lawrence boys, an' that shore +explains it all. He's got pack sores from carrying his unholy licking. +It was due to come for him, an' Dave Wilkes is just the boy to deliver +it. That's the whole trouble, an' I know it, an' I'm damned glad they +trimmed him. But he ain't got no right of making _us_ miserable because +he lost a few measly dollars.” + +“Yo're wrong, son; dead, dead wrong,” Buck replied. “He takes his +beatings with a grin, an' money never did bother him. No poker game that +ever was played could leave a welt on him like the one we all mourn, an' +cuss. He's been doing something that he don't want us to know--made a +fool of hisself some way, most likely, an' feels so ashamed that he's +sore. I've knowed him too long an' well to believe that gambling had +anything to do with it. But this little trip he's taking will fix him +up all right, an' I couldn't 'a' picked a better man--or one that I'd +rather get rid of just now.” + +“Well, lemme tell you it's blamed lucky for him that you picked him to +go,” rejoined Johnny, who thought more of the woeful absentee than he +did of his own skin. “I was going to lick him, shore, if it went on +much longer. Me an' Red an' Billy was going to beat him up good till he +forgot his dead injuries an' took more interest in his friends.” + +Buck laughed heartily. “Well, the three of you might 'a' done it if +you worked hard an' didn't get careless, but I have my doubts. Now look +here--you've been hanging around the bunk house too blamed much lately. +Henceforth an' hereafter you've got to earn your grub. Get out on that +west line an' hustle.” + +“You know I've had a toothache!” snorted Johnny with a show of +indignation, his face as sober as that of a judge. + +“An' you'll have a stomach ache from lack of grub if you don't earn yore +right to eat purty soon,” retorted Buck. “You ain't had a toothache in +yore whole life, an' you don't know what one is. G'wan, now, or I'll +give you a backache that'll ache!” + +“Huh! Devil of a way to treat a sick man!” Johnny retorted, but he +departed exultantly, whistling with much noise and no music. But he was +sorry for one thing: he sincerely regretted that he had not been present +when Hopalong met his Waterloo. It would have been pleasing to look +upon. + +While the outfit blessed the proposed lease of range that took him out +of their small circle for a time, Hopalong rode farther and farther +into the northwest, frequently lost in abstraction which, judging by its +effect upon him, must have been caused by something serious. He had not +heard from Dave Wilkes about that individual's good horse which had been +loaned to Ben Ferris, of Winchester. Did Dave think he had been killed +or was still pursuing the man whose neck-kerchief had aroused such +animosity in Hopalong's heart? Or had the horse actually been returned? +The animal was a good one, a successful contender in all distances from +one to five miles, and had earned its owner and backers much money--and +Hopalong had parted with it as easily as he would have borrowed five +dollars from Red. The story, as he had often reflected since, was as old +as lying--a broken-legged horse, a wife dying forty miles away, and a +horse all saddled which needed only to be mounted and ridden. + +These thoughts kept him company for a day and when he dismounted before +Stevenson's “Hotel” in Hoyt's Corners he summed up his feelings for the +enlightenment of his horse. + +“Damn it, bronc! I'd give ten dollars right now to know if I was a +jackass or not,” he growled. “But he was an awful slick talker if he +lied. An' I've got to go up an' face Dave Wilkes to find out about it!” + +Mr. Cassidy was not known by sight to the citizens of Hoyt's Corners, +however well versed they might be in his numerous exploits of wisdom and +folly. Therefore the habitues of Stevenson's Hotel did not recognize him +in the gloomy and morose individual who dropped his saddle on the floor +with a crash and stamped over to the three-legged table at dusk and +surlily demanded shelter for the night. + +“Gimme a bed an' something to eat,” he demanded, eyeing the three men +seated with their chairs tilted against the wall. “Do I get 'em?” he +asked, impatiently. + +“You do,” replied a one-eyed man, lazily arising and approaching him. +“One dollar, now.” + +“An' take the rocks outen that bed--I want to sleep.” + +“A dollar per for every rock you find,” grinned Stevenson, pleasantly. +“There ain't no rocks in _my_ beds,” he added. + +“Some folks likes to be rocked to sleep,” facetiously remarked one of +the pair by the wall, laughing contentedly at his own pun. He bore all +the ear-marks of being regarded as the wit of the locality--every hamlet +has one; I have seen some myself. + +“Hee, hee, hee! Yo're a droll feller, Charley,” chuckled Old John +Ferris, rubbing his ear with unconcealed delight. “That's a good un.” + +“One drink, now,” growled Hopalong, mimicking the proprietor, and +glaring savagely at the “droll feller” and his companion. “An' mind that +it's a good one,” he admonished the host. + +“It's better,” smiled Stevenson, whereat Old John crossed his legs and +chuckled again. Stevenson winked. + +“Riding long?” he asked. + +“Since I started.” + +“Going fur?” + +“Till I stop.” + +“Where do you belong?” Stevenson's pique was urging him against the +ethics of the range, which forbade personal questions. + +Hopalong looked at him with a light in his eye that told the host he had +gone too far. “Under my sombrero!” he snapped. + +“Hee, hee, hee!” chortled Old John, rubbing his ear again and nudging +Charley. “He ain't no fool, hey?” + +“Why, I don't know, John; he won't tell,” replied Charley. + +Hopalong wheeled and glared at him, and Charley, smiling uneasily, made +an appeal: “Ain't mad, are you?” + +“Not yet,” and Hopalong turned to the bar again, took up his liquor +and tossed it off. Considering a moment he shoved the glass back again, +while Old John tongued his lips in anticipation of a treat. “It is +good--fill it again.” + +The third was even better and by the time the fourth and fifth had +joined their predecessors Hopalong began to feel a little more cheerful. +But even the liquor and an exceptionally well-cooked supper could not +separate him from his persistent and set grouch. And of liquor he had +already taken more than his limit. He had always boasted, with truth, +that he had never been drunk, although there had been two occasions when +he was not far from it. That was one doubtful luxury which he could not +afford for the reason that there were men who would have been glad to +see him, if only for a few seconds, when liquor had dulled his brain and +slowed his speed of hand. He could never tell when and where he might +meet one of these. + +He dropped into a chair by a card table and, baffling all attempts +to engage him in conversation, reviewed his troubles in a mumbled +soliloquy, the liquor gradually making him careless. But of all the +jumbled words his companions' diligent ears heard they recognized and +retained only the bare term “Winchester”; and their conjectures were +limited only by their imaginations. + +Hopalong stirred and looked up, shaking off the hand which had aroused +him. “Better go to bed, stranger,” the proprietor was saying. “You +an' me are the last two up. It's after twelve, an' you look tired and +sleepy.” + +“Said his wife was sick,” muttered the puncher. “Oh, what you saying?” + +“You'll find a bed better'n this table, stranger--it's after twelve an' +I want to close up an' get some sleep. I'm tired myself.” + +“Oh, that all? Shore I'll go to bed--like to see anybody stop me! Ain't +no rocks in it, hey?” + +“Nary a rock,” laughingly reassured the host, picking up Hopalong's +saddle and leading the way to a small room off the “office,” his +guest stumbling after him and growling about the rocks that lived in +Winchester. When Stevenson had dropped the saddle by the window and +departed, Hopalong sat on the edge of the bed to close his eyes for just +a moment before tackling the labor of removing his clothes. A crash and +a jar awakened him and he found himself on the floor with his back +to the bed. He was hot and his head ached, and his back was skinned +a little--and how hot and stuffy and choking the room had become! +He thought he had blown out the light, but it still burned, and +three-quarters of the chimney was thickly covered with soot. He was +stifling and could not endure it any longer. After three attempts he +put out the light, stumbled against his saddle and, opening the window, +leaned out to breathe the pure air. As his lungs filled he chuckled +wisely and, picking up the saddle, managed to get it and himself through +the window and on the ground without serious mishap. He would ride +for an hour, give the room time to freshen and cool off, and come back +feeling much better. Not a star could be seen as he groped his way +unsteadily towards the rear of the building, where he vaguely remembered +having seen the corral as he rode up. + +“Huh! Said he lived in Winchester an' his name was Bill--no, Ben +Ferris,” he muttered, stumbling towards a noise he knew was made by a +horse rubbing against the corral fence. Then his feet got tangled up in +the cinch of his saddle, which he had kicked before him, and after great +labor he arose, muttering savagely, and continued on his wobbly way. +“Goo' Lord, it's darker'n cats in--_oof_!” he grunted, recoiling from +forcible contact with the fence he sought. Growling words unholy he felt +his way along it and finally his arm slipped through an opening and he +bumped his head solidly against the top bar of the gate. As he righted +himself his hand struck the nose of a horse and closed mechanically over +it. Cow-ponies look alike in the dark and he grinned jubilantly as he +complimented himself upon finding his own so unerringly. + +“Anything is easy, when you know how. Can't fool me, ol' cayuse,” he +beamed, fumbling at the bars with his free hand and getting them down +with a fool's luck. “You can't do it--I got you firs', las', an' always; +an' I got you good. Yessir, I got you good. Quit that rearing, you ol' +fool! Stan' still, can't you?” The pony sidled as the saddle hit its +back and evoked profane abuse from the indignant puncher as he risked +his balance in picking it up to try again, this time successfully. He +began to fasten the girth, and then paused in wonder and thought deeply, +for the pin in the buckle would slide to no hole but the first. “Huh! +Getting fat, ain't you, piebald?” he demanded with withering sarcasm. +“You blow yoreself up any more'n I'll bust you wide open!” heaving +up with all his might on the free end of the strap, one knee pushing +against the animal's side. The “fat” disappeared and Hopalong laughed. +“Been learnin' new tricks, ain't you? Got smart since you been +travellin', hey?” He fumbled with the bars again and got two of them +back in place and then, throwing himself across the saddle as the horse +started forward as hard as it could go, slipped off, but managed to save +himself by hopping along the ground. As soon as he had secured the grip +he wished he mounted with the ease of habit and felt for the reins. +“G'wan now, an' easy--it's plumb dark an' my head's bustin'.” + +When he saddled his mount at the corral he was not aware that two of the +three remaining horses had taken advantage of their opportunity and had +walked out and made off in the darkness before he replaced the bars, and +he was too drunk to care if he had known it. + +The night air felt so good that it moved him to song, but it was not +long before the words faltered more and more and soon ceased altogether +and a subdued snore rasped from him. He awakened from time to time, but +only for a moment, for he was tired and sleepy. + +His mount very quickly learned that something was wrong and that it was +being given its head. As long as it could go where it pleased it could +do nothing better than head for home, and it quickened its pace towards +Winchester. Some time after daylight it pricked up its ears and broke +into a canter, which soon developed signs of irritation in its rider. +Finally Hopalong opened his heavy eyes and looked around for his +bearings. Not knowing where he was and too tired and miserable to give +much thought to a matter of such slight importance, he glanced around +for a place to finish his sleep. A tree some distance ahead of him +looked inviting and towards it he rode. Habit made him picket the horse +before he lay down and as he fell asleep he had vague recollections +of handling a strange picket rope some time recently. The horse slowly +turned and stared at the already snoring figure, glanced over the +landscape, back the to queerest man it had ever met, and then fell +to grazing in quiet content. A slinking coyote topped a rise a short +distance away and stopped instantly, regarding the sleeping man with +grave curiosity and strong suspicion. Deciding that there was nothing +good to eat in that vicinity and that the man was carrying out a fell +plot for the death of coyotes, it backed away out of sight and loped on +to other hunting grounds. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A FRIEND IN NEED + +Stevenson, having started the fire for breakfast, took a pail and +departed towards the spring; but he got no farther than the corral gate, +where he dropped the pail and stared. There was only one horse in the +enclosure where the night before there had been four. He wasted no time +in surmises, but wheeled and dashed back towards the hotel, and his +vigorous shouts brought Old John to the door, sleepy and peevish. Old +John's mouth dropped open as he beheld his habitually indolent host +marking off long distances on the sand with each falling foot. + +“What's got inter you?” demanded Old John. + +“Our broncs are gone! Our broncs are gone!” yelled Stevenson, shoving +Old John roughly to one side as he dashed through the doorway and on +into the room he had assigned to the sullen and bibulous stranger. “I +knowed it! I knowed it!” he wailed, popping out again as if on springs. +“He's gone, an' he's took our broncs with him, the measly, low-down dog! +I knowed he wasn't no good! I could see it in his eye; an' he wasn't +drunk, not by a darn sight. Go out an' see for yoreself if they ain't +gone!” he snapped in reply to Old John's look. “Go on out, while I throw +some cold grub on the table--won't have no time this morning to do no +cooking. He's got five hours' start on us, an' it'll take some right +smart riding to get him before dark; but we'll do it, an' hang him, +too!” + +“What's all this here rumpus?” demanded a sleepy voice from upstairs. +“Who's hanged?” and Charley entered the room, very much interested. His +interest increased remarkably when the calamity was made known and he +lost no time in joining Old John in the corral to verify the news. + +Old John waved his hands over the scene and carefully explained what +he had read in the tracks, to his companion's great irritation, for +Charley's keen eyes and good training had already told him all there +was to learn; and his reading did not exactly agree with that of his +companion. + +“Charley, he's gone and took our cayuses; an' that's the very way he +came--'round the corner of the hotel. He got all tangled up an' fell +over there, an' here he bumped inter the palisade, an' dropped his +saddle. When he opened the bars he took my roan gelding because it was +the best an' fastest, an' then he let out the others to mix us up on +the tracks. See how he went? Had to hop four times on one foot afore he +could get inter the saddle. An' that proves he was sober, for no drunk +could hop four times like that without falling down an' being drug to +death. An' he left his own critter behind because he knowed it wasn't no +good. It's all as plain as the nose on your face, Charley,” and Old John +proudly rubbed his ear. “Hee, hee, hee! You can't fool Old John, even if +he is getting old. No, sir, b' gum.” + +Charley had just returned from inside the corral, where he had looked +at the brand on the far side of the one horse left, and he waited +impatiently for his companion to cease talking. He took quick advantage +of the first pause Old John made and spoke crisply. + +“I don't care what corner he came 'round, or what he bumped inter; an' +any fool can see that. An' if he left that cayuse behind because he +thought it wasn't no good, he _was_ drunk. That's a Bar-20 cayuse, an' +no hoss-thief ever worked for that ranch. He left it behind because +he stole it; that's why. An' he didn't let them others out because he +wanted to mix us up, neither. How'd he know if we couldn't tell the +tracks of our own animals? He did that to make us lose time; that's what +he did it for. An' he couldn't tell what bronc he took last night--it +was too dark. He must 'a' struck a match an' seen where that Bar-20 +cayuse was an' then took the first one nearest that wasn't it. An' now +you tell me how the devil he knowed yourn was the fastest, which it +ain't,” he finished, sarcastically, gloating over a chance to rub it +into the man he had always regarded as a windy old nuisance. + +“Well, mebby what you said is--” + +“Mebby nothing!” snapped Charley. “If he wanted to mix the tracks would +he 'a' hopped like that so we couldn't help telling what cayuse he rode? +He knowed we'd pick his trail quick, an' he knowed that every minute +counted; that's why he hopped--why, yore roan was going like the wind +afore he got in the saddle. If you don't believe it, look at them +toe-prints!” + +“H'm; reckon yo're right, Charley. My eyes ain't nigh as good as they +once was. But I heard him say something 'bout Winchester,” replied Old +John, glad to change the subject. “Bet he's going over there, too. He +won't get through that town on no critter wearing my brand. Everybody +knows that roan, an'--” + +“Quit guessing!” snapped Charley, beginning to lose some of the tattered +remnant of his respect for old age. “He's a whole lot likely to head for +a town on a stolen cayuse, now ain't he! But we don't care where he's +heading; we'll foller the trail.” + +“Grub pile!” shouted Stevenson, and the two made haste to obey. + +“Charley, gimme a chaw of yore tobacker,” and Old John, biting off a +generous chunk, quietly slipped it into his pocket, there to lay until +after he had eaten his breakfast. + +All talk was tabled while the three men gulped down a cold and +uninviting meal. Ten minutes later they had finished and separated to +find horses and spread the news; in fifteen more they had them and were +riding along the plain trail at top speed, with three other men close at +their heels. Three hundred yards from the corral they pounded out of +an arroyo, and Charley, who was leading, stood up in his stirrups and +looked keenly ahead. Another trail joined the one they were following +and ran with and on top of it. This, he reasoned, had been made by one +of the strays and would turn away soon. He kept his eyes looking +well ahead and soon saw that he was right in his surmise, and without +checking the speed of his horse in the slightest degree he went ahead +on the trail of the smaller hoof-prints. In a moment Old John spurred +forward and gained his side and began to argue hot-headedly. + +“Hey! Charley!” he cried. “Why are you follering this track?” he +demanded. + +“Because it's his; that's why.” + +“Well, here, wait a minute!” and Old John was getting red from +excitement. “How do you know it is? Mebby he took the other!” + +“He started out on the cayuse that made these little tracks,” retorted +Charley, “an' I don't see no reason to think he swapped animules. Don't +you know the prints of yore own cayuse?” + +“Lawd, no!” answered Old John. “Why, I don't hardly ride the same cayuse +the second day, straight hand-running. I tell you we ought to foller +that other trail. He's just cute enough to play some trick on us.” + +“Well, you better do that for us,” Charley replied, hoping against hope +that the old man would chase off on the other and give his companions a +rest. + +“He ain't got sand enough to tackle a thing like that single-handed,” + laughed Jed White, winking to the others. + +Old John wheeled. “Ain't, hey! I am going to do that same thing an' +prove that you are a pack of fools. I'm too old to be fooled by a common +trick like that. An' I don't need no help--I'll ketch him all by myself, +an' hang him, too!” And he wheeled to follow the other trail, angry and +outraged. “Young fools,” he muttered. “Why, I was fighting all around +these parts afore any of 'em knowed the difference between day an' +night!” + +“Hard-headed old fool,” remarked Charley, frowning, as he led the way +again. + +“He's gittin' old an' childish,” excused Stevenson. “They say warn't +nobody in these parts could hold a candle to him in his prime.” + + + +Hopalong muttered and stirred and opened his eyes to gaze blankly into +those of one of the men who were tugging at his hands, and as he stared +he started his stupefied brain sluggishly to work in an endeavor to +explain the unusual experience. There were five men around him and +the two who hauled at his hands stepped back and kicked him. A look of +pained indignation slowly spread over his countenance as he realized +beyond doubt that they were really kicking him, and with sturdy vigor. +He considered a moment and then decided that such treatment was most +unwarranted and outrageous and, furthermore, that he must defend himself +and chastise the perpetrators. + +“Hey!” he snorted, “what do you reckon yo're doing, anyhow? If you want +to do any kicking, why kick each other, an' I'll help you! But I'll lick +the whole bunch of you if you don't quite mauling me. Ain't you got no +manners? Don't you know anything? Come 'round waking a feller up an' +man-handling--” + +“Get up!” snapped Stevenson, angrily. + +“Why, ain't I seen you before? Somewhere? Sometime?” queried Hopalong, +his brow wrinkling from intense concentration of thought. “I ain't +dreaming; I've seen a one-eyed coyote som'ers, lately, ain't I?” he +appealed, anxiously, to the others. + +“Get up!” ordered Charley, shortly. + +“An' I've seen you, too. Funny, all right.” + +“You've seen me, all right,” retorted Stevenson. “Get up, damn you! Get +up!” + +“Why, I can't--my han's are tied!” exclaimed Hopalong in great wonder, +pausing in his exertions to cogitate deeply upon this most remarkable +phenomenon. “Tied up! Now what the devil do you think--” + +“Use yore feet, you thief!” rejoined Stevenson roughly, stepping forward +and delivering another kick. “Use yore feet!” he reiterated. + +“Thief! Me a thief! Shore I'll use my feet, you yaller dog!” yelled the +prostrate man, and his boot heel sank into the stomach of the offending +Mr. Stevenson with sickening force and laudable precision. He drew it +back slowly, as if debating shoving it farther. “Call me a thief, +hey! Come poking 'round kicking honest punchers an' calling 'em names! +Anybody want the other boot?” he inquired with grave solicitation. + +Stevenson sat down forcibly and rocked to and fro, doubled up and +gasping for breath, and Hopalong squinted at him and grinned with +happiness. “Hear him sing! Reg'lar ol' brass band. Sounds like a cow +pulling its hoofs outen the mud. Called me a thief, he did, just now. +An' I won't let nobody kick me an' call me names. He's a liar, just a +plain, squaw's dog liar, he--” + +Two men grabbed him and raised him up, holding him tightly, and they +were not over careful to handle him gently, which he naturally resented. +Charley stepped in front of him to go to the aid of Stevenson and caught +the other boot in his groin, dropping as if he had been shot. The man +on the prisoner's left emitted a yell and loosed his hold to sympathize +with a bruised shinbone, and his companion promptly knocked the bound +and still intoxicated man down. Bill Thomas swore and eyed the prostrate +figure with resentment and regret. “Hate to hit a man who can fight like +that when he's loaded an' tied. I'm glad, all the same, that he ain't +sober an' loose.” + +“An' you ain't going to hit him no more!” snapped Jed White, reddening +with anger. “I'm ready to hang him, 'cause that's what he deserves, an' +what we're here for, but I'm damned if I'll stand for any more mauling. +I don't blame him for fighting, an' they didn't have no right to kick +him in the beginning.” + +“Didn't kick him in the beginning,” grinned Bill. “Kicked him in the +ending. Anyhow,” he continued seriously, “I didn't hit him hard--didn't +have to. Just let him go an' shoved him quick.” + +“I'm just naturally going to clean house,” muttered the prisoner, +sitting up and glaring around. “Untie my han's an' gimme a gun or a club +or anything, an' watch yoreselves get licked. Called me a thief! What +are you fellers, then?--sticking me up an' busting me for a few measly +dollars. Why didn't you take my money an' lemme sleep, 'stead of waking +me up an' kicking me? I wouldn't 'a' cared then.” + +“Come on, now; get up. We ain't through with you yet, not by a whole +lot,” growled Bill, helping him to his feet and steadying him. “I'm +plumb glad you kicked 'em; it was coming to 'em.” + +“No, you ain't; you can't fool me,” gravely assured Hopalong. “Yo're +lying, an' you know it. What you going to do now? Ain't I got money +enough? Wish I had an even break with you fellers! Wish my outfit was +here!” + +Stevenson, on his feet again, walked painfully up and shook his fist at +the captive, from the side. “You'll find out what we want of you, you +damned hoss-thief!” he cried. “We're going to tie you to that there limb +so yore feet'll swing above the grass, that's what we're going to do.” + +Bill and Jed had their hands full for a moment and as they finally +mastered the puncher, Charley came up with a rope. “Hurry up--no use +dragging it out this way. I want to get back to the ranch some time +before next week.” + +“Why _I_ ain't no hoss-thief, you liar!” Hopalong yelled. “My name's +Hopalong Cassidy of the Bar-20, an' when I tell my friends about what +you've gone an' done they'll make you hard to find! You gimme any kind +of a chance an' I'll do it all by myself, sick as I am, you yaller +dogs!” + +“Is that yore cayuse?” demanded Charley, pointing. + +Hopalong squinted towards the animal indicated. “Which one?” + +“There's only one there, you fool!” + +“That so?” replied Hopalong, surprised. “Well, I never seen it afore. +My cayuse is--is--where the devil _is_ it?” he asked, looking around +anxiously. + +“How'd you get that one, then, if it ain't yours?” + +“Never had it--'t ain't mine, nohow,” replied Hopalong, with strong +conviction. “Mine was a _hoss_.” + +“You stole that cayuse last night outen Stevenson's corral,” continued +Charley, merely as a matter of form. Charley believed that a man had the +right to be heard before he died--it wouldn't change the result and so +could not do any harm. + +“Did I? Why--” his forehead became furrowed again, but the events of +the night before were vague in his memory and he only stumbled in +his soliloquy. “But _I_ wouldn't swap my cayuse for that spavined, +saddle-galled, ring-boned bone-yard! Why, it interferes, an' it's got +the heaves something awful!” he finished triumphantly, as if an appeal +to common sense would clinch things. But he made no headway against +them, for the rope went around his neck almost before he had finished +talking and a flurry of excitement ensued. When the dust settled he was +on his back again and the rope was being tossed over the limb. + +The crowd had been too busily occupied to notice anything away from the +scene of their strife and were greatly surprised when they heard a hail +and saw a stranger sliding to a stand not twenty feet from them. “What's +this?” demanded the newcomer, angrily. + +Charley's gun glinted as it swung up and the stranger swore again. “What +you doing?” he shouted. “Take that gun off'n me or I'll blow you apart!” + +“Mind yore business an' sit still!” Charley snapped. “You ain't in no +position to blow anything apart. We've got a hoss-thief an' we're shore +going to hang him regardless.” + +“An' if there's any trouble about it we can hang two as well as we can +one,” suggested Stevenson, placidly. “You sit tight an' mind yore own +affairs, stranger,” he warned. + +Hopalong turned his head slowly. “He's a liar, stranger; just a plain, +squaw's dog of a liar. An' I'll be much obliged if you'll lick hell +outen 'em an' let--_why, hullo, hoss-thief_!” he shouted, at once +recognizing the other. It was the man he had met in the gospel tent, the +man he had chased for a horse-thief and then swapped mounts with. “Stole +any more cayuses?” he asked, grinning, believing that everything was all +right now. “Did you take that cayuse back to Grant?” he finished. + +“Han's up!” roared Stevenson, also covering the stranger. “So yo're +another one of 'em, hey? We're in luck to-day. Watch him, boys, till I +get his gun. If he moves, drop him quick.” + +“You damned fool!” cried Ferris, white with rage. “He ain't no thief, +an' neither am I! My name's Ben Ferris an' I live in Winchester. Why, +that man you've got is Hopalong Cassidy--Cassidy, of the Bar-20!” + +“Sit still--you can talk later, mebby,” replied Stevenson, warily +approaching him. “Watch him, boys!” + +“Hold on!” shouted Ferris, murder in his eyes. “Don't you try that on +me! I'll get one of you before I go; I'll shore get one! You can listen +a minute, an' I can't get away.” + +“All right; talk quick.” + +Ferris pleaded as hard as he knew how and called attention to the +condition of the prisoner. “If he did take the wrong cayuse he was too +blind drunk to know it! Can't you _see_ he was!” he cried. + +“Yep; through yet?” asked Stevenson, quietly. + +“No! I ain't started yet!” Ferris yelled. “He did me a good turn once, +one that I can't never repay, an' I'm going to stop this murder or +go with him. If I go I'll take one of you with me, an' my friends an' +outfit'll get the rest.” + +“Wait till Old John gets here,” suggested Jed to Charley. “He ought to +know this feller.” + +“For the Lord's sake!” snorted Charley. “He won't show up for a week. +Did you hear that, fellers?” he laughed, turning to the others. + +“Stranger,” began Stevenson, moving slowly ahead again. “You give us +yore guns an' sit quiet till we gets this feller out of the way. We'll +wait till Old John Ferris comes before doing anything with you. He ought +to know you.” + +“He knows me all right; an' he'd like to see me hung,” replied the +stranger. “I won't give up my guns, an' you won't lynch Hopalong Cassidy +while I can pull a trigger. That's flat!” He began to talk feverishly +to gain time and his eyes lighted suddenly. Seeing that Jed White was +wavering, Stevenson ordered them to go on with the work they had come to +perform, and he watched Ferris as a cat watches a mouse, knowing that +he would be the first man hit if the stranger got a chance to shoot. But +Ferris stood up very slowly in his stirrups so as not to alarm the five +with any quick movement, and shouted at the top of his voice, grabbing +off his sombrero and waving it frantically. A faint cheer reached his +ears and made the lynchers turn quickly and look behind them. Nine men +were tearing towards them at a dead gallop and had already begun to +forsake their bunched-up formation in favor of an extended line. They +were due to arrive in a very few minutes and caused Mr. Ferris' heart to +overflow with joy. + +“Me an' my outfit,” he said, laughing softly and waving his hand towards +the newcomers, “started out this morning to round up a bunch of cows, +an' we got jackasses instead. Now lynch him, damn you!” + +The nine swept up in skirmish order, guns out and ready for anything in +the nature of trouble that might zephyr up. “What's the matter, Ben?” + asked Tom Murphy ominously. As under-foreman of the ranch he regarded +himself as spokesman. And at that instant catching sight of the rope, he +swore savagely under his breath. + +“Nothing, Tom; nothing now,” responded Mr. Ferris. “They was going to +hang my friend there, Mr. Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20. He's the +feller that lent me his cayuse to get home on when Molly was sick. I'm +going to take him back to the ranch when he gets sober an' introduce him +to some very good friends of hissn that he ain't never seen. Ain't I, +Cassidy?” he demanded with a laugh. + +But Mr. Cassidy made no reply. He was sound asleep, as he had been +since the advent of his very good and capable friend, Mr. Ben Ferris, of +Winchester. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +MR. TOWNSEND, MARSHAL + +Mr. Cassidy went to the ranch and lived like a lord until shame drove +him away. He had no business to live on cake and pie and wonderful +dishes that Mrs. Ferris and her sister literally forced on him, and let +Buck's mission wait on his convenience. So he tore himself away and made +up for lost time as he continued his journey on his own horse, for +which Tom Murphy and three men had faced down the scowling population of +Hoyt's Corners. The rest of his journey was without incident until, +on his return home along another route, he rode into Rawhide and heard +about the marshal, Mr. Townsend. + +This individual was unanimously regarded as an affliction upon society +and there had been objections to his continued existence, which had +been overruled by the object himself. Then word had gone forth that a +substantial reward and the undying gratitude of a considerable number +of people awaited the man who would rid the community of the pest who +seemed to be ubiquitous. Several had come in response to the call, one +had returned in a wagon, and the others were now looked upon as martyrs, +and as examples of asinine foolhardiness. Then it had been decided to +elect a marshal, or perhaps two or three, to preserve the peace of the +town; but this was a flat failure. In the first place, Mr. Townsend had +dispersed the meeting with no date set for a new one; in the second, +no man wanted the office; and as a finish to the comedy, Mr. Townsend +cheerfully announced that hereafter and henceforth he was the marshal, +self-appointed and self-sustained. Those who did not like it could +easily move to other localities. + +With this touch of office-holding came ambition, and of stern stuff. +The marshal asked himself why he could not be more officers than one +and found no reason. Thereupon he announced that he was marshal, town +council, mayor, justice, and pound-keeper. He did not go to the trouble +of incorporating himself as the Town of Rawhide, because he knew nothing +of such immaterial things; but he was the town, and that sufficed. + +He had been grievously troubled about finances in the past, and he +firmly believed that genius such as his should be above such petty +annoyances as being “broke.” That was why he constituted himself the +keeper of the public pound, which contented him for a short time, but +later, feeling that he needed more money than the pound was giving him, +he decided that the spirit of the times demanded public improvements, +and therefore, as the executive head of the town, he levied taxes +and improved the town by improving his wardrobe and the manner of his +living. Each saloon must pay into the town treasury the sum of one +hundred dollars per year, which entitled it to police protection and +assured it that no new competitors would be allowed to do business in +Rawhide. + +Needless to say he was not furiously popular, and the crowds congregated +where he was not. His tyranny was based upon his uncanny faculty of +anticipating the other man's draw. The citizens were not unaccustomed to +seeing swift death result to the slower man from misplaced confidence in +his speed of hand--that was in the game--an even break; but to oppose an +individual who _always_ knew what you were going to do before you knew +it yourself--this was very discouraging. Therefore, he flourished and +waxed fat. + +Of late, however, he had been very low in finances and could expect +no taxes to be paid for three months. Even the pound had yielded him +nothing for over a week, the old patrons of Rawhide's stores and saloons +preferring to ride twenty miles farther in another direction than +to redeem impounded horses. Perhaps his prices had been too high, he +thought; so he assembled the town council, the mayor, the marshal, and +the keeper of the public pound to consult upon the matter. He decided +that the prices were too high and at once posted a new notice announcing +the cut. It was hard to fall from a dollar to “two bits,” but the +treasury was low--the times were panicky. + +As soon as he had changed the notice he strolled up to the Paradise +to inform the bartender that impounding fines had been cut to bargain +prices and to ask him to make the fact generally known through his +patrons. As he came within sight of the building he jumped with +pleasure, for a horse was standing dejectedly before the door. Joy of +joys, trade was picking up--a stranger had come to town! Hastening back +to the corral, he added a cipher to the posted figure, added a decimal +point, and changed the cents sign to that of a dollar. Two dollars and +fifty cents was now the price prescribed by law. Returning hastily to +the Paradise, he led the animal away, impounded it, and then sat down +in front of the corral gate with his Winchester across his knees. Two +dollars and fifty cents! Prosperity had indeed returned! + +“Where the CG ranch is I dunno, but I do know where one of their cayuses +is,” he mused, glancing between two of the corral posts at the sleepy +animal. “If I has to auction it off to pay for its keep and the fine, +the saddle will bring a good, round sum. I allus knowed that a dollar +wasn't enough, nohow.” + +Nat Fisher, punching cows for the CG and tired of his job, leaned +comfortably back in his chair in the Paradise and swapped lies with the +all-wise bartender. After a while he realized that he was hopelessly +outclassed at this diversion and he dug down into his pocket and brought +to light some loose silver and regarded it thoughtfully. It was all the +money he had and was beginning to grow interesting. + +“Say, was you ever broke?” he asked suddenly, a trace of sadness in his +voice. + +The bartender glanced at him quickly, but remained judiciously silent, +smelling the preamble of an attempt to “touch.” + +“Well, I have been, am now, an' allus will be, more or less,” continued +Fisher, in soliloquy, not waiting for an answer to his question. “Money +an' me don't ride the same range, not any. Here I am fifty miles away +from my ranch, with four dollars and ninety-five cents between me an' +starvation an' thirst, an' me not going home for three days yet. I was +going to quit the CG this month, but now I gotta go on working for it +till another pay-day. I don't even own a cayuse. Now, just to show you +what kind of a prickly pear I am, I'll cut the cards with you to see who +owns this,” he suggested, smiling brightly at his companion. + +The bartender laughed, treated on the house, and shuffled out from +behind the bar with a pack of greasy playing cards. “All at once, or a +dollar a shot?” he asked, shuffling deftly. + +“Any way it suits you,” responded Fisher, nonchalantly. He knew how a +sport should talk; and once he had cut the cards to see who should own +his full month's pay. He hoped he would be more successful this time. + +“Don't make no difference to me,” rejoined the bartender. + +“All right; all at once, an' have it over with. It's a kid's game, at +that.” + +“High wins, of course?” + +“High wins.” + +The bartender pushed the cards across the table for his companion to +cut. Nat did so, and turned up a deuce. “Oh, don't bother,” he said, +sliding the four dollars and ninety-five cents across the table. + +“Wait,” grinned the bartender, who was a stickler for rules. He reached +over and turned up a card, and then laughed. “Matched, by George!” + +“Try again,” grinned Fisher, his face clearing with hope. + +The bartender shuffled, and Fisher turned a five, which proved to be +just one point shy when his companion had shown his card. + +“Now,” remarked Fisher, watching his money disappear into the +bartender's pocket, “I'll put up my gun agin ten of yore dollars if +yo're game. How about it?” + +“Done--that's a good weapon.” + +“None better. Ah, a jack!” + +“I say queen--nope, _king_!” exulted the dispenser of liquids. “Say, +mebby you can get a job around here when you quit the CG,” he suggested. + +“That's a good idea,” replied Fisher. “But let's finish this while we're +at it. I got a good saddle outside on my cayuse--go look it over an' +tell me how much you'll put up agin it. If you win it an' can't use it, +you can sell it. It's first class.” + +The bartender walked to the door, looked carefully around for a moment, +his eyes fastening upon a trail in the sandy street. Then he laughed. +“There ain't no saddle out here,” he reported, well knowing where it +could be found. + +“What! Has that ornery piebald--well, what do you think of that!” + exclaimed Fisher, looking up and down the street. “This is the first +time that ever happened to me. Why, some coyote stole it! Look at the +tracks!” + +“No; it ain't stolen,” the bartender responded. He considered a moment +and then made a suggestion. “Mebby the marshal can tell you where it +is--he knows everything like that. Nobody can take a cayuse out of this +town while the marshal is up an' well.” + +“Lucky town, all right,” chirped Fisher. “An' where is the marshal?” + +“You'll find him down the back way a couple of hundred yards; can't miss +him. He allus hangs out there when there are cayuses in town.” + +“Good for him! I'll chase right down an' see him; an' when I get that +piebald----!” + +The bartender watched him go around the corner and shook his head sadly. +“Yes; hell of a lucky town,” he snorted bitterly, listening for the riot +to begin. + +The marshal still sat against the corral gate and stroked the Winchester +in beatific contemplation. He had a fine job and he was happy. Suddenly +leaning forward to look up the road, he smiled derisively and shifted +the gun. A cow-puncher was coming his way rapidly, and on foot. + +“Are you the marshal of this flea of a town?” politely inquired the +newcomer. + +“I am the same,” replied the man with the rifle. “Anything I kin do for +you?” + +“Yes; have you seen a piebald cayuse straying around loose-like, or +anybody leading one--CG being the brand?” + +“I did; it was straying.” + +“An' which way did it go?” + +“Into the town pound.” + +“What! Pond! What'n blazes is it doing with a pond? Couldn't it drink +without getting in? Where's the pond?” + +“Right here. It's eating its fool head off. I said pound, not pond. +P-o-u-n-d; which means that it's pawned, in hock, for destroying the +vegetation of Rawhide, an' disturbing the public peace.” + +“Good joke on the piebald, all right; it was never locked up before,” + laughed Fisher, trying to read a sign that faced away from him at a +slight angle. “Get it out for me an' I'll disturb _its_ peace. Sorry it +put you to all that trouble,” he sympathized. + +“Two dollars an' four bits, an' a dollar initiation fee--it wasn't never +in the pound before. That makes three an' a half. Got the money with +you?” + +“What!” yelled Fisher, emerging from his trance. “What!” he yelled +again. + +“I ain't none deaf,” placidly replied the marshal. “Got the money, the +three an' a half?” + +“If you think yo're going to skin me outen three-fifty, one-fifty, or +one measly cent, you need some medicine, an' I'll give it to you in +pill form! You'd make a bum-looking angel, so get up an' hand over that +cayuse, _an' do it damned quick_!” + +“Three-fifty, an' two bits extry for feed. It'll cost you 'bout a dollar +a day for feed. At the end of the week I'll sell that cayuse at auction +to pay its bills if you don't cough up. Got the money?” + +“I've got a lead slug for you if I can borrow my gun for five minutes!” + retorted Fisher, seething double from anger. + +“Five dollars more for contempt of court,” pleasantly responded Mr. +Townsend. “As Justice of the Peace of this community I must allow +no disrespect, no contempt of the sovereign law of this town to go +unpunished. That makes it eight-seventy-five.” + +“An' to think I lost my gun!” shouted Fisher, dancing with rage. “I'll +get that cayuse out an' I won't pay a cent, not a damned cent! An' I'll +get you at the same time!” + +“Now you dust around for fifteen dollars even an' stop yore contempt +of court an' threats or I'll drill you just for luck!” rejoined Mr. +Townsend, angrily. “If you keep on working yore mouth like that there +won't be nothing coming to you when I sell that cayuse of yourn. Turn +around an' strike out or I'll put you with yore ancestors!” + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE STRANGER'S PLAN + +Fisher, wild with rage, returned to the Paradise and profanely unfolded +the tale of his burning wrongs to the bartender and demanded the loan of +his gun, which the bartender promptly refused. The present owner of the +gun liked Fisher very much for being such a sport and sympathized with +him deeply, but he did not want to have such a pleasing acquaintance +killed. + +“Now, see here: you cool down an' I'll lend you fifteen dollars on that +saddle of yourn. You go up an' get that cayuse out before the price +goes up any higher--you don't know that man like I do,” remarked the man +behind the bar earnestly. “That feller Townsend can shoot the eyes out +of a small dog at ten miles, purty nigh. Do you savvy my drift?” + +“I won't pay him a cussed cent, an' when he goes to sell that piebald at +auction, I'll be on hand with a gun; I'll get one somewhere, all right, +even if I have to steal it. Then I'll shoot out _his_ eyes at ten paces. +Why, he's a two-laigged hold-up! That man would--” he stopped as a +stranger entered the room. “Hey, stranger! Don't you leave that cayuse +of yourn outside all alone or that coyote of a marshal will steal it, +shore. He's the biggest thief I ever knowed. He'll lift yore animal +quick as a wink!” Fisher warned, excitedly. + +The stranger looked at him in surprise and then smiled. “Is it usual for +a marshal to steal cayuses? Somewhat out of line, ain't it?” he asked +Fisher, glancing at the bartender for light. + +“I don't care what's the rule--that marshal just stole my cayuse; an' +he'll take yourn, too, if you ain't careful,” Fisher replied. + +“Well,” drawled the stranger, smiling still more, “I reckon I ain't +going to stay out there an' watch it, an' I can't bring it in here. +But I reckon it'll be all right. You see, I carry 'big medicine' +agin hoss-thieves,” he replied, tapping his holster and smiling as he +remembered the time, not long past, when he himself had been accused of +being one. “I'll take a chance if he will--what'll you all have?” + +“Little whiskey,” replied Fisher, uneasily, worrying because he could +not stand for a return treat. “But, say; you keep yore eye on that +animal, just the same,” he added, and then hurriedly gave his reasons. +“An' the worst part of the whole thing is that I ain't got no gun, an' +can't seem to borrow none, neither,” he added, wistfully eyeing the +stranger's Colt. “I gambled mine away to the bartender here an' he won't +lemme borrow it for five minutes!” + +“Why, I never heard tell of such a thing before!” exclaimed the +stranger, hardly believing his ears, and aghast at the thought that such +conditions could exist. “Friend,” he said, addressing the bartender, +“how is it that this sort of thing can go on in this town?” When the +bartender had explained at some length, his interested listener smote +the bar with a heavy fist and voiced his outraged feelings. “I'll shore +be plumb happy to spread that coyote marshal all over his cussed pound! +Say, come with me; I'm going down there right now an' get that cayuse, +an' if the marshal opens his mouth to peep I'll get him, too. I'm +itching for a chance to tunnel a man like him. Come on an' see the +show!” + +“Not much!” retorted Fisher. “While I am some pleased to meet a white +man, an' have a deep an' abiding gratitude for yore noble offer, I can't +let you do it. He put it over on me, an' I'm the one that's got to shoot +him up. He's mine, my pudding; an' I'm hogging him all to myself. That +is one luxury I can indulge in even if I am broke; an' I'm sorry, but +I can't give you cards. Seeing, however, as you are so friendly to the +cause of liberty an' justice, suppose you lend me yore gun for about +three minutes by the watch. From what I've been told about this town +such an act will win for you the eternal love an' gratitude of a +down-trodden people; yore gun will blaze the way to liberty an' light, +freedom an' the right to own yore own property, an' keep it. All I ask +is that I be the undeserving medium.” + +“A-men,” sighed the bartender. “Deacon Jones will now pass down the +aisle an' collect the buttons an' tin money.” + +“Stranger,” continued Fisher, warming up, when he saw that his words +had not produced the desired result, “King James the Twelfth, on the +memorable an' blood-soaked field of Trafalgar, gave men their rights. On +that great day he signed the Magnet Charter, and proved himself as +great a liberator as the sainted Lincoln. You, on this most auspicious +occasion, hold in yore strong hand the destiny of this town--the women +an' children in this cursed community will rise up an' bless you forever +an' pass yore name down to their ancestors as a man of deeds an' honor! +Let us pause to consider this--” + +“Hold that pause!” interrupted the astounded bartender hurriedly, and +with shaking voice. “String it out till I get untangled! I ain't up much +on history, so I won't take no chance with that; but I want to tell our +eloquent guest that there ain't no women _or_ children in this town. An' +if there was, I sort of reckon their ancestors would be born first. What +do you think about it--” + +“Let us pause to consider the shameful an' burning _indignity_ +perpetrated upon us to-day!” continued Fisher, unheeding the bartender's +words. “I, a peaceful, law-abiding _citizen_ of this _glorious_ +Commonwealth, a free an' _equal_ member of a liberty-loving nation, a +nation whose standard is, _now_ and forever, 'Gimme liberty or gimme +det', a _nation_ that stands for all the conceivable benefits that +mankind may enjoy, a _nation_ that scintillates pyrotechnically over the +prostitution of power--” + +_Bang!_ went the bartender's fist on the counter. “Hey! Pause again! +Wait a minute! Go back to 'shameful an' burning,' and gimme a chance!” + +“--that stands for an even break, I, Nathaniel G. Fisher, have been +deprived of one of my inalienable rights, the right of locomotion to +distant an' other parts. _An'_ I say, right here an' now, that I won't +allow no spavined individual with thieving prehensils to--” + +“Has that pound-keeper got a rifle?” calmly interrupted the stranger, +without a pang of remorse. + +“He has. Thus has it allus been with tyrants--well armed, fortified by +habit an' tradition--” + +“Then you won't get my gun, savvy? We'll find another way to get that +cayuse as long as you feel that the marshal is yore hunting. Besides, +this man's gall deserves some respect; it is genius, an' to pump genius +full of cold lead is to act rash. Now, suppose you tell me when this +auction is due to come off.” + +“Oh, not for a week; he wants to run up the board an' keep expenses. +Tyrants, such as him--” + +“Shore,” interposed the bartender, “he'll make the expenses equal what +he gets for the cayuse, no matter what it comes to. An' he's the whole +town, an' the justice of the peace, besides. What he says goes.” + +“Well, I'm the Governor of the State an' I've got the Supreme Court +right here in my holster, so I reckon I can reverse his official acts +an' fill his legal opinions full of holes,” the stranger replied, +laughing heartily. “Bartender, will you help me play a little joke on +His Honore, the Town,--just a little harmless joke?” + +“Well, that all depends whether the joke is harmless on _me_. You see, +he can shoot like the devil--he allus knows when a man is going to draw, +an' gets his gun out first. I ain't got no respect for him, but I take +off my hat to his gunplay, all right.” + +The stranger smiled. “Well, I can shoot a bit myself. But I shore wish +he'd hold that auction quick--I've got to go on home without losing +any more time. Fisher, suppose you go down to the pound and dare that +tumble-bug to hold the auction this afternoon. Tell him that you'll +shoot him full of holes if he goes pulling off any auction to-day, an' +dare him to try it. I want it to come off before night, an' I reckon +that'll hustle it along.” + +“I'll do anything to get the edge on that thief,” replied Fisher, +quickly, “but don't you reckon I'd better tote a gun, going down an' +bearding such a thief in his own den? You know I allus like to shoot +when I'm being shot at.” + +“Well, I don't blame you; it's only a petty weakness,” grinned the +stranger, hanging onto his Colt as if fearing that the other would +snatch it and run. “But you'll do better without any gun--me an' the +bartender don't want to have to go down there an' bring you back on a +plank.” + +“All right, then,” sighed Fisher, reluctantly, “but he'll jump the price +again. He'll fine me for contempt of court an' make me pay money I ain't +got for disturbing him. But I'm game--so long.” + +When he had gained the street, the stranger turned to the bartender. +“Now, friend, you tell me if this man of gall, this Mr. Townsend, has +got many friends in town--anybody that'll be likely to pot shoot from +the back when things get warm. I can't watch both ends unless I know +what I'm up against.” + +“_No!_ Every man in town hates him,” answered the bartender, hastily, +and with emphasis. + +“Ah, that's good. Now, I wonder if you could see 'most everybody that's +in town now an' get 'em to promise to help me by letting me run this all +by myself. All I want them to do is not to say a word. It ain't hard to +keep still when you want to.” + +“Why, I reckon I might see 'em--there ain't many here this time of +day,” responded the bartender. “But what's yore game, anyhow?” he asked, +suddenly growing suspicious. + +“It's just a little scheme I figgered out,” the stranger replied, and +then he confided in the bartender, who jigged a few fancy steps to show +his appreciation of the other's genius. His suspicions left him at once, +and he hastened out to tell the inhabitants of the town to follow his +instructions to the letter, and he knew they would obey, and be glad, +hilariously glad, to do so. While he was hurrying around giving his +instructions, the CG puncher returned to the hotel and reported. + +“Well, it worked, all right,” Fisher growled. “I told him what I'd do +to him if he tried to auction that cayuse off an' he retorted that if I +didn't shut up an' mind my own business, that he'd sell the horse this +noon, at twelve o'clock, in the public square, wherever that is. I told +him he was a coyote and dared him to do it. Told him I'd pump him full +of air ducts if he didn't wait till next week. Said I had the promise of +a gun an' that it'd give me great pleasure to use it on him if he tried +any auctioneering at my expense this noon. Then he fined me five dollars +more, swore that he'd show me what it meant to dare the marshal of +Rawhide an' insult the dignity of the court an' town council, an' also +that he'd shoot my liver all through my system if I didn't leave him to +his reflections. Now, look here, stranger; noon is only two hours away +an' I'm due to lose my outfit: what are _you_ going to do to get me out +of this mess?” he finished anxiously, hands on hips. + +“You did real well, very fine, indeed,” replied the stranger, smiling +with content. “An' don't you worry about that outfit--I'm going to get +it back for you an' a little bit more. So, as long as you don't lose +nothing, you ain't got no kick coming, have you? An' you ain't got no +interest in what I'm going to do. Just sit tight an' keep yore eyes an' +ears open at noon. Meantime, if you want something to do to keep you +busy, practise making speeches--you ought to be ashamed to be punching +cows an' working for a living when you could use yore talents an' get a +lot of graft besides. Any man who can say as much on nothing as you +can ought to be in the Senate representing some railroad company or +waterpower steal--you don't have to work there, just loaf an' take +easy money for cheating the people what put you there. Now, don't get +mad--I'm only stringing you: I wouldn't be mean enough to call you a +senator. To tell the truth, I think yo're too honest to even think of +such a thing. But go ahead an' practise--_I_ don't mind it a bit.” + +“Huh! I couldn't go to Congress,” laughed Fisher. “I'd have to practise +by getting elected mayor of some town an' then go to the Legislature for +the finishing touches.” + +“Mr. Townsend would beat you out,” murmured the stranger, looking out of +the window and wishing for noon. He sauntered over to a chair, placed +it where he could see his horse, and took things easy. The bartender +returned with several men at his heels, and all were grinning and +joking. They took up their places against the bar and indulged in +frequent fits of chuckling, not letting their eyes stray from the man in +the chair and the open street through the door, where the auction was +to be held. They regarded the stranger in the light of a would-be +public benefactor, a martyr, who was to provide the town with a little +excitement before he followed his predecessors into the grave. Perhaps +he would _not_ be killed, perhaps he would shoot the pound-keeper and +general public nuisance--but ah, this was the stuff of which dreams were +made: the marshal would never be killed, he would thrive and outlive his +fellow-townsmen, and die in bed at a ripe old age. + +One of the citizens, dangling his legs from the card table, again looked +closely at the man with the plan, and then turned to a companion beside +him. “I've seen that there feller som'ers, sometime,” he whispered. “I +_know_ I have. But I'll be teetotally dod-blasted if I can place him.” + +“Well, Jim; I never saw him afore, an' I don't know who he is,” replied +the other, refilling his pipe with elaborate care, “but if he can kill +Townsend to-day, I'll be so plumb joyous I won't know what to do with +m'self.” + +“I'm afraid he won't, though,” remarked another, lolling back against +the bar. “The marshal was born to hang--nobody can beat him on the draw. +But, anyhow, we're going to see some fun.” + +The first speaker, still straining his memory for a clue to the +stranger's identity, pulled out a handful of silver and placed it on +the table. “I'll bet that he makes good,” he offered, but there were no +takers. + +The stranger now lazily arose and stepped into the doorway, leaning +against the jamb and shaking his holster sharply to loosen the gun +for action. He glanced quickly behind him and spoke curtly: “Remember, +now--_I_ am to do all the talking at this auction; you fellers just look +on.” + +A mumble of assent replied to him, and the townsmen craned their necks +to look out. A procession slowly wended its way up the street, led by +the marshal, astride a piebald horse bearing the crude brand of the CG. +Three men followed him and numerous dogs of several colors, sizes, and +ages roamed at will, in a listless, bored way, between the horse and +the men. The dust arose sluggishly and slowly dissipated in the hot, +shimmering air, and a fly buzzed with wearying persistence against the +dirty glass in the front window. + +The marshal, peering out from under the pulled-down brim of his Stetson, +looked critically at the sleepy horse standing near the open door of the +Paradise and sought its brand, but in vain, for it was standing with +the wrong side towards him. Then he glanced at the man in the door, a +puzzled expression stealing over his face. He had known that man once, +but time and events had wiped him nearly out of his memory and he could +not place him. He decided that the other horse could wait until he had +sold the one he was on, and, stopping before the door of the Paradise, +he raised his left arm, his right arm lying close to his side, not far +from the holster on his thigh. + +“Gentlemen an' feller-citizens,” he began: “As marshal of this booming +city, I am about to offer for sale to the highest bidder this A Number +1 piebald, pursooant to the decree of the local court an' with the +sanction of the town council an' the mayor. This same sale is for to pay +the town for the board an' keep of this animal, an' to square the fine +in such cases made an' provided. It's sound in wind an' limb, fourteen +han's high, an' in all ways a beautiful piece of hoss-flesh. Now, +gentlemen, how much am I bid for this cayuse? Remember, before you +make me any offer, that this animal is broke to punching cows an' is a +first-class cayuse.” + +The crowd in the Paradise had flocked out into the street and oozed +along the front of the building, while the stranger now leaned +carelessly against his own horse, critically looking over the one on +sale. Fisher, uneasy and worried, squirmed close at hand and glanced +covertly from his horse and saddle to the guns in the belts on the +members of the crowd. + +It was the stranger who broke the silence: “Two bits I bid--two bits,” + he said, very quietly, whereat the crowd indulged in a faint snicker and +a few nudges. + +The marshal looked at him and then ignored him. “How much, gentlemen?” + he asked, facing the crowd again. + +“Two bits,” repeated the stranger, as the crowd remained silent. + +“Two bits!” yelled the marshal, glaring at him angrily: “_Two bits!_ +Why, the _look_ in this cayuse's eyes is worth four! Look at the spirit +in them eyes, look at the intelligence! The saddle alone is worth a +clean forty dollars of any man's money. I am out here to sell this +animal to the highest bidder; the sale's begun, an' I want bids, not +jokes. Now, who'll start it off?” he demanded, glancing around; but no +one had anything to say except the terse stranger, who appeared to be +getting irritated. + +“You've got a starter--I've given you a bid. I bid two bits--t-w-o +b-i-t-s, twenty-five cents. Now go ahead with yore auction.” + +The marshal thought he saw an attempt at humor, and since he was feeling +quite happy, and since he knew that good humor is conducive to good +bidding, he smiled, all the time, however, racking his memory for the +name of the humorist. So he accepted the bid: “All right, this gentleman +bids two bits. Two bits I am bid--two bits. Twenty-five cents. Who'll +make it twenty-five dollars? Two bits--who says twenty-five dollars? Ah, +did _you_ say twenty-five dollars?” he snapped, leveling an accusing and +threatening fore-finger at the man nearest him, who squirmed restlessly +and glanced at the stranger. “_Did you say twenty-five dollars?_” he +shouted. + +The stranger came to the rescue. “He did not. He hasn't opened his +mouth. But _I_ said twenty-five _cents_,” quietly observed the humorist. + +“Who'll gimme thirty? Who'll gimme thirty dollars? Did I hear thirty +dollars? Did I hear twenty-five dollars bid? Who said thirty dollars? +Did _you_ say twenty-five dollars?” + +“How could he when he was talking politics to the man behind him?” asked +the stranger. “I said two bits,” he added complacently, as he watched +the auctioneer closely. + +“I want twenty-five dollars--an' you shut yore blasted mouth!” snapped +the marshal at the persistent twenty-five-cent man. He did not see +the fire smouldering in the squinting eyes so alertly watching him. +“Twenty-five dollars--not a cent less takes the cayuse. Why, gentlemen, +he's worth twenty in _cans_! Gimme twenty-five dollars, somebody. _I_ +bid twenty-five. I want thirty. I want thirty, gentlemen; you must gimme +thirty. _I_ bid twenty-five dollars--who's going to make it thirty?” + +“Show us yore twenty-five an' she's yourn,” remarked the stranger, with +exasperating assurance, while Fisher grew pale with excitement. The +stranger was standing clear of his horse now, and alert readiness +was stamped all over him. “You accepted my bid--show yore twenty-five +dollars or take my two bits.” + +“You close that face of yourn!” exploded the marshal, angrily. “I don't +mind a little fun, but you've got altogether too damned much to say. +You've queered the bidding, an' now you shut up!” + +“I said two bits an' I mean just that. You show yore twenty-five or +gimme that cayuse on my bid,” retorted the stranger. + +“By the pans of Julius Caesar!” shouted the marshal. “I'll put you to +sleep so you'll never wake up if I hears any more about you an' yore two +bits!” + +“Show me, Rednose,” snapped the other, his gun out in a flash. “I want +that cayuse, an' I want it quick. You show me twenty-five dollars or +I'll take it out from under you on my bid, you yaller dog! _Stop it!_ +Shut up! That's suicide, that is. Others have tried it an' failed, an' +yo're no sleight-of-hand gun-man. This is the first time I ever paid a +hoss-thief in _silver_, or bought stolen goods, but everything has to +have a beginning. You get nervous with that hand of yourn an' I'll cure +you of it! Git off that piebald, an' quick!” + +The marshal felt stunned and groped for a way out, but the gun under his +nose was as steady as a rock. He sat there stupidly, not knowing enough +to obey orders. + +“Come, get off that cayuse,” sharply commanded the stranger. “An' I'll +take yore Winchester as a fine for this high-handed business you've been +carrying on. You may be the local court an' all the town officials, but +I'm the Governor, an' here's my Supreme Court, as I was saying to the +boys a little while ago. Yo're overruled. Get off that cayuse, an' don't +waste no more time about it, neither!” + +The marshal glared into the muzzle of the weapon and felt a sinking in +the pit of his stomach. Never before had he failed to anticipate the +pull of a gun. As the stranger said, there must always be a beginning, a +first time. He was thinking quickly now; he was master of himself again, +but he realized that he was in a tight place unless he obeyed the man +with the drop. Not a man in town would help him; on the other hand, they +were all against him, and hugely enjoying his discomfiture. With some +men he could afford to take chances and jerk at his gun even when at +such a disadvantage, but-- + +“Stranger,” he said slowly, “what's yore name?” + +The crowd listened eagerly. + +“My _friends_ call me Hopalong Cassidy; other people, other things--you +gimme that cayuse an' that Winchester. Here! Hand the gun to Fisher, so +there won't be no lamentable accidents: I don't want to shoot you, 'less +I have to.” + +“They're both yourn,” sighed Mr. Townsend, remembering a certain +day over near Alameda, when he had seen Mr. Cassidy at gun-play. He +dismounted slowly and sorrowfully. “Do I--do I get my two bits?” he +asked. + +“You shore do--yore gall is worth it,” said Mr. Cassidy, turning the +piebald over to its overjoyed owner, who was already arranging further +gambling with his friend, the bartender. + +Mr. Townsend pocketed the one bid, surveyed glumly the hilarious crowd +flocking in to the bar to drink to their joy in his defeat, and wandered +disconsolately back to the pound. He was never again seen in that +locality, or by any of the citizens of Rawhide, for between dark and +dawn he resumed his travels, bound for some locality far removed from +limping, red-headed drawbacks. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +JOHNNY LEARNS SOMETHING + +For several weeks after Hopalong got back to the ranch, full of +interesting stories and minus the grouch, things went on in a way placid +enough for the most peacefully inclined individual that ever sat a +saddle. And then trouble drifted down from the north and caused a look +of anxiety to spoil Buck Peters' pleasant expression, and began to show +on the faces of his men. When one finds the carcasses of two cows on the +same day, and both are skinned, there can be only one conclusion. The +killing and skinning of two cows out of herds that are numbered by +thousands need not, in themselves, bring lines of worry to any foreman's +brow; but there is the sting of being cheated, the possibility of the +losses going higher unless a sharp lesson be given upon the folly +of fooling with a very keen and active buzz-saw,--and it was the +determination of the outfit of the Bar-20 to teach that lesson, and as +quickly as circumstances would permit. + +It was common knowledge that there was a more or less organized band of +shiftless malcontents making its headquarters in and near Perry's Bend, +some distance up the river, and the deduction in this case was easy. The +Bar-20 cared very little about what went on at Perry's Bend--that was +a matter which concerned only the ranches near that town--as long as no +vexatious happenings sifted too far south. But they had so sifted, and +Perry's Bend, or rather the undesirable class hanging out there, was due +to receive a shock before long. + +About a week after the finding of the first skinned cows, Pete Wilson +tornadoed up to the bunk house with a perforated arm. Pete was on foot, +having lost his horse at the first exchange of shots, which accounts +for the expression describing his arrival. Pete hated to walk, he hated +still more to get shot, and most of all he hated to have to admit that +his rifle-shooting was so far below par. He had seen the thief at work +and, too eager to work up close to the cattle skinner before announcing +his displeasure, had missed the first shot. When he dragged himself out +from under his deceased horse the scenery was undisturbed save for a +small cloud of dust hovering over a distant rise to the north of him. +After delivering a short and bitter monologue he struck out for +the ranch and arrived in a very hot and wrathful condition. It was +contagious, that condition, and before long the entire outfit was in +the saddle and pounding north, Pete overjoyed because his wound was so +slight as not to bar him from the chase. The shock was on the way, +and as events proved, was to be one long to linger in the minds of the +inhabitants of Perry's Bend and the surrounding range. + + + +The patrons of the Oasis liked their tobacco strong. The pungent smoke +drifted in sluggish clouds along the low, black ceiling, following its +upward slant toward the east wall and away from the high bar at the +other end. This bar, rough and strong, ran from the north wall to within +a scant two feet of the south wall, the opening bridged by a hinged +board which served as an extension to the counter. Behind the bar was +a rear door, low and double, the upper part barred securely--the lower +part was used most. In front of and near the bar was a large round +table, at which four men played cards silently, while two smaller tables +were located along the north wall. Besides dilapidated chairs there were +half a dozen low wooden boxes partly filled with sand, and attention +was directed to the existence and purpose of these by a roughly lettered +sign on the wall, reading: “Gents will look for a box first,” which the +“gents” sometimes did. The majority of the “gents” preferred to aim +at various knotholes in the floor and bet on the result, chancing the +outpouring of the proprietor's wrath if they missed. + +On the wall behind the bar was a smaller and neater request: “Leave your +guns with the bartender.--Edwards.” This, although a month old, still +called forth caustic and profane remarks from the regular frequenters of +the saloon, for hitherto restraint in the matter of carrying weapons +had been unknown. They forthwith evaded the order in a manner consistent +with their characteristics--by carrying smaller guns where they could +not be seen. The majority had simply sawed off a generous part of the +long barrels of their Colts and Remingtons, which did not improve their +accuracy. + +Edwards, the new marshal of Perry's Bend, had come direct from Kansas +and his reputation as a fighter had preceded him. When he took up his +first day's work he was kept busy proving that he was the rightful owner +of it and that it had not been exaggerated in any manner or degree. +With the exception of one instance the proof had been bloodless, for he +reasoned that gun-play should give way, whenever possible, to a crushing +“right” or “left” to the point of the jaw or the pit of the stomach. +His proficiency in the manly art was polished and thorough and bespoke +earnest application. The last doubting Thomas to be convinced came to +five minutes after his diaphragm had been rudely and suddenly raised +several inches by a low right hook, and as he groped for his bearings +and got his wind back again he asked, very feebly, where “Kansas” was; +and the name stuck. + +When Harlan heard the nickname for the first time he stopped pulling the +cork out of a whiskey bottle long enough to remark, casually, “I allus +reckoned Kansas was purty close to hell,” and said no more about it. +Harlan was the proprietor and bartender of the Oasis and catered to the +excessive and uncritical thirsts of the ruck of range society, and he +had objected vigorously to the placing of the second sign in his place +of business; but at the close of an incisive if inelegant reply from the +marshal, the sign went up, and stayed up. Edwards' language and delivery +were as convincing as his fists. + +The marshal did not like the Oasis; indeed, he went further and +cordially hated it. Harlan's saloon was a thorn in his side and he was +only waiting for a good excuse to wipe it off the local map. He was the +Law, and behind him were the range riders, who would be only too glad +to have the nest of rustlers wiped out and its gang of ne'er-do-wells +scattered to the four winds. Indeed, he had been given to understand +in a most polite and diplomatic way that if this were not done lawfully +they would try to do it themselves, and they had great faith in their +ability to handle the situation in a thorough and workmanlike manner. +This would not do in a law-abiding community, as he called the town, and +so he had replied that the work was his, and that it would be performed +as soon as he believed himself justified to act. Harlan and his friends +were fully conversant with the feeling against them and had become a +little more cautious, alertly watching out for trouble. + +On the evening of the day which saw Pete Wilson's discomfiture most of +the habitues had assembled in the Oasis where, besides the card-players +already mentioned, eight men lounged against the bar. There was some +laughter, much subdued talking, and a little whispering. More whispering +went on under that roof than in all the other places in town put +together; for here rustling was planned, wayfaring strangers were +“trimmed” in “frame-ups” at cards, and a hunted man was certain to find +assistance. Harlan had once boasted that no fugitive had ever been taken +from his saloon, and he was behind the bar and standing on the trap door +which led to the six-by-six cellar when he made the assertion. It was +true, for only those in his confidence knew of the place of refuge under +the floor; it had been dug at night and the dirt carefully disposed of. + +It had not been dark very long before talking ceased and card-playing +was suspended while all looked up as the front door crashed open and two +punchers entered, looking the crowd over with critical care. + +“Stay here, Johnny,” Hopalong told his youthful companion, and then +walked forward, scrutinizing each scowling face in turn, while Johnny +stood with his back to the door, keenly alert, his right hand resting +lightly on his belt not far from the holster. + +Harlan's thick neck grew crimson and his eyes hard. “Looking fer +something?” he asked with bitter sarcasm, his hands under the bar. +Johnny grinned hopefully and a sudden tenseness took possession of him +as he watched for the first hostile move. + +“Yes,” Hopalong replied coolly, appraising Harlan's attitude and look in +one swift glance, “but it ain't here, now. Johnny, get out,” he ordered, +backing after his companion, and safely outside, the two walked towards +Jackson's store, Johnny complaining about the little time spent in the +Oasis. + +As they entered the store they saw Edwards, whose eye asked a question. + +“No; he ain't in there yet,” Hopalong replied. + +“Did you look all over? Behind the bar?” Edwards asked, slowly. “He +can't get out of town through that cordon you've got strung around it, +an' he ain't nowhere else. Leastwise, I couldn't find him.” + +“Come on back!” excitedly exclaimed Johnny, turning towards the door. +“You didn't look behind the bar! Come on--bet you ten dollars that's +where he is!” + +“Mebby yo're right, Kid,” replied Hopalong, and the marshal's nodding +head decided it. + +In the saloon there was strong language, and Jack Quinn, expert skinner +of other men's cows, looked inquiringly at the proprietor. “What's up +now, Harlan?” + +The proprietor laughed harshly but said nothing--taciturnity was his one +redeeming trait. “Did you say cigars?” he asked, pushing a box across +the bar to an impatient customer. Another beckoned to him and he leaned +over to hear the whispered request, a frown struggling to show itself on +his face. “Nix; you know my rule. No trust in here.” + +But the man at the far end of the line was unlike the proprietor and he +prefaced his remarks with a curse. “_I_ know what's up! They want Jerry +Brown, that's what! An' I hopes they don't get him, the bullies!” + +“What did he do? Why do they want him?” asked the man who had wanted +trust. + +“Skinning. He was careless or crazy, working so close to their ranch +houses. Nobody that had any sense would take a chance like that,” + replied Boston, adept at sleight-of-hand with cards and very much in +demand when a frame-up was to be rung in on some unsuspecting stranger. +His one great fault in the eyes of his partners was that he hated to +divvy his winnings and at times had to be coerced into sharing equally. + +“Aw, them big ranches make me mad,” announced the first speaker. “Ten +years ago there was a lot of little ranchers, an' every one of 'em had +his own herd, an' plenty of free grass an' water for it. Where are the +little herds now? Where are the cows that _we_ used to own?” he cried, +hotly. “What happens to a maverick-hunter now-a-days? By God, if a man +helps hisself to a pore, sick dogie he's hunted down! It can't go on +much longer, an' that's shore.” + +Cries of approbation arose on all sides, for his auditors ignored the +fact that their kind, by avarice and thievery, had forever killed the +occupation of maverick-hunting. That belonged to the old days, before +the demand for cows and their easy and cheap transportation had boosted +the prices and made them valuable. + +Slivers Lowe leaped up from his chair. “Yo're right, Harper! Dead right! +_I_ was a little cattle owner once, so was you, an' Jerry, an' most of +us!” Slivers found it convenient to forget that fully half of his small +herd had perished in the bitter and long winter of five years before, +and that the remainder had either flowed down his parched throat or been +lost across the big round table near the bar. Not a few of his cows were +banked in the east under Harlan's name. + +The rear door opened slightly and one of the loungers looked up and +nodded. “It's all right, Jerry. But get a move on!” + +“Here, _you_!” called Harlan, quickly bending over the trap door, +“_Lively!_” + +Jerry was half way to the proprietor when the front door swung open and +Hopalong, closely followed by the marshal, leaped into the room, and +immediately thereafter the back door banged open and admitted Johnny. +Jerry's right hand was in his side coat pocket and Johnny, young and +self-confident, and with a lot to learn, was certain that he could beat +the fugitive on the draw. + +“I reckon you won't blot no more brands!” he cried, triumphantly, +watching both Jerry and Harlan. + +The card-players had leaped to their feet and at a signal from Harlan +they surged forward to the bar and formed a barrier between Johnny and +his friends; and as they did so that puncher jerked at his gun, twisting +to half face the crowd. At that instant fire and smoke spurted from +Jerry's side coat pocket and the odor of burning cloth arose. As Johnny +fell, the rustler ducked low and sprang for the door. A gun roared twice +in the front of the room and Jerry staggered a little and cursed as he +gained the opening, but he plunged into the darkness and threw himself +into the saddle on the first horse he found in the small corral. + +When the crowd massed, Hopalong leaped at it and strove to tear his way +to the opening at the end of the bar, while the marshal covered Harlan +and the others. Finding that he could not get through. Hopalong sprang +on the shoulder of the nearest man and succeeded in winging the fugitive +at the first shot, the other going wild. Then, frantic with rage and +anxiety, he beat his way through the crowd, hammering mercilessly at +heads with the butt of his Colt, and knelt at his friend's side. + +Edwards, angered almost to the point of killing, ordered the crowd +to stand against the wall, and laughed viciously when he saw two men +senseless on the floor. “Hope he beat in yore heads!” he gritted, +savagely. “Harlan, put yore paws up in sight or I'll drill you clean! +Now climb over an' get in line--quick!” + +Johnny moaned and opened his eyes. “Did--did I--get him?” + +“No; but he gimleted you, all right,” Hopalong replied. “You'll come +'round if you keep quiet.” He arose, his face hard with the desire to +kill. “I'm coming back for _you_, Harlan, after I get yore friend! An' +all the rest of you pups, too!” + +“Get me out of here,” whispered Johnny. + +“Shore enough, Kid; but keep quiet,” replied Hopalong, picking him up in +his arms and moving carefully towards the door. “We'll get him, Johnny; +an' all the rest, too, when----” The voice died out in the direction of +Jackson's and the marshal, backing to the front door, slipped out and to +one side, running backward, his eyes on the saloon. + +“Yore day's about over, Harlan,” he muttered. “There's going to be some +few funerals around here before many hours pass.” + +When he reached the store he found the owner and two Double-Arrow +punchers taking care of Johnny. “Where's Hopalong?” he asked. + +“Gone to tell his foreman,” replied Jackson. “Hey, youngster, you let +them bandages alone! Hear me?” + +“Hullo, Kansas,” remarked John Bartlett, foreman of the Double-Arrow. “I +come nigh getting yore man; somebody rode past me like a streak in the +dark, so I just ups an' lets drive for luck, an' so did he. I heard him +cuss an' I emptied my gun after him.” + +“The rest was a-passing the word along to ride in when I left the line,” + remarked one of the other punchers. “How you feeling now, Johnny?” + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE END OF THE TRAIL + +The rain slanted down in sheets and the broken plain, thoroughly +saturated, held the water in pools or sent it down the steep sides of +the arroyo, to feed the turbulent flood which swept along the bottom, +foam-flecked and covered with swiftly moving driftwood. Around a bend +in the arroyo, where the angry water flung itself against the ragged +bulwark of rock and flashed away in a gleaming line of foam, a horseman +appeared bending low in the saddle for better protection against +the storm. He rode along the edge of the stream on the farther bank, +opposite the steep bluff on the northern side, forcing his wounded and +jaded horse to keep fetlock deep in the water which swirled and sucked +about its legs. He was trying his hardest to hide his trail. Lower down +the hard, rocky ground extended to the water's edge, and if he could +delay his pursuers for an hour or so, he felt that, even with his tired +horse, he would have more than an even chance. + +But they had gained more than he knew. Suddenly above him on the top of +the steep bluff across the torrent a man loomed up against the clouds, +peered intently into the arroyo, and then waved his sombrero to an +unseen companion. A puff of smoke flashed from his shoulder and streaked +away, the report of the shot lost in the gale. The fugitive's horse +reared and plunged into the deep water and with its rider was swept +rapidly towards the bend, the way they had come. + +“That makes the fourth time I've missed that coyote!” angrily exclaimed +Hopalong as Red Connors joined him. + +The other quickly raised his rifle and fired; and the horse, spilling +its rider out of the saddle, floated away tail first. The fugitive, +gripping his rifle, bobbed and whirled at the whim of the greedy water +as shots struck near him. Making a desperate effort, he staggered up the +bank and fell exhausted behind a boulder. + +“Well, the coyote is afoot, anyhow,” said Red, with great satisfaction. + +“Yes; but how are we going to get to him?” asked Hopalong. “We can't get +the cayuses down here, an' we can't swim _that_ water without them. An' +if we could, he'd pot us easy.” + +“There's a way out of it somewhere,” Red replied, disappearing over the +edge of the bluff to gamble with Fate. + +“Hey! Come back here, you chump!” cried Hopalong, running forward. +“He'll get you, shore!” + +“That's a chance I've got to take if I get him,” was the reply. + +A puff of smoke sailed from behind the boulder on the other bank and +Hopalong, kneeling for steadier aim, fired and then followed his friend. +Red was downstream casting at a rock across the torrent but the wind +toyed with the heavy, water-soaked _reata_ as though it were a string. +As Hopalong reached his side a piece of driftwood ducked under the water +and an angry humming sound died away downstream. As the report reached +their ears a jet of water spurted up into Red's face and he stepped back +involuntarily. + +“He's so shaky,” Hopalong remarked, looking back at the wreath of smoke +above the boulder. “I reckon I must have hit him harder than I thought +in Harlan's. Gee! He's wild as blazes!” he yelled as a bullet hummed +high above his head and struck sharply against the rock wall. + +“Yes,” Red replied, coiling the rope. “I was trying to rope that rock +over there. If I could anchor to that, the current would push us over +quick. But it's too far with this wind blowing.” + +“We can't do nothing here 'cept get plugged. He'll be getting steadier +as he rests from his fight with the water,” Hopalong remarked, and added +quickly, “Say, remember that meadow back there a ways? We can make her +from there, all right.” + +“Yo're right; that's what we've got to do. He's sending 'em nearer every +shot--Gee! I could 'most feel the wind of that one. An' blamed if it +ain't stopped raining. Come on.” + +They clambered up the slippery, muddy bank to where they had left their +horses, and cantered back over their trail. Minute after minute passed +before the cautious skulker among the rocks across the stream could +believe in his good fortune. When he at last decided that he was alone +again he left his shelter and started away, with slowly weakening +stride, over cleanly washed rock where he left no trail. + +It was late in the afternoon before the two irate punchers appeared +upon the scene, and their comments, as they hunted slowly over the hard +ground, were numerous and bitter. Deciding that it was hopeless in that +vicinity, they began casting in great circles on the chance of crossing +the trail further back from the river. But they had little faith in +their success. As Red remarked, snorting like a horse in his disgust, +“I'll bet four dollars an' a match he's swum down the river clean to +hell just to have the laugh on us.” Red had long since given it up as +a bad job, though continuing to search, when a shout from the distant +Hopalong sent him forward on a run. + +“Hey, Red!” cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of them. “Look there! Ain't +that a house?” + +“Naw; course not! It's a--it's a ship!” Red snorted sarcastically. “What +did you think it might be?” + +“G'wan!” retorted his companion. “It's a mission.” + +“Ah, g'wan yoreself! What's a mission doing up here?” Red snapped. + +“What do you think they do? What do they do anywhere?” hotly rejoined +Hopalong, thinking about Johnny. “There! See the cross?” + +“Shore enough!” + +“An' there's tracks at last--mighty wobbly, but tracks just the same. +Them rocks couldn't go on forever. Red, I'll bet he's cashed in by this +time.” + +“Cashed nothing! Them fellers don't.” + +“Well, if he's in that joint we might as well go back home. We won't get +him, not nohow,” declared Hopalong. + +“Huh! You wait an' see!” replied Red, pugnaciously. + +“Reckon you never run up agin a mission real hard,” Hopalong responded, +his memory harking back to the time he had disagreed with a convent, +and they both meant about the same to him as far as winning out was +concerned. + +“Think I'm a fool kid?” snapped Red, aggressively. + +“Well, you ain't no _kid_.” + +“You let _me_ do the talking; _I'll_ get him.” + +“All right; an' I'll do the laughing,” snickered Hopalong, at the door. +“Sic 'em, Red!” + +The other boldly stepped into a small vestibule, Hopalong close at his +heels. Red hitched his holster and walked heavily into a room at his +left. With the exception of a bench, a table, and a small altar, the +room was devoid of furnishings, and the effect of these was lost in the +dim light from the narrow windows. The peculiar, not unpleasant odor of +burning incense and the dim light awakened a latent reverence and awe +in Hopalong, and he sneaked off his sombrero, an inexplicable feeling +of guilt stealing over him. There were three doors in the walls, deeply +shrouded in the dusk of the room, and it was very hard to watch all +three at once. + +Red was peering into the dark corners, his hand on the butt of his Colt, +and hardly knew what he was looking for. “This joint must 'a' looked +plumb good to that coyote, all right. He had a hell of a lot of luck, +but he won't keep it for long, damn him!” he remarked. + +“Quit cussing!” tersely ordered Hopalong. “An' for God's sake, throw out +that damned cigarette! Ain't you got no manners?” + +Red listened intently and then grinned. “Hear that? They're playing +dominoes in there--come on!” + +“Aw, you chump! 'Dominee' means 'mother' in Latin, which is what they +speaks.” + +“How do you know?” + +“Hanged if I can tell--I've heard it somewhere, that's all.” + +“Well, I don't care what it means. This is a frame-up so that coyote +can get away. I'll bet they gave him a cayuse an' started him off +while we've been losing time in here. I'm going inside an' ask some +questions.” + +Before he could put his plan into execution, Hopalong nudged him and he +turned to see his friend staring at one of the doors. There had been no +sound, but he would swear that a monk stood gravely regarding them, +and he rubbed his eyes. He stepped back suspiciously and then started +forward again. + +“Look here, stranger,” he remarked, with quiet emphasis, “we're after +that cow-lifter, an' we mean to get him. Savvy?” + +The monk did not appear to hear him, so he tried another tack. “_Habla +Espanola?_” he asked, experimentally. + +“You have ridden far?” replied the monk in perfect English. + +“All the way from the Bend,” Red replied, relieved. “We're after Jerry +Brown. He tried to kill Johnny, an' near made good. An' I reckon we've +treed him, judging from the tracks.” + +“And if you capture him?” + +“He won't have no more use for no side pocket shooting.” + +“I see; you will kill him.” + +“Shore's it's wet outside.” + +“I'm afraid you are doomed to disappointment.” + +“Ya-as?” asked Red with a rising inflection. + +“You will not want him now,” replied the monk. + +Red laughed sarcastically and Hopalong smiled. + +“There ain't a-going to be no argument about it. Trot him out,” ordered +Red, grimly. + +The monk turned to Hopalong. “Do you, too, want him?” + +Hopalong nodded. + +“My friends, he is safe from your punishment.” + +Red wheeled instantly and ran outside, returning in a few moments, +smiling triumphantly. “There are tracks coming in, but there ain't none +going away. He's here. If you don't lead us to him we'll shore have to +rummage around an' poke him out for ourselves: which is it?” + +“You are right--he is here, and he is not here.” + +“We're waiting,” Red replied, grinning. + +“When I tell you that you will not want him, do you still insist on +seeing him?” + +“We'll see him, an' we'll want him, too.” + +As the rain poured down again the sound of approaching horses was heard, +and Hopalong ran to the door in time to see Buck Peters swing off his +mount and step forward to enter the building. Hopalong stopped him and +briefly outlined the situation, begging him to keep the men outside. The +monk met his return with a grateful smile and, stepping forward, opened +the chapel door, saying, “Follow me.” + +The unpretentious chapel was small and nearly dark, for the usual +dimness was increased by the lowering clouds outside. The deep, narrow +window openings, fitted with stained glass, ran almost to the rough-hewn +rafters supporting the steep-pitched roof, upon which the heavy rain +beat again with a sound like that of distant drums. Gusts of rain +and the water from the roof beat against the south windows, while the +wailing wind played its mournful cadences about the eaves, and the +stanch timbers added their creaking notes to swell the dirge-like +chorus. + +At the farther end of the room two figures knelt and moved before the +white altar, the soft light of flickering candles playing fitfully upon +them and glinting from the altar ornaments, while before a rough coffin, +which rested upon two pedestals, stood a third, whose rich, sonorous +Latin filled the chapel with impressive sadness. “Give eternal rest +to them, O Lord,”--the words seeming to become a part of the room. The +ineffably sad, haunting melody of the mass whispered back from the room +between the assaults of the enraged wind, while from the altar came the +responses in a low, Gregorian chant, and through it all the clinking of +the censer chains added intermittent notes. Aloft streamed the vapor +of the incense, wavering with the air currents, now lost in the deep +twilight of the sanctuary, and now faintly revealed by the glow of the +candles, perfuming the air with its aromatic odor. + +As the last deep-toned words died away the celebrant moved slowly around +the coffin, swinging the censer over it and then, sprinkling the body +and making the sign of the cross above its head, solemnly withdrew. + +From the shadows along the side walls other figures silently emerged and +grouped around the coffin. Raising it they turned it slowly around and +carried it down the dim aisle in measured tread, moving silently as +ghosts. + +“He is with God, Who will punish according to his sins,” said a low +voice, and Hopalong started, for he had forgotten the presence of the +guide. “God be with you, and may you die as he died--repentant and in +peace.” + +Buck chafed impatiently before the chapel door leading to a small, +well-kept graveyard, wondering what it was that kept quiet for so long +a time his two most assertive men, when he had momentarily expected to +hear more or less turmoil and confusion. + +_C-r-e-a-k!_ He glanced up, gun in hand and raised as the door swung +slowly open. His hand dropped suddenly and he took a short step forward; +six black-robed figures shouldering a long box stepped slowly past +him, and his nostrils were assailed by the pungent odor of the incense. +Behind them came his fighting punchers, humble, awed, reverent, their +sombreros in their hands, and their heads bowed. + +“What in blazes!” exclaimed Buck, wonder and surprise struggling for the +mastery as the others cantered up. + +“He's cashed,” Red replied, putting on his sombrero and nodding toward +the procession. + +Buck turned like a flash and spoke sharply: “Skinny! Lanky! Follow that +glory-outfit, an' see what's in that box!” + +Billy Williams grinned at Red. “Yo're shore pious, Red.” + +“Shut up!” snapped Red, anger glinting in his eyes, and Billy subsided. + +Lanky and Skinny soon returned from accompanying the procession. + +“I had to look twice to be shore it was him. His face was plumb happy, +like a baby. But he's gone, all right,” Lanky reported. + +“Deader'n hell,” remarked Skinny, looking around curiously. “This here +is some shack, ain't it?” he finished. + +“All right--he knowed how he'd finish when he began. Now for that dear +Mr. Harlan,” Buck replied, vaulting into the saddle. He turned and +looked at Hopalong, and his wonder grew. “Hey, _you_! Yes, _you_! Come +out of that an' put on yore lid! Straddle leather--we can't stay here +all night.” + +Hopalong started, looked at his sombrero and silently obeyed. As they +rode down the trail and around a corner he turned in his saddle and +looked back; and then rode on, buried in thought. + +Billy, grinning, turned and playfully punched him in the ribs. “Getting +glory, Hoppy?” + +Hopalong raised his head and looked him steadily in the eyes; and Billy, +losing his curiosity and the grin at the same instant, looked ahead, +whistling softly. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +EDWARDS' ULTIMATUM + +Edwards slid off the counter in Jackson's store and glowered at the +pelting rain outside, perturbed and grouchy. The wounded man in the +corner stirred and looked at him without interest and forthwith renewed +his profane monologue, while the proprietor, finishing his task, leaned +back against the shelves and swore softly. It was a lovely atmosphere. + +“Seems to me they've been gone a long time,” grumbled the wounded man. +“Reckon he led 'em a long chase--had six hours' start, the toad.” He +paused and then as an afterthought said with conviction: “But they'll +get him--they allus do when they make up their minds to it.” + +Edwards nodded moodily and Jackson replied with a monosyllable. + +“Wish I could 'a' gone with 'em,” Johnny growled. “I like to square my +own accounts. It's allus that way. I get plugged an' my friends clean +the slate. There was that time Bye-an'-Bye went an' ambushed me--ah, +the devil! But I tell you one thing: when I get well I'm going down to +Harlan's an' clean house proper.” + +“Yo're in hard luck again: that'll be done as soon as yore friends get +back,” Jackson replied, carefully selecting a dried apricot from a +box on the counter and glancing at the marshal to see how he took the +remark. + +“That'll be done before then,” Edwards said crisply, with the air of +a man who has just settled a doubt. “They won't be back much before +to-morrow if he headed for the country I think he did. I'm going down +to the Oasis an' tell that gang to clear out of this town. They've been +here too long now. I never had 'em dead to rights before, but I've got +it on 'em this time. I'd 'a' sent 'em packing yesterday only I sort +of hated to take a man's business away from him an' make him lose his +belongings. But I've wrastled it all out an' they've got to go.” He +buttoned his coat about him and pulled his sombrero more firmly on +his head, starting for the door. “I'll be back soon,” he said over his +shoulder as he grasped the handle. + +“You better wait till you get help--there's too many down there for one +man to watch an' handle,” Jackson hastily remarked. “Here, I'll go with +you,” he offered, looking for his hat. + +Edwards laughed shortly. “You stay here. I do my own work by myself when +I can--that's what I'm here for, an' I can do this, all right. If I took +any help they'd reckon I was scared,” and the door slammed shut behind +him. + +“He's got sand a plenty,” Jackson remarked. “He'd try to push back a +stampede by main strength if he reckoned it was his duty. It's his good +luck that he wasn't killed long ago--_I'd_ 'a' been.” + +“They're a bunch of cowards,” replied Johnny. “As long as you ain't +afraid of 'em, none of 'em wants to start anything. Bunch of sheep!” he +snorted. “Didn't Jerry shoot me through his pocket?” + +“Yes; an' yo're another lucky dog,” Jackson responded, having in mind +that at first Johnny had been thought to be desperately wounded. “Why, +yore friends have got the worst of this game; they're worse off than you +are--out all day an' night in this cussed storm.” + +While they talked Edwards made his way through the cold downpour to +Harlan's saloon, alone and unafraid, and greatly pleased by the order +he would give. At last he had proof enough to work on, to satisfy his +conscience, for the inevitable had come as the culmination of continued +and clever defiance of law and order. + +He deliberately approached the front door of the Oasis and, opening it, +stepped inside, his hands resting on his guns--he had packed two Colts +for the last twenty-four hours. His appearance caused a ripple of +excitement to run around the room. After what had taken place, a +visit from him could mean only one thing--trouble. And it was entirely +possible that he had others within call to help him out if necessary. + +Harlan knew that he would be the one held responsible and he ceased +wiping a glass and held the cloth suspended in one hand and the glass in +the other. “Well?” he snapped, angrily, his eyes smouldering with fixed +hatred. + +“Mebby you think it's well, but it's going to be a blamed sight better +before sundown to-morrow night,” evenly replied the marshal. “I just +dropped in sort of free-like to tell you to pack up an' get out of town +before dark--load yore wagon an' vamoose; an' take yore friends with +you, too. If you don't--” he did not finish in words, for his tightening +lips made them unnecessary. + +“_What!_” yelled Harlan, red with anger. He placed his hands on the bar +and leaned over it as if to give emphasis to his words. “_Me_ pack up +an' git! _Me_ leave this shack! Who's going to pay me for it, hey? _Me_ +leave town! You drop out again an' go back to Kansas where you come +from--they're easier back there!” + +“Well, so far I ain't found nothing very craggy 'round here,” retorted +Edwards, closely watching the muttering crowd by the bar. “Takes more +than a loud voice an' a pack of sneaking coyotes to send me looking +for something easier. An' let me tell you this: _You_ stay away from +Kansas--they hangs people like you back there. That's whatever. You pack +up an' git out of this town or I'll start a burying plot with you on +yore own land.” + +The low, angry buzz of Harlan's friends and their savage, scowling faces +would have deterred a less determined man; but Edwards knew they were +afraid of him, and the men on whom he could call to back him up. And he +knew that there must always be a start, there must be one man to show +the way; and each of the men he faced was waiting for some one else to +lead. + +“You all slip over the horizon before dark to-night, an' it's dark early +these days,” he continued. “_Don't get restless with yore hands!_” he +snapped ominously at the crowd. “I means what I say--you shake the mud +from this town off yore boots before dark--before that Bar-20 outfit +gets back,” he finished meaningly. + +Questions, imprecations, and threats filled the room, and the crowd +began to spread out slowly. His guns came out like a flash and he +laughed with the elation that comes with impending battle. “The first +man to start it'll drop,” he said evenly. “Who's going to be the +martyr?” + +“I _won't_ leave town!” shouted Harlan. “I'll stay here if I'm killed +for it!” + +“I admire yore loyalty to principle, but you've got damned little +sense,” retorted the marshal. “You ain't no practical man. _Keep yore +hands where they are!_”--his vibrant voice turned the shifting crowd to +stone-like rigidity and he backed slowly toward the door, the poor +light gleaming dully from the polished blue steel of his Colts. +Rugged, lion-like, charged to the finger tips with reckless courage and +dare-devil self-confidence, his personality overflowed and dominated the +room, almost hypnotic in its effect. He was but one against many, but +he was the master, and they knew it; they had known it long enough +to accept it without question, and the training now stood him in good +stead. + +For a moment he stood in the open doorway, keenly scrutinizing them for +signs of danger, his unwavering guns charged with certain death and +his strong face made stronger by the shadows in its hollows. “Before +dark!”--and he was gone. + +He left behind him deep silence, which endured for several moments. + +“By the Lord, I _won't_!” cried Harlan, still staring at the door. + +The spell was broken and a babel of voices filled the room, threats +mingling with excuses, hot, vibrant, profane. These men were not cowards +all the way through, but only when face to face with the master. They +had flourished in a way by their wits alone on the same range with the +outfits of the C-80 and the Double-Arrow, for individually they were +“bad,” and collectively they made a force of no mean strength. Edwards +had landed among them like a thunderbolt and had proved his prowess, and +they still held him in awesome respect. His reckless audacity and grim +singleness of purpose had saved him on more than one occasion, for +had he wavered once he would have been shot down without mercy. But +gradually his enforcement of hampering laws became more and more +intolerable, and their subordinated spirits were nearly on the point +of revolt. When he faced them they resumed their former positions in +relation to him--but once out of his sight they plotted to destroy +him. Here was the crisis: it was now or never. They could not evade his +ultimatum--it was obey or fight. + +Submission was not to be thought of, for to flee would be to lose caste, +and the story of such an act would follow them wherever they went, and +brand them as cowards. Here they had lived, and here they would stay if +possible, and to this end they discussed ways and means. + +“Harlan's right!” emphatically announced Laramie Joe. “We can't pull out +and have this foller us.” + +“We should have started it with a rush when he was in here,” remarked +Boston, regretfully. + +Harlan stopped his pacing and faced them, shoving out a bottle of +whiskey as an aid to his logic. + +“That chance is past, an' I don't know but what it is a good thing,” he +began. “He was primed an' looking fer trouble, an' he'd shore got a few +of us afore he went under. What we want is strategy--that's the game. +You fellers have got as much brains as him, an' if we thrash this thing +out we can find a way to call his play--an' get him! No use of any of us +getting plugged 'less we have to. But whatever we do we've got to start +it right quick an' have it over before that Bar-20 gang comes back. +Harper, you an' Quinn go scouting--an' don't take no guns with you, +neither. Act like you was hitting the long trail out, an' work back here +on a circle. See how many of his friends are in town. While you are gone +the rest of us will hold a pow-wow an' take the kinks out of this game. +Chase along, an' don't waste no time.” + +“Good!” cried Slivers Lowe emphatically. “There's blamed few fellers +in town now that have any use for him, for most of them are off on the +ranges. Bet we won't have more than six to fight, an' there's that many +of us here.” + +The scouts departed at once and the remaining four drew close in +consultation. + +“One more drink around and then no more till this trouble is over,” + Harlan said, passing the bottle. The drinks, in view of the coming +drought and the thirsty work ahead, were long and deep, and new courage +and vindictiveness crept through their veins. + +“Now here's the way it looks to me,” Harlan continued, placing the +bottle, untasted by himself, on the floor behind him. “We've got to work +a surprise an' take Edwards an' his friends off their guard. That'll be +easy if we're careful, because they think we ain't looking for fight. +When we get them out of the way we can take Jackson's store an' use one +of the other shacks and wait for the Bar-20 to ride in. They'll canter +right in, like they allus do, an' when they get close enough we'll open +the game with a volley an' make every shot tell. 'T won't last long, +'cause every one of us will have his man named before they get here. +Then the few straddlers in town, seeing how easy we've gone an' handled +it'll join us. We've got four men to come in yet, an' by the time the +C-80 an' Double-Arrow hears about it we'll be fixed to drive 'em back +home. We ought to be over a dozen strong by dark.” + +“That sounds good, all right,” remarked Slivers, thoughtfully, “but can +we do it that easy?” + +“Course we can! We ain't fools, an' we all can shoot as well as them,” + snapped Laramie Joe, the most courageous of the lot. Laramie had taken +only one drink, and that a small one, for he was wise enough to realize +that he needed his wits as keen as he could have them. + +“We can do it easy, if Edwards goes under first,” hastily replied +Harlan. “An' me an' Laramie will see to that part of it. If we don't get +him, you all can hit the trail an' we won't be sore about it. That is, +unless you are made of the stuff that stands up an' fights 'stead of +running away. I reckon I ain't none mistaken in any of you. You'll all +be there when things get hot.” + +“You can bet the shack _I_ won't do no trail-hitting,” growled Boston, +glancing at Slivers, who squirmed a little under the hint. + +“Well, I'm glued to the crowd; you can't lose me, fellers,” Slivers +remarked, re-crossing his legs uneasily. “Are we going to begin it from +here?” + +“We ought to spread out cautions and surround Jackson's, or wherever +Edwards is,” Laramie Joe suggested. “That's my--” + +“Yo're right! Now you've hit it plumb on the head!” interrupted Harlan, +slapping Laramie heartily across the back. “What did I tell you about +our brains?” he cried, enthusiastically. He had been on the point of +suggesting that plan of operations when Laramie took the words out +of his mouth. “I'd never thought of that, Laramie,” he lied, his face +beaming. “Why, we've got 'em licked to a finish right now!” + +“This _is_ a hummer of a game,” laughed Slivers. “But how about the +Bar-20 crowd?” + +“I've told you that already,” replied the proprietor. + +“You bet it's a hummer,” cried Boston, reaching for the whiskey bottle +under cover of the excitement and enthusiasm. + +Harlan pushed it away with his foot and raised his clenched fist. “Do +you wonder I didn't think of that plan?” he demanded. “Ain't I been too +mad to think at all? Hain't I seen my friends treated like dogs, an' +made to swaller insults when I couldn't raise my hand to stop it? Didn't +I see Jerry Brown chased out of my place like a wild beast? If we are +what we've been called, then we'll sneak out of town with our tails +atween our laigs; but if we're men we'll stay right here an' cram the +insults down the throats of them that made 'em! If we're _men_ let's +prove it an' make them liars swaller our lead.” + +“My sentiments an' allus was!” roared Slivers, slapping Harlan's +shoulder. + +“We're men, all right, an' we'll show 'em it, too!” + +At that instant the door opened and four guns covered it before it had +swung a foot. + +“Put 'em down--it's Quinn!” exclaimed the man in the doorway, flinching +a bit. “All right, Jed,” he called over his shoulder to the man who +crowded him. After Quinn came Big Jed and Harper brought up the rear. +They had no more than shaken the water from their sombreros when the +back door let in Charley Rich and his two companions, Frank and Tom +Nolan. While greetings were being exchanged and the existing conditions +explained to the newcomers, Harper and Quinn led Harlan to one side and +reported, the proprietor smiling and nodding his head wisely. And while +he listened, Slivers surreptitiously corralled the whiskey bottle and +when the last man finished with it there was nothing in it but air. + +“Well, boys,” exclaimed Harlan, “things are our way. Quinn, here, met +Joe Barr, of the C-80, who said Converse an' four other fellers, all +friends of Edwards, stopped at the ranch an' won't be back home till the +storm stops. Harper saw Fred Neil going back to his ranch, so all we've +got to figger on is the marshal, Barr, an' Jackson, an' they're all in +Jackson's store. Lacey might cut in, since he'd sell more liquor if I +went under, but he can't do very much if he does take a hand. Now +we'll get right at it.” The whole thing was gone over thoroughly and in +detail, positions assigned and a signal agreed upon. Seeing that weapons +were in good condition after their long storage in the cellar, and that +cartridge belts were full, the ten men left the room one at a time or +in pairs, Harlan and Laramie Joe being the last. And both Harlan and +Laramie delayed long enough to take the precaution of placing horses +where they would be handy in case of need. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +HARLAN STRIKES + +Joe Barr laughingly replied to Johnny Nelson's growled remarks about the +condition of things in general and tried to soothe him, but Johnny was +unsoothable. + +“An' I've been telling him right along that he's got the best of it,” + complained Jackson in a weary voice. “Got a measly hole through his +shoulder--good Lord! if it had gone a little lower!” he finished with a +show of exasperation. + +“An' ain't I been telling you all along that it ain't the measly hole +in my shoulder that's got me on the prod?” retorted Johnny, with more +earnestness than politeness. “But why couldn't I go with my friends +after Jerry an' get shot later if I had to get it at all? Look what I'm +missing, roped an' throwed in this cussed ten-by-ten shack while they're +having a little excitement.” + +“Yo're missing some blamed nasty weather, Kid,” replied the marshal. +“You ain't got no kick coming at all. Why, I got soaked clean through +just going down to the Oasis.” + +“Well, I'm kicking, just the same,” snapped Johnny. “An' furthermore, I +don't see nobody big enough to stop me, neither--did you all get that?” + +The rear door opened and Fred Neal looked in. “Hey, Barr; come out an' +gimme a hand in the corral. Busted my cinch all to pieces half a mile +out--an' how the devil it ever busted like that is--” the door slammed +shut and softened his monologue. + +“Would you listen to that!” snorted Barr in an injured tone. “Didn't I +go an' tell him near a month ago that his cussed cinch wouldn't hold no +better'n a piece of wet paper?” His complaint added materially to the +atmosphere of sullen discontent pervading the room. “An' now I gotter +go out in this rain an'--” the slam of the door surpassed anything yet +attempted in that line of endeavor. Jackson grabbed a can of corn as it +jarred off the shelf behind him and directed a pleasing phrase after the +peevish Barr. + +“Say, won't somebody please smile?” gravely asked Edwards. “I never saw +such a happy, cheerful bunch before.” + +“I might smile if I wasn't so blamed hungry,” retorted Johnny. “Doesn't +anybody ever eat in this town?” he asked in great sarcasm. “Mebby a good +feed won't do me no good, but I'm going to fill myself regardless. An' +after that, if the grub don't shock me to death, I'm shore going to trim +somebody at Ol' Sledge--for two bits a hand.” + +“If I could play you enough hands at that price I could sell out an' +live high without working,” grinned Jackson, preparing to give the +reckless invalid all he could eat. “That's purty high, Kid; but I just +feel real devilish, an' I'm coming in.” + +“An' I'll go over to my shack, get some money, an' bust the pair of +you,” laughed Edwards, again buttoning his coat and going towards +the door. “Holy Cats! A log must 'a' got jammed in the sluice-gate +up there,” he muttered, scowling at the black sky. “It's coming down +harder'n ever, but here goes,” and he stepped quickly into the storm. + +Jackson paused with a frying pan in his hands and looked through +the window after the departing marshal, and saw him stagger, stumble +forward, then jerk out his guns and begin firing. Hard firing now burst +out in front and Jackson, cursing angrily, dropped the pan and reached +for his rifle--to drop it also and sink down, struck by the bullet which +drilled through the window. Johnny let out a yell of rage, grabbed his +Colt, and ran to the door in time to see Edwards slowly raise up on one +elbow, fire his last shot, and fall back riddled by bullets. + +Jackson crawled to his rifle and then to the side window, where he +propped his back against a box and prepared to do his best. “It was +shore a surprise,” he swore. “An' they went an' got Edwards before he +could do anything.” + +“They did not!” retorted Johnny. “He--” the glass in the door vibrated +sharply and the speaker, stepping to one side out of sight, with a new +and superficial wound, opened fire on the building down the street. +Two men were lying on the ground across the street--these Edwards +had shot--and another was trying to drag himself to the shelter of a +building. A man sprinted from an old corral close by in a brave and +foolhardy attempt to save his friend, and Johnny swore because he had to +fire twice at the same mark. + +The rear door crashed open and shut as Barr, closely followed by Neal, +ran in. They had been caught in the corral but, thanks to Harlan's +whiskey, had managed to hold their own until they had a chance to make a +rush for the store. + +“Where's the marshal?” cried Barr, catching sight of Jackson. “Are you +plugged bad?” he asked, anxiously. + +“Well, I ain't plugged a whole lot _good_!” snapped Jackson. “An' +Edwards is dead. They shot him down without warning. We're going to get +ours, too--these walls don't stop them bullets. How many out there?” + +“Must be a dozen,” hastily replied Neal, who had not remained idle. Both +he and Barr were working like mad men moving boxes and barrels against +the walls to make a breastwork capable of stopping the bullets which +came through the boards. + +“I reckon--I'm bleeding inside,” Jackson muttered, wearily and without +hope. “Wonder how--long we--can hold out?” + +“We'll hold out till we're good an' dead!” replied Johnny, hotly. “They +ain't got us yet an' they'll pay for it before they do. If we can hold +'em off till Buck an' the rest come back we'll have the pleasure of +seeing 'em buried.” + +“Oh, I'll get you next time!” assured Barr to an enemy, slipping a fresh +cartridge into the Sharps and peering intently at a slight rise on the +muddy plain. “You shoot like yo're drunk,” he mumbled. + +“But what is it all about, anyhow?” asked Neal, finding time for an +immaterial question. “Who are they?--can't see nothing but blurs through +this rain!” + +“Yes; what's the game?” asked Barr, mildly surprised that he had not +thought of it before. + +“It's that Oasis gang,” Johnny responded. He fired, and growled with +disappointment. “Harlan's at the head of it,” he added. + +“Edwards--told Harlan to--get out of--town,” Jackson began. + +“An' to take his gang with him,” Johnny interposed quickly to save +Jackson from the strain. “They had till dark. Guess the rest. Oh, you +_coyote_!” he shouted, staggering back. There was a report farther down +the barricade and Neal called out, “I got him, Nelson; he's done. How +are you?” + +“Mad! Mad!” yelled Johnny, touching his twice-wounded shoulder and +dancing with rage and pain. “Right in the same place! Oh, wait! _Wait!_ +Hey, gimme a rifle--I can't do nothing with a Colt at this range; my +name ain't Hopalong,” and he went slamming around the room in hot search +of what he wanted. + +“There ain't--no more--Johnny,” feebly called Jackson, raising slightly +to ease himself. “You can have--my gun purty--soon. I won't be able--to +use it--much longer.” + +“Why don't Buck an' Hoppy hurry up!” snarled Johnny. + +“Be a long time--mebby,” mumbled Jackson, his trembling hands trying +to steady the rifle. “They're all--around us. _Ah_, missed!” he intoned +hoarsely, trying to pump the lever with unobeying hands. “I can't +last--much--” the words ceased abruptly and the clatter of the rifle on +the floor told the story. + +Johnny stumbled over to him and dragged him aside, covering the upturned +face with his own sombrero, and picked up the rifle. Rolling a barrel of +flour against the wall below the window he fixed himself as comfortably +as possible and threw a shell into the chamber. + +“Now, you coyotes; you pay _me_ for _that_!” he gritted, resting the gun +on the window sill and holding it so he could work it with one hand and +shoulder. + +“Wonder how them pups ever pumped up enough courage to cut loose like +this?” queried Neal from behind his flour barrel. + +“Whiskey,” hazarded Barr. “Harlan must 'a' got 'em drunk. An' that's +three times I've missed that snake. Wish it would stop raining so I +could see better.” + +“Why don't you wish they'd all drop dead? Wish good when you wish +at all: got as much chance of having it come true,” responded Neal, +sarcastically. He smothered a curse and looked curiously at his left +arm, and from it to the new, yellow-splintered hole in the wall, which +was already turning dark from the water soaking into it. “Hey, Joe; we +need some more boxes!” he exclaimed, again looking at his arm. + +“Yes,” came Johnny's voice. “Three of 'em--five of 'em, an' about six +feet long an' a foot deep. But if my outfit gets here in time we'll want +more'n a dozen.” + +“Say! Lacey's firing now!” suddenly cried Barr. “He's shooting out +of his windy. That'll stop 'em from rushing us! Good boy, Lacey!” he +shouted, but Lacey did not hear him in the uproar. + +“An' he's worse off than we are, being alone,” commented Neal. “Hey! One +of us better make a break for help--my ranch's the nearest. What d'ye +say?” + +“It's suicide; they'll get you before you get ten feet,” Barr replied +with conviction. + +“No; they won't--the corral hides the back door, an' all the firing +is on this side. I can sneak along the back wall an' by keeping the +buildings atween me an' them, get a long ways off before they know +anything about it. Then it's a dash--an' they can't catch me. But can +you fellers hold out if I do?” + +“Two can hold out as good as three--go ahead,” Johnny replied. “Leave me +some of yore Colt cartridges, though. You can't use 'em all before you +get home.” + +“Don't stop fer that; there's a shelfful of all kinds behind the +counter,” Barr interposed. + +“Well, so long an' good luck,” and the rear door closed, and softly this +time. + +“Two hours is some wait under the present circumstances,” Barr muttered, +shifting his position behind his barricade. “He can't do it in less, +nohow.” + +Johnny ducked and looked foolish. “Missed me by a foot,” he explained. +“He can't do it in two--not there an' back,” he replied. “The trail is +mud over the fetlocks. Give him three at the least.” + +“They ain't shooting as much as they was before.” + +“Waiting till they gets sober, I reckon,” Johnny replied. + +“If we don't hear no ruction in a few minutes we'll know he got away all +right,” Barr soliloquized. “An' he's got a fine cayuse for mud, too.” + +“Hey, why can't you do the same thing if he makes it?” Johnny suddenly +asked. “I can hold her alone, all right.” + +“Yo're a cheerful liar, you are,” laughed Barr. “But can _you_ ride?” + +“Reckon so, but I ain't a-going to.” + +“Why, we _both_ can go--it's a cinch!” Barr cried. “Come on!” + +“Lord!--an' I never even thought of that! Reckon I was too mad,” Johnny +replied. “But I sort of hates to leave Jackson an' Edwards,” he added, +sullenly. + +“But they're gone! You can't do them no good by staying.” + +“Yes; I know. An' how about Lacey chipping in on our fight?” demanded +Johnny. “I ain't a-going to leave him to take it all. You go, Barr; it +wasn't yore fight, nohow. You didn't even know what you was fighting +for!” + +“Huh! When anybody shoots at me it's my fight, all right,” replied Barr, +seating himself on the floor behind the breastwork. “I forgot all about +Lacey,” he apologized. At that instant a tomato can went _spang!_ and +fell off the shelf. “An' it's too late, anyhow; they ain't a-going to +let nobody else get away on that side.” + +“An' they're tuning up again, too,” Johnny replied, preparing for +trouble. “Look out for a rush, Barr.” + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE BAR-20 RETURNS. + +Hopalong Cassidy stopped swearing at the weather and looked up and along +the trail in front of him, seeing a hard-riding man approach. He +turned his head and spoke to Buck Peters, who rode close behind him. +“Somebody's shore in a hurry--why, it's Fred Neal.” + +It was. Mr. Neal was making his arms move and was also shouting +something at the top of his voice. The noise of the rain and of the +horses' hoofs splashing in the mud and water at first made his words +unintelligible, but it was not long before Hopalong heard something +which made him sit up even straighter. In a moment Neal was near enough +to be heard distinctly and the outfit shook itself out of its weariness +and physical misery and followed its leader at reckless speed. As they +rode, bunched close together, Neal briefly and graphically outlined the +relative positions of the combatants, and while Buck's more cautious +mind was debating the best way to proceed against the enemy, Hopalong +cried out the plan to be followed. There would be no strategy--Johnny, +wounded and desperate, was fighting for his life. The simplest way was +the best--a dash regardless of consequences to those making it, for time +was a big factor to the two men in Jackson's store. + +“Ride right at 'em!” Hopalong cried. “I know that bunch. They'll be too +scared to shoot straight. Paralyze 'em! Three or four are gone now--an' +the whole crowd wasn't worth one of the men they went out to get. The +quicker it's over the better.” + +“Right you are,” came from the rear. + +“Ride up the arroyo as close as we can get, an' then over the edge an' +straight at 'em,” Buck ordered. “Their shooting an' the rain will cover +what noise we make on the soft ground. An' boys, _no quarter_!” + +“Reckon _not_!” gritted Red, savagely. “Not with Edwards an' Jackson +dead, an' the Kid fighting for his life!” + +“They're still at it!” cried Lanky Smith, as the faint and intermittent +sound of firing was heard; the driving wind was blowing from the town, +and this, also, would deaden the noise of their approach. + +“Thank the Lord! That means that there's somebody left to fight 'em,” + exclaimed Red. “Hope it's the Kid,” he muttered. + +“They can't rush the store till they get Lacey, an' they can't rush him +till they get the store,” shouted Neal over his shoulder. “They'd be in +a cross fire if they tried either--an' that's what licks 'em.” + +“They'll be in a cross fire purty soon,” promised Pete, grimly. + +Hopalong and Red reached the edge of the arroyo first and plunged over +the bank into the yellow storm-water swirling along the bottom like a +miniature flood. After them came Buck, Neal, and the others, the water +shooting up in sheets as each successive horse plunged in. Out again +on the farther side they strung out into single file along the narrow +foot-hold between water and bank and raced towards the sharp bend some +hundreds of yards ahead, the point in the arroyo's course nearest the +town. The dripping horses scrambled up the slippery incline and then, +under the goading of spurs and quirts, leaped forward as fast as they +could go across the level, soggy plain. + +A quarter of a mile ahead of them lay the scattered shacks of the town, +and as they drew nearer to it the riders could see the flashes of guns +and the smoke-fog lying close to the ground. Fire spat from Jackson's +store and a cloud of smoke still lingered around a window in Lacey's +saloon. Then a yell reached their ears, a yell of rage, consternation +and warning. Figures scurried to seek cover and the firing from +Jackson's and Lacey's grew more rapid. + +A mounted man emerged from a corral and tore away, others following his +example, and the outfit separated to take up the chase individually. +Harlan, wounded hard, was trying to run to where he had left his horse, +and after him fled Slivers Lowe. Hopalong was gaining on them when he +saw Slivers raise his arm and fire deliberately into the back of the +proprietor of the Oasis, leap over the falling body, vault into the +saddle of Harlan's horse and gallop for safety. Hopalong's shots went +wide and the last view any one had of Slivers in that part of the +country was when he dropped into an arroyo to follow it for safety. +Laramie Joe fled before Red Connors and Red's rage was so great that it +spoiled his accuracy, and he had the sorrow of seeing the pursued grow +faint in the mist and fog. Pursuit was tried until the pursuers realized +that their mounts were too worn out to stand a show against the fresh +animals ridden by the survivors of the Oasis crowd. + +Red circled and joined Hopalong. “Blasted coyotes,” he growled. “Killed +Jackson an' Edwards, an' wanted the Kid! He's shore showed 'em what +fighting is, all right. But I wonder what got into 'em all at once to +give 'em nerve enough to start things?” + +“Edwards paid his way, all right,” replied Hopalong. “If I do as well +when my time comes I won't do no kicking.” + +“Yore time ain't coming that way,” responded Red, grinning. “You'll die +a natural death in bed, unless you gets to cussing me.” + +“Shore there ain't no more, Buck?” Hopalong called. + +“Yes. There was only five, I reckon, an' they was purty well shot up +when we took a hand. You know, Johnny was in it all the time,” replied +the foreman, smiling. “This town's had the cleaning up it's needed for +some time,” he added. + +They were at Jackson's store now, and hurriedly dismounted and ran in +to see Johnny. They found him lying across some boxes, which brought him +almost to the level of a window sill. He was too weak to stand, while +near him in similar condition lay Barr, too weak from loss of blood to +do more than look his welcome. + +“How are you, Kid?” cried Buck anxiously, bending over him, while others +looked to Barr's injuries. + +“Tired, Buck, awful tired; an' all shot up,” Johnny slowly replied. +“When I saw you fellers--streak past this windy--I sort of went +flat--something seemed to break inside me,” he said, faintly and with an +effort, and the foreman ordered him not to talk. Deft fingers, schooled +by practice in rough and ready surgery, were busy over him and in half +an hour he lay on Jackson's cot, covered with bandages. + +“Why, hullo, Lacey!” exclaimed Hopalong, leaping forward to shake hands +with the man Red and Billy had gone to help. “Purty well scratched up, +but lively yet, hey?” + +“I'm able to hobble over here an' shake han's with these +scrappers--they're shore wonders,” Lacey replied. “Fought like a whole +regiment! Hullo, Johnny!” and his hand-clasp told much. + +“Yore cross fire did it, Lacey; that was the whole thing,” Johnny +smiled. “Yo're all right!” + +Red turned and looked out of the window toward the Oasis and then +glanced at Buck. “Reckon we better burn Harlan's place--it's all that's +left of that gang now,” he suggested. + +“Why, yes; I reckon so,” replied the foreman. “That's as--” + +“No, we won't!” Hopalong interposed quickly. “That stands till Johnny +sets it off. It's the Kid's celebration--he was shot in it.” + +Johnny smiled. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +BARB WIRE + +After the flurry at Perry's Bend the Bar-20 settled down to the calm +routine work and sent several drive herds to their destination without +any unusual incidents. Buck thought that the last herd had been driven +when, late in the summer, he received an order that he made haste to +fill. The outfit was told to get busy and soon rounded up the necessary +number of three-year-olds. Then came the road branding, the final step +except inspection, and this was done not far from the ranch house, where +the facilities were best for speedy work. + +Entirely recovered from all ill effects of his afternoon in Jackson's +store up in Perry's bend, Johnny Nelson waited with Red Connors on the +platform of the branding chute and growled petulantly at the sun, the +dust, but most of all at the choking, smarting odor of burned hair which +filled their throats and caused them to rub the backs of grimy hands +across their eyes. Chute-branding robbed them of the excitement, the +leaven of fun and frolic, which they always took from open or corral +branding--and the work of a day in the corral or open was condensed into +an hour or two by the chute. This was one cow wide, narrow at the bottom +and flared out as it went up, so the animal could not turn, and when +filled was, to use Johnny's graphic phrase, “like a chain of cows in a +ditch.” Eight of the wondering and crowded animals, guided into the pen +by men who knew their work to the smallest detail and lost no time in +its performance, filed into the pen after those branded had filed out. +As the first to enter reached the farther end a stout bar dropped into +place, just missing the animal's nose; and as the last cow discovered +that it could go no farther and made up its mind to back out, it was +stopped by another bar, which fell behind it. The iron heaters tossed +a hot iron each to Red and Johnny and the eight were marked in short +order, making about two hundred and fifty they had branded in three +hours. This number compared very favorably with that of the second +chute where Lanky Smith and Frenchy McAlister waved cold irons and +sarcastically asked their iron men if the sun was supposed to provide +the heat; whereat the down-trodden heaters provided heat with great +generosity in their caustic retorts. + +“Oh, Susanna, don't you cry for me,” sang Billy Williams, one of the +feeders. “But why in Jericho don't you fellers get a move on you? You +ain't no good on the platform--you ought to be mixing biscuits for +Cookie. Frenchy and Lanky are the boys to turn 'em out,” he offered, +gratis. + +Red's weary air bespoke a vast and settled contempt for such inanities +and his iron descended against the side of the victim below him--he +would not deign to reply. Not so with Johnny, who could not refrain from +hot retort. + +“Don't be a fool _all_ the time,” snapped Johnny. “Mind yore own +business, you shorthorn. Big-mouthed old woman, that's what--” his tone +dropped and the words sank into vague mutterings which a strangling +cough cut short. “Blasted idiot,” he whispered, tears coming into his +eyes at the effort. Burning hair is bad for throat and temper alike. + +Red deftly knocked his companion's iron up and spoke sharply. “You mind +yourn better--that makes the third you've tried to brand twice. Why +don't you look what yo're doing? Hot iron! Hot iron! What're you fellers +doing?” he shouted down at the heaters. “This ain't no time to go +to sleep. How d'ye expect us to do any work when you ain't doing any +yoreselves!” Red's temper was also on the ragged edge. + +“You've got one in yore other hand, you sheep!” snorted one of the iron +heaters with restless pugnacity. “Go tearing into us when you--” he +growled the rest and kicked viciously at the fire. + +“Lovely bunch,” grinned Billy who, followed by Pete Wilson, mounted the +platform to relieve the branders. “Chase yoreselves--me an' Pete are +shore going to show you cranky bugs how to do a hundred an hour. Ain't +we, Pete? An' look here, you,” he remarked to the heaters, “don't you +fellers keep _us_ waiting for hot irons!” + +“That's right! Make a fool out of yoreself first thing!” snapped one of +the pair on the ground. + +“Billy, I never loved you as much as I do this minute,” grinned Johnny +wearily. “Wish you'd 'a' come along to show us how to do it an hour +ago.” + +“I would, only--” + +“Quit chinning an' get busy,” remarked Red, climbing down. “The chute's +full; an' it's all yourn.” + +Billy caught the iron, gave it a preliminary flourish, and started to +work with a speed that would not endure for long. He branded five out of +the eight and jeered at his companion for being so slow. + +“Have yore fun now, Billy,” Pete replied with placid good nature. +“Before we're through with this job you'll be lucky if you can do two of +the string, if you keep up that pace.” + +“He'll be missing every other one,” growled his heater with overflowing +malice. “That iron ain't cold, you Chinaman!” + +“Too cold for me--don't miss none,” chuckled Billy sweetly. “Fill the +chute! Fill the chute! Don't keep us waiting!” he cried to the guiders, +hopping around with feigned eagerness and impatience. + +Hopalong Cassidy rode up and stopped as Red returned to take the place +of one of the iron heaters. “How they coming, Red?” he inquired. + +“Fast. You can sic that inspector on 'em the first thing to-morrow +morning, if he gets here on time. Bet he's off som'ers getting full of +redeye. Who're going with you on this drive?” + +“The inspector is all right--he's here now an' is going to spend the +night with us so as to be on hand the first thing to-morrow,” replied +Hopalong, grinning at the hard-working pair on the platform. “Why, I +reckon I'll take you, Johnny, Lanky, Billy, Pete, an' Skinny, an' +we'll have two hoss-wranglers an' a cook, of course. We'll drive up +the right-hand trail through West Valley this time. It's longer, but +there'll be more water that way at this time of the year. Besides, I +don't want no more foot-sore cattle to nurse along. Even the West Valley +trail will be dry enough before we strike Bennett's Creek.” + +“Yes; we'll have to drive 'em purty hard till we reach the creek,” + replied Red, thoughtfully. “Say; we're going to have three thousand of +the finest three-year-old steers ever sent north out of these parts. An' +we ought to do it in a month an' deliver 'em fat an' frisky. We can feed +'em good for the last week.” + +“I just sent some of the boys out to drive in the cayuses,” Hopalong +remarked, “an' when they get here you fellers match for choice an' pick +yore remuda. No use taking too few. About eight apiece'll do us nice. I +shore like a good cavvieyeh.” + +“Hullo, Hoppy!” came from the platform as Billy grinned his welcome +through the dust on his face. “Want a job?” + +“Hullo yoreself,” growled Pete. “Stick yore iron on that fourth steer +before he gets out, an' talk less with yore mouth.” + +“Pete's still rabid,” called Billy, performing the duty Pete suggested. + +“That may be the polite name for it,” snorted one of the iron heaters, +testing an iron, “but that ain't what I'd say. Might as well cover the +subject thoroughly while yo're on it.” + +“Yes, verily,” endorsed his companion. + +“Here comes the last of 'em,” smiled Pete, watching several cattle being +driven towards the chute. “We'll have to brand 'em on the move, Billy; +there ain't enough to fill the chute.” + +“All right; hot iron, you!” + +Early the next morning the inspector looked them over and made his +count, the herd was started north and at nightfall had covered twelve +miles. For the next week everything went smoothly, but after that, water +began to be scarce and the herd was pushed harder, and became harder to +handle. + +On the night of the twelfth day out four men sat around the fire in +West Valley at a point a dozen miles south of Bennett's Creek, and ate +heartily. The night was black--not a star could be seen and the south +wind hardly stirred the trampled and burned grass. They were thoroughly +tired out and their tempers were not in the sweetest state imaginable, +for the heat during the last four days had been almost unbearable even +to them and they had had their hands full with the cranky herd. They ate +silently, hungrily--there would be time enough for the few words they +had to say when the pipes were going for a short smoke before turning +in. + +“I feel like hell,” growled Red, reaching for another cup of coffee, but +there was no reply; he had voiced the feelings of all. + +Hopalong listened intently and looked up, staring into the darkness, and +soon a horseman was seen approaching the fire. Hopalong nodded welcome +and waved his hand towards the food, and the stranger, dismounting, +picketed his horse and joined the circle. When the pipes were lighted he +sighed with satisfaction and looked around the group. “Driving north, I +see.” + +“Yes; an' blamed glad to get off this dry range,” Hopalong replied. +“The herd's getting cranky an' hard to hold--but when we pass the creek +everything'll be all right again. An' ain't it hot! When you hear us +kick about the heat it means something.” + +“I'm going yore way,” remarked the stranger. “I came down this trail +about two weeks ago. Reckon I was the last to ride through before the +fence went up. Damned outrage, says I, an' I told 'em so, too. They +couldn't see it that way an' we had a little disagreement about it. They +said as how they was going to patrol it.” + +“Fence! What fence?” exclaimed Red. + +“Where's there any fence?” demanded Hopalong sharply. + +“Twenty mile north of the creek,” replied the stranger, carefully +packing his pipe. + +“What? Twenty miles north of the creek?” cried Hopalong. “What creek?” + +“Bennett's. The 4X has strung three strands of barb wire from Coyote +Pass to the North Arm. Thirty mile long, without a gate, so they says.” + +“But it don't close this trail!” cried Hopalong in blank astonishment. + +“It shore does. They say they owns that range an' can fence it in all +they wants. I told 'em different, but naturally they didn't listen to +me. An' they'll fight about it, too.” + +“But they _can't_ shut off this trail!” exclaimed Billy, with angry +emphasis. “They don't own it no more'n we do!” + +“I know all about that--you heard me tell you what they said.” + +“But how can we get past it?” demanded Hopalong. + +“Around it, over the hills. You'll lose about three days doing it, too.” + +“I can't take no sand-range herd over them rocks, an' I ain't going to +drive 'round no North Arm or Coyote Pass if I could,” Hopalong replied +with quiet emphasis. “There's poison springs on the east an' nothing but +rocks on the west. We go straight through.” + +“I'm afraid that you'll have to fight if you do,” remarked the stranger. + +“Then we'll fight!” cried Johnny, leaning forward. “Blasted coyotes! +What right have they got to block a drive trail that's as old as +cattle-raising in these parts! That trail was here before I was born, +it's allus been open, an' it's going to stay open! You watch us go +through!” + +“Yo're dead right, Kid; we'll cut that fence an' stick to this trail, +an' fight if we has to,” endorsed Red. “The Bar-20 ain't crawling out of +no hole that it can walk out of. They're bluffing; that's all.” + +“I don't think they are; an' there's twelve men in that outfit,” + suggested the stranger, offhand. + +“We ain't got time to count odds; we never do down our way when we know +we're right. An' we're right enough in this game,” retorted Hopalong, +quickly. “For the last twelve days we've had good luck, barring the few +on this dry range; an' now we're in for the other kind. By the Lord, +I wish we was here without the cows to take care of--we'd show 'em +something about blocking drive trails that ain't in their little book!” + +“Blast it all! Wire fences coming down this way now,” mused Johnny, +sullenly. He hated them by training as much as he hated horse-thieves +and sheep; and his companions had been brought up in the same school. +Barb wire, the death-knell to the old-time punching, the bar to riding +at will, a steel insult to fire the blood--it had come at last. + +“We've shore got to cut it, Red,--” began Hopalong, but the cook had to +rid himself of some of his indignation and interrupted with heat. + +“Shore we have!” came explosively from the tail board of the chuck +wagon. “Got to lay it agin my li'l axe an' swat it with my big ol' +monkey wrench! An' won't them posts save me a lot of trouble hunting +chips an' firewood!” + +“We've shore got to cut it, Red,” Hopalong repeated slowly. “You an' +Johnny an' me'll ride ahead after we cross the creek to-morrow an' do +it. I don't hanker after no fight with all these cows on my han's, but +we've got to risk one.” + +“Shore!” cried Johnny, hotly. “I can't get over the gall of them fellers +closing up the West Valley drive trail. Why, I never heard tell of such +a thing afore!” + +“We're short-handed; we ought to have more'n we have to guard the +herd if there's a fight. If it stampedes--oh, well, that'll work out +to-morrow. The creek's only about twelve miles away an' we'll start at +daylight, so tumble in,” Hopalong said as he arose. “Red, I'm going out +to take my shift--I'll send Pete in. Stranger,” he added, turning, “I'm +much obliged to you for the warning. They might 'a' caught us with our +hands tied.” + +“Oh, that's all right,” hastily replied the stranger, who was in hearty +accord with the plans, such as they were. “My name's Hawkins, an' I +don't like range fences no more'n you do. I used to hunt buffalo all +over this part of the country before they was all killed off, an' I +allus rode where I pleased. I'm purty old, but I can still see an' +shoot; an' I'm going to stick right along with you fellers an' see it +through. Every man counts in this game.” + +“Well, that's blamed white of you,” Hopalong replied, greatly pleased by +the other's offer. “But I can't let you do it. I don't want to drag you +into no trouble, an'--” + +“You ain't dragging me none; I'm doing it myself. I'm about as mad as +you are over it. I ain't good for much no more, an' if I shuffles off +fighting barb wire I'll be doing my duty. First it was nesters, then +railroads an' more nesters, then sheep, an' now it's wire--won't it +never stop? By the Lord, it's got to stop, or this country will go +to the devil an' won't be fit to live in. Besides, I've heard of your +fellers before--I'll tie to the Bar-20 any day.” + +“Well, I reckon you must if you must; yo're welcome enough,” laughed +Hopalong, and he strode off to his picketed horse, leaving the others to +discuss the fence, with the assistance of the cook, until Pete rode in. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE FENCE + +When Hopalong rode in at midnight to arouse the others and send them out +to relieve Skinny and his two companions, the cattle were quieter than +he had expected to leave them, and he could see no change of weather +threatening. He was asleep when the others turned in, or he would have +been further assured in that direction. + +Out on the plain where the herd was being held, Red and the three other +guards had been optimistic until half of their shift was over and it was +only then that they began to worry. The knowledge that running water was +only twelve miles away had the opposite effect than the one expected, +for instead of making them cheerful, it caused them to be beset with +worry and fear. Water was all right, and they could not have got along +without it for another day; but it was, in this case, filled with the +possibility of grave danger. + +Johnny was thinking hard about it as he rode around the now restless +herd, and then pulled up suddenly, peered into the darkness and went +on again. “Damn that disreputable li'l rounder! Why the devil can't +he behave, 'stead of stirring things up when they're ticklish?” he +muttered, but he had to grin despite himself. A lumbering form had +blundered past him from the direction of the camp and was swallowed up +by the night as it sought the herd, annoying and arousing the thirsty +and irritable cattle along its trail, throwing challenges right and left +and stirring up trouble as it passed. The fact that the challenges were +bluffs made no difference to the pawing steers, for they were anxious to +have things out with the rounder. + +This frisky disturber of bovine peace was a yearling that had +slipped into the herd before it left the ranch and had kept quiet and +respectable and out of sight in the middle of the mass for the first +few days and nights. But keeping quiet and respectable had been an awful +strain, and his mischievous deviltry grew constantly harder to hold in +check. Finally he could stand the repression no longer, and when he gave +way to his accumulated energy it had the snap and ginger of a tightly +stretched rubber band recoiling on itself. On the fourth night out he +had thrown off his mask and announced his presence in his true light +by butting a sleepy steer out of its bed, which bed he straightway +proceeded to appropriate for himself. This was folly, for the ground was +not cold and he had no excuse for stealing a body-warmed place to lie +down; it was pure cussedness, and retribution followed hard upon the +act. In about half a minute he had discovered the great difference +between bullying poor, miserable, defenceless dogies and trying to bully +a healthy, fully developed, and pugnacious steer. After assimilating +the preliminary punishment of what promised to be the most thorough and +workmanlike thrashing he had ever known, the indignant and frightened +bummer wheeled and fled incontinently with the aroused steer in angry +pursuit. The best way out was the most puzzling to the vengeful steer, +so the bummer cavorted recklessly through the herd, turning and twisting +and doubling, stepping on any steer that happened to be lying down in +his path, butting others, and leavening things with great success. Under +other conditions he would have relished the effect of his efforts, +for the herd had arisen as one animal and seemed to be debating the +advisability of stampeding; but he was in no mood to relish anything and +thought only of getting away. Finally escaping from his pursuer, that +had paused to fight with a belligerent brother, he rambled off into the +darkness to figure it all out and to maintain a sullen and chastened +demeanor for the rest of the night. This was the first time a brick had +been under the hat. + +But the spirits of youth recover quickly--his recovered so quickly that +he was banished from the herd the very next night, which banishment, not +being at all to his liking, was enforced only by rigid watchfulness and +hard riding; and he was roundly cursed from dark to dawn by the +worried men, most of whom disliked the bumming youngster less than they +pretended. He was only a cub, a wild youth having his fling, and there +was something irresistibly likable and comical in his awkward antics and +eternal persistence, even though he was a pest. Johnny saw more in him +than his companions could find, and had quite a little sport with him: +he made fine practice for roping, for he was about as elusive as a +grasshopper and uncertain as a flea. Johnny was in the same general +class and he could sympathize with the irrepressible nuisance in its +efforts to stir up a little life and excitement in so dull a crowd; +Johnny hoped to be as successful in his mischievous deviltry when he +reached the town at the end of the drive. + +But to-night it was dark, and the bummer gained his coveted goal with +ridiculous ease, after which he started right in to work off the high +pressure of the energy he had accumulated during the last two nights. +He had desisted in his efforts to gain the herd early in the evening and +had rambled off and rested during the first part of the night, and the +herders breathed softly lest they should stir him to renewed trials. But +now he had succeeded, and although only Johnny had seen him lumber past, +the other three guards were aware of it immediately by the results and +swore in their throats, for the cattle were now on their feet, snorting +and moving about restlessly, and the rattling of horns grew slowly +louder. + +“Ain't he having a devil of a good time!” grinned Johnny. But it was not +long before he realized the possibilities of the bummer's efforts and +he lost his grin. “If we get through the night without trouble I'll see +that you are picketed if it takes me all day to get you,” he muttered. +“Fun is fun, but it's getting a little too serious for comfort.” + +Sometime after the middle of the second shift the herd, already +irritable, nervous, and cranky because of the thirst they were enduring, +and worked up to the fever pitch by the devilish manoeuvres of the +exuberant and hard-working bummer, wanted only the flimsiest kind of +an excuse to stampede, and they might go without an excuse. A flash +of lightning, a crash of thunder, a wind-blown paper, a flapping wagon +cover, the sudden and unheralded approach of a careless rider, the +cracking and flare of a match, or the scent of a wolf or coyote--or +water, would send an avalanche of three thousand crazed steers crashing +its irresistible way over a pitch-black plain. + +Red had warned Pete and Billy, and now he rode to find Johnny and send +him to camp for the others. As he got halfway around the circle he heard +Johnny singing a mournful lay, and soon a black bulk loomed up in the +dark ahead of him. “That you, Kid?” he asked. “That you, Johnny?” he +repeated, a little louder. + +The song stopped abruptly. “Shore,” replied Johnny. “We're going to +have trouble aplenty to-night. Glad daylight ain't so very far off. That +cussed li'l rake of a bummer got by me an' into the herd. He's shore +raising Ned to-night, the li'l monkey: it's getting serious, Red.” + +“I'll shoot that yearling at daylight, damn him!” retorted Red. “I +should 'a' done it a week ago. He's picked the worst time for his cussed +devilment! You ride right in an' get the boys, an' get 'em out here +quick. The whole herd's on its toes waiting for the signal; an' the wink +of an eye'll send 'em off. God only knows what'll happen between now +and daylight! If the wind should change an' blow down from the north, +they'll be off as shore as shooting. One whiff of Bennett's Creek is all +that's needed, Kid; an'--” + +“Oh, pshaw!” interposed Johnny. “There ain't no wind at all now. It's +been quiet for an hour.” + +“Yes; an' that's one of the things that's worrying me. It means a +change, shore.” + +“Not always; we'll come out of this all right,” assured Johnny, but he +spoke without his usual confidence. “There ain't no use--” he paused +as he felt the air stir, and he was conscious of Red's heavy breathing. +There was a peculiar hush in the air that he did not like, a closeness +that sent his heart up in his throat, and as he was about to continue +a sudden gust snapped his neck-kerchief out straight. He felt that +refreshing coolness which so often precedes a storm and as he weighed it +in his mind a low rumble of thunder rolled in the north and sent a chill +down his back. + +“Good God! Get the boys!” cried Red, wheeling. “It's _changed_! An' +Pete an' Billy out there in front of--_there they go_!” he shouted as a +sudden tremor shook the earth and a roaring sound filled the air. He was +instantly lost to ear and eye, swallowed by the oppressive darkness as +he spurred and quirted into a great, choking cloud of dust which swept +down from the north, unseen in the night. The deep thunder of hoofs and +the faint and occasional flash of a six-shooter told him the direction, +and he hurled his mount after the uproar with no thought of the death +which lurked in every hole and rock and gully on the uneven and unseen +plain beneath him. His mouth and nose were lined with dust, his throat +choked with it, and he opened his burning eyes only at intervals, and +then only to a slit, to catch a fleeting glance of--nothing. He realized +vaguely that he was riding north, because the cattle would head for +water, but that was all, save that he was animated by a desperate +eagerness to gain the firing line, to join Pete and Billy, the two +men who rode before that crazed mass of horns and hoofs and who were +pleading and swearing and yelling in vain only a few feet ahead +of annihilation--if they were still alive. A stumble, a moment's +indecision, and the avalanche would roll over them as if they were +straws and trample them flat beneath the pounding hoofs, a modern +Juggernaut. If he, or they, managed to escape with life, it would make +a good tale for the bunk house some night; if they were killed it was in +doing their duty--it was all in a day's work. + +Johnny shouted after him and then wheeled and raced towards the camp, +emptying his Colt in the air as a warning. He saw figures scurrying +across the lighted place, and before he had gained it his friends raced +past him and gave him hard work catching up to them. And just behind +him rode the stranger, to do what he could for his new friends, and as +reckless of consequences as they. + +It seemed an age before they caught up to the stragglers, and when they +realized how true they had ridden in the dark they believed that at last +their luck was turning for the better, and pushed on with renewed hope. +Hopalong shouted to those nearest him that Bennett's Creek could not be +far away and hazarded the belief that the steers would slow up and stop +when they found the water they craved; but his words were lost to all +but himself. + +Suddenly the punchers were almost trapped and their escape made +miraculous, for without warning the herd swerved and turned sharply to +the right, crossing the path of the riders and forcing them to the east, +showing Hopalong their silhouettes against the streak of pale gray low +down in the eastern sky. When free from the sudden press of cattle they +slowed perceptibly, and Hopalong did likewise to avoid running them +down. At that instant the uproar took on a new note and increased +threefold. He could hear the shock of impact, whip-like reports, the +bellowing of cattle in pain, and he arose in his stirrups to peer ahead +for the reason, seeing, as he did so, the silhouettes of his friends +arise and then drop from his sight. Without additional warning his horse +pitched forward and crashed to the earth, sending him over its head. +Slight as was the warning it served to ease his fall, for instinct freed +his feet from the stirrups, and when he struck the ground it was feet +first, and although he fell flat at the next instant, the shock had been +broken. Even as it was, he was partly stunned, and groped as he arose +on his hands and knees. Arising painfully he took a short step forward, +tripped and fell again; and felt a sharp pain shoot through his hand as +it went first to break the fall. Perhaps it was ten seconds before he +knew what it was that had thrown him, and when he learned that he also +learned the reason for the whole calamity--in his torn and bleeding hand +he held a piece of barb wire. + +“Barb wire!” he muttered, amazed. “Barb wire! Why, what the--_Damn +that ranch_!” he shouted, sudden rage sweeping over him as the situation +flashed through his mind and banished all the mental effects of the +fall. “They've gone an' strung it south of the creek as well! Red! +Johnny! Lanky!” he shouted at the top of his voice, hoping to be heard +over the groaning of injured cattle and the general confusion. “Good +Lord! _are they killed_!” + +They were not, thanks to the forced slowing up, and to the pool of water +and mud which formed an arm of the creek, a back-water away from the +pull of the current. They had pitched into the mud and water up to their +waists, some head first, some feet first, and others as they would go +into a chair. Those who had been fortunate enough to strike feet first +pulled out the divers, and the others gained their feet as best they +might and with varying degrees of haste, but all mixed profanity and +thankfulness equally well; and were equally and effectually disguised. + +Hopalong, expecting the silence of death or at least the groaning of +injured and dying, was taken aback by the fluent stream of profanity +which greeted his ears. But all efforts in that line were eclipsed when +the drive foreman tersely explained about the wire, and the providential +mud bath was forgotten in the new idea. They forthwith clamored for war, +and the sooner it came the better they would like it. + +“Not now, boys; we've got work to do first,” replied Hopalong, who, +nevertheless, was troubled grievously by the same itching trigger +finger. They subsided--as a steel spring subsides when held down by a +weight--and went off in search of their mounts. Daylight had won the +skirmish in the east and was now attacking in force, and revealed a +sight which, stilling the profanity for the moment, caused it to flow +again with renewed energy. The plain was a shambles near the creek, and +dead and dying steers showed where the fence had stood. The rest of the +herd had passed over these. The wounded cattle and three horses were +put out of their misery as the first duty. The horse that Hopalong had +ridden had a broken back; the other two, broken legs. When this work was +out of the way the bruised and shaken men gave their attention to the +scattered cattle on the other side of the creek, and when Hawkins rode +up after wasting time in hunting for the trail in the dark, he saw +four men with the herd, which was still scattered; four others near the +creek, of whom only Johnny was mounted, and a group of six strangers +riding towards them from the west and along the fence, or what was left +of that portion of it. + +“That's awful!” he cried, stopping his limping horse near Hopalong. “An' +here come the fools that done it.” + +“Yes,” replied Johnny, his voice breaking from rage, “but they won't go +back again! I don't care if I'm killed if I can get one or two of that +crowd--” + +“Shut up, Kid!” snapped Hopalong as the 4X outfit drew near. “I know +just how you feel about it; feel that way myself. But there ain't +a-going to be no fighting while I've got these cows on my han's. That +gang'll be here when we come back, all right.” + +“Mebby one or two of 'em won't,” remarked Hawkins, as he looked again +over the carnage along the fence. “I never did much pot-shooting, 'cept +agin Injuns; but I dunno--” He did not finish, for the strangers were +almost at his elbow. + +Cranky Joe led the 4X contingent and he did the talking for it +without waste of time. “Who the hell busted that fence?” he demanded, +belligerently, looking around savagely. Johnny's hand twitched at the +words and the way they were spoken. + +“I did; did you think somebody leaned agin it?” replied Hopalong, very +calmly,--so calmly that it was about one step short of an explosion. + +“Well, why didn't you go around?” + +“Three thousand stampeding cattle don't go 'round wire fences in the +dark.” + +“Well, that's not our fault. Reckon you better dig down an' settle up +for the damages, an' half a cent a head for water; an' then go 'round. +You can't stampede through the other fence.” + +“That so?” asked Hopalong. + +“Reckon it is.” + +“Yo're real shore it is?” + +“Well there's only six of us here, but there's six more that we can get +blamed quick if we need 'em. It's so, all right.” + +“Well, coming down to figures, there's eight here, with two +hoss-wranglers an' a cook to come,” retorted Hopalong, kicking the +belligerent Johnny on the shins. “We're just about mad enough to tackle +anything: ever feel that way?” + +“Oh, no use getting all het up,” rejoined Cranky Joe. “We ain't a-going +to fight 'less we has to. Better pay up.” + +“Send yore bills to the ranch--if they're O. K., Buck'll pay 'em.” + +“Nix; I take it when I can get it.” + +“I ain't got no money with me that I can spare.” + +“Then you can leave enough cows to buy back again.” + +“I'm not going to pay you one damned cent, an' the only cows I'll leave +are the dead ones--an' if I could take them with me I'd do it. An' I'm +not going around the fence, neither.” + +“Oh, yes; you are. An' yo're going to pay,” snapped Cranky Joe. + +“Take it out of the price of two hundred dead cows an' gimme what's +left,” Hopalong retorted. “It'll cost you nine of them twelve men to pry +it out'n me.” + +“You won't pay?” demanded the other, coldly. + +“Not a plugged peso.” + +“Well, as I said before, I don't want to fight nobody 'less I has to,” + replied Cranky Joe. “I'll give you a chance to change yore mind. +We'll be out here after it to-morrow, cash or cows. That'll give you +twenty-four hours to rest yore herd an' get ready to drive. Then you +pay, an' go back, 'round the fence.” + +“All right; to-morrow suits me,” responded Hopalong, who was boiling +with rage and felt constrained to hold it back. If it wasn't for the +cows--! + +Red and three companions swept up and stopped in a swirl of dust and +asked questions until Hopalong shut them up. Their arrival and the +manner of their speech riled Cranky Joe, who turned around and loosed +one more remark; and he never knew how near to death he was at that +moment. + +“You fellers must own the earth, the way you act,” he said to Red and +his three companions. + +“We ain't fencing it in to prove it,” rejoined Hopalong, his hand on +Red's arm. + +Cranky Joe wheeled to rejoin his friends. “To-morrow,” he said, +significantly. + +Hopalong and his men watched the six ride away, too enraged to speak for +a moment. Then the drive foreman mastered himself and turned to Hawkins. +“Where's their ranch house?” he demanded, sharply. “There must be some +way out of this, an' we've got to find it; an' before to-morrow.” + +“West; three hours' ride along the fence. I could find 'em the darkest +night what ever happened; I was out there once,” Hawkins replied. + +“Describe 'em as exact as you can,” demanded Hopalong, and when Hawkins +had done so the Bar-20 drive foreman slapped his thigh and laughed +nastily. “One house with one door an' only two windows--are you shore? +Good! Where's the corrals? Good again! So they'll take pay for their +blasted fence, eh? Cash or cows, hey! Don't want no fight 'less it's +necessary, but they're going to make us pay for the fence that killed +two hundred head, an' blamed nigh got us, too. An' half a cent a head +for drinking water! I've paid that more'n once--some of the poor devils +squatting on the range ain't got nothing to sell but water, but I don't +buy none out of Bennett's Creek! Pete, you mounted fellers round up a +little--bunch the herd a little closer, an' drive straight along the +trail towards that other fence. We'll all help you as soon as the +wranglers bring us up something to ride. Push 'em hard, limp or no limp, +till dark. They'll be too tired to go crow-hopping 'round any in the +dark to-night. An' say! When you see that bummer, if he wasn't got by +the fence, drop him clean. So they've got twelve men, hey! Huh!” + +“What you going to do?” asked Red, beginning to cool down, and very +curious. + +“Yes; tell us,” urged Johnny. + +“Why, I'm going to cut that fence, an' cut it all to hell. Then I'm +going to push the herd through it as far out of danger as I can. When +they're all right Cookie an' the hoss-wranglers will have to hold 'em +during the night while we do the rest.” + +“What's the rest?” demanded Johnny. + +“Oh, I'll tell you that later; it can wait,” replied Hopalong. +“Meanwhile, you get out there with Pete an' help get the herd in shape. +We'll be with you soon--here comes the wranglers an' the cavvieyeh. +'Bout time, too.” + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +MR. BOGGS IS DISGUSTED + +The herd gained twelve miles by dark and would pass through the northern +fence by noon of the next day, for Cook's axe and monkey wrench had been +put to good use. For quite a distance there was no fence: about a mile +of barb wire had been pulled loose and was tangled up into several large +piles, while rings of burned grass and ashes surrounded what was left +of the posts. The cook had embraced this opportunity to lay in a good +supply of firewood and was the happiest man in the outfit. + +At ten o'clock that night eight figures loped westward along the +southern fence and three hours later dismounted near the first corral +of the 4X ranch. They put their horses in a depression on the plain and +then hastened to seek cover, being careful to make no noise. + +At dawn the door of the bunk house opened quickly and as quickly slammed +shut again, three bullets in it being the reason. An uproar ensued and +guns spat from the two windows in the general direction of the +unseen besiegers, who did not bother about replying; they had given +notification of their presence and until it was necessary to shoot there +was no earthly use of wasting ammunition. Besides, the drive outfit +had cooled down rapidly when it found that its herd was in no immediate +danger and was not anxious to kill any one unless there was need. The +situation was conducive to humor rather than anger. But every time the +door moved it collected more lead, and it finally remained shut. + +The noise in the bunk house continued and finally a sombrero was waved +frantically at the south window and a moment later Nat Boggs, foreman +of the incarcerated 4X outfit, stuck his head out very cautiously and +yelled questions which bore directly on the situation and were to the +point. He appeared to be excited and unduly heated, if one might judge +from his words and voice. There was no reply, which still further added +to his heat and excitement. Becoming bolder and a little angrier +he allowed his impetuous nature to get the upper hand and forthwith +attempted the feat of getting through that same window; but a sharp +_pat!_ sounded on a board not a foot from him, and he reconsidered +hastily. His sombrero again waved to insist on a truce, and collected +two holes, causing him much mental anguish and threatening the loss of +his worthy soul. He danced up and down with great agility and no grace +and made remarks, thereby leading a full-voiced chorus. + +“Ain't that a hell of a note?” he demanded plaintively as he paused for +breath. “Stick _yore_ hat out, Cranky, an' see what _you_ can do,” he +suggested, irritably. + +Cranky Joe regarded him with pity and reproach, and moved back towards +the other end of the room, muttering softly to himself. “I know it ain't +much of a bonnet, but he needn't rub it in,” he growled, peevishly. + +“Try again; mebby they didn't see you,” suggested Jim Larkin, who had a +reputation for never making a joke. He escaped with his life and +checked himself at the side of Cranky Joe, with whom he conferred on the +harshness of the world towards unfortunates. + +The rest of the morning was spent in snipe-shooting at random, trusting +to luck to hit some one, and trusting in vain. At noon Cranky Joe could +stand the strain no longer and opened the door just a little to relive +the monotony. He succeeded, being blessed with a smashed shoulder, and +immediately became a general nuisance, adding greatly to the prevailing +atmosphere. Boggs called him a few kinds of fools and hastened to nail +the door shut; he hit his thumb and his heart became filled with venom. + +“_Now_ look at what they went an' done!” he yelled, running around in a +circle. “Damned outrage!” + +“Huh!” snorted Cranky Joe with maddening superiority. “That ain't +nothing--just look at me!” + +Boggs looked, very fixedly, and showed signs of apoplexy, and Cranky Joe +returned to his end of the room to resume his soliloquy. + +“Why don't you come out an' take them cows!” inquired an unkind voice +from without. “Ain't changed yore mind, have you?” + +“We'll give you a drink for half a cent a head--that's the regular price +for watering cows,” called another. + +The faint ripple of mirth which ran around the plain was lost in +opinions loudly expressed within the room; and Boggs, tears of rage +in his eyes, flung himself down on a chair and invented new terms for +describing human beings. + +John Terry was observing. He had been fluttering around the north +window, constantly getting bolder, and had not been disturbed. When he +withdrew his sombrero and found that it was intact he smiled to himself +and leaned his elbows on the sill, looking carefully around the plain. +The discovery that there was no cover on the north side cheered him +greatly and he called to Boggs, outlining a plan of action. + +Boggs listened intently and then smiled for the first time since dawn. +“Bully for you, Terry!” he enthused. “Wait till dark--we'll fool 'em.” + +A bullet chipped the 'dobe at Terry's side and he ducked as he leaped +back. “From an angle--what did I tell you?” he laughed. “We'll drop +out here an' sneak behind the house after dark. They'll be watching the +door--an' they won't be able to see us, anyhow.” + +Boggs sucked his thumb tenderly and grinned. “After which--,” he elated. + +“After which--,” gravely repeated Terry, the others echoing it with +unrestrained joy. + +“Then, mebby, I can get a drink,” chuckled Larkin, brightening under the +thought. + +“The moon comes up at ten,” warned a voice. “It'll be full to-night--an' +there ain't many clouds in sight.” + +“_Ol' King Cole was a merry ol' soul_,” hummed McQuade, lightly. + +“An'--a--merry--ol'--soul--was--he!--was--he!” thundered the chorus, +deep-toned and strong. “_He had a wife for every toe, an' some toes +counted three!_” + +“Listen!” cried Meade, holding up his hand. + +“_An' every wife had sixteen dogs, an' every dog a flea!_” shouted a +voice from the besiegers, followed by a roar of laughter. + +The hilarity continued until dark, only stopping when John Terry slipped +out of the window, dropped to all-fours and stuck his head around the +corner of the rear wall. He saw many stars and was silently handed to +Pete Wilson. + +“What was that noise?” exclaimed Boggs in a low tone. “Are you all +right, Terry?” he asked, anxiously. + +Three knocks on the wall replied to his question and then McQuade went +out, and three more knocks were heard. + +“Wonder why they make that funny noise,” muttered Boggs. + +“Bumped inter something, I reckon,” replied Jim Larkin. “Get out of my +way--I'm next.” + +Boggs listened intently and then pushed Duke Lane back. “Don't like +that--sounds like a crack on the head. Hey, Jim! _Say_ something!” he +called softly. The three knocks were repeated, but Boggs was suspicious +and he shook his head decisively. “To 'ell with the knocking--_say_ +something!” + +“Still got them twelve men?” asked a strange voice, pleasantly. + +“_An' every dog a flea_,” hummed another around the corner. + +“Hell!” shouted Boggs. “To the door, fellers! To the door--quick!” + +A whistle shrilled from behind the house and a leaden tattoo began +on the door. “Other window!” whispered O'Neill. The foreman got there +before him and, shoving his Colt out first to clear the way, yelled with +rage and pain as a pole hit his wrist and knocked the weapon out of his +hand. He was still commenting when Duke Lane pried open the door and, +dropping quickly on his stomach, wriggled out, followed closely by +Charley Beal and Tim. At that instant the tattoo drummed with greater +vigor and such a hail of lead poured in through the opening that the +door was promptly closed, leaving the three men outside to shift for +themselves with the darkness their only cover. + +Duke and his companions whispered together as they lay flat and agreed +upon a plan of action. Going around the ends of the house was suicide +and no better than waiting for the rising moon to show them to the +enemy; but there was no reason why the roof could not be utilized. Tim +and Charley boosted Duke up, then Tim followed, and the pair on the roof +pulled Charley to their side. Flat roofs were great institutions they +decided as they crawled cautiously towards the other side. This roof was +of hard, sun-baked adobe, over two feet thick, and they did not care if +their friends shot up on a gamble. + +“Fine place, all right,” thought Charley, grinning broadly. Then he +turned an agonized face to Tim, his chest rising. “_Hitch! Hitch!_” + he choked, fighting with all his will to master it. “_Hitch-chew! +Hitch-chew! Hitch-chew!_” he sneezed, loudly. There was a scramble below +and a ripple of mirth floated up to them. + +“_Hitch-chew_?” jeered a voice. “What do we want to hit you for?” + +“Look us over, children,” invited another. + +“Wait until the moon comes up,” chuckled the third. “Be like knocking +the nigger baby down for Red an' the others. Ladies and gents: We'll now +have a little sketch entitled 'Shooting snipe by moonlight.'” + +“Jack-snipe, too,” laughed Pete. “Will somebody please hold the bag?” + +The silence on the roof was profound and the three on the ground tried +again. + +“Let me call yore attention to the trained coyotes, ladies an' gents,” + remarked Johnny in a deep, solemn voice. “Coyotes are not birds; they do +not roost on roofs as a general thing; but they are some intelligent an' +can be trained to do lots of foolish tricks. These ani-mules were--” + +“Step this way, people; on-ly ten cents, two nickels,” interrupted Pete. +“They bark like dogs, an' howl like hell.” + +“Shut up!” snapped Tim, angrily. + +“After the moon comes up,” said Hopalong, “when you fellers get tired +dodging, you can chuck us yore guns an' come down. An' don't forget that +this side of the house is much the safest,” he warned. + +“Go to hell!” snarled Duke, bitterly. + +“Won't; they're laying for me down there.” + +Johnny crawled to the north end of the wall and, looking cautiously +around the corner, funnelled his hands: “On the roof, Red! On the roof!” + +“Yes, dear,” was the reply, followed by gun-shots. + +“Hey! Move over!” snapped Tim, working towards the edge furthest from +the cheerful Red, whose bullets were not as accurate in the dark as they +promised to become in a few minutes when the moon should come up. + +“Want to shove me off?” snarled Charley, angrily. “For heaven's sake, +Duke, do you want the whole earth?” he demanded of his second companion. + +“You just bet yore shirt I do! An' I want a hole in it, too!” + +“Ain't you got no sense?” + +“Would I be up here if I had?” + +“It's going to be hot as blazes up here when the sun gets high,” + cheerfully prophesied Tim: “an' dry, too,” he added for a finishing +touch. + +“We'll be lucky if we're live enough to worry about the sun's +heat--_say_, that was a _close_ one!” exclaimed Duke, frantically trying +to flatten a little more. “Ah, thought so--there's that blamed moon!” + +“Wish I'd gone out the window instead,” growled Charley, worming behind +Duke, to the latter's prompt displeasure. + +“You fellers better come down, one at a time,” came from below. “Send +yore guns down first, too. Red's a blamed good shot.” + +“Hope he croaks,” muttered Duke. “_That's_ closer yet!” + +Tim's hand raised and a flash of fire singed Charley's hair. “Got to do +something, anyhow,” he explained, lowering the Colt and peering across +the plain. + +“You damned near succeeded!” shouted Charley, grabbing at his head. +“Why, they're three hundred, an' you trying for 'em with a--_oh!_” he +moaned, writhing. + +“Locoed fool!” swore Duke, “showing 'em where we are! They're doing good +enough as it is! You ought--got _you_, too!” + +“_I'm_ going down--that blamed fool out there ain't caring what he +hits,” mumbled Charley, clenching his hands from pain. He slid over the +edge and Pete grabbed him. + +“Next,” suggested Pete, expectantly. + +Tim tossed his Colt over the edge. “Here's another,” he swore, following +the weapon. He was grabbed and bound in a trice. + +“When may we expect you, Mr. Duke?” asked Johnny, looking up. + +“Presently, friend, presently. I want to--_wow_!” he finished, and +lost no time in his descent, which was meteoric. “That feller'll _kill_ +somebody if he ain't careful!” he complained as Pete tied his hands +behind his back. + +“You wait till daylight an' see,” cheerily replied Pete as the three +were led off to join their friends in the corral. + +There was no further action until the sun arose and then Hopalong +hailed the house and demanded a parley, and soon he and Boggs met midway +between the shack and the line. + +“What d'you want?” asked Boggs, sullenly. + +“Want you to stop this farce so I can go on with my drive.” + +“Well, I ain't holding you!” exploded the 4X foreman. + +“Oh, yes; but you are. I can't let you an' yore men out to hang on our +flanks an' worry us; an' I don't want to hold you in that shack till you +all die of thirst, or come out to be all shot up. Besides, I can't fool +around here for a week; I got business to look after.” + +“Don't you worry about us dying with thirst; that ain't worrying us +none.” + +“I heard different,” replied Hopalong, smiling. “Them fellers in the +corral drank a quart apiece. See here, Boggs; you can't win, an' you +know it. Yo're not bucking me, but the whole range, the whole country. +It's a fight between conditions--the fence idea agin the open range +idea, an' open trails. The fence will lose. You closed a drive trail +that's 'most as old as cow-raising. Will the punchers of this part of +the country stand for it? Suppose you lick us,--which you won't--can +you lick all the rest of us, the JD, Wallace's, Double-Arrow, C-80, +Cross-O-Cross, an' the others! That's just what it amounts to, an' you +better stop right now, before somebody gets killed. You know what that +means in this section. Yo're six to our eight, you ain't got a drink in +that shack, an' you dasn't try to get one. You can't do a thing agin us, +an' you know it.” + +Boggs rested his hands on his hips and considered, Hopalong waiting +for him to reply. He knew that the Bar-20 man was right but he hated to +admit it, he hated to say he was whipped. + +“Are any of them six hurt?” he finally asked. + +“Only scratches an' sore heads,” responded Hopalong, smiling. “We ain't +tried to kill anybody, yet. I'm putting that up to you.” + +Boggs made no reply and Hopalong continued: “I got six of yore twelve +men prisoners, an' all yore cayuses are in my han's. I'll shoot every +animal before I'll leave 'em for you to use against me, an' I'll take +enough of yore cows to make up for what I lost by that fence. You've got +to pay for them dead cows, anyhow. If I do let you out you'll have to +road-brand me two hundred, or pay cash. My herd ain't worrying me--it's +moving all the time. It's through that other fence by now. An' if I have +to keep my outfit here to pen you in or shoot you off I can send to the +JD for a gang to push the herd. Don't make no mistake: yo're getting off +easy. Suppose one of my men had been killed at the fence--what then?” + +“Well, what do you want me to do?” + +“Stop this foolishness an' take down them fences for a mile each side +of the trail. If Buck has to come up here the whole thing'll go down. +Road-brand me two hundred of yore three-year-olds. Now as soon as you +agree, an' say that the fight's over, it will be. You can't win out; an' +what's the use of having yore men killed off?” + +“I hate to quit,” replied the other, gloomily. + +“I know how that is; but yo're wrong on this question, dead wrong. You +don't own this range or the trail. You ain't got no right to close that +old drive trail. Honest, now; have you?” + +“You say them six ain't hurt?” + +“No more'n I said.” + +“An' if I give in will you treat my men right?” + +“Shore.” + +“When will you leave.” + +“Just as soon as I get them two hundred three-year-olds.” + +“Well, I hate a quitter; but I can't do nothing, nohow,” mused the 4X +foreman. He cleared his throat and turned to look at the house. “All +right; when you get them cows you get out of here, an' don't never come +back!” + +Hopalong flung his arm with a shout to his men and the other kicked +savagely at an inoffensive stick and slouched back to his bunk house, a +beaten man. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +TEX EWALT HUNTS TROUBLE + +Not more than a few weeks after the Bar-20 drive outfit returned to the +ranch a solitary horseman pushed on towards the trail they had followed, +bound for Buckskin and the Bar-20 range. His name was Tex Ewalt and he +cordially hated all of the Bar-20 outfit and Hopalong in particular. He +had nursed a grudge for several years and now, as he rode south to rid +himself of it and to pay a long-standing debt, it grew stronger until he +thrilled with anticipation and the sauce of danger. This grudge had been +acquired when he and Slim Travennes had enjoyed a duel with Hopalong +Cassidy up in Santa Fe, and had been worsted; it had increased when he +learned of Slim's death at Cactus Springs at the hands of Hopalong; and, +some time later, hearing that two friends of his, “Slippery” Trendley +and “Deacon” Rankin, with their gang, had “gone out” in the Panhandle +with the same man and his friends responsible for it, Tex hastened to +Muddy Wells to even the score and clean his slate. Even now his face +burned when he remembered his experiences on that never-to-be-forgotten +occasion. He had been played with, ridiculed, and shamed, until he fled +from the town as a place accursed, hating everything and everybody. It +galled him to think that he had allowed Buck Peters' momentary sympathy +to turn him from his purpose, even though he was convinced that the +foreman's action had saved his life. And now Tex was returning, not to +Muddy Wells, but to the range where the Bar-20 outfit held sway. + +Several years of clean living had improved Tex, morally and physically. +The liquor he had once been in the habit of consuming had been reduced +to a negligible quantity; he spent the money on cartridges instead, +and his pistol work showed the results of careful and dogged practice, +particularly in the quickness of the draw. Punching cows on a remote +northern range had repaid him in health far more than his old game of +living on his wits and other people's lack of them, as proved by his +clear eye and the pink showing through the tan above his beard; while +his somber, steady gaze, due to long-held fixity of purpose, indicated +the resourcefulness of a perfectly reliable set of nerves. His low-hung +holster tied securely to his trousers leg to assure smoothness in +drawing, the restrained swing of his right hand, never far from the +well-worn scabbard which sheathed a triggerless Colt's “Frontier”--these +showed the confident and ready gun-man, the man who seldom missed. +“Frontiers” left the factory with triggers attached, but the absence of +that part did not always incapacitate a weapon. Some men found that the +regular method was too slow, and painstakingly cultivated the art of +thumbing the hammer. “Thumbing” was believed to save the split second +so valuable to a man in argument with his peers. Tex was riding with the +set purpose of picking a fair fight with the best six-shooter expert it +had ever been his misfortune to meet, and he needed that split second. +He knew that he needed it and the knowledge thrilled him with a peculiar +elation; he had changed greatly in the past year and now he wanted an +“even break” where once he would have called all his wits into play to +avoid it. He had found himself and now he acknowledged no superior in +anything. + +On his way south he met and talked with men who had known him, the old +Tex, in the days when he had made his living precariously. They did not +recognize him behind his beard, and he was content to let the oversight +pass. But from these few he learned what he wished to know, and he was +glad that Hopalong Cassidy was where he had always been, and that his +gun-work had improved rather than depreciated with the passing of time. +He wished to prove himself master of The Master, and to be hailed as +such by those who had jeered and laughed at his ignominy several years +before. So he rode on day after day, smiling and content, neither +under-rating nor over-rating his enemy's ability with one weapon, but +trying to think of him as he really was. He knew that if there was any +difference between Hopalong Cassidy and himself that it must be very +slight--perhaps so slight as to result fatally to both; but if that were +so then it would have to work out as it saw fit--he at least would have +accomplished what many, many others had failed in. + + + +In the little town of Buckskin, known hardly more than locally, and +never thought of by outsiders except as the place where the Bar-20 +spent their spare time and money, and neutral ground for the surrounding +ranches, was Cowan's saloon, in the dozen years of its existence the +scene of good stories, boisterous fun, and quick deaths. Put together +roughly, of crude materials, sticking up in inartistic prominence on the +dusty edge of a dustier street; warped, bleached by the sun, and patched +with boards ripped from packing cases and with the flattened sides of +tin cans; low of ceiling, the floor one huge brown discoloration of +spring, creaking boards, knotted and split and worn into hollows, the +unpretentious building offered its hospitality to all who might be +tempted by the scrawled, sprawled lettering of its sign. The walls were +smoke-blackened, pitted with numerous small and clear-cut holes, and +decorated with initials carelessly cut by men who had come and gone. + +Such was Cowan's, the best patronized place in many hot and dusty miles +and the Mecca of the cowboys from the surrounding ranches. Often at +night these riders of the range gathered in the humble building and told +tales of exceeding interest; and on these occasions one might see a +row of ponies standing before the building, heads down and quiet. It is +strange how alike cow-ponies look in the dim light of the stars. On the +south side of the saloon, weak, yellow lamp light filtered through the +dirt on the window panes and fell in distorted patches on the plain, +blotched in places by the shadows of the wooden substitutes for glass. + +It was a moonlight night late in the fall, after the last beef round-up +was over and the last drive outfit home again, that two cow-ponies stood +in front of Cowan's while their owners lolled against the bar and talked +over the latest sensation--the fencing in of the West Valley range, +and the way Hopalong Cassidy and his trail outfit had opened up the old +drive trail across it. The news was a month old, but it was the last +event of any importance and was still good to laugh over. + +“Boys,” remarked the proprietor, “I want you to meet Mr. Elkins. He came +down that trail last week, an' he didn't see no fence across it.” The +man at the table arose slowly. “Mr. Elkins, this is Sandy Lucas, an' +Wood Wright, of the C-80. Mr. Elkins here has been a-looking over the +country, sizing up what the beef prospects will be for next year; an' +he knows all about wire fences. Here's how,” he smiled, treating on the +house. + +Mr. Elkins touched the glass to his bearded lips and set it down +untasted while he joked over the sharp rebuff so lately administered to +wire fences in that part of the country. While he was an ex-cow-puncher +he believed that he was above allowing prejudice to sway his judgment, +and it was his opinion, after careful thought, that barb wire was +harmful to the best interests of the range. He had ridden over a great +part of the cattle country in the last few yeas, and after reviewing +the existing conditions as he understood them, his verdict must go as +stated, and emphatically. He launched gracefully into a slowly +delivered and lengthy discourse upon the subject, which proved to be +so entertaining that his companions were content to listen and nod with +comprehension. They had never met any one who was so well qualified +to discuss the pros and cons of the barb-wire fence question, and they +learned many things which they had never heard before. This was very +gratifying to Mr. Elkins, who drew largely upon hearsay, his own vivid +imagination, and a healthy logic. He was very glad to talk to men who +had the welfare of the range at heart, and he hoped soon to meet the +man who had taken the initiative in giving barb wire its first serious +setback on that rich and magnificent southern range. + +“You shore ought to meet Cassidy--he's a fine man,” remarked Lucas with +enthusiasm. “You'll not find any better, no matter where you look. But +you ain't touched yore liquor,” he finished with surprise. + +“You'll have to excuse me, gentlemen,” replied Mr. Elkins, smiling +deprecatingly. “When a man likes it as much as I do it ain't very easy +to foller instructions an' let it alone. Sometimes I almost break loose +an' indulge, regardless of whether it kills me or not. I reckon it'll +get me yet.” He struck the bar a resounding blow with his clenched hand. +“But I ain't going to cave in till I has to!” + +“That's purty tough,” sympathized Wood Wright, reflectively. “I ain't +so very much taken with it, but I know I would be if I knowed I couldn't +have any.” + +“Yes, that's human nature, all right,” laughed Lucas. “That reminds me +of a little thing that happened to me once--” + +“Listen!” exclaimed Cowan, holding up his hand for silence. “I reckon +that's the Bar-20 now, or some of it--sounds like them when they're +feeling frisky. There's allus something happening when them fellers are +around.” + +The proprietor was right, as proved a moment later when Johnny Nelson, +continuing his argument, pushed open the door and entered the room. “I +didn't neither; an' you know it!” he flung over his shoulder. + +“Then who did?” demanded Hopalong, chuckling. “Why, hullo, boys,” he +said, nodding to his friends at the bar. “Nobody else would do a fool +thing like that; nobody but you, Kid,” he added, turning to Johnny. + +“I don't care a hang what you think; I say I didn't an'--” + +“He shore did, all right; I seen him just afterward,” laughed Billy +Williams, pressing close upon Hopalong's heels. “Howdy, Lucas; an' +there's that ol' coyote, Wood Wright. How's everybody feeling?” + +“Where's the rest of you fellers?” inquired Cowan. + +“Stayed home to-night,” replied Hopalong. + +“Got any loose money, you two?” asked Billy, grinning at Lucas and +Wright. + +“I reckon we have--an' our credit's good if we ain't. We're good for a +dollar or two, ain't we, Cowan?” replied Lucas. + +“Two dollars an' four bits,” corrected Cowan. “I'll raise it to three +dollars even when you pay me that 'leven cents you owe me.” + +“'Leven cents? What 'leven cents?” + +“Postage stamps an' envelope for that love letter you writ.” + +“Go to blazes; that wasn't no love letter!” snorted Lucas, indignantly. +“That was my quarterly report. I never did write no love letters, +nohow.” + +“We'll trim you fellers to-night, if you've got the nerve to play us,” + grinned Johnny, expectantly. + +“Yes; an' we've got that, too. Give us the cards, Cowan,” requested Wood +Wright, turning. “They won't give us no peace till we take all their +money away from 'em.” + +“Open game,” prompted Cowan, glancing meaningly at Elkins, who stood by +idly looking on, and without showing much interest in the scene. + +“Shore! Everybody can come in what wants to,” replied Lucas, heartily, +leading the others to the table. “I allus did like a six-handed game +best--all the cards are out an' there's some excitement in it.” + +When the deal began Elkins was seated across the table from Hopalong, +facing him for the first time since that day over in Muddy Wells, and +studying him closely. He found no changes, for the few years had left +no trace of their passing on the Bar-20 puncher. The sensation of facing +the man he had come south expressly to kill did not interfere with +Elkins' card-playing ability for he played a good game; and as if the +Fates were with him it was Hopalong's night off as far as poker was +concerned, for his customary good luck was not in evidence. That +instinctive feeling which singles out two duellists in a card game +was soon experienced by the others, who were careful, as became good +players, to avoid being caught between them; in consequence, when the +game broke up, Elkins had most of Hopalong's money. At one period of his +life Elkins had lived on poker for five years, and lived well. But he +gained more than money in this game, for he had made friends with the +players and placed the first wire of his trap. Of those in the room +Hopalong alone treated him with reserve, and this was cleverly swung so +that it appeared to be caused by a temporary grouch due to the sting of +defeat. As the Bar-20 man was known to be given to moods at times this +was accepted as the true explanation and gave promise of hotly contested +games for revenge later on. The banter which the defeated puncher had to +endure stirred him and strengthened the reserve, although he was careful +not to show it. + +When the last man rode off, Elkins and the proprietor sought their bunks +without delay, the former to lie awake a long time, thinking deeply. +He was vexed at himself for failing to work out an acceptable plan +of action, one that would show him to be in the right. He would gain +nothing more than glory, and pay too dearly for it, if he killed +Hopalong and was in turn killed by the dead man's friends--and +he believed that he had become acquainted with the quality of the +friendship which bound the units of the Bar-20 outfit into a smooth, +firm whole. They were like brothers, like one man. Cassidy must do the +forcing as far as appearances went, and be clearly in the wrong before +the matter could be settled. + +The next week was a busy one for Elkins, every day finding him in the +saddle and riding over some one of the surrounding ranches with one or +more of its punchers for company. In this way he became acquainted with +the men who might be called on to act as his jury when the showdown +came, and he proceeded to make friends of them in a manner that promised +success. And some of his suggestions for the improvement of certain +conditions on the range, while they might not work out right in the +long run, compelled thought and showed his interest. His remarks on the +condition and numbers of cattle were the same in substance in all cases +and showed that he knew what he was talking about, for the punchers were +all very optimistic about the next year's showing in cattle. + +“If you fellers don't break all records for drive herds of quality next +year I don't know nothing about cows; an' I shore don't know nothing +else,” he told the foreman of the Bar-20, as they rode homeward after an +inspection of that ranch. “There'll be more dust hanging over the +drive trails leading from this section next year when spring drops +the barriers than ever before. You needn't fear for the market, +neither--prices will stand. The north an' central ranges ain't doing +what they ought to this year--it'll be up to you fellers down south, +here, to make that up; an' you can do it.” This was not a guess, but the +result of thought and study based on the observations he had made on his +ride south, and from what he had learned from others along the way. +It paralleled Buck's own private opinion, especially in regard to +the southern range; and the vague suspicions in the foreman's mind +disappeared for good and all. + +Needless to say Elkins was a welcome visitor at the ranch houses and was +regarded as a good fellow. At the Bar-20 he found only two men who +would not thaw to him, and he was possessed of too much tact to try +any persuasive measures. One was Hopalong, whose original cold reserve +seemed to be growing steadily, the Bar-20 puncher finding in Elkins +a personality that charged the atmosphere with hostility and quietly +rubbed him the wrong way. Whenever he was in the presence of the +newcomer he felt the tugging of an irritating and insistent antagonism +and he did not always fully conceal it. John Bartlett, Lucas, and one +or two of the more observing had noticed it and they began to prophesy +future trouble between the two. The other man who disliked Elkins was +Red Connors; but what was more natural? Red, being Hopalong's closest +companion, would be very apt to share his friend's antipathy. On the +other hand, as if to prove Hopalong's dislike to be unwarranted, Johnny +Nelson swung far to the other extreme and was frankly enthusiastic in +his liking for the cattle scout. And Johnny did not pour oil on the +waters when he laughingly twitted Hopalong for allowing “a licking +at cards to make him sore.” This was the idea that Elkins was quietly +striving to have generally accepted. + +The affair thus hung fire, Elkins chafing at the delay and cautiously +working for an opening, which at last presented itself, to be promptly +seized. By a sort of mutual, unspoken agreement, the men in Cowan's that +night passed up the cards and sat swapping stories. Cowan, swearing at a +smoking lamp, looked up with a grin and burned his fingers as a roar of +laughter marked the point of a droll reminiscence told by Bartlett. + +“That's a good story, Bartlett,” Elkins remarked, slowing refilling +his pipe. “Reminds me of the lame Greaser, Hippy Joe, an' the canned +oysters. They was both bad, an' neither of 'em knew it till they came +together. It was like this. . . .” The malicious side glance went unseen +by all but Hopalong, who stiffened with the raging suspicion of being +twitted on his own deformity. The humor of the tale failed to appeal +to him, and when his full senses returned Lucas was in the midst of +the story of the deadly game of tag played in a ten-acre lot of dense +underbrush by two of his old-time friends. It was a tale of gripping +interest and his auditors were leaning forward in their eagerness not to +miss a word. “An' Pierce won,” finished Lucas; “some shot up, but able +to get about. He was all right in a couple of weeks. But he was bound to +win; he could shoot all around Sam Hopkins.” + +“But the best shot won't allus win in that game,” commented Elkins. +“That's one of the minor factors.” + +“Yes, sir! It's _luck_ that counts there,” endorsed Bartlett, quickly. +“Luck, nine times out of ten.” + +“Best shot ought to win,” declared Skinny Thompson. “It ain't all luck, +nohow. Where'd I be against Hoppy, there?” + +“Won't neither!” cried Johnny, excitedly. “The man who sees the other +first wins out. That's wood-craft, an' brains.” + +“Aw! What do you know about it, anyhow?” demanded Lucas. “If he can't +shoot so good what chance has he got--if he misses the first try, what +then?” + +“What chance has he got! First chance, miss or no miss. If he can't see +the other first, where the devil does his good shooting come in?” + +“Huh!” snorted Wood Wright, belligerently. “Any fool can _see_, but he +can't _shoot_! An' it's as much luck as wood-craft, too, an' don't you +forget it!” + +“The first shot don't win, Johnny; not in a game like that, with all the +dodging an' ducking,” remarked Red. “You can't put one where you want it +when a feller's slipping around in the brush. It's the most that counts, +an' the best shot gets in the most. I wouldn't want to have to stand up +against Hoppy an' a short gun, not in that game; no, sir!” and Red shook +his head with decision. + +The argument waxed hot. With the exception of Hopalong, who sat silently +watchful, every one spoke his opinion and repeated it without regard to +the others. It appeared that in this game, the man with the strongest +lungs would eventually win out, and each man tried to show his +superiority in that line. Finally, above the uproar, Cowan's bellow was +herd, and he kept it up until some notice was taken of it. “Shut up! +_Shut up_! For God's sake, _quit_! Never saw such a bunch of tinder--let +somebody drop a cold, burned-out match in this gang, an' hell's to pay. +Here, _all_ of you, play cards an' forget about cross-tag in the scrub. +You'll be arguing about playing marbles in the dark purty soon!” + +“All right,” muttered Johnny, “but just the same, the man who--” + +“Never mind about the man who! Did you hear _me_?” yelled Cowan, swiftly +reaching for a bucket of water. “_This_ is a game where _I_ gets the +most in, an' don't forget it!” + +“Come on; play cards,” growled Lucas, who did not relish having his +decision questioned on his own story. Undoubtedly somewhere in the wide, +wide world there was such a thing as common courtesy, but none of it had +ever strayed onto that range. + +The chairs scraped on the rough floor as the men pulled up to a table. +“I don't care a hang,” came Elkins' final comment as he shuffled the +cards with careful attention. “I'm not any fancy Colt expert, but I'm +damned if I won't take a chance in that game with any man as totes a +gun. Leastawise, of _course_, I wouldn't take no such advantage of a +lame man.” + +The effect would have been ludicrous but for its deadly significance. +Cowan, stooping to go under the bar, remained in that hunched-up +attitude, his every faculty concentrated in his ears; the match on its +way to the cigarette between Red's lips was held until it burned his +fingers, when it was dropped from mere reflex action, the hand still +stiffly aloft; Lucas, half in and half out of his chair, seemed to have +got just where he intended, making no effort to seat himself. Skinny +Thompson, his hand on his gun, seemed paralyzed; his mouth was open +to frame a reply that never was uttered and he stared through narrowed +eyelids at the blunderer. The sole movement in the room was the slow +rising of Hopalong and the markedly innocent shuffling of the cards by +Elkins, who appeared to be entirely ignorant of the weight and effect of +his words. He dropped the pack for the cut and then looked up and around +as if surprised by the silence and the expressions he saw. + +Hopalong stood facing him, leaning over with both hands on the table. +His voice, when he spoke, rumbled up from his chest in a low growl. “You +won't _have_ no advantage, Elkins. Take it from me, you've had yore last +fling. I'm glad you made it plain, this time, so it's something I can +take hold of.” He straightened slowly and walked to the door, and an +audible sigh sounded through the room as it was realized that trouble +was not immediately imminent. At the door he paused and turned back +around, looking back over his shoulder. “At noon to-morrow I'm going to +hoof it north through the brush between the river an' the river trail, +starting at the old ford a mile down the river.” He waited expectantly. + +“Me too--only the other way,” was the instant rejoinder. “Have it yore +own way.” + +Hopalong nodded and the closing door shut him out into the night. +Without a word the Bar-20 men arose and followed him, the only hesitant +being Johnny, who was torn between loyalty and new-found friendship; but +with a sorrowful shake of the head, he turned away and passed out, not +far behind the others. + +“Clannish, ain't they?” remarked Elkins, gravely. + +Those remaining were regarding him sternly, questioningly, Cowan with +a deep frown darkening his face. “You hadn't ought to 'a' said that, +Elkins.” The reproof was almost an accusation. + +Elkins looked steadily at the speaker. “You hadn't ought to 'a' let me +say it,” he replied. “How did I know he was so touchy?” His gaze left +Cowan and lingered in turn on each of the others. “Some of you ought to +'a' told me. I wouldn't 'a' said it only for what I said just before, +an' I didn't want him to think I was challenging him to no duel in +the brush. So I says so, an' then he goes an' takes it up that I _am_ +challenging him. I ain't got no call to fight with nobody. Ain't I tried +to keep out of trouble with him ever since I've been here? Ain't I kept +out of the poker games on his account? Ain't I?” The grave, even tones +were dispassionate, without a trace of animus and serenely sure of +justice. + +The faces around him cleared gradually and heads began to nod in +comprehending consent. + +“Yes, I reckon you have,” agreed Cowan, slowly, but the frown was not +entirely gone. “Yes, I reckon--mebby--you have.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE MASTER + +It was noon by the sun when Hopalong and Red shook hands south of the +old ford and the former turned to enter the brush. Hopalong was cool +and ominously calm while his companion was the opposite. Red was frankly +suspicious of the whole affair and nursed the private opinion that Mr. +Elkins would lay in ambush and shoot his enemy down like a dog. And Red +had promised himself a dozen times that he would study the signs around +the scene of action if Hopalong should not come back, and take a keen +delight, if warranted, in shooting Mr. Elkins full of holes with no +regard for an even break. He was thinking the matter over as his friend +breasted the first line of brush and could not refrain from giving a +slight warning. “Get him, Hoppy,” he called, earnestly; “get him good. +Let _him_ do some of the moving about. I'll be here waiting for you.” + +Hopalong smiled in reply and sprang forward, the leaves and branches +quickly shutting him from Red's sight. He had worked out his plan of +action the night before when he was alone and the world was still, and +as soon as he had it to his satisfaction he had dropped off to sleep as +easily as a child--it took more than gun-play to disturb his nerves. +He glanced about him to make sure of his bearings and then struck on a +curving line for the river. The first hundred yards were covered with +speed and then he began to move more slowly and with greater regard for +caution, keeping close to the earth and showing a marked preference for +low ground. Sky-lines were all right in times of peace, but under the +present conditions they promised to become unhealthy. His eyes and ears +told him nothing for a quarter of an hour, and then he suddenly stopped +short and crouched as he saw the plain trail of a man crossing his own +direction at a right angle. From the bottom of one of the heel prints +a crushed leaf was slowly rising back towards its original position, +telling him how new the trail was; and as if this were not enough for +his trained mind he heard a twig snap sharply as he glanced along the +line of prints. It sounded very close, and he dropped instantly to one +knee and thought quickly. Why had the other left so plain a trail, why +had he reached up and broken twigs that projected above his head as he +passed? Why had he kicked aside a small stone, leaving a patch of moist, +bleached grass to tell where it had lain? Elkins had stumbled here, but +there were no toe marks to tell of it. Hopalong would not track, for he +was no assassin; but he knew that he would do if he were, and careless. +The answer leaped to his suspicious mind like a flash, and he did not +care to waste any time in trying to determine whether or not Elkins was +capable of such a trick. He acted on the presumption that the trail +had been made plain for a good reason, and that not far ahead at some +suitable place,--and there were any number of such within a hundred +yards,--the maker of the plain trail lay in wait. Smiling savagely +he worked backward and turning, struck off in a circle. He had no +compunctions whatever now about shooting the other player of the game. +It was not long before he came upon the same trail again and he started +another circle. A bullet _zipped_ past his ear and cut a twig not two +inches from his head. He fired at the smoke as he dropped, and then +wriggled rapidly backward, keeping as flat to the earth as he could. +Elkins had taken up his position in a thicket which stood in the centre +of a level patch of sand in the old bed of the river,--the bed it had +used five years before and forsaken at the time of the big flood when it +cut itself a new channel and made the U-bend which now surrounded this +piece of land on three sides. Even now, during the rainy season, +the thicket which sheltered Mr. Elkins was frequently an island in a +sluggish, shallow overflow. + +“Hole up, blast you!” jeered Hopalong, hugging the ground. The second +bullet from Mr. Elkins' gun cut another twig, this one just over his +head, and he laughed insolently. “I ain't ascared to do the moving, +even if you are. Judging from the way you keep out o' sight the canned +oysters are in the can again. _I_ never did no ambushing, you coyote.” + +“You can't make remarks like that an' get away with 'em--I've knowed you +too long,” retorted Elkins, shifting quickly, and none too soon. “You +went an' got Slim afore he was wide awake. I know _you_, all right.” + +Hopalong's surprise was but momentary, and his mind raced back over the +years. Who was this man Elkins, that he knew Slim Travennes? “Yo're a +liar, Elkins, an' so was the man who told you that!” + +“Call me Ewalt,” jeered the other, nastily. “Nobody'll hear it, an' +you'll not live to tell it. Ewalt, Tex Ewalt; call me that.” + +“So you've come back after all this time to make me get you, have you? +Well, I ain't a-going to shoot no buttons off you _this_ time. I allus +reckoned you learned something at Muddy Wells--but you'll learn it +here,” Hopalong rejoined, sliding into a depression, and working with +great caution towards the dry river bed, where fallen trees and hillocks +of sand provided good cover in plenty. Everything was clear now and +despite the seriousness of the situation he could not repress a smile +as he remembered vividly that day at the carnival when Tex Ewalt came to +town with the determination to kill him and show him up as an imitation. +His grievance against Elkins was petty when compared to that against +Ewalt, and he began to force the issue. As he peered over a stranded +log he caught sight of his enemy disappearing into another part of the +thicket, and two of his three shots went home. Elkins groaned with pain +and fear as he realized that his right knee-cap was broken and would +make him slow in his movements. He was lamed for life, even if he did +come out of the duel alive; lamed in the same way that Hopalong was--the +affliction he had made cruel sport of had come to him. But he had plenty +of courage and he returned the fire with remarkable quickness, his two +shots sounding almost as one. + +Hopalong wiped the blood from his cheek and wormed his way to a +new place; when half way there he called out again, “How's yore +health--Tex?” in mock sympathy. + +Elkins lied manfully and when he looked to get in another shot his enemy +was on the farther bank, moving up to get behind him. He did not know +Hopalong's new position until he raised his head to glance down over the +dried river bed, and was informed by a bullet that nicked his ear. As +he ducked, another grazed his head, the third going wild. He hazarded a +return shot, and heard Hopalong's laugh ring out again. + +“Like the story Lucas told, the best shot is going to win out this time, +too,” the Bar-20 man remarked, grimly. “You thought a game like this +would give you some chance against a better shot, didn't you? You are a +fool.” + +“It ain't over yet, not by a damned sight!” came the retort. + +“An' you thought you had a little the best of it if you stayed still an' +let me do the moving, didn't you? You'll learn something before I get +through with you: but it'll be too late to do you any good,” Hopalong +called, crouched below a hillock of sand so the other could not take +advantage of the words and single him out for a shot. + +“You can't learn me nothing, you assassin; I've got my eyes open, this +time.” He knew that he had had them open before, and that Hopalong was +in no way an assassin; but if he could enrage his enemy and sting him +into some reflex carelessness he might have the last laugh. + +Elkins' retort was wasted, for the sudden and unusual, although a +familiar sound, had caught Hopalong's ear and he was giving all his +attention to it. While he weighed it, his incredulity holding back +the decision his common sense was striving to give him, the noise grew +louder rapidly and common sense won out in a cry of warning an instant +before a five-foot wall of brown water burst upon his sight, sweeping +swiftly down the old, dry river bed; and behind it towered another and +greater wall. Tree trunks were dancing end over end in it as if they +were straws. + +“Cloud-burst!” he yelled. “Run, Tex! Run for yore life! Cloud-burst up +the valley! Run, you fool; _Run_!” + +Tex's sarcastic retort was cut short as he instinctively glanced north, +and his agonized curse lashed Hopalong forward. “Can't run--knee cap's +busted! Can't swim, can't do--ah, hell--!” + +Hopalong saw him torn from his shelter and whisked down the raging +torrent like an arrow from a bow. The Bar-20 puncher leaped from the +bank, shot under the yellow flood and arose, gasping and choking many +yards downstream, fighting madly to get the muddy water out of his +throat and eyes. As he struck out with all his strength down the +current, he caught sight of Tex being torn from a jutting tree limb, and +he shouted encouragement and swam all the harder, if such a thing +were possible. Tex's course was checked for a moment by a boiling +back-current and as he again felt the pull of the rushing stream +Hopalong's hand gripped his collar and the fight for safety began. +Whirled against logs and stumps, drawn down by the weight of his clothes +and the frantic efforts of Tex to grasp him--fighting the water and +the man he was trying to save at the same time, his head under water +as often as it was out of it, and Tex's vise-like fingers threatening +him--he headed for the west shore against powerful cross-currents that +made his efforts seem useless. He seemed to get the worst of every +break. Once, when caught by a friendly current, they were swung under +an overhanging branch, but as Hopalong's hand shot up to grasp it +a submerged bush caught his feet and pulled him under, and Tex's +steel-like arms around his throat almost suffocated him before he +managed to beat the other into insensibility and break the hold. + +“I'll let you go!” he threatened; but his hand grasped the other's +collar all the tighter and his fighting jaw was set with greater +determination than ever. + +They shot out into the main stream, where the U-bend channel joined the +short-cut, and it looked miles wide to the exhausted puncher. He was +fighting only on his will now. He would not give up, though he scarce +could lift an arm, and his lungs seemed on fire. He did not know whether +Tex was dead or alive, but he would get the body ashore with him, or +go down trying. He bumped into a log and instinctively grasped it. It +turned, and when he came up again it was bobbing five feet ahead of him. +Ages seemed to pass before he flung his numb arm over it and floated +with it. He was not alone in the flood; a coyote was pushing steadily +across his path towards the nearer bank, and on a gliding tree trunk +crouched a frightened cougar, its ears flattened and its sharp claws +dug solidly through the bark. Here and there were cattle and a snake +wriggled smoothly past him, apparently as much at home in the water as +out of it. The log turned again and he just managed to catch hold of it +as he came up for the second time. + +Things were growing black before his eyes and strange, weird ideas and +images floated through his brain. When he regained some part of his +senses he saw ahead of him a long, curling crest of yellow water and +foam, and he knew, vaguely, that it was pouring over a bar. The next +instant his feet struck bottom and he fought his way blindly and slowly, +with the stubborn determination of his kind, towards the brush-covered +point twenty feet away. + +When he opened his eyes and looked around he became conscious of +excruciating pains and he closed them again to rest. His outflung hand +struck something that made him look around again, and he saw Tex Ewalt, +face down at his side. He released his grasp on the other's collar and +slowly the whole thing came to him, and then the necessity for action, +unless he wished to lose what he had fought so hard to save. + +Anything short of the iron man Tex had become would have been dead +before this or have been finished by the mauling he now got from +Hopalong. But Tex groaned, gurgled a curse, and finally opened his eyes +upon his rescuer, who sank back with a grunt of satisfaction. Slowly his +intelligence returned as he looked steadily into Hopalong's eyes, and +with it came the realization of a strange truth: he did not hate this +man at all. Months of right living, days and nights of honest labor +shoulder to shoulder with men who respected him for his ability and +accepted him as one of themselves, had made a new man of him, although +the legacy of hatred from the old Tex had disguised him from himself +until now; but the new Tex, battered, shot-up, nearly drowned, looked at +his old enemy and saw him for the man he really was. He smiled faintly +and reached out his hand. + +“Cassidy, yo're the boss,” he said. “Shake.” + +They shook. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bar-20 Days, by Clarence E. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/4922-0.zip b/4922-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0e9509 --- /dev/null +++ b/4922-0.zip diff --git a/4922-h.zip b/4922-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7814542 --- /dev/null +++ b/4922-h.zip diff --git a/4922-h/4922-h.htm b/4922-h/4922-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8976d4a --- /dev/null +++ b/4922-h/4922-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9471 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Bar-20 Days, by Clarence E. Mulford + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bar-20 Days, by Clarence E. Mulford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bar-20 Days + +Author: Clarence E. Mulford + +Release Date: April 22, 2006 [EBook #4922] +Last Updated: March 16, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BAR-20 DAYS *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + BAR-20 DAYS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Clarence E. Mulford + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h4> + AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO “M. D.” + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>BAR-20 DAYS</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + BAR-20 DAYS + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + ON A STRANGE RANGE + </h3> + <p> + Two tired but happy punchers rode into the coast town and dismounted in + front of the best hotel. Putting up their horses as quickly as possible + they made arrangements for sleeping quarters and then hastened out to + attend to business. Buck had been kind to delegate this mission to them + and they would feel free to enjoy what pleasures the town might afford. + While at that time the city was not what it is now, nevertheless it was + capable of satisfying what demands might be made upon it by two very + active and zealous cow-punchers. Their first experience began as they left + the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, you cow-wrastlers!” said a not unpleasant voice, and they turned + suspiciously as it continued: “You've shore got to hang up them guns with + the hotel clerk while you cavorts around on this range. This is <i>fence</i> + country.” + </p> + <p> + They regarded the speaker's smiling face and twinkling eyes and laughed. + “Well, yo're the foreman if you owns that badge,” grinned Hopalong, + cheerfully. “We don't need no guns, nohow, in this town, we don't. Plumb + forgot we was toting them. But mebby you can tell us where lawyer Jeremiah + T. Jones grazes in daylight?” + </p> + <p> + “Right over yonder, second floor,” replied the marshal. “An' come to think + of it, mebby you better leave most of yore cash with the guns—somebody'll + take it away from you if you don't. It'd be an awful temptation, an' flesh + is weak.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” laughed Johnny, moving back into the hotel to leave his gun, + closely followed by Hopalong. “Anybody that can turn that little trick on + me an' Hoppy will shore earn every red cent; why, we've been to Kansas + City!” + </p> + <p> + As they emerged again Johnny slapped his pocket, from which sounded a + musical jingling. “If them weak people try anything on us, we may come + between them and <i>their</i> money!” he boasted. + </p> + <p> + “From the bottom of my heart I pity you,” called the marshal, watching + them depart, a broad smile illuminating his face. “In about twenty-four + hours they'll put up a holler for me to go git it back for 'em,” he + muttered. “An' I almost believe I'll do it, too. I ain't never seen none + of that breed what ever left a town without empty pockets an' aching heads—an' + the smarter they think they are the easier they fall.” A fleeting + expression of discontent clouded the smile, for the lure of the open range + is hard to resist when once a man has ridden free under its sky and + watched its stars. “An' I wish I was one of 'em again,” he muttered, + sauntering on. + </p> + <p> + Jeremiah T. Jones, Esq., was busy when his door opened, but he leaned back + in his chair and smiled pleasantly at their bow-legged entry, waving them + towards two chairs. Hopalong hung his sombrero on a letter press and + tipped his chair back against the wall; Johnny hung grimly to his hat, sat + stiffly upright until he noticed his companion's pose, and then, deciding + that everything was all right, and that Hopalong was better up in + etiquette than himself, pitched his sombrero dexterously over the water + pitcher and also leaned against the wall. Nobody could lose him when it + came to doing the right thing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen, you look tired and thirsty. This is considered good for + all human ailments of whatsoever nature, degree, or wheresoever located, + in part or entirety, <i>ab initio</i>,” Mr. Jones remarked, filling + glasses. There was no argument and when the glasses were empty, he + continued: “Now what can I do for you? From the Bar-20? Ah, yes; I was + expecting you. We'll get right at it,” and they did. Half an hour later + they emerged on the street, free to take in the town, or to have the town + take them in,—which was usually the case. + </p> + <p> + “What was that he said for us to keep away from?” asked Johnny with keen + interest. + </p> + <p> + “Sh! Not so loud,” chuckled Hopalong, winking prodigiously. + </p> + <p> + Johnny pulled tentatively at his upper lip but before he could reply his + companion had accosted a stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Friend, we're pilgrims in a strange land, an' we don't know the trails. + Can you tell us where the docks are?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; glad to. You'll find them at the end of this street,” and he + smilingly waved them towards the section of the town which Jeremiah T. + Jones had specifically and earnestly warned them to avoid. + </p> + <p> + “Wonder if you're as thirsty as me?” solicitously inquired Hopalong of his + companion. + </p> + <p> + “I was just wondering the same,” replied Johnny. “Say,” he confided in a + lower voice, “blamed if I don't feel sort of lost without that Colt. Every + time I lifts my right laig she goes too high—don't feel natural, + nohow.” + </p> + <p> + “Same here; I'm allus feeling to see if I lost it,” Hopalong responded. + “There ain't no rubbing, no weight, nor nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Wish I had something to put in its place, blamed if I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, now yo're talking—mebby we can buy something,” grinned + Hopalong, happily. “Here's a hardware store—come on in.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk looked up and laid aside his novel. “Good-morning, gentlemen; + what can I do for you? We've just got in some fine new rifles,” he + suggested. + </p> + <p> + The customers exchanged looks and it was Hopalong who first found his + voice. “Nope, don't want no rifles,” he replied, glancing around. “To tell + the truth, I don't know just what we do want, but we want something, all + right—got to have it. It's a funny thing, come to think of it; I + can't never pass a hardware store without going in an' buying something. + I've been told my father was the same way, so I must inherit it. It's the + same with my pardner, here, only he gets his weakness from his whole + family, and it's different from mine. He can't pass a saloon without going + in an' buying something.” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're a cheerful liar, an' you know it,” retorted Johnny. “You know the + reason why I goes in saloons so much—you'd never leave 'em if I + didn't drag you out. He inherits that weakness from his grandfather, twice + removed,” he confided to the astonished clerk, whose expression didn't + know what to express. + </p> + <p> + “Let's see: a saw?” soliloquized Hopalong. “Nope; got lots of 'em, an' + they're all genuine Colts,” he mused thoughtfully. “Axe? Nails? Augurs? + Corkscrews? Can we use a corkscrew, Johnny? Ah, thought I'd wake you up. + Now, what was it Cookie said for us to bring him? Bacon? Got any bacon? + Too bad—oh, don't apologize; it's all right. Cold chisels—that's + the thing if you ain't got no bacon. Let me see a three-pound cold chisel + about as big as that,”—extending a huge and crooked forefinger,—“an' + with a big bulge at one end. Straight in the middle, circling off into a + three-cornered wavy edge on the other side. What? Look here! You can't + tell us nothing about saloons that we don't know. I want a three-pound + cold chisel, any kind, so it's cold.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny nudged him. “How about them wedges?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-five cents a pound,” explained the clerk, groping for his + bearings. + </p> + <p> + “They might do,” Hopalong muttered, forcing the article mentioned into his + holster. “Why, they're quite hocus-pocus. You take the brother to mine, + Johnny.” + </p> + <p> + “Feels good, but I dunno,” his companion muttered. “Little wide at the + sharp end. Hey, got any loose shot?” he suddenly asked, whereat Hopalong + beamed and the clerk gasped. It didn't seem to matter whether they bought + bacon, cold chisels, wedges, or shot; yet they looked sober. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; what size?” + </p> + <p> + “Three pounds of shot, I said!” Johnny rumbled in his throat. “Never mind + what size.” + </p> + <p> + “We never care about size when we buy shot,” Hopalong smiled. “But, + Johnny, wouldn't them little screws be better?” he asked, pointing + eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Mebby; reckon we better get 'em mixed—half of each,” Johnny gravely + replied. “Anyhow, there ain't much difference.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk had been behind that counter for four years, and executing and + filling orders had become a habit with him; else he would have given them + six pounds of cold chisels and corkscrews, mixed. His mouth was still open + when he weighed out the screws. + </p> + <p> + “Mix 'em! Mix 'em!” roared Hopalong, and the stunned clerk complied, and + charged them for the whole purchase at the rate set down for screws. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong started to pour his purchase into the holster which, being open + at the bottom, gayly passed the first instalment through to the floor. He + stopped and looked appealingly at Johnny, and Johnny, in pain from holding + back screams of laughter, looked at him indignantly. Then a guileless + smile crept over Hopalong's face and he stopped the opening with a wad of + wrapping paper and disposed of the shot and screws, Johnny following his + laudable example. After haggling a moment over the bill they paid it and + walked out, to the apparent joy of the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Don't laugh, Kid; you'll spoil it all,” warned Hopalong, as he noted + signs of distress on his companion's face. “Now, then; what was it we said + about thirst? Come on; I see one already.” + </p> + <p> + Having entered the saloon and ordered, Hopalong beamed upon the bartender + and shoved his glass back again. “One more, kind stranger; it's good + stuff.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, feels like a shore-enough gun,” remarked Johnny, combining two + thoughts in one expression, which is brevity. + </p> + <p> + The bartender looked at him quickly and then stood quite still and + listened, a puzzled expression on his face. + </p> + <p> + <i>Tic—tickety-tick—tic-tic</i>, came strange sounds from the + other side of the bar. Hopalong was intently studying a chromo on the wall + and Johnny gazed vacantly out of the window. + </p> + <p> + “What's that? What in the deuce is that?” quickly demanded the man with + the apron, swiftly reaching for his bung-starter. + </p> + <p> + <i>Tickety-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic</i>, the noise went on, and Hopalong, + slowly rolling his eyes, looked at the floor. A screw rebounded and struck + his foot, while shot were rolling recklessly. + </p> + <p> + “Them's making the noise,” Johnny explained after critical survey. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it! I knowed we ought to 'a' got them wedges!” Hopalong exclaimed, + petulantly, closing the bottom of the sheath. “Why, I won't have no gun + left soon 'less I holds it in.” The complaint was plaintive. + </p> + <p> + “Must be filtering through the stopper,” Johnny remarked. “But don't it + sound nice, especially when it hits that brass cuspidor!” + </p> + <p> + The bartender, grasping the mallet even more firmly, arose on his toes and + peered over the bar, not quite sure of what he might discover. He had read + of infernal machines although he had never seen one. “What the blazes!” he + exclaimed in almost a whisper; and then his face went hard. “You get out + of here, quick! You've had too much already! I've seen drunks, but—G'wan! + Get out!” + </p> + <p> + “But we ain't begun yet,” Hopalong interposed hastily. “You see—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what I see! I'd hate to see what you'll be seeing before long. + God help you when you finish!” rather impolitely interrupted the + bartender. He waved the mallet and made for the end of the counter with no + hesitancy and lots of purpose in his stride. “G'wan, now! Get out!” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Johnny; I'd shoot him only we didn't put no powder with the + shot,” Hopalong remarked sadly, leading the way out of the saloon and + towards the hardware store. + </p> + <p> + “You better get out!” shouted the man with the mallet, waving the weapon + defiantly. “An' don't you never come back again, neither,” he warned. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, it leaked,” Hopalong said pleasantly as he closed the door of the + hardware store behind him, whereupon the clerk jumped and reached for the + sawed-off shotgun behind the counter. Sawed-off shotguns are great + institutions for arguing at short range, almost as effective as dynamite + in clearing away obstacles. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you come no nearer!” he cried, white of face. “You git out, or I'll + let <i>this</i> leak, an' give you <i>all</i> shot, an' more than you can + carry!” + </p> + <p> + “Easy! Easy there, pardner; we want them wedges,” Hopalong replied, + somewhat hurriedly. “The others ain't no good; I choked on the very first + screw. Why, I wouldn't hurt you for the world,” Hopalong assured him, + gazing interestedly down the twin tunnels. + </p> + <p> + Johnny leaned over a nail keg and loosed the shot and screws into it, + smiling with childlike simplicity as he listened to the tintinnabulation + of the metal shower among the nails. “It <i>does</i> drop when you let go + of it,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you it would? I allus said so,” replied Hopalong, looking + back to the clerk and the shotgun. “Didn't I, stranger?” + </p> + <p> + The clerk's reply was a guttural rumbling, ninety per cent profanity, and + Hopalong, nodding wisely, picked up two wedges. “Johnny, here's yore gun. + If this man will stop talking to hisself and drop that lead-sprayer long + enough to take our good money, we'll wear em.” + </p> + <p> + He tossed a gold coin on the table, and the clerk, still holding tightly + to the shotgun, tossed the coin into the cash box and cautiously slid the + change across the counter. Hopalong picked up the money and, emptying his + holster into the nail keg, followed his companion to the street, in turn + followed slowly by the suspicious clerk. The door slammed shut behind + them, the bolt shot home, and the clerk sat down on a box and cogitated. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong hooked his arm through Johnny's and started down the street. “I + wonder what that feller thinks about us, anyhow. I'm glad Buck sent Red + over to El Paso instead of us. Won't he be mad when we tell him all the + fun we've had?” he asked, grinning broadly. + </p> + <p> + They were to meet Red at Dent's store on the way back and ride home + together. + </p> + <p> + They were strangely clad for their surroundings, the chaps glaringly out + of place in the Seaman's Port, and winks were exchanged by the regular <i>habitues</i> + when the two punchers entered the room and called for drinks. They were + very tired and a little under the weather, for they had made the most of + their time and spent almost all of their money; but any one counting on + robbing them would have found them sober enough to look out for + themselves. Night had found them ready to go to the hotel, but on the way + they felt that they must have one more bracer, and finish their + exploration of Jeremiah T. Jones' tabooed section. The town had begun to + grow wearisome and they were vastly relieved when they realized that the + rising sun would see them in the saddle and homeward bound, headed for + God's country, which was the only place for cow-punchers after all. + </p> + <p> + “Long way from the home port, ain't you, mates?” queried a tar of + Hopalong. Another seaman went to the bar to hold a short, whispered + consultation with the bartender, who at first frowned and then finally + nodded assent. + </p> + <p> + “Too far from home, if that's what yo're driving at,” Hopalong replied. + “Blast these hard trails—my feet are shore on the prod. Ever meet my + side pardner? Johnny, here's a friend of mine, a salt-water puncher, an' + he's welcome to the job, too.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny turned his head ponderously and nodded. “Pleased to meet you, + stranger. An' what'll you all have?” + </p> + <p> + “Old Holland, mate,” replied the other, joining them. + </p> + <p> + “All up!” invited Hopalong, waving them forward. “Might as well do things + right or not at all. Them's my sentiments, which I holds as proper. Plain + rye, general, if you means me,” he replied to the bartender's look of + inquiry. + </p> + <p> + He drained the glass and then made a grimace. “Tastes a little off—reckon + it's my mouth; nothing tastes right in this cussed town. Now, up on our—” + He stopped and caught at the bar. “Holy smoke! That's shore alcohol!” + </p> + <p> + Johnny was relaxing and vainly trying to command his will power. + “Something's wrong; what's the matter?” he muttered sleepily. + </p> + <p> + “Guess you meant beer; you ain't used to drinking whiskey,” grinned the + bartender, derisively, and watching him closely. + </p> + <p> + “I can—drink as much whiskey as—” and, muttering, Johnny + slipped to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “That wasn't whiskey!” cried Hopalong, sleepily, “that liquor was <i>fixed</i>!” + he shouted, sudden anger bracing him. “An' I'm going to fix <i>you</i>, + too!” he added, reaching for his gun, and drawing forth a wedge. His + sailor friend leaped at him, to go down like a log, and Hopalong, seething + with rage, wheeled and threw the weapon at the man behind the bar, who + also went down. The wedge, glancing from his skull, swept a row of bottles + and glasses from the shelf and, caroming, went through the window. + </p> + <p> + In an instant Hopalong was the vortex of a mass of struggling men and, + handicapped as he was, fought valiantly, his rage for the time + neutralizing the effects of the drug. But at last, too sleepy to stand or + think, he, too, went down. + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord, that man's a fighter!” enthusiastically remarked the leader, + gently touching his swollen eye. “George must 'a' put an awful dose in + that grog.” + </p> + <p> + “Lucky for us he didn't have no gun—the wedge was bad enough,” + groaned a man on the floor, slowly sitting up. “Whoever swapped him that + wedge for his gun did us a good turn, all right.” + </p> + <p> + A companion tentatively readjusted his lip. “I don't envy Wilkins his job + breaking in that man when he gets awake.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't waste no time, mates,” came the order. “Up with 'em an' aboard. + We've done our share; let the mate do his, an' be hanged. Hullo, + Portsmouth; coming around, eh?” he asked the man who had first felt the + wedge. “I was scared you was done for that time.” + </p> + <p> + “No more shanghaiing hair pants for me, no more!” thickly replied + Portsmouth. “Oh, my head, it's bust open!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind about the bartender—let him alone; we can't waste no + time with him now!” commanded the leader sharply. “Get these fellers on + board before we're caught with 'em. We want our money after that.” + </p> + <p> + “All clear!” came a low call from the lookout at the door, and soon a + shadowy mass surged across the street and along a wharf. There was a short + pause as a boat emerged out of the gloom, some whispered orders, and then + the squeaking of oars grew steadily fainter in the direction of a ship + which lay indistinct in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + THE REBOUND + </h3> + <p> + A man moaned and stirred restlessly in a bunk, muttering incoherently. A + stampeded herd was thundering over him, the grinding hoofs beating him + slowly to death. He saw one mad steer stop and lower its head to gore him + and just as the sharp horns touched his skin, he awakened. Slowly opening + his bloodshot eyes he squinted about him, sick, weak, racking with pain + where heavy shoes had struck him in the melee, his head reverberating with + roars which seemed almost to split it open. Slowly he regained his full + senses and began to make out his surroundings. He was in a bunk which + moved up and down, from side to side, and was never still. There was a + small, round window near his feet—thank heaven it was open, for he + was almost suffocated by the foul air and the heat. Where was he? What had + happened? Was there a salty odor in the air, or was he still dreaming? + Painfully raising himself on one elbow he looked around and caught sight + of a man in the bunk across. It was Johnny Nelson! Then, bit by bit, the + whole thing came to him and he cursed heartily as he reviewed it and + reached the only possible conclusion. He was at sea! He, Hopalong Cassidy, + the best fighting unit of a good fighting outfit, shanghaied and at sea! + Drugged, beaten, and stolen to labor on a ship. + </p> + <p> + Johnny was muttering and moaning and Hopalong slowly climbed out of the + narrow bunk, unsteadily crossed the moving floor, and shook him. “Reckon + he's in a stampede, too!” he growled. “They shore raised h—l with + us. Oh, what a beating we got! But we'll pass it along with trimmings.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny's eyes opened and he looked around in confusion. “Wha', Hopalong!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it's me, the prize idiot of a blamed good pair of 'em. How'd you + feel?” + </p> + <p> + “Sleepy an' sick. My eyes ache an' my head's splitting. Where's Buck an' + the rest?” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong sat down on the edge of the bunk and sore luridly, eloquently, + beautifully, with a fervor and polish which left nothing to be desired in + that line, and caused his companion to gaze at him in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I had a mighty bad dream, but you must 'a' had one a whole lot worse, to + listen to you,” Johnny remarked. “Gee, you're going some! What's the + matter with you. You sick, too?” + </p> + <p> + Thereupon Hopalong unfolded the tale of woe and when Johnny had grasped + its import and knew that his dream had been a stern reality, he + straightway loosed his vocabulary and earned a draw. “Well, I'm going back + again,” he finished, with great decision, arising to make good his + assertion. + </p> + <p> + “Swim or walk?” asked Hopalong nonchalantly. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! Oh, Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ain't going to either swim or walk,” Hopalong soliloquized. “I'm + just going to stay right here in this one-by-nothing cellar an' spoil the + health an' good looks of any pirate that comes down that ladder to get me + out.” He looked around, interested in life once more, and his trained eye + grasped the strategic worth of their position. “Only one at a time, an' + down that ladder,” he mused, thoughtfully. “Why, Johnny, we owns this + range as long as we wants to. They can't get us out. But, say, if only we + had our guns!” he sighed, regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “You're right as far as you go; but you don't go to the eating part. We'll + starve, an' we ain't got no water. I can drink about a bucketful right + now,” moodily replied his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yo're right; but mebby we can find food an' water.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't see no signs of none. Hey!” Johnny exclaimed, smiling faintly in + his misery. “Let's get busy an' burn the cussed thing up! Got any + matches?” + </p> + <p> + “First you want to drown yoreself swimming, an' now you want to roast the + pair of us to death,” Hopalong retorted, eyeing the rear wall of the room. + “Wonder what's on the other side of that partition?” + </p> + <p> + Johnny looked. “Why, water; an' lots of it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Naw; the water is on the other sides.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how do I know?—sh! I hear somebody coming on the roof.” + </p> + <p> + “Tumble back in yore bunk—quick!” Hopalong hurriedly whispered. “Be + asleep—if he comes down here it'll be our deal.” + </p> + <p> + The steps overhead stopped at the companionway and a shadow appeared + across the small patch of sunlight on the floor of the forecastle. “Tumble + up here, you blasted loafers!” roared a deep voice. + </p> + <p> + No reply came from the forecastle—the silence was unbroken. + </p> + <p> + “If I have to come down there I'll—” the first mate made promises in + no uncertain tones and in very impolite language. He listened for a + moment, and having very good ears and hearing nothing, made more promises + and came down the ladder quickly and nimbly. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I'll</i> bring you to,” he muttered, reaching a brawny hand for + Hopalong's nose, and missing. But he made contact with his own face, which + stopped a short-arm blow from the owner of the aforesaid nose, a jolt full + of enthusiasm and purpose. Beautiful and dazzling flashes of fire filled + the air and just then something landed behind his ear and prolonged the + pyrotechnic display. When the skyrockets went up he lost interest in the + proceedings and dropped to the floor like a bag of meal. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong cut another piece from the rope in his hand and watched his + companion's busy fingers. “Tie him good, Johnny; he's the only ace we've + drawn in this game so far, an' we mustn't lose him.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny tied an extra knot for luck and leaned forward, his eyes riveted on + the bump under the victim's coat. His darting hand brought into sight that + which pleased him greatly. “Oh, joy! Here, Hoppy; you take it.” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong turned the weapon over in his hand, spun the cylinder and + gloated, the clicking sweet music to his ears. “Plumb full, too! I never + reckoned I'd ever be so tickled over a snub-nosed gun like this—but + I feel like singing!” + </p> + <p> + “An' I feel like dying,” grunted Johnny, grabbing at his stomach. “If the + blamed shack would only stand still!” he groaned, gazing at the floor with + strong disgust. “I don't reckon I've ever been so blamed sick in all my—” + the sentence was unfinished, for the open porthole caught his eye and he + leaped forward to use it for a collar. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong gazed at him in astonishment and sudden pity took possession of + him as his pallid companion left the porthole and faced him. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have something to eat, Kid—I'm purty hungry myself—what + the blazes!” he exclaimed, for Johnny's protesting wail was finished + outside the port. Then a light broke upon him and he wondered how soon it + would be his turn to pay tribute to Neptune. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wilkins!” shouted a voice from the deck, and Hopalong moved back a + step. “Mr. Wilkins!” After a short silence the voice soliloquized: “Guess + he changed his mind about it; I'll get 'em up for him,” and feet came into + view. When halfway down the ladder the second mate turned his head and + looked blankly down a gun barrel while a quiet but angry voice urged him + further: “Keep a-coming, keep a-coming!” The second mate complained, but + complied. + </p> + <p> + “Stick 'em up higher—now, Johnny, wobble around behind the nice man + an' take <i>his</i> gun—you shut yore yap! I'm bossing this trick, + not you. Got it, Kid? There's the rope—that's right. Nobody'd think + you sick to see you work. Well, that's a good draw; but it's only a pair + of aces against a full, at that. Wonder who'll be the next. Hope it's the + foreman.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny, keeping up by sheer grit, pointed to the rear wall. “What about + that?” + </p> + <p> + For reply his companion walked over to it, put his shoulder to it and + pushed. He stepped back and hurled his weight against it, but it was firm + despite its squeaking protest. Then he examined it foot by foot and found + a large knot, which he drove in by a blow of the gun. Bending, he squinted + through the opening for a full minute and then reported: + </p> + <p> + “Purty black in there at this end, but up at the other there's a light + from a hole in the roof, an' I could see boxes an' things like that. I + reckon it's the main cellar.” + </p> + <p> + “If we could get out at the other end with that gun you've got we could + raise blazes for a while,” suggested Johnny. “Anyhow, mebby they can come + at us that way when they find out what we've gone an' done.” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're right,” Hopalong replied, looking around. Seeing an iron bar he + procured it and, pushing it through the knot hole in the partition, + pulled. The board, splitting and cracking under the attack, finally broke + from its fastenings with a sharp report, and Hopalong, pulling it aside, + stepped out of sight of his companion. Johnny was grinning at the success + of his plan when he was interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Ahoy, down there!” yelled a stentorian voice from above. “Mr. Wilkins! + What the devil are you doing so long?” and after a very short wait other + feet came into sight. Just then the second mate, having managed to slip + off the gag, shouted warning: + </p> + <p> + “Look out, Captain! They've got us and our guns! One of them has—” + but Johnny's knee thudded into his chest and ended the sentence as a + bullet sent a splinter flying from under the captain's foot. + </p> + <p> + “Hang these guns!” Johnny swore, and quickly turned to secure the gag in + the mouth of the offending second mate. “You make any more yaps like that + an' I'll wing you for keeps with yore own gun!” he snapped. “We're caught + in yore trap an' we'll fight to a finish. You'll be the first to go under + if you gets any smart.” + </p> + <p> + “Ahoy, men!” roared the captain in a towering rage, dancing frantically + about on the deck and shouting for the crew to join him. He filled the air + with picturesque profanity and stamped and yelled in passion at such rank + mutiny. + </p> + <p> + “Hand grenades! Hand grenades!” he cried. Then he remembered that his two + mates were also below and would share in the mutineers' fate, and his rage + increased at his galling helplessness. When he had calmed sufficiently to + think clearly he realized that it was certain death for any one to attempt + going down the ladder, and that his must be a waiting game. He glanced at + his crew, thirteen good men, all armed with windlass bars and belaying + pins, and gave them orders. Two were to watch the hatch and break the + first head to appear, while the others returned to work. Hunger and thirst + would do the rest. And what joy would be his when they were forced to + surrender! + </p> + <p> + Hopalong groped his way slowly towards the patch of light, barking his + shins, stumbling and falling over the barrels and crates and finally, + losing his footing at a critical moment, tumbled down upon a box marked + “Cotton.” There was a splintering crash and the very faint clink of metal. + Dazed and bruised, he sat up and felt of himself—and found that he + had lost his gun in the fall. + </p> + <p> + “Now, where in blazes did it fly to?” he muttered angrily, peering about + anxiously. His eyes suddenly opened their widest and he stared in surprise + at a field gun which covered him; and then he saw parts of two more. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! Is this a gunboat?” he cried. “Are we up against bluejackets + an' Uncle Sam?” He glanced quickly back the way he had come when he heard + Johnny's shot, but he could see nothing. He figured that Johnny had sense + enough to call for help if he needed it, and put that possibility out of + his mind. “Naw, this ain't no gunboat—the Government don't steal + men; it enlists 'em. But it's a funny pile of junk, all the same. Where in + blazes is that toy gun? <i>Well</i>, I'll be hanged!” and he plunged + toward the “Cotton” box he had burst in his descent, and worked at it + frantically. + </p> + <p> + “Winchesters! Winchesters!” he cried, dragging out two of them. “Whoop! + Now for the cartridges—there shore must be some to go with these + guns!” He saw a keg marked “Nails,” and managed to open it after great + labor—and found it full of army Colts. Forcing down the desire to + turn a handspring, he slipped one of the six-shooters in his empty holster + and patted it lovingly. “Old friend, I'm shore glad to see you, all right. + You've been used, but that don't make no difference.” Searching further, + he opened a full box of <i>machetes</i>, and soon after found cartridges + of many kinds and calibres. It took him but a few minutes to make his + selection and cram his pockets with them. Then he filled two Colts and two + Winchesters—and executed a short jig to work off the dangerous + pressure of his exuberance. + </p> + <p> + “But what an unholy lot of weapons,” he soliloquized on his way back to + Johnny. “An' they're all second-hand. Cannons, too—an' <i>machetes</i>!” + he exclaimed, suddenly understanding. “Jumping Jerusalem!—a + filibustering expedition bound for Cuba, or one of them wildcat republics + down south! Oh, ho, my friends; I see where you have bit off more'n you + can chew.” In his haste to impart the joyous news to his companion, he + barked his shins shamefully. + </p> + <p> + “'Way down south in the land o' cotton, cinnamon seed an''—whoa, + blast you!” and Hopalong stuck his head through the opening in the + partition and grinned. “Heard you shoot, Kid; I reckoned you might need me—an' + these!” he finished, looking fondly upon the weapons as he shoved them + into the forecastle. + </p> + <p> + Johnny groaned and held his stomach, but his eyes lighted up when he saw + the guns, and he eagerly took one of each kind, a faint smile wreathing + his lips. “Now we'll show these water snakes what kind of men they stole,” + he threatened. + </p> + <p> + Up on the deck the choleric captain still stamped and swore, and his crew, + with well-concealed mirth, went about their various duties as if they were + accustomed to have shanghaied men act this way. They sympathized with the + unfortunate pair, realizing how they themselves would feel if shanghaied + to break broncos. + </p> + <p> + Hogan, A. B., stated the feelings of his companions very well in his + remarks to the men who worked alongside: “In me hear-rt I'm dommed glad av + it, Yensen. I hope they bate the old man at his own game. 'T is a shame in + these days for honest men to be took in that unlawful way. I've heard me + father tell of the press gangs on the other side, an' 't is small + business.” + </p> + <p> + Yensen looked up to reply, chanced to glance aft, and dropped his calking + iron in his astonishment. “Yumping Yimminy! Luk at dat fallar!” + </p> + <p> + Hogan looked. “The deuce! That's a man after me own heat-rt! Kape yore + pagan mouth shut! If ye take a hand agin 'em I'll swab up the deck wid + yez. G'wan wor-rking like a sane man, ye ijit!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay ent ban fight wit dat fallar! Luk at the gun!” + </p> + <p> + A man had climbed out of the after hatch and was walking rapidly towards + them, a rifle in his hands, while at his thigh swung a Colt. He watched + the two seamen closely and caught sight of Hogan's twinkling blue eyes, + and a smile quivered about his mouth. Hogan shut and opened one eye and + went on working. + </p> + <p> + As soon as Hopalong caught sight of the captain, the rifle went up and he + announced his presence without loss of time. “Throw up yore hands, you + pole-cat! I'm running this ranch from now on!” + </p> + <p> + The captain wheeled with a jerk and his mouth opened, and then clicked + shut as he started forward, his rage acting galvanically. But he stopped + quickly enough when he looked down the barrel of the Winchester and glared + at the cool man behind it. + </p> + <p> + “What the blank are you doing?” he yelled. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ain't kidnapping cow-punchers to steal my boat,” replied + Hopalong. “An' you fellers stand still or I'll drop you cold!” he ordered + to the assembled and restless crew. “Johnny!” he shouted, and his + companion popped up through the hatch like a jack-in-the-box. “Good boy, + Johnny. Tie this coyote foreman like you did the others,” he ordered. + While Johnny obeyed, Hopalong looked around the circle, and his eyes + rested on Hogan's face, studying it, and found something there which + warmed his heart. “Friend, do you know the back trail? Can you find that + runt of a town we left?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, aye.” + </p> + <p> + “Shore, you; who'd you think I was talking to? Can you find the way back, + the way we came?” + </p> + <p> + “Shure an' I can that, if I'm made to.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll swing for mutiny if you do, you bilge-wallering pirate!” roared + the trussed captain. “Take that gun away from him, d'ye hear!” he yelled + at the crew. “I'm captain of this ship, an' I'll hang every last one of + you if you don't obey orders! This is mutiny!” + </p> + <p> + “You won't do no hanging with that load of weapons below!” retorted + Hopalong. “Uncle Sam is looking for filibusters—this here gun is + 'cotton,'” he said, grinning. He turned to the crew. “But you fellers are + due to get shot if you sees her through,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “I'm captain of this ship—” began the helpless autocrat. + </p> + <p> + “You shore look like it, all right,” Hopalong replied, smiling. “If yo're + the captain you order her turned around and headed over the back trail, or + I'll drop you overboard off yore own ship!” Then fierce anger at the + thought of the indignities and injuries he and his companion had suffered + swept over him and prompted a one-minute speech which left no doubt as to + what he would do if his demand was not complied with. Johnny, now free to + watch the crew, added a word or two of endorsement, and he acted a little + as if he rather hoped it would not be complied with: he itched for an + excuse. + </p> + <p> + The captain did some quick thinking; the true situation could not be + disguised, and with a final oath of rage he gave in. “'Bout ship, Hogan; + nor' by nor'west,” he growled, and the seaman started away to execute the + command, but was quickly stopped by Hopalong. + </p> + <p> + “Hogan, is that right?” he demanded. “No funny business, or we'll clean up + the whole bunch, an' blamed quick, too!” + </p> + <p> + “That's the course, sor. That's the way back to town. I can navigate, an' + me orders are plain. Ye're Irish, by the way av ye, and 't is back to town + ye go, sor!” He turned to the crew: “Stand by, me boys.” And in a short + time the course was nor' by nor'west. + </p> + <p> + The return journey was uneventful and at nightfall the ship lay at anchor + off the low Texas coast, and a boat loaded with men grounded on the sandy + beach. Four of them arose and leaped out into the mild surf and dragged + the boat as high up on the sand as it would go. Then the two cow-punchers + followed and one of them gave a low-spoken order to the Irishman at his + side. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sor,” replied Hogan, and hastened to help the captain out onto the + sand and to cut the ropes which bound him. “Do ye want the mates, too, + sor?” he asked, glancing at the trussed men in the boat. + </p> + <p> + “No; the foreman's enough,” Hopalong responded, handing his weapons to + Johnny and turning to face the captain, who was looking into Johnny's gun + as he rubbed his arms to restore perfect circulation. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you flat-faced coyote, yo're going to get the beating of yore life, + an' I'm going to give it to you!” Hopalong cried, warily advancing upon + the man whom he held to be responsible for the miseries of the past + twenty-four hours. “You didn't give me a square deal, but I'm man enough + to give you one! When you drug an' steal any more cow-punchers—” + action stopped his words. + </p> + <p> + It was a great fight. A filibustering sea captain is no more peaceful than + a wild boar and about as dangerous; and while this one was not at his + best, neither was Hopalong. The latter luckily had acquired some knowledge + of the rudiments of the game and had the vigor of youth to oppose to the + captain's experience and his infuriated but well-timed rushes. The seamen, + for the honor of their calling and perhaps with a mind to the future, + cheered on the captain and danced up and down in their delight and + excitement. They had a lot of respect for the prowess of their master, and + for the man who could stand up against him in a fair and square fist + fight. To give assistance to either in a fair fight was not to be thought + of, and Johnny's gun was sufficient after-excuse for non-interference. + </p> + <p> + The <i>sop! sop!</i> of the punishing blows as they got home and the + steady circling of Hopalong in avoiding the dangerous attacks, went on + minute after minute. Slowly the captain's strength was giving out, and he + resorted to trickery as his last chance. Retreating, he half raised his + arms and lowered them as if weary, ready as a cat to strike with all his + weight if the other gave an opening. It ought to have worked—it had + worked before—but Hopalong was there to win, and without the + momentary hesitation of the suspicious fighter he followed the retreat and + his hard hand flashed in over the captain's guard a fraction of a second + sooner than that surprised gentleman anticipated. The ferocious frown gave + way to placid peace and the captain reclined at the feet of the battered + victor, who stood waiting for him to get up and fight. The captain lay + without a sign of movement and as Hopalong wondered, Hogan was the first + to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Fer the love av hiven, let him be! Ye needn't wait—he's done; I + know by the sound av it!” he exclaimed, stepping forward. “'T was a purty + blow, an' 't was a gr-rand foight ye put up, sor! A gr-rand foight, but + any more av that is murder! 'T is an Irishman's game, sor, an' ye did + yersilf proud. But now let him be—no man, least av all a Dootchman, + iver tuk more than that an' lived!” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong looked at him and slowly replied between swollen lips, “Yo're + right, Hogan; we're square now, I reckon.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right, sor,” Hogan replied, and turned to his companions. “Put him + in the boat; an' mind ye handle him gintly—we'll be sailing under + him soon. Now, sor, if it's yer pleasure, I'll be after saying good-bye to + ye, sor; an' to ye, too,” he said, shaking hands with both punches. “Fer a + sick la-ad ye're a wonder, ye are that,” he smiled at Johnny, “but ye want + to kape away from the water fronts. Good-bye to ye both, an' a pleasant + journey home. The town is tin miles to me right, over beyant them hills.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Hogan,” mumbled Hopalong gratefully. “Yo're square all the way + through; an' if you ever get out of a job or in any kind of trouble that I + can help you out of, come up to the Bar-20 an' you won't have to ask + twice. Good luck!” And the two sore and aching punchers, wiser in the ways + of the world, plodded doggedly towards the town, ten miles away. + </p> + <p> + The next morning found them in the saddle, bound for Dent's hotel and + store near the San Miguel Canyon. When they arrived at their destination + and Johnny found there was some hours to wait for Red, his restlessness + sent him roaming about the country, not so much “seeking what he might + devour” as hoping something might seek to devour him. He was so sore over + his recent kidnapping that he longed to find a salve. He faithfully + promised Hopalong that he would return at noon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + DICK MARTIN STARTS SOMETHING + </h3> + <p> + Dick Martin slowly turned, leaned his back against the bar, and languidly + regarded a group of Mexicans at the other end of the room. Singly, or in + combinations of two or more, each was imparting all he knew, or thought he + knew about the ghost of San Miguel Canyon. Their fellow-countryman, new to + the locality, seemed properly impressed. That it was the ghost of Carlos + Martinez, murdered nearly one hundred years before at the big bend in the + canyon, was conceded by all; but there was a dispute as to why it showed + itself only on Friday nights, and why it was never seen by any but a + Mexican. Never had a Gringo seen it. The Mexican stranger was appealed to: + Did this not prove that the murder had been committed by a Mexican? The + stranger affected to consider the question. + </p> + <p> + Martin surveyed them with outward impassiveness and inward contempt. A + realist, a cynic, and an absolute genius with a Colt .45, he was well + known along the border for his dare-devil exploits and reckless courage. + The brainiest men in the Secret Service, Lewis, Thomas, Sayre, and even + old Jim Lane, the local chief, whose fingers at El Paso felt every + vibration along the Rio Grande, were not as well known—except to + those who had seen the inside of Government penitentiaries—and they + were quite satisfied to be so eclipsed. But the Service knew of the ghost, + as it knew everything pertaining to the border, and gave it no serious + thought; if it took interest in all the ghosts and superstitions peculiar + to the Mexican temperament it would have no time for serious work. Martin + once, in a spirit of savage denial, had wasted the better part of several + successive Friday nights in the San Miguel, but to no avail. When told + that the ghost showed itself only to Mexicans he had shrugged his + shoulders eloquently and laughed, also eloquently. + </p> + <p> + “A Greaser,” he replied, “is one-half fear and superstition, an' the other + half imagination. There ain't no ghosts, but I know the <i>Greasers</i> + have seen 'em, all right. A Greaser can see anything scary if he makes up + his mind to. If <i>I</i> ever see one an' he keeps on being one after I + shoot, I'll either believe in ghosts, or quit drinking.” His eyes twinkled + as he added: “An' of the two, I think I'd <i>prefer</i> to see ghosts!” + </p> + <p> + He was flushed and restless with deviltry. His fifth glass always made him + so; and to-night there was an added stimulus. He believed the strange + Mexican to be Juan Alvarez, who was so clever that the Government had + never been able to convict him. Alvarez was fearless to recklessness and + Martin, eager to test him, addressed the group with the blunt terseness + for which he was famed, and hated. + </p> + <p> + “Greasers are cowards,” he asserted quietly, and with a smile which + invited excitement. He took a keen delight in analyzing the expressions on + the faces of those hit. It was one of his favorite pastimes when feeling + coltish. + </p> + <p> + The group was shocked into silence, quickly followed by great unrest and + hot, muttered words. Martin did not move a muscle, the smile was set, but + between the half-closed eyelids crouched Combat, on its toes. The Mexicans + knew it was there without looking for it—the tone of his voice, the + caressing purr of his words, and his unnatural languor were signs well + known to them. Not a criminal sneaking back from voluntary banishment in + Mexico who had seen those signs ever forgot them, if he lived. Martin + watched the group cat-like, keenly scrutinizing each face, reading the + changing emotions in every shifting expression; he had this art down so + well that he could tell when a man was debating the pull of a gun, and + beat him on the draw by a fraction of a second. + </p> + <p> + “De senor ees meestak,” came the reply, as quiet and caressing as the + words which provoked it. The strange Mexican was standing proudly and + looking into the squinting eyes with only a grayness of face and a + tigerish litheness to tell what he felt. + </p> + <p> + “None go through the canyon after dark on Fridays,” purred Martin. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> go tro' de canyon nex' Friday night. Eef I do, then you mak + apology to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll limit my remark to all but one Greaser.” + </p> + <p> + The Mexican stepped forward. “I tak' thees gloove an' leave eet at de Beeg + Ben', for you to fin' in daylight,” he said, tapping one of Martin's + gauntlets which lay on the bar. “You geev' me eet befo' I go?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; at nine o'clock to-morrow night,” Martin replied, hiding his + elation. He was sure that he knew the man now. + </p> + <p> + The Mexican, cool and smiling, bowed and left the room, his companions + hastening after him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll bet twenty-five dollars he flunks!” breathed the bartender, + straightening up. + </p> + <p> + Martin turned languidly and smiled at him. “I'll take that, Charley,” he + replied. + </p> + <p> + Johnny Nelson was always late, and on this occasion he was later than + usual. He was to have joined Hopalong and Red, if Red had arrived, at + Dent's at noon the day before, and now it was after nine o'clock at night + as he rode through San Felippe without pausing and struck east for the + canyon. The dropping trail down the canyon was serious enough in broad + daylight, but at night to attempt its passage was foolhardy, unless one + knew every turn and slant by heart, which Johnny did not. He was + thirty-three hours late now, and he was determined to make up what he + could in the next three. + </p> + <p> + When Johnny left Hopalong at Dent's he had given his word to be back on + time and not to keep his companions waiting, for Red might be on time and + he would chafe if he were delayed. But, alas for Johnny's good intentions, + his course took him through a small Mexican hamlet in which lived a + senorita of remarkable beauty and rebellious eyes; and Johnny tarried in + the town most of the day, riding up and down the streets, practising the + nice things he would say if he met her. She watched him from the heavily + draped window, and sighed as she wondered if her dashing Americano would + storm the house and carry her off like the knights of old. Finally he had + to turn away with heavy and reluctant heart, promising himself that he + would return when no petulant and sarcastic companions were waiting for + him. Then—ah! what dreams youth knows. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour ahead of him on another trail rode Juan, smiling with + satisfaction. He had come to San Felippe to get a look at the canyon on + Friday nights, and Martin had given him an excuse entirely unexpected. For + this he was truly grateful, even while he knew that the American had tried + to pick a quarrel with him and thus rid the border of a man entirely too + clever for the good of customs receipts; and failing in that, had hoped + the treacherous canyon trail would gain that end in another manner. Old + Jim Lane's fingers touched wires not one whit more sensitive than those + which had sent Juan Alvarez to look over the San Miguel—and Lane's + wires had been slow this time. When Juan had left the saloon the night + before and had seen Manuel slip away from the group and ride off into the + north, he had known that the ghost would show itself the following night. + </p> + <p> + But Juan was to be disappointed. He was still some distance from the + canyon when a snarling bulk landed on the haunches of his horse. He jerked + loose his gun and fired twice and then knew nothing. When he opened his + eyes he lay quietly, trying to figure it out with a head throbbing with + pain from his fall. The cougar must have been desperate for food to attack + a man. He moved his foot and struck something soft and heavy. His shots + had been lucky, but they had not saved him his horse and a sprained arm + and leg. There would be no gauntlet found at the Big Bend at daylight. + </p> + <p> + When Johnny Nelson reached the twin boulders marking the beginning of the + sloping run where the trail pitched down, he grinned happily at sight of + the moon rising over the low hills and then grabbed at his holster, while + every hair in his head stood up curiously. A wild, haunting, feminine + scream arose to a quavering soprano and sobbed away into silence. No words + can adequately describe the unearthly wail in that cry and it took a full + half-minute for Johnny to become himself again and to understand what it + was. Once more it arose, nearer, and Johnny peered into the shadows along + a rough backbone of rock, his Colt balanced in his half-raised hand. + </p> + <p> + “You come 'round me an' you'll get hurt,” he muttered, straining his eyes + to peer into the blackness of the shadows. “Come on out, Soft-foot; the + moon's yore finish. You an' me will have it out right here an' now—I + don't want no cougar trailing me through that ink-black canyon on a + two-foot ledge—” he thought he saw a shadow glide across a dim patch + of moonlight, but when his smoke rifted he knew he had missed. “Damn it! + You've got a mate 'round here somewhere,” he complained. “Well, I'll have + to chance it, anyhow. Come on, bronc! Yo're shaking like a leaf—get + out of this!” + </p> + <p> + When he began to descend into the canyon he allowed his horse to pick its + own way without any guidance from him, and gave all of his attention to + the trail behind him. The horse could get along better by itself in the + dark, and it was more than possible that one or two lithe cougars might be + slinking behind him on velvet paws. The horse scraped along gingerly, + feeling its way step by step, and sending stones rattling and clattering + down the precipice at his left to tinkle into the stream at the bottom. + </p> + <p> + “Gee, but I wish I'd not wasted so much time,” muttered the rider + uneasily. “This here canyon-cougar combination is the worst <i>I</i> ever + butted up against. I'll never be late again, not never; not for all the + girls in the world. Easy, bronc,” he cautioned, as he felt the animal slip + and quiver. “Won't this trail ever start going up again?” he growled + petulantly, taking his eyes off the black back trail, where no amount of + scrutiny showed him anything, and turned in the saddle to peer ahead—and + a yell of surprise and fear burst from him, while chills ran up and down + his spine. An unearthly, piercing shriek suddenly rang out and filled the + canyon with ear-splitting uproar and a glowing, sheeted half-figure of a + man floated and danced twenty feet from him and over the chasm. He jerked + his gun and fired, but only once, for his mount had its own ideas about + some things and this particular one easily headed the list. The startled + rider grabbed reins and pommel, his blood congealed with fear of the + precipice less than a foot from his side, and he gave all his attention to + the horse. But scared as he was he heard, or thought that he heard, a + peculiar sound when he fired, and he would have sworn that he hit the mark—the + striking of the bullet was not drowned in the uproar and he would never + forget the sound of that impact. He rounded Big Bend as if he were coming + up to the judge's stand, and when he struck the upslant of the emerging + trail he had made a record. Cold sweat beaded his forehead and he was + trembling from head to foot when he again rode into the moonlight on the + level plain, where he tried to break another record. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + JOHNNY ARRIVES + </h3> + <p> + Meanwhile Hopalong and Red quarrelled petulantly and damned the erring + Johnny with enthusiastic abandon, while Dent smiled at them and joked; but + his efforts at levity made little impression on the irate pair. Red, true + to his word, had turned up at the time set, in fact, he was half an hour + ahead of time, for which miracle he endeavored to take great and + disproportionate credit. Dent was secretly glad about the delay, for he + found his place lonesome. He thoroughly enjoyed the company of the two + gentlemen from the Bar-20, whose actions seemed to be governed by whims + and who appeared to lack all regard for consequences; and they squabbled + so refreshingly, and spent their money cheerfully. Now, if they would only + wind up the day by fighting! Such a finish would be joy indeed. And + speaking of fights, Dent was certain that Mr. Cassidy had been in one + recently, for his face bore marks that could only be acquired in that way. + </p> + <p> + After supper the two guests had relapsed into a silence which endured only + as long as the pleasing fulness. Then the squabbling began again, growing + worse until they fell silent from lack of adequate expression. Finally Red + once again spoke of their absent friend. + </p> + <p> + “We oughtn't get peevish, Hoppy—he's only thirty-six hours late,” + suggested Red. “An' he might be a week,” he added thoughtfully, as his + mind ran back over a long list of Johnny's misdeeds. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he might. An' won't he have a fine cock-an'-bull tale to explain + it,” growled Hopalong, reminiscently. “His excuses are the worst part of + it generally.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, does he—make excuses?” asked Dent, mildly surprised. + </p> + <p> + “He does to <i>us</i>,” retorted Red savagely. “He's worse than a woman; + take him all in all an' you've got the toughest proposition that ever wore + pants. But he's a good feller, at that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've got a lot of nerve, you have!” retorted Hopalong. “You don't + want to say anything about the Kid—if there's anybody that can beat + him in being late an' acting the fool generally, it's you. An' what's + more, you know it!” + </p> + <p> + Red wheeled to reply, but was interrupted by a sudden uproar outside, + fluent swearing coming towards the house. The door opened with a bang, + admitting a white-faced, big-eyed man with one leg jammed through the box + he had landed on in dismounting. + </p> + <p> + “Gimme a drink, quick!” he shouted wildly, dragging the box over to the + bar with a cheerful disregard for chairs and other temporary obstructions. + “Gimme a drink!” he reiterated. + </p> + <p> + “Give you six hops in the neck!” yelled Red, missing and almost sitting + down because of the enthusiasm he had put into his effort. Johnny + side-stepped and ducked, and as he straightened up to ask for whys and + wherefores, Red's eyes opened wide and he paused in his further intentions + to stare at the apparition. + </p> + <p> + “Sick?” queried Hopalong, who was frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Gimme that drink!” demanded Johnny feverishly, and when he had it he + leaned against the bar and mopped his face with a trembling hand. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with you, anyhow?” asked Red, with deep anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; for God's sake, what's happened to you?” demanded Hopalong. + </p> + <p> + Johnny breathed deeply and threw back his shoulders as if to shake off a + weight. “Fellers, I had a cougar soft-footing after me in that dark + canyon, my cayuse ran away on a two-foot ledge up the wall,<i>—an'—I—saw—a—ghost</i>!” + </p> + <p> + There was a respectful silence. Johnny, waiting a reasonable length of + time for replies and exclamations, flushed a bit and repeated his frank + and candid statement, adding a few adjectives to it. “<i>A real, + screeching, flying ghost</i>! An' I'm going <i>home</i>, an' I'm going to + <i>stay</i> there. I ain't never coming back no more, not for anything. + Damn this border country, <i>anyhow</i>!” + </p> + <p> + The silence continued, whereupon Johnny grew properly indignant. “You act + like I told you it was going to rain! Why don't you say something? Didn't + you hear what I said, you fools!” he asked pugnaciously. “Are you in the + habit of having a thing like that told you? Why don't you show some + interest, you dod-blasted, thick-skulled wooden-heads?” + </p> + <p> + Red looked at Hopalong, Hopalong looked at Red, and then they both looked + at Dent, whose eyes were fixed in a stare on Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” snorted Hopalong, warily arising. “Was that all?” he asked, nodding + at Red, who also arose and began to move cautiously toward their erring + friend. “Didn't you see no more'n one ghost? Anybody that can see one + ghost, an' no more, is wrong somewhere. Now, stop, an' think; didn't you + see <i>two</i>?” He was advancing carefully while he talked, and Red was + now behind the man who saw one ghost. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you—” there was a sudden flurry and Johnny's words were cut + short in the melee. + </p> + <p> + “Good, Red! Ouch!” shouted Hopalong. “Look out! Got any rope, Dent? Well, + hurry up: there ain't no telling what he'll do if he's loose. The mescal + they sells down in this country ain't liquor—it's poison,” he + panted. “An' he can't even stand whiskey!” + </p> + <p> + Finding the rope was easier than finding a place to put it, and the + unequal battle raged across the room and into the next, where it sounded + as if the house were falling down. Johnny's voice was shrill and full of + vexation and his words were extremely impolite and lacked censoring. His + feet appeared to be numerous and growing rapidly, judging from the amount + of territory they covered and defended, and Red joyfully kicked Hopalong + in the melee, which in this instance also stands for stomach; Red always + took great pains to do more than his share in a scrimmage. Dent hovered on + the flanks, his hands full of rope, and begged with great earnestness to + be allowed to apply it to parts of Johnny's thrashing anatomy. But as the + flanks continued to change with bewildering swiftness he begged in vain, + and began to make suggestions and give advice pleasing to the three + combatants. Dent knew just how it should be done, and was generous with + the knowledge until Johnny zealously planted five knuckles on his one good + eye, when the engagement became general. + </p> + <p> + The table skidded through the door on one leg and caromed off the bar at a + graceful angle, collecting three chairs and one sand-box cuspidor on the + way. The box on Johnny's leg had long since departed, as Hopalong's shin + could testify. One chair dissolved unity and distributed itself lavishly + over the room, while the bed shrunk silently and folded itself on top of + Dent, who bucked it up and down with burning zeal and finally had sense + enough to crawl from under it. He immediately celebrated his liberation by + getting a strangle hold on two legs, one of which happened to be the + personal property of Hopalong Cassidy; and the battle raged on a lower + plane. Red raised one hand as he carefully traced a neck to its own proper + head and then his steel fingers opened and swooped down and shut off the + dialect. Hopalong pushed Dent off him and managed to catch Johnny's + flaying arm on the third attempt, while Dent made tentative sorties + against Johnny's spurred boots. + </p> + <p> + “Phew! Can he fight like that when he's sober?” reverently asked Dent, + seeing how close his fingers could come to his gaudy eye without touching + it. “I won't be able to see at all in an hour,” he added, gloomily. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong, seated on Johnny's chest, soberly made reply as he tenderly + flirted with a raw shin. “It's the mescal. I'm going to slip some of that + stuff into Pete's cayuse some of these days,” he promised, happy with a + new idea. Pete Wilson had no sense of humor. + </p> + <p> + “That ghost was plumb lucky,” grunted Red, “an' so was the sea-captain,” + he finished as an afterthought, limping off toward the bar, slowly and + painfully followed by his disfigured companions. “One drink; then to bed.” + </p> + <p> + After Red had departed, Hopalong and Dent smoked a while and then, + knocking the ashes out of his pipe, Hopalong arose. “An' yet, Dent, there + are people that believe in ghosts,” he remarked, with a vast and settled + contempt. + </p> + <p> + Dent gave critical scrutiny to the scratched bar for a moment. “Well, the + Greasers all say there <i>is</i> a ghost in the San Miguel, though I never + saw it. But some of them have seen it, an' no Greasers ride that trail no + more.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” snorted Hopalong. “Some Greasers must have filled the Kid up on + ghosts while he was filling hisself up on mescal. Ghosts? R-a-t-s!” + </p> + <p> + “It shows itself only to Greasers, an' then only on Friday nights,” + explained Dent, thoughtfully. This was Friday night. Others had seen that + ghost, but they were all Mexicans; now that a “white” man of Johnny's + undisputed calibre had been so honored Dent's skepticism wavered and he + had something to think about for days to come. True, Johnny was not a + Greaser; but even ghosts might make mistakes once in a while. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong laughed, dismissing the subject from his mind as being beneath + further comment. “Well, we won't argue—I'm too tired. An' I'm sorry + you got that eye, Dent.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right,” hastily assured the store-keeper, smiling faintly. + “I was just spoiling for a fight, an' now I've had it. Feels sort of good. + Yes, first thing in the morning—breakfast'll be ready soon as you + are. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + But the proprietor couldn't sleep. Finally he arose and tiptoed into the + room where Johnny lay wrapped in the sleep of the exhausted. After + cautious and critical inspection, which was made hard because of his + damaged eye, he tiptoed back to his bunk, shaking his head slowly. “He + wasn't drunk,” he muttered. “He saw that ghost all right; an' I'll bet + everything I've got on it!” + </p> + <p> + At daybreak three quarrelling punchers rode homeward and after a + monotonous journey arrived at the bunk house and reported. It took them + two nights adequately to describe their experiences to an envious + audience. The morning after the telling of the ghost story things began to + happen. Red starting it by erecting a sign. + </p> + <p> + NOTISE—NO GHOSTS ALOWED + </p> + <p> + An exuberant handful of the outfit watched him drive the last nail and + step back to admire his work, and the running fire of comment covered all + degrees of humor, and promised much hilarity in the future at the expense + of the only man on the Bar-20 who had seen a ghost. + </p> + <p> + In a week Johnny and his acute vision had become a bye-word in that part + of the country and his friends had made it a practice to stop him and + gravely discuss spirit manifestations of all kinds. He had thrashed Wood + Wright and been thrashed by Sandy Lucas in two beautiful and memorable + fights and was only waiting to recover from the last affair before having + the matter out with Rich Finn. These facts were beginning to have the + effect he strove for; though Cowan still sold a new concoction of gin, + brandy, and whiskey which he called “Flying Ghost,” and which he proudly + guaranteed would show more ghosts per drink than any liquor south of the + Rio Grande—and some of his patrons were eager to back up his claims + with real money. + </p> + <p> + This was the condition of affairs when Hopalong Cassidy strolled into + Cowan's and forgot his thirst in the story being told by a strange + Mexican. It was Johnny's ghost, without a doubt, and when he had + carelessly asked a few questions he was convinced that Johnny had really + seen something. On the way home he cogitated upon it and two points + challenged his intelligence with renewed insistence: the ghost showed + itself only on Friday, and then only to “Greasers.” His suspicious mind + would not rest until he had reviewed the question from all sides, and his + opinion was that there was something more than spiritual about the ghost + of the San Miguel—and a cold, practical reason for it. + </p> + <p> + When he rode into the corral at the ranch he saw that another sign had + been put on the corral wall. He had destroyed the first, speaking his mind + in full at the time. He swept his gloved hand upward with a rush, tore the + flimsy board from its fastenings, broke it to pieces across his saddle, + and tossed the fragments from him. He was angry, for he had warned the + outfit that they were carrying the joke too far, that Johnny was giving + way to hysterical rage more frequently, and might easily do something that + they all would regret. And he felt sorry for the Kid; he knew what + Johnny's feelings were and he made up his mind to start a few fights + himself if the persecution did not cease. When he stepped into the bunk + house and faced his friends they listened to a three-minute speech that + made them squirm, and as he finished talking the deep voice of the foreman + endorsed the promises he had just heard made, for Buck had entered the + gallery without being noticed. The joke had come to an end. + </p> + <p> + When Johnny rode in that evening he was surprised to find Hopalong waiting + for him a short distance from the corral and he replied to his friend's + gesture by riding over to him. “What's up now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Come along with me. I want to talk to you for a few minutes,” and + Hopalong led the way toward the open, followed by Johnny, who was more or + less suspicious. Finally Hopalong stopped, turned, and looked his + companion squarely in the eyes. “Kid, I'm in dead earnest. This ain't no + fool joke—now you tell me what that ghost looked like, how he acted, + an' all about it. I mean what I say, because now I know that you saw <i>something</i>. + If it wasn't a ghost it was made to look like one, anyhow. Now go ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “I've told you a dozen times already,” retorted Johnny, his face flushing. + “I've begged you to believe me an' told you that I wasn't fooling. How do + I know you ain't now? I'm not going to tell—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on; yes, you are. Yo're going to tell it slow, an' just like you saw + it,” Hopalong interrupted hastily. “I know I've doubted it, but who + wouldn't! Wait a minute—I've done a heap of thinking in the past few + days an' I know that you saw a ghost. Now, everybody knows that there + ain't no such thing as ghosts; then what was it you saw? There's a game + on, Kid, an' it's a dandy; an' you an' me are going to bust it up an' get + the laugh on the whole blasted crowd, from Buck to Cowan.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny's suspicions left him with a rush, for his old Hoppy was one man in + a thousand, and when he spoke like that, with such sharp decision, Johnny + knew what it meant. Hopalong listened intently and when the short account + was finished he put out his hand and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “We're the fools, Kid; not you. There's something crooked going on in that + canyon, an' I know it! But keep mum about what we think.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny lost his grouch so suddenly and beamed upon his friends with such a + superior air that they began to worry about what was in the wind. The + suspense wore on them, for with Hopalong's assistance, Johnny might spring + some game on them all that would more than pay up for the fun they had + enjoyed at his expense; and the longer the suspense lasted the worse it + became. They never lost sight of him while he was around and Hopalong had + to endure the same surveillance; and it was no uncommon thing to see small + groups of the anxious men engaged in deep discussion. When they found that + Buck must have been told and noticed his smile was as fixed as Hopalong's + or Johnny's, they were certain that trouble of some nature was in store + for them. + </p> + <p> + Several weeks later Buck Peters drew rein and waited for a stranger to + join him. + </p> + <p> + “Howdy. Is yore name Peters?” asked the newcomer, sizing him up in one + trained glance. + </p> + <p> + “Well, who are you, an' what do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to see Peters, Buck Peters. That yore name?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; what of it?” + </p> + <p> + “My name's Fox. Old Jim Lane gave me a message for you,” and the stranger + spoke earnestly to some length. “There; that's the situation. We've got to + have shrewd men that they don't know an' won't suspect. Lane wants to pay + a couple of yore men their wages for a month or two. He said he was shore + he could count on you to help him out.” + </p> + <p> + “He's right; he can. I don't forget favors. I've got a couple of men that—there's + one of 'em now. Hey, Hoppy! Whoop-e, Hoppy!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cassidy arrived quickly, listened eagerly, named Red and Johnny to + accompany him, overruled his companions by insisting that if Johnny didn't + go the whole thing was off, carried his point, and galloped off to find + the lucky two, his eyes gleaming with anticipation and joy. Fox laughed, + thanked the foreman, and rode on his way north; and that night three + cow-punchers rode south, all strangely elated. And the friends who watched + them go heaved signs of relief, for the reprisals evidently were to be + postponed for a while. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + THE GHOST OF THE SAN MIGUEL + </h3> + <p> + Juan Alvarez had not been in San Felippe since Dick Martin left, which + meant for over a month. Martin was down the river looking for a man who + did not wish to be found; and some said that Martin cared nothing about + international boundaries when he wanted any one real bad. And there was + that geologist who wore blue glasses and was always puttering around in + the canyon and hammering chips of rock off the steep walls; he must have + slipped one noon, because his body was found on a flat boulder at the edge + of the stream. Manuel had found it and wanted to be paid for his trouble + in bringing it to town—but Manuel was a fool. Who, indeed, would pay + good money for a dead Gringo, especially after he was dead? And there were + three cow-punchers holding a herd of 6-X cattle up north, an hour or so + from the town. They wanted to buy steers from Senor Rodriguez, but said + that he was a robber and threatened to cut his ears off. Cannot a man name + his own price? These cow-punchers liked to get drunk and gallop through + San Felippe, shooting like crazy men. They got drunk one Friday night and + went shouting and singing to the Big Bend in the canyon to see the flying + ghost, and they called it names and fired off their pistols and sang + loudly; and for a week they insulted all the Mexicans in town by calling + them liars and cowards. Was it the fault of any one that the ghost would + show itself only to Mexicans? Oh, these Gringos—might the good God + punish them for their sins! + </p> + <p> + Thus the peons complained to the padre while they kept one eye open for + the advent of the rowdy cow-punchers, who always wanted to drink, and then + to fight with some one, either with fists or pistols. Why should any one + fight with them, especially with such things as fists? + </p> + <p> + “Let them fight among themselves. What have you to do with heretics?” + reproved the good padre, who ostracized himself from the pleasant parts of + the wide world that he might make easier the life and struggles of his + ignorant flock. “God is not hasty—He will punish in His own way when + it best suits Him. And perhaps you will profit much if you are more + regular to mass instead of wasting the cool hours of the morning in bed. + Think well of what I have said, my children.” + </p> + <p> + But the cow-punchers were not punished and they swore they would not leave + the vicinity until they had all the steers they wanted, and at their own + price. And one night their herd stampeded and was checked only in time to + save it from going over the canyon's edge. And for some reason Sanchez + kept out of the padre's way and did not go to confess when he should, for + the padre spoke plainly and set hard obligations for penance. + </p> + <p> + The cow-punchers swore that it had been done by some Mexican and said that + they would come to town some day soon and kill three Mexicans unless the + guilty one was found and brought to them. Then the padre mounted his + donkey and went out to them to argue and they finally told him they would + wait for two weeks. But the padre was too smart for them—he sent a + messenger to find Senor Dick Martin, and in one week Senor Martin came to + town. There was no fight. The Gringo rowdies were cowards at heart and + Martin could not shoot them down in cold blood, and he could not arrest + them, because he was not a policeman or even a sheriff, but only a revenue + officer, which was a most foolish law. But he watched them all the time + and wanted them to fight—there was no more shooting or drunkenness + in town. Nobody wanted to fight Senor Martin, for he was a great man. He + even went so far as to talk with them about it and wave his arms, but they + were as frightened at him as little children might be. + </p> + <p> + So the Mexicans gossiped and exulted, some of the bolder of them even + swaggering out to the Gringo camp; but Martin drove them back again, + saying he would not allow them to bully men who could not retaliate, which + was right and fair. Then, afraid to go away and leave the mad cow-punchers + so close to town, he ordered them to drive their herd farther east, nearer + to Dent's store, and never to return to San Felippe unless they needed the + padre; and they obeyed him after a long talk. After seeing them settled in + their new camp, which was on Monday morning, Martin returned to San + Felippe and told the padre where he could be found and then rode away + again. San Felippe celebrated for a whole day and two Mexican babies were + christened after Senor Dick Martin, which was honor all around. + </p> + <p> + Friday, when Manuel went over to spy upon the cow-punchers in their new + camp, he found them so drunk that they could not stand, and before he + crept away at dusk two of them were sleeping like gorged snakes and the + third was firing off his revolver at random, which diversion had not a + little to do with Manuel's departure. + </p> + <p> + When Manuel crept away he headed straight for a crevice near the wall of + the canyon at the Big Bend and, reaching it, looked all around and then + dropped into it. Not long thereafter another Mexican appeared, this one + from San Felippe, and also disappeared into the crevice. As darkness fell + Manuel reappeared with something under his jacket and a moment later a + light gleamed at the base of a slender sapling which grew on the edge of + the canyon wall and leaned out over the abyss. It was cleverly placed, for + only at one spot on the Mexican side of the distant Rio Grande could it be + seen—the high canyon walls farther down screened it from any one who + might be riding on the north bank of the river. In a moment there came an + answering twinkle and Manuel, covering the lantern with a blanket, was + swallowed up in the darkness of the crevice. + </p> + <p> + Without a trace of emotion, Dick Martin, from his place of concealment, + caught the answering gleam, and he watched Manuel disappear. “Cassidy was + right in every point; Lewis or Sayre couldn't 'a' done this better. I hope + he won't be late,” he muttered, and settled himself more comfortably to + wait for the cue for action, smiling as the moon poked its rim over the + low hills to his right. “This means promotion for me, or I've very much + mistaken,” he chuckled. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong was not late and as soon as it was dark he and his companions + stole into the canyon on foot. They felt their way down the east end of + the trail, not far from Dent's, toward the Big Bend, which they gained + without a mishap. Johnny was sent up to a place they had noticed and + marked in their memories at the time they had rioted down to defy the + ghost. He was to stop any one trying to escape up the San Felippe end of + the canyon trail, and his confidence in his ability to do this was + exuberant. Hopalong and Red slowly and laboriously worked their way down + the perilous path leading to the bottom, forded the stream, and crept up + the other side, where they found cover not far from a wide crack in the + canyon wall. Upon the occasion of their hilarious visit to the Big Bend + they had observed that a faint trail led to the crack and had cogitated + deeply upon this fact. + </p> + <p> + Three hours passed before the watchers in and above the canyon were + rewarded by anything further; and then a light flickered far down the + canyon and close to the edge of the stream. Immediately strange noises + were heard and suddenly the ghost swung out of the opening in the rock + wall near Hopalong and Red and danced above their heads, while the + shrieking which had so frightened Johnny and his horse filled the canyon + with uproar and sent Martin wriggling nearer to the crevice which he had + watched so closely. The noise soon ceased, but the ghost danced on, and + the sound of men stumbling along the rocky ledge bordering the stream + became more and more audible. Four were in the party and they all carried + bulky loads on their backs and grunted with pleasure and relief as they + entered the entrance in the wall. When the last man had disappeared and + the noise of their passing had died out, Johnny's rope sailed up and out, + and the ghost swayed violently and then began to sag in an unaccountable + manner towards the trail as the owner of the rope hitched its free end + around a spur of rock and made it fast. Then he feverishly scrambled down + the steep path to join his friends. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong and Red, wriggling on their stomachs towards the crack in the + wall, paused in amazement and stared across the canyon; and then the + former chuckled and whispered something in his companion's ear. “That was + why he lugged his rope along! He's just idiot enough to want a souveneer + an' plaything at the risk of losing the game. Come on!—they'll + tumble to what's up an' get away if we don't hustle.” + </p> + <p> + When the two punchers cautiously and noiselessly entered the crack and + felt their way along its rock walls they heard fluent swearing in Spanish + by the man who worked the ghost, and who could not understand its sudden + ambition to take root. It was made painfully clear to him a moment later + when a pair of brawny hands reached out of the darkness behind him and + encircled his throat a hand's width below his gleaming cigarette. Another + pair used cords with deftness and despatch and he was left by himself to + browse upon the gag when all his senses returned. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong, with Red inconsiderately stepping on his heels, felt his way + along the wall of the crevice, alert and silent, his Colt nestling + comfortably in his right hand, while the left was pushed out ahead feeling + for trouble. As they worked farther away from the canyon distant voices + could be heard and they forthwith proceeded even more cautiously. When + Hopalong came to the second bend in the narrow passage he peered around it + and stopped so abruptly that Red's nose almost spread itself over the back + of his head. Red's indignation was all the harder to bear because it must + bloom unheard. + </p> + <p> + In a huge, irregular room, whose roof could not be discerned in the dim + light of the few candles, five men were resting in various attitudes of + ease as they discussed the events of the night and tried to compute their + profits. They were secure, for Manuel, having by this time put away the + ghost and megaphone, was on duty at the mouth of the crevice, and he was + as sensitive to danger as a hound. + </p> + <p> + “The risk is not much and the profits are large,” remarked Pedro, in + Spanish. “We must burn a candle for the repose of the soul of Carlos + Martinez. It is he that made our plans safe. And a candle is not much when + we—” + </p> + <p> + “Hands up!” said a quiet voice, followed by grim commands. The Mexicans + jumped as if stung by a scorpion, and could just discern two of the rowdy + gringo cow-punchers in the heavy shadows of the opposite wall, but the + candle light glinted in rings on the muzzles of their six-shooters. Had + Manuel betrayed them? But they had little time or inclination for + cogitation regarding Manuel. + </p> + <p> + “Easy there!” shouted Red, and Pedro's hand stopped when half way to his + chest. Pedro was a gambler by nature, but the odds were too heavy and he + sullenly obeyed the command. + </p> + <p> + “Stick 'em up! Stick 'em up! Higher yet, an' hold 'em there,” purred a + soft voice from the other end of the room, where Dick Martin smiled + pleasantly upon them and wondered if there was anything on earth harder to + pound good common sense into than a “Greaser's” head. His gun was blue, + but it was, nevertheless, the most prominent part of his make-up, even if + the light was poor. + </p> + <p> + One of the Mexicans reached involuntarily for his gun, for he was a + gun-man by training; while his companions felt for their knives, deadly + weapons in a melee. Martin, crying, “Watch 'em, Cassidy!” side-stepped and + lunged forward with the speed and skill of a boxer, and his hard left hand + landed on the point of Juan Alvarez' jaw with a force and precision not to + be withstood. But to make more certain that the Mexican would not take + part in any possible demonstration of resistance, Martin's right circled + up in a short half-hook and stopped against Juan's short ribs. Martin + weighed one hundred and eighty pounds and packed no fat on his well-knit + frame. + </p> + <p> + At this moment a two-legged cyclone burst upon the scene in the person of + Johnny Nelson, whose rage had been worked up almost to the weeping point + because he had lost so much time hunting for the crevice where it was not. + Seeing Juan fall, and the glint of knives, he started in to clean things + up, yelling, “I'm a ghost! I'm a ghost! Take 'em alive! Take 'em alive!” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong and Red felt that they were in his way, and taking care of one + Mexican between them, while Martin knocked out another, they watched the + exits,—for anything was possible in such a chaotic mix-up,—and + gave Johnny plenty of room. The latter paused, triumphant, looked around + to see if he had missed any, and then advanced upon his friends and shoved + his jaw up close to Hopalong's face. “Tried to lose me, didn't you! + Wouldn't wait for me! For seven cents an' a toothbrush I'd give you what's + left!” + </p> + <p> + Red grabbed him by trousers and collar and heaved him into the passageway. + “Go out an' play with yore souveneer or we'll step on you!” + </p> + <p> + Johnny sat up, rubbed certain portions of his anatomy, and grinned. “Oh, + I've got it, all right! I'm shore going to take that ghost home an' make + some of them fools <i>eat</i> it!” + </p> + <p> + Martin smiled as he finished tying the last prisoner. “That's right, + Nelson; you've got it on 'em this time. Make 'em chew it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + HOPALONG LOSES A HORSE + </h3> + <p> + For a month after their return from the San Miguel, Hopalong and his + companions worked with renewed zest, and told and retold the other members + of the outfit of their unusual experiences near the Mexican border. Word + had come up to them that Martin had secured the conviction of the + smugglers and was in line for immediate advancement. No one on the range + had the heart to meet Johnny Nelson, for Johnny carried with him a piece + of the ghost, and became pugnacious if his once-jeering friends and + acquaintances refused to nibble on it. Cowan still sold his remarkable + drink, but he had yielded to Johnny's persuasive methods and now called it + “Nelson's Pet.” + </p> + <p> + One bright day the outfit started rounding up a small herd of + three-year-olds, which Buck had sold, and by the end of the week the herd + was complete and ready for the drive. This took two weeks and when + Hopalong led his drive outfit through Hoyt's Corners on its homeward + journey he felt the pull of the town of Grant, some miles distant, and it + was too strong to be resisted. Flinging a word of explanation to the + nearest puncher, he turned to lope away, when Red's voice checked him. Red + wanted to delay his home-coming for a day or two and attend to a purely + personal matter at a ranch lying to the west. Hopalong, knowing the reason + for Red's wish, grinned and told him to go, and not to propose until he + had thought the matter over very carefully. Red's reply was + characteristic, and after arranging a rendezvous and naming the time, the + two separated and rode toward their destinations, while the rest of the + outfit kept on towards their ranch. + </p> + <p> + “A man owes something to <i>all</i> his friends,” Hopalong mused. In this + case he owed a return game of draw poker to certain of Grant's leading + citizens, and he liked to pay his obligations when opportunity offered. + </p> + <p> + It was mid-afternoon when he topped a rise and saw below him the handful + of shacks making up the town. A look of pleased interest flickered across + his face as he noticed a patched and dirty tent pitched close up to the + nearest shack. “Show!” he exclaimed. “Now, ain't that luck! I'll shore + take it in. If it's a circus, mebby it has a trick mule to ride—I'll + never forget that one up in Kansas City,” he grinned. But almost instantly + a doubt arose and tempered the grin. “Huh! Mebby it's the branding chute + of some gospel sharp.” As he drew near he focussed his eyes on the canvas + and found that his fears were justified. + </p> + <p> + “All Are Welcome,” he spelled out slowly. “Shore they are!” he muttered. + “I never nowhere saw such hard-working, all-embracing rustlers as them + fellers. They'll stick their iron on anything from a wobbly calf or dying + dogie to a staggering-with-age mosshead, an' shout 'tally one' with the + same joy. Well, not for mine, <i>this</i> trip. I'm going to graze loose + an' buck-jump all I wants. Anyhow, if I did let him brand me I'd only + backslide in a week,” and Hopalong pressed his pony to a more rapid gait + as two men emerged from the tent. “There's the sky-pilot now,” he muttered—“an' + there's Dave!” he shouted, waving his arm. “Oh, Dave! Dave!” + </p> + <p> + Dave Wilkes looked up, and his grin of delight threatened to engulf his + ears. “Hullo, Cassidy! Glad to see you! Keep right on for the store—I'll + be with you in a minute.” When David told his companion the visitor's name + the evangelist held up his hand eloquently and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I know all about him!” he exclaimed sorrowfully. “If I can lead him out + of his wickedness I will rest content though I save no more souls this + fortnight. Is it all true?” + </p> + <p> + “Huh! What true?” + </p> + <p> + “All that I have heard about him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I dunno what you've heard,” replied Dave, with grave caution, “but + I reckon it might be if it didn't cover lying, stealing, cowardice, an' + such coyote traits. He's shore a holy terror with a short gun, all right, + but lemme tell you something mebby you <i>ain't</i> heard: There ain't a + square man in this part of the country that won't feel some honored an' + proud to be called a friend of Hopalong Cassidy. Them's the sentiments + rampaging hereabouts. I ain't denying that he's gone an' killed off a lot + of men first an' last—but the only trouble there is that he didn't + get 'em soon enough. They all had lived too blamed long when they went an' + stacked up agin him an' that lightning short gun of hissn. But, say, if + yo're calculating to tackle him at yore game, lead him gentle—don't + push none. He comes to life real sudden when he's shoved. So long; see you + later, mebby.” + </p> + <p> + The revivalist looked after him and mused, “I hope I was informed wrong, + but this much I have to be thankful for: The wickedness of most of these + men, these over-grown children, is manly, stalwart, and open; few of them + are vicious or contemptible. Their one great curse is drink.” + </p> + <p> + When Hopalong entered the store he was vociferously welcomed by two men, + and the proprietor joining them, the circle was complete. When the + conversation threatened to repeat itself cards were brought and the next + two hours passed very rapidly. They were expensive hours to the Bar-20 + puncher, who finally arose with an apologetic grin and slapped his thigh + significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've got it all; I'm busted wide open, except for a measly + dollar, an' I shore hopes you don't want that,” he laughed. “You play a + whole lot better than you did the last time I was here. I've got to move + along. I'm going east an' see Wallace an' from there I've got to meet Red + an' ride home with him. But you come an' see us when you can—it's <i>me</i> + that wants revenge this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh; you'll be wanting it worse than ever if we do,” smiled Dave. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Hoppy,” advised Tom Lawrence, “better drop in an' hear the + sky-pilot's palaver before you go. It'll do you a whole lot of good, an' + it can't do you no harm, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “You going?” asked Hopalong suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Can't—got too much work to do,” quickly responded Tom, his brother + Art nodding happy confirmation. + </p> + <p> + “Huh; I reckoned so!” snorted Hopalong sarcastically, as he shook hands + all around. “You all know where to find us—drop in an' see us when + you get down our way,” he invited. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry you can't stay longer, Cassidy,” remarked Dave, as his friend + mounted. “But come up again soon—an' be shore to tell all the boys + we was asking for 'em,” he called. + </p> + <p> + Considering the speed with which Hopalong started for Wallace's, he might + have been expecting a relay of “quarter” horses to keep it going, but he + pulled up short at the tent. Such inconsistency is trying to the temper of + the best-mannered horse, and this particular animal was not in the least + good-mannered, wherefore its rider was obliged to soothe its resentment in + his own peculiar way, listening meanwhile to the loud and impassioned + voice of the evangelist haranguing his small audience. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Hopalong, glancing through the door, “if them friends of + mine reckon I'm any ascared to go in that tent? Huh, I'll just show 'em + anyhow!” whereupon he dismounted, flung the reins over his horse's head, + and strode through the doorway. + </p> + <p> + The nearest seat, a bench made by placing a bottom board of the + evangelist's wagon across two up-ended boxes, was close enough to the + exhorter and he dropped into it and glanced carelessly at his nearest + neighbor. The carelessness went out of his bearing as his eyes fastened + themselves in a stare on the man's neck-kerchief. Hopalong was hardened to + awful sights and at his best was not an artistic soul, but the villainous + riot of fiery crimson, gaudy yellow, and pugnacious and domineering green + which flaunted defiance and insolence from the stranger's neck caused his + breath to hang over one count and then come double strong at the next + exhalation. “Gee whiz!” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + The stranger slowly turned his head and looked coldly upon the impudent + disturber of his reverent reflections. “Meaning?” he questioned, with an + upward slant in his voice. The neck-kerchief seemed to grow suddenly + malignant and about to spring. “Meaning?” repeated the other with great + insolence, while his eyes looked a challenge. + </p> + <p> + While Hopalong's eyes left the scrambled color-insult and tried to banish + the horrible after-image, his mind groped for the rules of etiquette + governing free fist fights in gospel tents, and while he hesitated as to + whether he should dent the classic profile of the color-bearer or just + twist his nose as a sign of displeasure, the voice of the evangelist arose + to a roar and thundered out. Hopalong ducked instinctively. + </p> + <p> + “—Stop! Stop before it is too late, before death takes you in the + wallow of your sins! Repent and gain salvation—” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong felt relieved, but his face retained its expression of childlike + innocence even after he realized that he was not being personally + addressed; and he glanced around. It took him ninety-seven seconds to see + everything there was to be seen, and his eyes were drawn irresistibly back + to the stranger's kerchief. “Awful! Awful thing for a drinking man to + wear, or run up against unexpectedly!” he muttered, blinking. “Worse than + snakes,” he added thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Look ahere, you—” began the owner of the offensive decoration, if + it might be called such, but the evangelist drowned his voice in another + flight of eloquence. + </p> + <p> + “—<i>Peace</i>! <i>Peace</i> is the message of the Lord to His + children,” roared the voice from the upturned soap box, and when the + speaker turned and looked in the direction of the two + men-with-a-difference he found them sitting up very straight and + apparently drinking in his words with great relish; whereupon he felt that + he was making gratifying progress toward the salvation of their spotted + souls. He was very glad, indeed, that he had been so grievously + misinformed about the personal attributes of one Hopalong Cassidy,—glad + and thankful. + </p> + <p> + “Death cometh as a thief in the night,” the voice went on. “Think of the + friends who have gone before; who were well one minute and gone the next! + And it must come to all of us, to all of us, to me and to you—” + </p> + <p> + The man with the afflicted neck started rocking the bench. + </p> + <p> + “Something is coming to somebody purty soon,” murmured Hopalong. He began + to sidle over towards his neighbor, his near hand doubled up into a huge + knot of protuberant knuckles and white-streaked fingers; but as he was + about to deliver his hint that he was greatly displeased at the antics of + the bench, a sob came to his ears. Turning his head swiftly, he caught + sight of the stranger's face, and sorrow was marked so strongly upon it + that the sight made Hopalong gape. His hand opened slowly and he + cautiously sidled back again, disgruntled, puzzled, and vexed at himself + for having strayed into a game where he was so hopelessly at sea. He + thought it all over carefully and then gave it up as being too deep for + him to solve. But he determined one thing: He was not going to leave + before the other man did, anyhow. + </p> + <p> + “An' if I catch that howling kerchief outside,” he muttered, smacking his + lips with satisfaction at what was in store for it. His visit to Wallace + was not very important, anyway, and it could wait on more important + events. + </p> + <p> + “There sits a sinner!” thundered out the exhorter, and Hopalong looked + stealthily around for a sight of a villain. “God only has the right to + punish. 'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord, and whosoever takes the law + into his own hands, whosoever takes human life, defies the Creator. There + sits a man who has killed his fellow-men, his brothers! Are you not a + sinner, <i>Cassidy</i>?” + </p> + <p> + Cassidy jumped clear of the bench as he jerked his head around and stared + over the suddenly outstretched arm and pointing finger of the speaker and + into his accusing eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Answer me! Are you not a sinner?” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong stood up, confused, bewildered, and then his suspended thoughts + stirred and formed. “Guilty, I reckon, an' in the first degree. But they + didn't get no more'n what was coming to 'em, no more'n they earned. An' + that's straight!” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know they didn't? How do you know they earned it? How do you + <i>know</i>?” demanded the evangelist, who was delighted with the chance + to argue with a sinner. He had great faith in “personal contact,” and his + was the assurance of training, of the man well rehearsed and fully + prepared. And he knew that if he should be pinned into a corner by logic + and asked for <i>his</i> proofs, that he could squirm out easily and take + the offensive again by appealing to faith, the last word in sophistry, and + a greater and more powerful weapon than intelligence. <i>This</i> was his + game, and it was fixed; he could not lose if he could arouse enough + interest in a man to hold him to the end of the argument. He continued to + drive, to crowd. “What right have you to think so? What right have you to + judge them? Have you divine insight? Are you inspired? 'Judge not lest ye + be judged,' saith the Lord, and you <i>dare</i> to fly in the face of that + great command!” + </p> + <p> + “You've got me picking the pea in <i>this</i> game, all right,” responded + Hopalong, dropping back on the bench. “But lemme tell you one thing; + Command or no command, devine or not devine, I know when a man has lived + too long, an' when he's going to try to get me. An' all the gospel sharps + south of heaven can't stop me from handing a thief what he's earned. Go on + with the show, but count me out.” + </p> + <p> + While the evangelist warmed to the attack, vaguely realizing that he had + made a mistake in not heeding Dave Wilkes' tip, Hopalong became conscious + of a sense of relief stealing over him and he looked around wonderingly + for the cause. The man with the kerchief had “folded his tents” and + departed; and Hopalong, heaving a sigh of satisfaction, settled himself + more comfortably and gave real attention to the discourse, although he did + not reply to the warm and eloquent man on the soap box. Suddenly he sat up + with a start as he remembered that he had a long and hard ride before him + if he wished to see Wallace, and arising, strode towards the exit, his + chest up and his chin thrust out. The only reply he made to the excited + and personal remarks of the revivalist was to stop at the door and drop + his last dollar into the yeast box before passing out. + </p> + <p> + For a moment he stood still and pondered, his head too full of what he had + heard to notice that anything out of the ordinary had happened. Although + the evangelist had adopted the wrong method he had gained more than he + knew and Hopalong had something to take home with him and wrestle out for + himself in spare moments; that is, he would have had but for one thing: As + he slowly looked around for his horse he came to himself with a sharp + jerk, and hot profanity routed the germ of religion incubating in his + soul. His horse was missing! Here was a pretty mess, he thought savagely; + and then his expression of anger and perplexity gave way to a flickering + grin as the probable solution came to his mind. + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord, I never saw such a bunch to play jokes,” he laughed. “Won't + they never grow up? They was watching me when I went inside an' sneaked up + and rustled my cayuse. Well, I'll get back again without much trouble, all + right. They ought to know me better by this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Hey, stranger!” he called to a man who was riding past, “have you seen + anything of a skinny roan cayuse fifteen han's high, white stocking on the + near foreleg, an' a bandage on the off fetlock, Bar-20 being the brand?” + </p> + <p> + The stranger, knowing the grinning inquisitor by sight, suspected that a + joke was being played: he also knew Dave Wilkes and that gentleman's + friends. He chuckled and determined to help it along a little. “Shore did, + pardner; saw a man leading him real cautious. Was he yourn?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; not at all. He belonged to my great-great-grandfather, who left + him to my second cousin. You see, I borrowed it,” he grinned, making his + way leisurely towards the general store, kept by his friend Dave, the + joker. “Funny how everybody likes a joke,” he muttered, opening the door + of the store. “Hey, Dave,” he called. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wilkes wheeled suddenly and stared. “Why, I thought you was half-way + to Wallace's by now!” he exclaimed. “Did you come back to lose that lone + dollar?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I lost that too. But yo're a real smart cuss, now ain't you?” queried + Hopalong, his eyes twinkling and his face wreathed with good humor. “An' + how innocent you act, too. Thought you could scare me, didn't you? Thought + I'd go tearing 'round this fool town like a house afire, hey? Well, I + reckon you can guess again. Now, I'm owning up that the joke's on me, so + you hand over my cayuse, an' I'll make up for lost time.” + </p> + <p> + Dave Wilkes' face expressed several things, but surprise was dominant. + “Why, I ain't even seen yore ol' cayuse, you chump! Last time I saw it you + was on him, going like the devil. Did somebody pull you off it an' take it + away from you?” he demanded with great sarcasm. “Is somebody abusing you?” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong bit into a generous handful of dried apricots, chewed + complacently for a moment, and replied: “'At's aw right; I want my + cayuse.” Swallowing hastily, he continued: “I want it, an' I've come to + the right place for it, too. Hand it over, David.” + </p> + <p> + “Dod blast it, I tell you I ain't got it!” retorted Dave, beginning to + suspect that something was radically wrong. “I ain't seen it, an' I don't + know nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Well, then, Tom or Art does, + all right.” + </p> + <p> + “No, they don't, neither; I watched 'em leave an' they rode straight out + of town, an' went the other way, same as they allus do.” Dave was getting + irritated. “Look here, you; are you joking or drunk, or both, or is that + animule of yourn really missing?” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” snorted Hopalong, trying some new prunes. “'Ese prunes er purty + good,” he mumbled, in grave congratulation. “I don' get prunes like 'ese + very of'n.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you don't! They ought to be good! Cost me thirty cents a + half-pound,” Dave retorted with asperity, anxiously shifting his feet. It + didn't take much of a loss to wipe out a day's profits with him. + </p> + <p> + “An' I don't reckon you paid none too much for 'em, at that,” Mr. Cassidy + responded, nodding his head in comprehension. “Ain't no worms in 'em, is + there?” + </p> + <p> + “Shore there is!” exploded Dave. “Plumb full of 'em!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't say! Hardly know whether to take a chance with the worms or try + the apricots. Ain't no worms in them, anyhow. But when am I going to get + my cayuse? I've got a long way to go, an' delay is costly—how much + did you say these yaller fellers cost?” he asked significantly, trying + another handful of apricots. + </p> + <p> + “On the dead level, cross my heart an' hope to die, but I ain't seen yore + cayuse since you left here,” earnestly replied Dave. “If you don't know + where it is, then somebody went an' lifted it. It looks like it's up to + you to do some hunting, 'stead of cultivating a belly-ache at <i>my</i> + expense. <i>I</i> ain't trying to keep you, God knows!” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong glanced out of the window as he considered, and saw, entering the + saloon, the same puncher who had confessed to seeing his horse. “Hey Dave; + wait a minute!” and he dashed out of the store and made good time towards + the liquid refreshment parlor. Dave promptly nailed the covers on the + boxes of prunes and apricots and leaned innocently against the cracker box + to await results, thinking hard all the while. It looked like a plain case + of horse-stealing to him. + </p> + <p> + “Stranger,” cried Hopalong, bouncing into the bar-room, “where did you see + that cayuse of mine?” + </p> + <p> + “The ancient relic of yore family was aheading towards Hoyt's Corners,” + the stranger replied, grinning broadly. “It's a long walk. Have something + before you starts?” + </p> + <p> + “Damn the walk! Who was riding him?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody at all.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “He wasn't being rid when I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang it, man; that cayuse was stole from me!” + </p> + <p> + “Somewhat in the nature of a calamity, now ain't it?” smiled the stranger, + enjoying his contributions to the success of the joke. + </p> + <p> + “You bet yore life it is!” shouted Hopalong, growing red and then pale. + “You tell me who was leading him, understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I couldn't see his face, honest I couldn't,” replied the stranger. + “Every time I tried it I was shore blinded by the most awful an' horrible + neck-kerchief I've ever had the hard luck to lay my eyes on. Of all the + drunks I ever met, them there colors was—Hey! Wait a minute!” he + shouted at Hopalong's back. + </p> + <p> + “Dave, gimme yore cayuse an' a rifle—quick!” cried Hopalong from the + middle of the street as he ran towards the store. “Hypocrite + son-of-a-hoss-thief went an' run mine off. Might 'a' knowed nobody but a + thief could wear such a kerchief!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm with you!” shouted Dave, leading the way on the run towards the + corral in the rear of his store. + </p> + <p> + “No, you ain't with me, neither!” replied Hopalong, deftly saddling. “This + ain't no plain hoss-thief case—it's a private grudge. See you later, + mebby,” and he was pacing a cloud of dust towards the outskirts of the + town. + </p> + <p> + Dave looked after him. “Well, that feller has shore got a big start on + you, but he can't keep ahead of that Doll of mine for very long. She can + out-run anything in these parts. 'Sides, Cassidy's cayuse looked sort of + done up, while mine's as fresh as a bird. That thief will get what's + coming to him, all right.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + MR. CASSIDY COGITATES + </h3> + <p> + While Hopalong tried to find his horse, Ben Ferris pushed forward, + circling steadily to the east and away from the direction of Hoyt's + corners, which was as much a menace to his health and happiness as the + town of Grant, twenty miles to his rear. If he could have been certain + that no danger was nearer to him than these two towns, he would have felt + vastly relieved, even if his horse was not fresh. During the last hour he + had not urged it as hard as he had in the beginning of his flight and it + had dropped to a walk for minutes at a stretch. This was not because he + felt that he had plenty of time, but for the reason that he understood + horses and could not afford to exhaust his mount so early in the chase. He + glanced back from time to time as if fearing what might be on his trail, + and well he might fear. According to all the traditions and customs of the + range, both of which he knew well, somewhere between him and Grant was a + posse of hard-riding cow-punchers, all anxious and eager for a glance at + him over their sights. In his mind's eye he could see them, silent, grim, + tenacious, reeling off the miles on that distance-eating lope. He had + stolen a horse, and that meant death if they caught him. He loosened his + gaudy kerchief and gulped in fear, not of what pursued, but of what was + miles before him. His own saddle, strapped behind the one he sat in, + bumped against him with each reach of the horse and had already made his + back sore—but he must endure it for a time. Never in all his life + had minutes been so precious. + </p> + <p> + Another hour passed and the horse seemed to be doing well, much better + than he had hoped—he would rest it for a few minutes at the next + water while he drank his fill and changed the bumping saddle. As he + rounded a turn and entered a heavily grassed valley he saw a stream close + at hand and, leaping off, fixed the saddle first. As he knelt to drink he + caught a movement and jumped up to catch his mount. Time after time he + almost touched it, but it evaded him and kept up the game, cropping a + mouthful of grass during each respite. + </p> + <p> + “All right!” he muttered as he let it eat. “I'll get my drink while you + eat an' then I'll get you!” + </p> + <p> + He knelt by the stream again and drank long and deep. As he paused for + breath something made him leap up and to one side, reaching for his Colt + at the same instant. His fingers found only leather and he swore fiercely + as he remembered—he had sold the Colt for food and kept the rifle + for defence. As he faced the rear a horseman rounded the turn and the + fugitive, wheeling, dashed for the stolen horse forty yards away, where + his rifle lay in its saddle sheath. But an angry command and the sharp hum + of a bullet fired in front of him checked his flight and he stopped short + and swore. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon the jig's up,” remarked Mr. Cassidy, balancing the up-raised + Colt with nicety and indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Yea; I reckon so,” sullenly replied the other, tears running into his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm damned!” snorted Hopalong with cutting contempt. “Crying like a + li'l baby! Got nerve enough to steal my cayuse, an' then go an' beller + like a lost calf when I catch you. Yo're a fine specimen of a hoss-thief, + I don't think!” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're a liar!” retorted the other, clenching his fists and growing red. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cassidy's mouth opened and then clicked shut as his Colt swung down. + But he did not shoot; something inside of him held his trigger finger and + he swore instead. The idea of a man stealing his horse, being caught + red-handed and unarmed, and still possessed of sufficient courage to call + his captor a name never tolerated or overlooked in that country! And the + idea that he, Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20, could not shoot such a + thief! “Damn that sky pilot! He's shore gone an' made me loco,” he + muttered, savagely, and then addressed his prisoner. “Oh, you ain't + crying? Wind got in yore eyes, I reckon, an' sort of made 'em leak a + little—that it? Or mebby them unholy green roses an' yaller grass on + that blasted fool neck-kerchief of yourn are too much for <i>your</i> + eyes, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Look ahere!” snapped the man on the ground, stepping forward, one fist + upraised. “I came nigh onto licking you this noon in that gospel sharp's + tent for making fun of that scarf, an' I'll do it yet if you get any smart + about it! You mind yore own business an' close yore fool eyes if you don't + like my clothes!” + </p> + <p> + “Say! You ain't no cry-baby after all. Hanged if I even think yo're a real + genuine hoss-thief!” enthused Mr. Cassidy. “You act like a twin brother; + but what the devil ever made you steal that cayuse, anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + “An' that's none of yore business, neither; but I'll tell you, just the + same,” replied the thief. “I had to have it; that's why. I'll fight you + rough-an'-tumble to see if I keep it, or if you take the cayuse an' shoot + me besides: is it a go?” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong stared at him and then a grin struggled for life, got it, and + spread slowly over his tanned countenance. “Yore gall is refreshing! + Damned if it ain't worse than the scarf. Here, you tell me what made you + take a chance like stealing a cayuse this noon—I'm getting to like + you, bad as you are, hanged if I ain't!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what's the use?” demanded the other, tears again coming into his + eyes. “You'll think I'm lying an' trying to crawl out—an' I won't do + neither.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> didn't say <i>you</i> was a liar,” replied Hopalong. “It was the + other way about. Reckon you can try me, anyhow; can't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I s'pose so,” responded the other, slowly, and in a milder tone of + voice. “An' when I called you that I was mad and desperate. I was hasty—you + see, my wife's dying, or dead, over in Winchester. I was riding hard to + get to her before it was too late when my cayuse stepped into a hole just + the other side of Grant—you know what happened. I shot the animal, + stripped off my saddle an' hoofed it to town, an' dropped into that gospel + dealer's layout to see if he could make me feel any better—which he + could not. I just couldn't stand his palaver about death an' slipped out. + I was going to lay for you an' lick you for the way you acted about this + scarf—had to do something or go loco. But when I got outside there + was yore cayuse, all saddled an' ready to go. I just up an' threw my + saddle on it, followed suit with myself an' was ten miles out of town + before I realized just what I'd done. But the realizing part of it didn't + make no difference to me—I'd 'a' done it just the same if I had + stopped to think it over. That's flat, an' straight. I've got to get to + that li'l woman as quick as I can, an' I'd steal all the cayuses in the + whole damned country if they'd do me any good. That's all of it—take + it or leave it. I put it up to you. That's yore cayuse, but you ain't + going to get it without fighting me for it! If you shoot me down without + giving me a chance, all right! I'll cut a throat for that wore-out bronc!” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong was buried in thought and came to himself just in time to cover + the other and stop him not six feet away. “Just a minute, before you make + me shoot you! I want to think about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn that gun!” swore the fugitive, nervously shifting his feet and + preparing to spring. “We'd 'a' been fighting by this time if it wasn't for + that!” + </p> + <p> + “You stand still or I'll blow you apart,” retorted Hopalong, grimly. “A + man's got a right to think, ain't he? An' if I had somebody here to mind + these guns so you couldn't sneak 'em on me I'd fight you so blamed quick + that you'd be licked before you knew you was at it. But we ain't going to + fight—<i>stand still</i>! You ain't got no show at all when yo're + dead!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you gimme that cayuse—my God, man! Do you know the hell I've + been through for the last two days? Got the word up at Daly's Crossing an' + ain't slept since. I'll go loco if the strain lasts much longer! She + asking for me, begging to see me: an' me, like a damned idiot, wasting + time out here talking to another. Ride with me, behind me—it's only + forty miles more—tie me to the saddle an' blow me to pieces if you + find I'm lying—do anything you wants; but let me get to Winchester + before dark!” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong was watching him closely and at the end of the other's outburst + threw back his head. “I reckon I'm a plain fool, a jackass; but I don't + care. I'll rope that cayuse for you. You come along to save time,” + Hopalong ordered, spurring forward. His borrowed rope sailed out, + tightened, and in a moment he was working at the saddle. “Here, you; I'm + going to swamp mounts with you—this one is fresher an' faster.” He + had his own saddle off and the other on in record time, and stepped back. + “There; don't stand there like a fool—wake up an' hustle! I might + change my mind—that's the way to move! Gimme that neck-kerchief for + a souveneer, an' get out. Send that cayuse back to Dave Wilkes, at Grant—it's + hissn. Don't thank me; just gimme that scarf an' ride like the devil.” + </p> + <p> + The other, already mounted, tore the kerchief from his throat and handed + it quickly to his benefactor. “If you ever want a man to take you out of + hell, send to Winchester for Ben Ferris—that's me. So long!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cassidy sat on his saddle where he had dropped it after making the + exchange and looked after the galloping horseman, and when a distant rise + had shut him from sight, turned his eyes on the scarf in his hand and + cogitated. Finally, with a long-drawn sigh he arose, and, placing the + scarf on the ground, caught and saddled his horse. Riding gloomily back to + where the riot of color fluttered on the grass he drew his Colt and sent + six bullets through it with a great amount of satisfaction. Not content + with the damage he had inflicted, he leaned over and swooped it up. Riding + further he also swooped up a stone and tied the kerchief around it, and + then stood up in his stirrups and drew back his arm with critical + judgment. He sat quietly for a time after the gaudy missile had + disappeared into the stream and then, wheeling, cantered away. But he did + not return to the town of Grant—he lacked the nerve to face Dave + Wilkes and tell his childish and improbable story. He would ride on and + meet Red as they had agreed; a letter would do for Mr. Wilkes, and after + he had broken the shock in that manner he could pay him a personal visit + sometime soon. Dave would never believe the story and when it was told + Hopalong wanted to have the value of the horse in his trousers pocket. Of + course, Ben Ferris <i>might</i> have told the truth and he might return + the horse according to directions. Hopalong emerged from his reverie long + enough to appeal to his mount: + </p> + <p> + “Bronc, I've been thinking: am I or am I not a jackass?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + RED BRINGS TROUBLE + </h3> + <p> + After a night spent on the plain and a cigarette for his breakfast, + Hopalong, grouchy and hungry, rode slowly to the place appointed for his + meeting with Red, but Mr. Connors was over two hours late. It was now + mid-forenoon and Hopalong occupied his time for a while by riding out + fancy designs on the sand; but he soon tired of this makeshift diversion + and grew petulant. Red's tardiness was all the worse because the erring + party to the agreement had turned in his saddle at Hoyt's Corners and + loosed a flippant and entirely uncalled-for remark about his friend's + ideas regarding appointments. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that red-headed Romeo is shore late this time,” Hopalong muttered. + “Why don't he find a girl closer to home, anyhow? Thank the Lord I ain't + got no use for shell games of any kind. Here I am, without anything to eat + an' no prospects of anything, sitting up on this locoed layout like a sore + thumb, an' can't move without hitting myself! An' it'll be late to-day + before I can get any grub, too. Oh, well,” he sighed, “I ain't in love, so + things might be a whole lot worse with me. An' he ain't in love, neither, + only he won't listen to reason. He gets mad an' calls me a sage hen an' + says I'm stuck on myself because some fool told me I had brains.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed as he pictured the object of his friend's affections. “Huh; + anybody that got one good, square look at her wouldn't ever accuse him of + having brains. But he'll forget her in a month. That was the life of his + last hobbling fit an' it was the worst he ever had.” + </p> + <p> + Grinning at his friend's peculiarly human characteristics he leaned back + in the saddle and felt for tobacco and papers. As he finished pouring the + chopped alfalfa into the paper he glanced up and saw a mounted man top the + sky-line of the distant hills and shoot down the slope at full speed. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed it: started three hours late an' now he's trying to make it up + in the last mile,” Hopalong muttered, dexterously spreading the tobacco + along the groove and quickly rolling the cigarette. Lighting it he looked + up again and saw that the horseman was wildly waving a sombrero. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! Wigwagging for forgiveness,” laughed the man who waited. “Old + son-of-a-gun, I'd wait a week if I had some grub, an' he knows it. + Couldn't get mad at him if I tried.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Connors' antics now became frantic and he shouted something at the top + of his voice. His friend spurred his mount. “Come on, bronc; wake up. His + girl said 'yes' an' now he wants me to get him out of his trouble.” + Whereupon he jogged forward. “What's that?” he shouted, sitting up very + straight. “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + Red energetically swept the sombrero behind him and pointed to the rear. + “War-whoops! W-a-r w-h-o-o-p-s! Injuns, you chump!” Mr. Connors appeared + to be mildly exasperated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” sarcastically rejoined Mr. Cassidy in his throat, and then shouted + in reply: “Love an' liquor don't mix very well in you. Wake up! Come out + of it!” + </p> + <p> + “That's straight—I mean it!” cried Mr. Connors, close enough now to + save the remainder of his lungs. “It's a bunch of young bucks on their + first war-trail, I reckon. 'T ain't Geronimo, all right; I wouldn't be + here now if it was. Three of 'em chased me an' the two that are left are + coming hot-foot somewhere the other side of them hills. They act sort of + mad, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Mebby they ain't acting at all,” cheerily replied his companion. “An' + then that's the way you got that graze?” pointing to a bloody furrow on + Mr. Connors' cheek. “But just the same it looks like the trail left by a + woman's finger nail.” + </p> + <p> + “Finger nail nothing,” retorted Mr. Connors, flushing a little. “But, for + God's sake, are you going to sit here like a wart on a dead dog an' wait + for 'em?” he demanded with a rising inflection. “Do you reckon yo're + running a dance, or a party, or something like that?” + </p> + <p> + “How many?” placidly inquired Mr. Cassidy, gazing intently towards the + high sky-line of the distant hills. + </p> + <p> + “Two—an' I won't tell you again, neither!” snapped the owner of the + furrowed cheek. “The others are 'way behind now—but we're standing + <i>still</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you say there was others?” reproved Hopalong. “Naturally I + didn't see no use of getting all het up just because two sprouted papooses + feel like crowding us a bit; it wouldn't be none of <i>our</i> funeral, + would it?” and the indignant Mr. Cassidy hurriedly dismounted and hid his + horse in a nearby chaparral and returned to his companion at a run. + </p> + <p> + “Red, gimme yore Winchester an' then hustle on for a ways, have an + accident, fall off yore cayuse, an' act scared to death, if you know how. + It's that little trick Buck told us about, an' it shore ought to work fine + here. We'll see if two infant feather-dusters can lick the Bar-20. Get + a-going!” + </p> + <p> + They traded rifles, Hopalong taking the repeater in place of the + single-shot gun he carried, and Red departed as bidden, his face gradually + breaking into an enthusiastic grin as he ruminated upon the plan. + “Level-headed old cuss; he's a wonder when it comes to planning or + fighting. An' lucky,—well, I reckon!” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong ran forward for a short distance and slid down the steep bank of + a narrow arroyo and waited, the repeater thrust out through the dense + fringe of grass and shrubs which bordered the edge. When settled to his + complete satisfaction and certain that he was effectually screened from + the sight of any one in front of him, he arose on his toes and looked + around for his companion, and laughed. Mr. Connors was bending very + dejectedly apparently over his prostrate horse, but in reality was + swearing heartily at the ignorant quadruped because it strove with might + and main to get its master's foot off its head so it could arise. The man + in the arroyo turned again and watched the hills and it was not long + before he saw two Indians burst into view over the crest and gallop + towards his friend. They were not to be blamed because they did not know + the pursued had joined a friend, for the second trail was yet some + distance in front of them. + </p> + <p> + “Pair of budding warriors, all right; an' awful important. Somebody must + 'a' told <i>them</i> they had brains,” Mr. Cassidy muttered. “They're just + at the age when they knows it all an' have to go 'round raising hell all + the time. Wonder when they jumped the reservation.” + </p> + <p> + The Indians, seeing Mr. Connors arguing with his prostrate horse, and + taking it for granted that he was not stopping for pleasure or to view the + scenery, let out a yell and dashed ahead at grater speed, at the same time + separating so as to encircle him and attack him front and rear at the same + time. They had a great amount of respect for cowboys. + </p> + <p> + This manoeuvre was entirely unexpected and clashed violently with Mr. + Cassidy's plan of procedure, so two irate punchers swore heartily at their + rank stupidity in not counting on it. Of course everybody that knew + anything at all about such warfare knew that they would do just such a + thing, which made it all the more bitter. But Red had cultivated the habit + of thinking quickly and he saw at once that the remedy lay with him; he + astonished the exultant savages by straddling his disgruntled horse as it + scrambled to its feet and galloping away from them, bearing slightly to + the south, because he wished to lure his pursuers to ride closer to his + anxious and eager friend. + </p> + <p> + This action was a success, for the yelling warriors, slowing perceptibly + because of their natural astonishment at the resurrection and speed of an + animal regarded as dead or useless, spurred on again, drawing closer + together, and along the chord of the arc made by Mr. Connors' trail. + Evidently the fool white man was either crazy or had original and + startling ideas about the way to rest a horse when hard pressed, which + pleased them much, since he had lost so much time. The pleasures of the + war-trail would be vastly greater if all white men had similar ideas. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong, the light of fighting burning strong in his eyes, watched them + sweep nearer and nearer, splendid examples of their type and seeming to be + a part of their mounts. Then two shots rang out in quick succession and a + cloud of pungent smoke arose lazily from the edge of the arroyo as the + warriors fell from their mounts not sixty yards from the hidden marksman. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Connors' rifle spat fire once to make assurance doubly sure and he + hastily rejoined his friend as that person climbed out of the arroyo. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! They must have been half-breeds!” snorted Red in great disgust, + watching his friend shed sand from his clothes. “I allus opined that + 'Paches was too blamed slick to bite on a game like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they are purty 'lusive animals, 'Paches; but there are exceptions,” + replied Hopalong, smiling at the success of their scheme. “Them two ain't + 'Paches—they're the exceptions. But let me tell you that's a good + game, just the same. It is as long as they don't see the second trail in + time. Didn't Buck and Skinny get two that way?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I reckon so. But what'll we do now? What's the next play?” asked + Red, hurriedly, his eyes searching the sky-line of the hills. “The rest of + the coyotes will be here purty soon, an' they'll be madder than ever now. + An' you better gimme back that gun, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Take yore old gun—who wants the blamed thing, anyhow?” Hopalong + demanded, throwing the weapon at his friend as he ran to bring up the + hidden horse. When he returned he grinned pleasantly. “Why, we'll go on + like we was greased for calamity, that's what we'll do. Did you reckon we + was going to play leap-frog around here an' wait for the rest of them + paint-shops, like a blamed fool pair of idiots?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know what <i>you</i> might do, remembering how you acted when I + met you,” retorted Red, shifting his cartridge belt so the empty loops + were behind and out of the way. “But I shore knowed what we ought to do, + all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, mebby you also know how many's headed this way; do you?” + </p> + <p> + “You've got me stumped there; but there's a round dozen, anyway,” Red + replied. “You see, the three that chased me were out scouting ahead of the + main bunch; an' I didn't have no time to take no blasted census.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we've got to hit the home trail, an' hit it hard. Wind up that + four-laigged excuse of yourn, an' take my dust,” Hopalong responded, + leading the way. “If we can get home there'll be a lot of disgusted braves + hitting the high spots on the back trail trying to find a way out. Buck + an' the rest of the boys will be a whole lot pleased, too. We can muster + thirty men in two hours if we gets to Buckskin, an' that's twenty more + than we'll need.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you one thing, Hoppy; we can get as far as Powers' old ranch house, + an' that's shore,” replied Red, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” exploded his companion in scorn and pity. “That old sieve of a + shack ain't good enough for <i>me</i> to die in, no matter what you think + about it. Why, it's as full of holes as a stiff hat in a melee. Yo're on + the wrong trail; think again.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cassidy objected not because he believed that Powers' old ranch house + was unworthy of serious consideration as a place of refuge and defence, + but for the reason that he wished to reach Buckskin so his friends might + all get in on the treat. Times were very dull on the ranch, and this was + an occasion far too precious to let slip by. Besides, he then would have + the pleasure of leading his friends against the enemy and battling on even + terms. If he sought shelter he and Red would have to fight on the + defensive, which was a game he hated cordially because it put him in a + relatively subordinate position and thereby hurt his pride. + </p> + <p> + “Let me tell you that it's a whole lot better than thin air with a + hard-working circle around us—an' you know what that means,” + retorted Mr. Connors. “But if you don't want to take a chance in the + shack, why mebby we can make Wallace's, or the Cross-O-Cross. That is, if + we don't get turned out of our way.” + </p> + <p> + “We don't head for no Cross-O-Cross or Wallace's,” rejoined his friend + with emphasis, “an' we won't waste no time in Powers' shack, neither; + we'll push right through as hard as we can go for Buckskin. Let them + fellers find their own hunting—our outfit comes first. An' besides + that'll mean a detour in a country fine for ambushes. We'd never get + through.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, have it yore own way, then!” snapped Red. “You allus was a + hard-headed old mule, anyhow.” In his heart Red knew that Hopalong was + right about Wallace's and the Cross-O-Cross. + </p> + <p> + Some time after the two punchers had quitted the scene of their trap, + several Apaches loped up, read the story of the tragedy at a glance, and + galloped on in pursuit. They had left the reservation a fortnight before + under the able leadership of that veteran of many war-trails—Black + Bear. Their leader, chafing at inaction and sick of the monotony of + reservation life, had yielded to the entreaties of a score of restless + young men and slipped away at their head, eager for the joys of raiding + and plundering. But instead of stealing horses and murdering isolated + whites as they had expected, they met with heavy repulses and were now + without the mind of their leader. They had fled from one defeat to another + and twice had barely eluded the cavalry which pursued them. Now two more + of their dwindling force were dead and another had been found but an hour + before. Rage and ferocity seethed in each savage heart and they determined + to get the puncher they had chased, and that other whose trail they now + saw for the first time. They would place at least one victory against the + string of their defeats, and at any cost. Whips rose and fell and the + war-party shot forward in a compact group, two scouts thrown ahead to feel + the way. + </p> + <p> + Red and Hopalong rode on rejoicing, for there were three less Apaches + loose in the Southwest for the inhabitants to swear about and fear, and + there was an excellent chance of more to follow. The Southwest had no + toleration for the Government's policy of dealing with Indians and derived + a great amount of satisfaction every time an Apache was killed. It still + clung to the time-honored belief that the only good Indian was a dead one. + Mr. Cassidy voiced his elation and then rubbed an empty stomach in vain + regret,—when a bullet shrilled past his head, so unexpectedly as to + cause him to duck instinctively and then glance apologetically at his + red-haired friend; and both spurred their mounts to greater speed. Next + Mr. Connors grabbed frantically at his perforated sombrero and grew + petulant and loquacious. + </p> + <p> + “Both them shots was lucky, Hoppy; the feller that fired at me did it on + the dead run; but that won't help us none if one of 'em connects with us. + You gimme that Sharps—got to show 'em that they're taking big + chances crowding us this way.” He took the heavy rifle and turned in the + saddle. “It's an even thousand, if it's a yard. He don't look very big, + can't hardly tell him from his cayuse; an' the wind's puffy. Why don't you + dirty or rust this gun? The sun glitters all along the barrel. Well, here + goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Missed by a mile,” reproved Hopalong, who would have been stunned by such + a thing as a hit under the circumstances, even if his good-shooting friend + had made it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Missed the coyote I aimed for, but I got the cayuse of his off + pardner; see it?” + </p> + <p> + “Talk about luck!” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right: it takes blamed good shooting to miss that close in + this case. Look! It's slowed 'em up a bit, an' that's about all I hoped to + do. Bet they think I'm a real, shore-'nuff medicine-man. Now gimme another + cartridge.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not; no use wasting lead at this range. We'll need all the + cartridges we got before we get out of this hole. You can't do nothing + without stopping—an' that takes time.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll stop! The blazes with the time! Gimme another, d'ye hear?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cassidy heard, complied, and stopped beside his companion, who was + very intent upon the matter at hand. It took some figuring to make a hit + when the range was so great and the sun so blinding and the wind so + capricious. He lowered the rifle and peered through the smoke at the + confusion he had caused by dropping the nearest warrior. He was said to be + the best rifle shot in the Southwest, which means a great deal, and his + enemies did not deny it. But since the Sharps shot a special cartridge and + was reliable up to the limit of its sight gauge, a matter of eighteen + hundred yards, he did not regard the hit as anything worthy of especial + mention. Not so his friend, who grinned joyously and loosed his + admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Yo're a shore wonder with that gun, Red! Why don't you lose that repeater + an' get a gun like mine? Lord, if I could use a rifle like you, I wouldn't + have that gun of yourn for a gift. Just look at what you did with it! + Please get one like it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm plumb satisfied with the repeater,” replied Red. “I don't miss very + often at eight hundred with it, an' that's long enough range for most + anybody. An' if I do miss, I can send another that won't, an' right on the + tail of the first, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the devil! You make me disgusted with yore fool talk about that + carbine!” snapped his companion, and the subject was dropped. + </p> + <p> + The merits of their respective rifles had always been a bone of contention + between them and one well chewed, at that. Red was very well satisfied + with his Winchester, and he was a good judge. + </p> + <p> + “You did stop 'em a little,” asserted Mr. Cassidy some time later when he + looked back. “You stopped 'em coming straight, but they're spreading out + to work up around us. Now, if we had good cayuses instead of these wooden + wonders, we could run away from 'em dead easy, draw their best mounted + warriors to the front an' then close with 'em. Good thing their cayuses + are well tired out, for as it is we've got to make a stand purty soon. + Gee! They don't like you, Red; they're calling you names in the sign + language. Just look at 'em cuss you!” + </p> + <p> + “How much water have you got?” inquired his friend with anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Canteen plumb full. How're you fixed?” + </p> + <p> + “I got the same, less one drink. That gives us enough for a couple of days + with some to spare, if we're careful,” Mr. Connors replied. New Mexican + canteens are built on generous lines and are known as life-preservers. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that glory-hunter go!” exclaimed Red, watching a brave who was + riding half a mile to their right and rapidly coming abreast of them. + “Wonder how he got over there without us seeing him.” + </p> + <p> + “Here; stop him!” suggested Hopalong, holding out his Sharps. “We can't + let him get ahead of us and lay in ambush—that's what he's playing + to do.” + </p> + <p> + “My gun's good, and better, for me, at this range; but you know, I can't + hit a jack-rabbit going over rough country as fast as that feller is,” + replied his companion, standing up in his stirrups and firing. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! Never touched him! But he's edging off a-plenty. See him cuss you. + What's he calling you, anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, shut up! How the devil do <i>I</i> know? I don't talk with my arms.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you superstitious, Red?” + </p> + <p> + “No! Shut up!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am. See that feller over there? If he gets in front of us it's a + shore sign that somebody's going to get hurt. He'll have plenty of time to + get cover an' pick us off as we come up.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry—his cayuse is deader'n ours. They must 'a' been + pushing on purty hard the last few days. See it stumble?—what'd I + tell you!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but they're gaining on us slow but shore. We've got to make a stand + purty soon—how much further do you reckon that infernal shack is, + anyhow?” Hopalong asked sharply. + </p> + <p> + “'T ain't fur off—see it any minute now.” + </p> + <p> + “Here,” remarked Hopalong, holding out his rifle, “stencil yore mark on + his hide; catch him just as he strikes the top of that little rise.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't got time—that shack can't be much further.” + </p> + <p> + And it wasn't, for as they galloped over a rise they saw, half a mile + ahead of them, an adobe building in poor state of preservation. It was + Powers' old ranch house, and as they neared it, they saw that there was no + doubt about the holes. + </p> + <p> + “Told you it was a sieve,” grunted Hopalong, swinging in on the tail of + his companion. “Not worth a hang for anything,” he added bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “It'll answer, all right,” retorted Red grimly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + MR. HOLDEN DROPS IN + </h3> + <p> + Mr. Cassidy dismounted and viewed the building with open disgust, walking + around it to see what held it up, and when he finally realized that it was + self-supporting his astonishment was profound. Undoubtedly there were + shacks in the United States in worse condition, but he hoped their number + was small. Of course he knew that the building was small. Of course he + knew that the building would make a very good place of defence, but for + the sake of argument he called to his companion and urged that they be + satisfied with what defence they could extemporize in the open. Mr. + Connors hotly and hastily dissented as he led the horses into the + building, and straightway the subject was arbitrated with much feeling and + snappy eloquence. Finally Hopalong thought that Red was a chump, and said + so out loud, whereat Red said unpleasant things about his good friend's + pedigree, attributes, intelligence, et al., even going so far as to + prognosticate his friend's place of eternal abode. The remarks were fast + getting to be somewhat personal in tenor when a whine in the air swept up + the scale to a vicious shriek as it passed between them, dropped rapidly + to a whine again and quickly died out in the distance, a flat report + coming to their ears a few seconds later. Invisible bees seemed to be + winging through the air, the angry and venomous droning becoming more + pronounced each passing moment, and the irregular cracking of rifles grew + louder rapidly. An angry <i>s-p-a-t!</i> told of where a stone behind them + had launched the ricochet which hurled skyward with a wheezing scream. A + handful of 'dobe dust sprang from the corner of the building and sifted + down upon them, causing Red to cough. + </p> + <p> + “That ricochet was a Sharps!” exclaimed Hopalong, and they lost no time in + getting into the building, where the discussion was renewed as they + prepared for the final struggle. Red grunted his cheerful approval, for + now he was out of the blazing sun and where he could better appreciate the + musical tones of the flying bullets; but his companion, slamming shut the + door and propping it with a fallen roof-beam, grumbled and finally gave + rein to his rancor by sneering at the Winchester. + </p> + <p> + “It shore gets me that after all I have said about that gun you will tote + it around with you and force yoreself into a suicide's grave,” quoth Mr. + Cassidy, with exuberant pugnacity. “I ain't in no way objecting to the + suicide part of it, but I can't see that it's at all fair to drag <i>me</i> + onto the edge of everlasting eternity with you. If you ain't got no regard + for yore own life you shore ought to think a little about yore friend's. + Now you'll waste all yore cartridges an' then come snooping around me to + borrow my gun. Why don't you lose the damned thing?” + </p> + <p> + “What I pack ain't none of yore business, which same I'll uphold,” + retorted Mr. Connors, at last able to make himself heard. “You get over on + yore own side an' use yore Colt; I've wondered a whole lot where you ever + got the sense to use a Colt—<i>I</i> wouldn't be a heap surprised to + see you toting a pearl-handled .22, like the kids use. Now you 'tend to + yore grave-yard aspirants, an' lemme do the same with mine.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord knows I've stood a whole lot from you because you just can't + help being foolish, but I've got plumb weary and sick of it. It stops + right here or you won't get no 'Paches,” snorted Hopalong, peering + intently through a hole in the shack. The more they squabbled the better + they liked it,—controversies had become so common that they were + merely a habit; and they served to take the grimness out of desperate + situations. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, you can't lick one side of me,” averred Red loftily. “You never did + stop anybody that was anything,” he jeered as he fired from his window. + “Why, you couldn't even hit the bottom of the Grand Canyon if you leaned + over the edge.” + </p> + <p> + “You could, if you leaned too far, you red-headed wart of a half-breed,” + snapped Hopalong. “But how about the Joneses, Tarantula Charley, Slim + Travennes, an' all the rest? How about them, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “Huh! You couldn't 'a' got any of 'em if they had been sober,” and Mr. + Connors shook so with mirth that the Indian at whom he had fired got away + with a whole skin and cheerfully derided the marksman. “That 'Pache shore + reckons it was you shooting at him, I missed him so far. Now, you shut up—I + want to get some so we can go home. I don't want to stay out here all + night an' the next day as well,” Red grumbled, his words dying slowly in + his throat as he voiced other thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong caught sight of an Apache who moved cautiously through a + chaparral lying about nine hundred yards away. As long as the distant + enemy lay quietly he could not be discerned, but he was not content with + assured safety and took a chance. Hopalong raised his rifle to his + shoulder as the Indian fired and the latter's bullet, striking the edge of + the hole through which Mr. Cassidy peered, kicked up a generous handful of + dust, some of which found lodgment in that individual's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Oh! Oh! Wow!” yelled the unfortunate, dancing blindly around the room + in rage and pain, and dropping his rifle to grab at his eyes. “Oh! Oh! + Oh!” + </p> + <p> + His companion wheeled like a flash and grabbed him as he stumbled past. + “Are you plugged bad, Hoppy? Where did they get you? Are you hit bad?” and + Red's heart was in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “No, I ain't plugged bad!” mimicked Hopalong. “I ain't plugged at all!” he + blazed, kicking enthusiastically at his solicitous friend. “Get me some + water, you jackass! Don't stand there like a fool! I ain't going to fall + down. Don't you know my eyes are full of 'dobe?” + </p> + <p> + Red, avoiding another kick, hastily complied, and as hastily left Mr. + Cassidy to wash out the dirt while he returned to his post by the window. + “Anybody'd think you was full of red-eye, the way you act,” muttered Red + peevishly. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong, rubbing his eyes of the dirt, went back to the hole in the wall + and looked out. “Hey, Red! Come over here an' spill that brave's conceit. + I can't keep my eyes open long enough to aim, an' it's a nice shot, too. + It'd serve him right if you got him!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Connors obeyed the summons and peered out cautiously. “I can't see + him, nohow; where is the coyote?” + </p> + <p> + “Over there in that little chaparral; see him now? <i>There!</i> See him + moving. Do you mean to tell me—” + </p> + <p> + “Yep; I see him, all right. You watch,” was the reply. “He's just over + nine hundred—where's yore Sharps?” He took the weapon, glanced at + the Buffington sight, which he found to be set right, and aimed carefully. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong blinked through another hole as his friend fired and saw the + Indian flop down and crawl aimlessly about on hands and knees. “What's he + doing now, Red?” + </p> + <p> + “Playing marbles, you chump; an' here goes for his agate,” replied the man + with the Sharps, firing again. “There! Gee!” he exclaimed, as a bullet + hummed in through the window he had quitted for the moment, and thudded + into the wall, making the dry adobe fly. It had missed him by only a few + inches and he now crept along the floor to the rear of the room and shoved + his rifle out among the branches of a stunted mesquite which grew before a + fissure in the wall. “You keep away from that windy for a minute, Hoppy,” + he warned as he waited. + </p> + <p> + A terror-stricken lizard flashed out of the fissure and along the wall + where the roof had fallen in and flitted into a hole, while a fly buzzed + loudly and hovered persistently around Red's head, to the rage of that + individual. “Ah, ha!” he grunted, lowering the rifle and peering through + the smoke. A yell reached his ears and he forthwith returned to his + window, whistling softly. + </p> + <p> + Evidently Mr. Cassidy's eyes were better and his temper sweeter, for he + hummed “Dixie” and then jumped to “Yankee Doodle,” mixing the two airs + with careless impartiality, which was a sign that he was thinking deeply. + “Wonder what ever became of Powers, Red. Peculiar feller, he was.” + </p> + <p> + “In jail, I reckon, if drink hasn't killed him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I reckon so,” and Mr. Cassidy continued his medley, which prompted + his friend quickly to announce his unqualified disapproval. + </p> + <p> + “You can make more of a mess of them two songs than anybody I ever heard + murder 'em! <i>Shut up!</i>”—and the concert stopped, the vocalist + venting his feelings at an Indian, and killing the horse instead. + </p> + <p> + “Did you get him?” queried Red. + </p> + <p> + “Nope; but I got his cayuse,” Hopalong replied, shoving a fresh cartridge + into the foul, greasy breech of the Sharps. “An' here's where I get him—got + to square up for my eyes some way,” he muttered, firing. “Missed! Now what + do you think of that!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Better take my Winchester,” suggested Red, in a matter-of-fact way, but + he chuckled softly and listened for the reply. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, you go to the devil!” snapped Mr. Cassidy, firing again. “Whoop! Got + him that time!” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” asked his companion, with strong suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “None of yore business!” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, darn it! Who spilled the water?” yelled Red, staring blankly at the + overturned canteen. + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw! Reckon I did, Red,” apologized his friend ruefully. “Now of all + the cussed luck!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well; we've got another, an' you had to wash out yore eyes. Lucky we + each had one—<i>Holy smoke!</i> It's most all gone! The top is + loose!” + </p> + <p> + Heartfelt profanity filled the room and the two disgusted punchers went + sullenly back to their posts. It was a calamity of no small magnitude, + for, while food could be dispensed with for a long time if necessary, + going without water was another question. It was as necessary as + cartridges. + </p> + <p> + Then Hopalong laughed at the ludicrous side of the whole affair, thereby + revealing one of the characteristics which endeared him to his friends. No + matter how desperate a situation might be, he could always find in it + something at which to laugh. He laughed going into danger and coming out + of it, with a joke or a pleasantry always trembling on the end of his + tongue. + </p> + <p> + “Red, did it ever strike you how cussed thirsty a feller gets just as soon + as he knows he can't have no drink? But it don't make much difference, + nohow. We'll get out of this little scrape just as we've allus got out of + trouble. There's some mad war-whoops outside that are worse off than we + are, because they are at the wrong end of yore gun. I feel sort of sorry + for 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're shore a happy idiot,” grinned Red. “Hey! Listen!” + </p> + <p> + Galloping was heard and Hopalong, running to the door, looked out through + a crack as sudden firing broke out around the rear of the shack, and fell + to pulling away the props, crying, “It's a puncher, Red; he's riding this + way! Come on an' help him in!” + </p> + <p> + “He's a blamed fool to ride this way! I'm with you!” replied Red, running + to his side. + </p> + <p> + Half a mile from the house, coming across the open space as fast as he + could urge his horse, rode a cowboy, and not far behind him raced about a + dozen Apaches, yelling and firing. + </p> + <p> + Red picked up his companion's rifle, and steadying it against the jamb of + the door, fired, dropping one of the foremost of the pursuers. Quickly + reloading again, he fired and missed. The third shot struck another horse, + and then taking up his own gun he began to fire rapidly, as rapidly as he + could work the lever and yet make his shots tell. Hopalong drew his Colt + and ran back to watch the rear of the house, and it was well that he did + so, for an Apache in that direction, believing that the trapped punchers + were so busily engaged with the new developments as to forget for the + moment, sprinted towards the back window; and he had gotten within twenty + paces of the goal when Hopalong's Colt cracked a protest. Seeing that the + warrior was no longer a combatant, Mr. Cassidy ran back to the door just + as the stranger fell from his horse and crawled past Red. The door slammed + shut, the props fell against it, and the two friends turned to the work of + driving back the second band, which, however, had given up all hope of + rushing the house in the face of Red's telling fire, and had sought cover + instead. + </p> + <p> + The stranger dragged himself to the canteens and drank what little water + remained, and then turned to watch the two men moving from place to place, + firing coolly and methodically. He thought he recognized one of them from + the descriptions he had heard, but he was not sure. + </p> + <p> + “My name's Holden,” he whispered hoarsely, but the cracking of the rifles + drowned his voice. During a lull he tried again. “My name's Holden,” he + repeated weakly. “I'm from the Cross-O-Cross, an' can't get back there + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Mine's Cassidy, an' that's Connors, of the Bar-20. Are you hurt very + bad?” + </p> + <p> + “No; not very bad,” lied Holden, trying to smile. “Gee, but I'm glad I + fell in with you two fellers,” he exclaimed. He was but little more than a + boy, and to him Hopalong Cassidy and Red Connors were names with which to + conjure. “But I'm plumb sorry I went an' brought you more trouble,” he + added regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pshaw! We had it before you came—you needn't do no worrying + about that, Holden; besides, I reckon you couldn't help it,” Hopalong + grinned facetiously. “But tell us how you came to mix up with that bunch,” + he continued. + </p> + <p> + Holden shuddered and hesitated a moment, his companions alertly shifting + from crack to crack, window to window, their rifles cracking at intervals. + They appeared to him to act as if they had done nothing else all their + lives but fight Indians from that shack, and he braced up a little at + their example of coolness. + </p> + <p> + “It's an awful story, awful!” he began. “I was riding towards Hoyt's + Corners an' when I got about half way there I topped a rise an' saw a + nester's house about half a mile away. It wasn't there the last time I + rode that way, an' it looked so peaceful an' home-like that I stopped an' + looked at it a few minutes. I was just going to start again when that + war-party rode out of a barranca close to the house an' went straight for + it at top speed. It seemed like a dream, 'cause I thought Apaches never + got so far east. They don't, do they? I thought not—these must 'a' + got turned out of their way an' had to hustle for safety. Well, it was all + over purty quick. I saw 'em drag out two women an'—an'—purty + soon a man. He was fighting like fury, but he didn't last long. Then they + set fire to the house an' threw the man's body up on the roof. I couldn't + seem to move till the flames shot up, but then I must 'a' went sort of + loco, because I emptied my gun at 'em, which was plumb foolish at that + distance, for me. The next thing I knowed was that half of 'em was coming + my way as hard as they could ride, an' I lit out instanter; an' here I am. + I can't get that sight outen my head nohow—it'll drive me loco!” he + screamed, sobbing like a child from the horror of it all. + </p> + <p> + His auditors still moved around the room, growing more and more vindictive + all the while and more zealously endeavoring to create a still greater + deficit in one Apache war-party. They knew what he had looked upon, for + they themselves had become familiar with the work of Apaches in Arizona. + They could picture it vividly in all its devilish horror. Neither of them + paid any apparent attention to their companion, for they could not spare + the time, and, also, they believed it best to let him fight out his own + battles unassisted. + </p> + <p> + Holden sobbed and muttered as the minutes dragged along, at times acting + so strangely as to draw a covert side-glance from one or both of the + Bar-20 punchers. Then Mr. Connors saw his boon companion suddenly lean out + of a window and immediately become the target for the hard-working enemy. + He swore angrily at the criminal recklessness of it. “Hey, you! Come in + out of that! Ain't you got no brains at all, you blasted idiot! Don't you + know that we need every gun?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that's right. I sort of forgot,” grinned the reckless one, obeying + with alacrity and looking sheepish. “But you know there's two thundering + big tarantulas out there fighting like blazes. You ought to see 'em jump! + It's a sort of a leap-frog fight, Red.” + </p> + <p> + “Fool!” snorted Mr. Connors belligerently. “<i>You'd</i> 'a' jumped if one + of them slugs had 'a' got you! Yo're the damnedest fool that ever walked + on two laigs, you blasted sage-hen!” Mr. Connors was beginning to lose his + temper and talk in his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they didn't get me, did they? What you yelling about, anyhow?” + growled Hopalong, trying to brazen it out. + </p> + <p> + “An' <i>you</i> talking about suicide to me!” snapped Mr. Connors, + determined to rub it in and have the last word. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Holden stared, open-mouthed, at the man who could enjoy a miserable + spider fight under such distressing circumstances, and his shaken nerves + became steadier as he gave thought to the fact that he was a companion of + the two men about whose exploits he had heard so much. Evidently the + stories had not been exaggerated. What must they think of him for giving + way as he had? He rose to his feet in time to see a horse blunder into the + open on Red's side of the house, and after it blundered its owner, who + immediately lost all need of earthly conveyances. Holden laughed from the + joy of being with a man who could shoot like that, and he took up his + rifle and turned to a crack in the wall, filled with the determination to + let his companions know that he was built of the right kind of timber + after all, wounded as he was. + </p> + <p> + Red's only comment, as he pumped a fresh cartridge into the barrel, was, + “He must 'a' thought he saw a spider fight, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Hey, Red,” called Hopalong. “The big one is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “What big one?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, don't you remember? That big tarantula I was watching. One was + bigger than the other, but the little feller shore waded into him an'—” + </p> + <p> + “Go to the devil!” shouted Red, who had to grin, despite his anger. + </p> + <p> + “Presently, presently,” replied Hopalong, laughing. + </p> + <p> + So the day passed, and when darkness came upon them all of the defenders + were wounded, Holden desperately so. + </p> + <p> + “Red, one of us has got to try to make the ranch,” Hopalong suddenly + announced, and his friend knew he was right. Since Holden had appeared + upon the scene they had known that they could not try a dash; one of them + had to stay. + </p> + <p> + “We'll toss for it; heads, I go,” Red suggested, flipping a coin. + </p> + <p> + “Tails!” cried Hopalong. “It's only thirty miles to Buckskin, an' if I can + get away from here I'm good to make it by eleven to-night. I'll stop at + Cowan's an' have him send word to Lucas an' Bartlett, so there'll be + enough in case any of our boys are out on the range in some line house. We + can pick 'em up on the way back, so there won't be no time lost. If I get + through you can expect excitement on the outside of this sieve by + daylight. You an' Holden can hold her till then, because they never attack + at night. It's the only way out of this for us—we ain't got + cartridges or water enough to last another day.” + </p> + <p> + Red, knowing that Hopalong was taking a desperate chance in working + through the cordon of Indians which surrounded them, and that the house + was safe when compared to running such a gantlet, offered to go through + the danger line with him. For several minutes a wordy war raged and + finally Red accepted a compromise; he was to help, but not to work through + the line. + </p> + <p> + “But what's the use of all this argument?” feebly demanded Holden. “Why + don't you both go? I ain't a-going to live nohow, so there ain't no use of + anybody staying here with me, to die with me. Put a bullet through me so + them devils can't play with me like they do with others, an' then get away + while you've got a chance. Two men can get through as easy as one.” He + sank back, exhausted by the effort. + </p> + <p> + “No more of that!” cried Red, trying to be stern. “I'm going to stay with + you an' see things through. I'd be a fine sort of a coyote to sneak off + an' leave you for them fiends. An', besides, I can't get away; my cayuse + is hit too hard an' yourn is dead,” he lied cheerfully. “An' yo're going + to get well, all right. I've seen fellers hit harder than you are pull + through.” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong walked over to the prostrate man and shook hands with him. “I'm + awful glad I met you, Holden. Yo're pure grit all the way through, an' I + like to tie to that kind of a man. Don't you worry about nothing; Red can + handle this proposition, an' we'll have you in Buckskin by to-morrow + night; you'll be riding again in two weeks. So long.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to Red and shook hands silently, led his horse out of the + building and mounted, glad that the moon had not yet come up, for in the + darkness he had a chance. + </p> + <p> + “Good luck, Hoppy!” cried Red, running to the door. “Good luck!” + </p> + <p> + “You bet—an' lots of it, too,” groaned Holden, but he was gone. Then + Red wheeled. “Holden, keep yore eyes an' ears open. I'm going out to see + that he gets off. He may run into a—” and he, too, was gone. + </p> + <p> + Holden watched the doors and windows, striving to resist the weak, giddy + feeling in his head, and ten minutes later he heard a shot and then + several more in quick succession. Shortly afterward Red called out, and + almost immediately the Bar-20 puncher crawled in through a window. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” anxiously cried the man on the floor. “Did he make it?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon so. He got away from the first crowd, anyhow. I wasn't very far + behind him, an' by the time they woke up to what was going on he was + through an' riding like blazes. I heard him call 'em half-breeds a moment + later an' it sounded far off. They hit me,—fired at my flash, like I + drilled one of them. But it ain't much, anyhow. How are you feeling now?” + </p> + <p> + “Fine!” lied the other. “That Cassidy is shore a wonder—he's all + right, an' so are you. I'll never see him again, but I shore hope he gets + through!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be foolish. Here, you finish the water in yore canteen—I + picked it up outside by yore cayuse. Then go to sleep,” ordered Red. “I'll + do all the watching that's necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “I will if you'll call me when you get sleepy.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, shore I will. But don't you want the rest of the water? I ain't a + bit thirsty—I had all I could hold just before you came,” Red + remarked as his companion pushed the canteen against him in the dark. He + was choking with thirst. “Well, then; all right,” and Red pretended to + drink. “Now, then, you go to sleep; a good snooze will do you a world of + good—it's just what you need.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + BUCK TAKES A HAND + </h3> + <p> + Cowan's saloon, club, and place of general assembly for the town of + Buckskin and the nearby ranches, held a merry crowd, for it was pay-day on + the range and laughter and liquor ran a close race. Buck Peters, his hands + full of cigars, passed through the happy-go-lucky, do-as-you-please crowd + and invited everybody to smoke, which nobody refused to do. Wood Wright, + of the C-80, tuned his fiddle anew and swung into a rousing quick-step. + Partners were chosen, the “women” wearing handkerchiefs on their arms to + indicate the fact, and the room shook and quivered as the scraping of + heavy boots filled the air with a cloud of dust. “Allaman left!” cried the + prompter, and then the dance stopped as if by magic. The door had crashed + open and a blood-stained man staggered in and towards the bar, crying, + “Buck! Red's hemmed in by 'Paches!” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” roared the foreman of the Bar-20, leaping forward, the cigars + falling to the floor to be crushed and ground into powder by careless + feet. He grasped his puncher and steadied him while Cowan slid an extra + generous glassful of brandy across the bar for the wounded man. The room + was in an uproar, men grabbing rifles and running out to get their horses, + for it was plain to be seen that there was hard work to be done, and + quickly. Questions, threats, curses filled the air, those who remained + inside to get the story listening intently to the jerky narrative; those + outside, caring less for the facts of an action past than for the action + to come, shouted impatiently for a start to be made, even threatening to + go on and tackle the proposition by themselves if there were not more + haste. Hopalong told in a graphic, terse manner all that was necessary, + while Buck and Cowan hurriedly bandaged his wounds. + </p> + <p> + “Come on! Come on!” shouted the mounted crowd outside, angry, and + impatient for a start, the prancing of horses and the clinking of metal + adding to the noise. “Get a move on! <i>Will</i> you hurry up!” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Hoppy!” pleaded Buck, in a furore. “Shut up, you outside!” he + yelled. “You say they know that you got away, Hoppy?” he asked. “All right—<i>Lanky!</i>” + he shouted. “<i>Lanky!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Buck!” and Lanky Smith roughly pushed his way through the + crowd to his foreman's side. “Here I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Take Skinny and Pete with you, an' a lead horse apiece. Strike straight + for Powers' old ranch house. Them Injuns'll have pickets out looking for + Hoppy's friends. You three get the pickets nearest the old trail through + that arroyo to the southeast, an' then wait for us. We'll come along the + high bank on the left. Don't make no noise doing it, neither, if you can + help it. Understand? Good! Now ride like the devil!” + </p> + <p> + Lanky grabbed Pete and Skinny on his way out and disappeared into the + corral; and very soon thereafter hoof-beats thudded softly in the sandy + street and pounded into the darkness of the north, soon lost to the ear. + An uproar of advice and good wishes crashed after them, for the game had + begun. + </p> + <p> + “It's Powers' old shack, boys!” shouted a man in the door to the restless + force outside, which immediately became more restless. “Hey! Don't go + yet!” he begged. “Wait for me an' the rest. Don't be a lot of idiots!” + </p> + <p> + Excited and impatient voices replied from the darkness, vexed, grouchy, + and querulous. “Then get a move on—<i>whoa!</i>—it'll be light + before we get there if you don't hustle!” roared one voice above the + confusion. “You know what <i>that</i> means!” + </p> + <p> + “Come on! Come on! For God's sake, are you tied to the bar?” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're a lot of old grandmothers! Come on!” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong appeared in the door. “I'll show you the way, boys!” he shouted. + “Cowan, put my saddle on yore cayuse—<i>pronto</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “Good for you, Hoppy!” came from the street. “We'll wait!” + </p> + <p> + “You stay here; yo're hurt too much!” cried Buck to his puncher, as he + grabbed up a box of cartridges from a shelf behind the bar. “Ain't you got + no sense? There's enough of us to take care of this without you!” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong wheeled and looked his foreman squarely in the eyes. “Red's out + there, waiting for me—I'm going! I'd be a fine sort of a coyote to + leave him in that hell hole an' not go back, wouldn't I!” he said, with + quiet determination. + </p> + <p> + “Good for you, Cassidy!” cried a man who hastened out to mount. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, come on,” replied Buck. “There's blamed few like you,” he + muttered, following Hopalong outside. + </p> + <p> + “Here's the cayuse, Cassidy,” cried Cowan, turning the animal over to him. + “<i>Wait</i>, Buck!” and he leaped into the building and ran out again, + shoving a bottle of brandy and a package of food into the impatient + foreman's hand. “Mebby Red or Hoppy'll need it—so long, an' good + luck!” and he was alone in a choking cloud of dust, peering through the + darkness along the river trail after a black mass that was swallowed up + almost instantly. Then, as he watched, the moon pushed its rim up over the + hills and he laughed joyously as he realized what its light would mean to + the crowd. “There'll be great doings when <i>that</i> gang cuts loose,” he + muttered with savage elation. “Wish I was with 'em. Damn Injuns, anyhow!” + </p> + <p> + Far ahead of the main fighting force rode the three special-duty men, + reeling off the miles at top speed and constantly distancing their + friends, for they changed mounts at need, thanks to the lead horses + provided by Mr. Peters' cool-headed foresight. It was a race against dawn, + and every effort was made to win—the life of Red Connors hung in the + balance and a minute might turn the scale. + </p> + <p> + In Powers' old ranch house the night dragged along slowly to the grim + watcher, and the man huddled in the corner stirred uneasily and babbled, + ofttimes crying out in horror at the vivid dreams of his disordered mind. + Pacing ceaselessly from window to window, crack to crack, when the moon + came up, Mr. Connors scanned the bare, level plain with anxious eyes, + searching out the few covers and looking for dark spots on the dull gray + sand. They never attacked at night, but still—. Through the void + came the quavering call of a coyote, and he listened for the reply, which + soon came from the black chaparral across the clearing. He knew where two + of them were hiding, anyhow. Holden was muttering and tried to answer the + calls, and Red looked at him for the hundredth time that night. He glanced + out of the window again and noticed that there was a glow in the eastern + sky, and shortly afterwards dawn swiftly developed. + </p> + <p> + Pouring the last few drops of the precious water between the wounded man's + parched and swollen lips, he tossed the empty canteen from him and stood + erect. + </p> + <p> + “Pore devil,” he muttered, shaking his head sorrowfully, as he realized + that Holden's delirium was getting worse all the time. “If you was all + right we could give them wolves hell to dance to. Well, you won't know + nothing about it if we go under, an' that's some consolation.” He examined + his rifle and saw that the Colt at his thigh was fully loaded and in good + working order. “An' they'll pay us for their victory, by God! They'll pay + for it!” He stepped closer to the window, throwing the rifle into the + hollow of his arm. “It's about time for the rush; about time for the game—” + </p> + <p> + There was movement by that small chaparral to the south! To the east + something stirred into bounding life and action; a coyote called twice—and + then they came, on foot and silently as fleeting shadows, leaning forward + to bring into play every ounce of energy in the slim, red legs. Smoke + filled the room with its acrid sting. The crashing of the Winchester, + worked with wonderful speed and deadly accuracy by the best rifle shot in + the Southwest, brought the prostrate man to his feet in an instinctive + response to the call to action, the necessity of defence. He grasped his + Colt and stumbled blindly to a window to help the man who had stayed with + him. + </p> + <p> + On Red's side of the house one warrior threw up his arms and fell forward, + sprawling with arms and legs extended; another pitched to one side and + rolled over twice before he lay still; the legs of the third collapsed and + threw him headlong, bunched up in a grotesque pile of lifeless flesh; the + fourth leaped high into the air and turned a somersault before he struck + the sand, badly wounded, and out of the fight. Holden, steadying himself + against the wall, leaned in a window on the other side of the shack and + emptied his Colt in a dazed manner—doing his very best. Then the man + with the rifle staggered back with a muttered curse, his right arm + useless, and dropped the weapon to draw his Colt with the other hand. + </p> + <p> + Holden shrieked once and sank down, wagging his head slowly from side to + side, blood oozing from his mouth and nostrils; and his companion, goaded + into a frenzy of blood-lust and insane rage at the sight, threw himself + against the door and out into the open, to die under the clear sky, to go + like the man he was if he must die. “Damn you! It'll cost you more yet!” + he screamed, wheeling to place his back against the wall. + </p> + <p> + The triumphant yells of the exultant savages were cut short and turned to + howls of dismay by a fusillade which thundered from the south where a + crowd of hard-riding, hard-shooting cow-punchers tore out of the thicket + like an avalanche and swept over the open sand, yelling and cursing, and + then separated to go in hot pursuit of the sprinting Apaches. Some stood + up in their stirrups and fired down at a slant, making a short, chopping + motion with their heavy Colts; others leaned forward, far over the necks + of their horses, and shot with stationary guns; while yet others, with + reins dangling free, worked the levers of blue Winchesters so rapidly that + the flashes seemed to merge into a continuous flame. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God! Thank God—an' Hoppy!” groaned the man at the door of the + shack, staggering forward to meet the two men who had lost no time in + pursuit of the enemy, but had ridden straight to him. + </p> + <p> + “I was scared stiff you was done fer!” cried Hopalong, leaping off his + horse and shaking hands with his friend, whose hand-clasp was not as + strong as usual. “How's Holden?” he demanded, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “He passed. It was a close—” began Red, weakly, but his foreman + interposed. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, an' drink this!” ordered Buck, kindly but sternly. “We'll do the + talking for a while; you can tell us all about it later on. Why, <i>hullo</i>!” + he cried as Lanky Smith and his two happy companions rode up. “Reckon you + must 'a' got them pickets.” + </p> + <p> + “Shore we did! Stalked 'em on our bellies, didn't we, Skinny?” modestly + replied Mr. Smith, the roping expert of the Bar-20. “Ropes an' clubbed + guns did the rest. Anyhow, there was only two anywhere near the trail.” + </p> + <p> + “We didn't see you,” responded the foreman, tying the knot of a bandage on + Mr. Connors' arm. “An' we looked sharp, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Reckon we was hunting for more; we sort of forgot what you said about + waiting for you,” Mr. Smith replied, grinning broadly. + </p> + <p> + “An' you've got a good memory now,” smiled Mr. Peters. + </p> + <p> + “We didn't find no more, though,” offered Mr. Pete Wilson, with grave + regret. “An' we looked good, too. But we got Red, an' that's the whole + game. Red, you old son-of-a-gun, you can lick yore weight in powder!” + </p> + <p> + “It's too bad about Holden,” muttered Red, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + HOPALONG NURSES A GROUCH + </h3> + <p> + After the excitement incident to the affair at Powers' shack had died down + and the Bar-20 outfit worked over its range in the old, placid way, there + began to be heard low mutterings, and an air of peevish discontent began + to be manifested in various childish ways. And it was all caused by the + fact that Hopalong Cassidy had a grouch, and a big one. It was two months + old and growing worse daily, and the signs threatened contagion. His + foreman, tired and sick of the snarling, fidgety, petulant atmosphere that + Hopalong had created on the ranch, and driven to desperation, eagerly + sought some chance to get rid of the “sore-thumb” temporarily and give him + an opportunity to shed his generous mantle of the blues. And at last it + came. + </p> + <p> + No one knew the cause for Hoppy's unusual state of mind, although there + were many conjectures, and they covered the field rather thoroughly; but + they did not strike on the cause. Even Red Connors, now well over all ill + effects of the wounds acquired in the old ranch house, was forced to + guess; and when Red had to do that about anything concerning Hopalong he + was well warranted in believing the matter to be very serious. + </p> + <p> + Johnny Nelson made no secret of his opinion and derived from it a great + amount of satisfaction, which he admitted with a grin to his foreman. + </p> + <p> + “Buck,” he said, “Hoppy told me he went broke playing poker over in Grant + with Dave Wilkes and them two Lawrence boys, an' that shore explains it + all. He's got pack sores from carrying his unholy licking. It was due to + come for him, an' Dave Wilkes is just the boy to deliver it. That's the + whole trouble, an' I know it, an' I'm damned glad they trimmed him. But he + ain't got no right of making <i>us</i> miserable because he lost a few + measly dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're wrong, son; dead, dead wrong,” Buck replied. “He takes his beatings + with a grin, an' money never did bother him. No poker game that ever was + played could leave a welt on him like the one we all mourn, an' cuss. He's + been doing something that he don't want us to know—made a fool of + hisself some way, most likely, an' feels so ashamed that he's sore. I've + knowed him too long an' well to believe that gambling had anything to do + with it. But this little trip he's taking will fix him up all right, an' I + couldn't 'a' picked a better man—or one that I'd rather get rid of + just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, lemme tell you it's blamed lucky for him that you picked him to + go,” rejoined Johnny, who thought more of the woeful absentee than he did + of his own skin. “I was going to lick him, shore, if it went on much + longer. Me an' Red an' Billy was going to beat him up good till he forgot + his dead injuries an' took more interest in his friends.” + </p> + <p> + Buck laughed heartily. “Well, the three of you might 'a' done it if you + worked hard an' didn't get careless, but I have my doubts. Now look here—you've + been hanging around the bunk house too blamed much lately. Henceforth an' + hereafter you've got to earn your grub. Get out on that west line an' + hustle.” + </p> + <p> + “You know I've had a toothache!” snorted Johnny with a show of + indignation, his face as sober as that of a judge. + </p> + <p> + “An' you'll have a stomach ache from lack of grub if you don't earn yore + right to eat purty soon,” retorted Buck. “You ain't had a toothache in + yore whole life, an' you don't know what one is. G'wan, now, or I'll give + you a backache that'll ache!” + </p> + <p> + “Huh! Devil of a way to treat a sick man!” Johnny retorted, but he + departed exultantly, whistling with much noise and no music. But he was + sorry for one thing: he sincerely regretted that he had not been present + when Hopalong met his Waterloo. It would have been pleasing to look upon. + </p> + <p> + While the outfit blessed the proposed lease of range that took him out of + their small circle for a time, Hopalong rode farther and farther into the + northwest, frequently lost in abstraction which, judging by its effect + upon him, must have been caused by something serious. He had not heard + from Dave Wilkes about that individual's good horse which had been loaned + to Ben Ferris, of Winchester. Did Dave think he had been killed or was + still pursuing the man whose neck-kerchief had aroused such animosity in + Hopalong's heart? Or had the horse actually been returned? The animal was + a good one, a successful contender in all distances from one to five + miles, and had earned its owner and backers much money—and Hopalong + had parted with it as easily as he would have borrowed five dollars from + Red. The story, as he had often reflected since, was as old as lying—a + broken-legged horse, a wife dying forty miles away, and a horse all + saddled which needed only to be mounted and ridden. + </p> + <p> + These thoughts kept him company for a day and when he dismounted before + Stevenson's “Hotel” in Hoyt's Corners he summed up his feelings for the + enlightenment of his horse. + </p> + <p> + “Damn it, bronc! I'd give ten dollars right now to know if I was a jackass + or not,” he growled. “But he was an awful slick talker if he lied. An' + I've got to go up an' face Dave Wilkes to find out about it!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cassidy was not known by sight to the citizens of Hoyt's Corners, + however well versed they might be in his numerous exploits of wisdom and + folly. Therefore the habitues of Stevenson's Hotel did not recognize him + in the gloomy and morose individual who dropped his saddle on the floor + with a crash and stamped over to the three-legged table at dusk and + surlily demanded shelter for the night. + </p> + <p> + “Gimme a bed an' something to eat,” he demanded, eyeing the three men + seated with their chairs tilted against the wall. “Do I get 'em?” he + asked, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “You do,” replied a one-eyed man, lazily arising and approaching him. “One + dollar, now.” + </p> + <p> + “An' take the rocks outen that bed—I want to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “A dollar per for every rock you find,” grinned Stevenson, pleasantly. + “There ain't no rocks in <i>my</i> beds,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Some folks likes to be rocked to sleep,” facetiously remarked one of the + pair by the wall, laughing contentedly at his own pun. He bore all the + ear-marks of being regarded as the wit of the locality—every hamlet + has one; I have seen some myself. + </p> + <p> + “Hee, hee, hee! Yo're a droll feller, Charley,” chuckled Old John Ferris, + rubbing his ear with unconcealed delight. “That's a good un.” + </p> + <p> + “One drink, now,” growled Hopalong, mimicking the proprietor, and glaring + savagely at the “droll feller” and his companion. “An' mind that it's a + good one,” he admonished the host. + </p> + <p> + “It's better,” smiled Stevenson, whereat Old John crossed his legs and + chuckled again. Stevenson winked. + </p> + <p> + “Riding long?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Since I started.” + </p> + <p> + “Going fur?” + </p> + <p> + “Till I stop.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you belong?” Stevenson's pique was urging him against the ethics + of the range, which forbade personal questions. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong looked at him with a light in his eye that told the host he had + gone too far. “Under my sombrero!” he snapped. + </p> + <p> + “Hee, hee, hee!” chortled Old John, rubbing his ear again and nudging + Charley. “He ain't no fool, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't know, John; he won't tell,” replied Charley. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong wheeled and glared at him, and Charley, smiling uneasily, made an + appeal: “Ain't mad, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” and Hopalong turned to the bar again, took up his liquor and + tossed it off. Considering a moment he shoved the glass back again, while + Old John tongued his lips in anticipation of a treat. “It is good—fill + it again.” + </p> + <p> + The third was even better and by the time the fourth and fifth had joined + their predecessors Hopalong began to feel a little more cheerful. But even + the liquor and an exceptionally well-cooked supper could not separate him + from his persistent and set grouch. And of liquor he had already taken + more than his limit. He had always boasted, with truth, that he had never + been drunk, although there had been two occasions when he was not far from + it. That was one doubtful luxury which he could not afford for the reason + that there were men who would have been glad to see him, if only for a few + seconds, when liquor had dulled his brain and slowed his speed of hand. He + could never tell when and where he might meet one of these. + </p> + <p> + He dropped into a chair by a card table and, baffling all attempts to + engage him in conversation, reviewed his troubles in a mumbled soliloquy, + the liquor gradually making him careless. But of all the jumbled words his + companions' diligent ears heard they recognized and retained only the bare + term “Winchester”; and their conjectures were limited only by their + imaginations. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong stirred and looked up, shaking off the hand which had aroused + him. “Better go to bed, stranger,” the proprietor was saying. “You an' me + are the last two up. It's after twelve, an' you look tired and sleepy.” + </p> + <p> + “Said his wife was sick,” muttered the puncher. “Oh, what you saying?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll find a bed better'n this table, stranger—it's after twelve + an' I want to close up an' get some sleep. I'm tired myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that all? Shore I'll go to bed—like to see anybody stop me! + Ain't no rocks in it, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “Nary a rock,” laughingly reassured the host, picking up Hopalong's saddle + and leading the way to a small room off the “office,” his guest stumbling + after him and growling about the rocks that lived in Winchester. When + Stevenson had dropped the saddle by the window and departed, Hopalong sat + on the edge of the bed to close his eyes for just a moment before tackling + the labor of removing his clothes. A crash and a jar awakened him and he + found himself on the floor with his back to the bed. He was hot and his + head ached, and his back was skinned a little—and how hot and stuffy + and choking the room had become! He thought he had blown out the light, + but it still burned, and three-quarters of the chimney was thickly covered + with soot. He was stifling and could not endure it any longer. After three + attempts he put out the light, stumbled against his saddle and, opening + the window, leaned out to breathe the pure air. As his lungs filled he + chuckled wisely and, picking up the saddle, managed to get it and himself + through the window and on the ground without serious mishap. He would ride + for an hour, give the room time to freshen and cool off, and come back + feeling much better. Not a star could be seen as he groped his way + unsteadily towards the rear of the building, where he vaguely remembered + having seen the corral as he rode up. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! Said he lived in Winchester an' his name was Bill—no, Ben + Ferris,” he muttered, stumbling towards a noise he knew was made by a + horse rubbing against the corral fence. Then his feet got tangled up in + the cinch of his saddle, which he had kicked before him, and after great + labor he arose, muttering savagely, and continued on his wobbly way. “Goo' + Lord, it's darker'n cats in—<i>oof</i>!” he grunted, recoiling from + forcible contact with the fence he sought. Growling words unholy he felt + his way along it and finally his arm slipped through an opening and he + bumped his head solidly against the top bar of the gate. As he righted + himself his hand struck the nose of a horse and closed mechanically over + it. Cow-ponies look alike in the dark and he grinned jubilantly as he + complimented himself upon finding his own so unerringly. + </p> + <p> + “Anything is easy, when you know how. Can't fool me, ol' cayuse,” he + beamed, fumbling at the bars with his free hand and getting them down with + a fool's luck. “You can't do it—I got you firs', las', an' always; + an' I got you good. Yessir, I got you good. Quit that rearing, you ol' + fool! Stan' still, can't you?” The pony sidled as the saddle hit its back + and evoked profane abuse from the indignant puncher as he risked his + balance in picking it up to try again, this time successfully. He began to + fasten the girth, and then paused in wonder and thought deeply, for the + pin in the buckle would slide to no hole but the first. “Huh! Getting fat, + ain't you, piebald?” he demanded with withering sarcasm. “You blow + yoreself up any more'n I'll bust you wide open!” heaving up with all his + might on the free end of the strap, one knee pushing against the animal's + side. The “fat” disappeared and Hopalong laughed. “Been learnin' new + tricks, ain't you? Got smart since you been travellin', hey?” He fumbled + with the bars again and got two of them back in place and then, throwing + himself across the saddle as the horse started forward as hard as it could + go, slipped off, but managed to save himself by hopping along the ground. + As soon as he had secured the grip he wished he mounted with the ease of + habit and felt for the reins. “G'wan now, an' easy—it's plumb dark + an' my head's bustin'.” + </p> + <p> + When he saddled his mount at the corral he was not aware that two of the + three remaining horses had taken advantage of their opportunity and had + walked out and made off in the darkness before he replaced the bars, and + he was too drunk to care if he had known it. + </p> + <p> + The night air felt so good that it moved him to song, but it was not long + before the words faltered more and more and soon ceased altogether and a + subdued snore rasped from him. He awakened from time to time, but only for + a moment, for he was tired and sleepy. + </p> + <p> + His mount very quickly learned that something was wrong and that it was + being given its head. As long as it could go where it pleased it could do + nothing better than head for home, and it quickened its pace towards + Winchester. Some time after daylight it pricked up its ears and broke into + a canter, which soon developed signs of irritation in its rider. Finally + Hopalong opened his heavy eyes and looked around for his bearings. Not + knowing where he was and too tired and miserable to give much thought to a + matter of such slight importance, he glanced around for a place to finish + his sleep. A tree some distance ahead of him looked inviting and towards + it he rode. Habit made him picket the horse before he lay down and as he + fell asleep he had vague recollections of handling a strange picket rope + some time recently. The horse slowly turned and stared at the already + snoring figure, glanced over the landscape, back the to queerest man it + had ever met, and then fell to grazing in quiet content. A slinking coyote + topped a rise a short distance away and stopped instantly, regarding the + sleeping man with grave curiosity and strong suspicion. Deciding that + there was nothing good to eat in that vicinity and that the man was + carrying out a fell plot for the death of coyotes, it backed away out of + sight and loped on to other hunting grounds. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + A FRIEND IN NEED + </h3> + <p> + Stevenson, having started the fire for breakfast, took a pail and departed + towards the spring; but he got no farther than the corral gate, where he + dropped the pail and stared. There was only one horse in the enclosure + where the night before there had been four. He wasted no time in surmises, + but wheeled and dashed back towards the hotel, and his vigorous shouts + brought Old John to the door, sleepy and peevish. Old John's mouth dropped + open as he beheld his habitually indolent host marking off long distances + on the sand with each falling foot. + </p> + <p> + “What's got inter you?” demanded Old John. + </p> + <p> + “Our broncs are gone! Our broncs are gone!” yelled Stevenson, shoving Old + John roughly to one side as he dashed through the doorway and on into the + room he had assigned to the sullen and bibulous stranger. “I knowed it! I + knowed it!” he wailed, popping out again as if on springs. “He's gone, an' + he's took our broncs with him, the measly, low-down dog! I knowed he + wasn't no good! I could see it in his eye; an' he wasn't drunk, not by a + darn sight. Go out an' see for yoreself if they ain't gone!” he snapped in + reply to Old John's look. “Go on out, while I throw some cold grub on the + table—won't have no time this morning to do no cooking. He's got + five hours' start on us, an' it'll take some right smart riding to get him + before dark; but we'll do it, an' hang him, too!” + </p> + <p> + “What's all this here rumpus?” demanded a sleepy voice from upstairs. + “Who's hanged?” and Charley entered the room, very much interested. His + interest increased remarkably when the calamity was made known and he lost + no time in joining Old John in the corral to verify the news. + </p> + <p> + Old John waved his hands over the scene and carefully explained what he + had read in the tracks, to his companion's great irritation, for Charley's + keen eyes and good training had already told him all there was to learn; + and his reading did not exactly agree with that of his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Charley, he's gone and took our cayuses; an' that's the very way he came—'round + the corner of the hotel. He got all tangled up an' fell over there, an' + here he bumped inter the palisade, an' dropped his saddle. When he opened + the bars he took my roan gelding because it was the best an' fastest, an' + then he let out the others to mix us up on the tracks. See how he went? + Had to hop four times on one foot afore he could get inter the saddle. An' + that proves he was sober, for no drunk could hop four times like that + without falling down an' being drug to death. An' he left his own critter + behind because he knowed it wasn't no good. It's all as plain as the nose + on your face, Charley,” and Old John proudly rubbed his ear. “Hee, hee, + hee! You can't fool Old John, even if he is getting old. No, sir, b' gum.” + </p> + <p> + Charley had just returned from inside the corral, where he had looked at + the brand on the far side of the one horse left, and he waited impatiently + for his companion to cease talking. He took quick advantage of the first + pause Old John made and spoke crisply. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care what corner he came 'round, or what he bumped inter; an' any + fool can see that. An' if he left that cayuse behind because he thought it + wasn't no good, he <i>was</i> drunk. That's a Bar-20 cayuse, an' no + hoss-thief ever worked for that ranch. He left it behind because he stole + it; that's why. An' he didn't let them others out because he wanted to mix + us up, neither. How'd he know if we couldn't tell the tracks of our own + animals? He did that to make us lose time; that's what he did it for. An' + he couldn't tell what bronc he took last night—it was too dark. He + must 'a' struck a match an' seen where that Bar-20 cayuse was an' then + took the first one nearest that wasn't it. An' now you tell me how the + devil he knowed yourn was the fastest, which it ain't,” he finished, + sarcastically, gloating over a chance to rub it into the man he had always + regarded as a windy old nuisance. + </p> + <p> + “Well, mebby what you said is—” + </p> + <p> + “Mebby nothing!” snapped Charley. “If he wanted to mix the tracks would he + 'a' hopped like that so we couldn't help telling what cayuse he rode? He + knowed we'd pick his trail quick, an' he knowed that every minute counted; + that's why he hopped—why, yore roan was going like the wind afore he + got in the saddle. If you don't believe it, look at them toe-prints!” + </p> + <p> + “H'm; reckon yo're right, Charley. My eyes ain't nigh as good as they once + was. But I heard him say something 'bout Winchester,” replied Old John, + glad to change the subject. “Bet he's going over there, too. He won't get + through that town on no critter wearing my brand. Everybody knows that + roan, an'—” + </p> + <p> + “Quit guessing!” snapped Charley, beginning to lose some of the tattered + remnant of his respect for old age. “He's a whole lot likely to head for a + town on a stolen cayuse, now ain't he! But we don't care where he's + heading; we'll foller the trail.” + </p> + <p> + “Grub pile!” shouted Stevenson, and the two made haste to obey. + </p> + <p> + “Charley, gimme a chaw of yore tobacker,” and Old John, biting off a + generous chunk, quietly slipped it into his pocket, there to lay until + after he had eaten his breakfast. + </p> + <p> + All talk was tabled while the three men gulped down a cold and uninviting + meal. Ten minutes later they had finished and separated to find horses and + spread the news; in fifteen more they had them and were riding along the + plain trail at top speed, with three other men close at their heels. Three + hundred yards from the corral they pounded out of an arroyo, and Charley, + who was leading, stood up in his stirrups and looked keenly ahead. Another + trail joined the one they were following and ran with and on top of it. + This, he reasoned, had been made by one of the strays and would turn away + soon. He kept his eyes looking well ahead and soon saw that he was right + in his surmise, and without checking the speed of his horse in the + slightest degree he went ahead on the trail of the smaller hoof-prints. In + a moment Old John spurred forward and gained his side and began to argue + hot-headedly. + </p> + <p> + “Hey! Charley!” he cried. “Why are you follering this track?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Because it's his; that's why.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, here, wait a minute!” and Old John was getting red from excitement. + “How do you know it is? Mebby he took the other!” + </p> + <p> + “He started out on the cayuse that made these little tracks,” retorted + Charley, “an' I don't see no reason to think he swapped animules. Don't + you know the prints of yore own cayuse?” + </p> + <p> + “Lawd, no!” answered Old John. “Why, I don't hardly ride the same cayuse + the second day, straight hand-running. I tell you we ought to foller that + other trail. He's just cute enough to play some trick on us.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you better do that for us,” Charley replied, hoping against hope + that the old man would chase off on the other and give his companions a + rest. + </p> + <p> + “He ain't got sand enough to tackle a thing like that single-handed,” + laughed Jed White, winking to the others. + </p> + <p> + Old John wheeled. “Ain't, hey! I am going to do that same thing an' prove + that you are a pack of fools. I'm too old to be fooled by a common trick + like that. An' I don't need no help—I'll ketch him all by myself, + an' hang him, too!” And he wheeled to follow the other trail, angry and + outraged. “Young fools,” he muttered. “Why, I was fighting all around + these parts afore any of 'em knowed the difference between day an' night!” + </p> + <p> + “Hard-headed old fool,” remarked Charley, frowning, as he led the way + again. + </p> + <p> + “He's gittin' old an' childish,” excused Stevenson. “They say warn't + nobody in these parts could hold a candle to him in his prime.” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong muttered and stirred and opened his eyes to gaze blankly into + those of one of the men who were tugging at his hands, and as he stared he + started his stupefied brain sluggishly to work in an endeavor to explain + the unusual experience. There were five men around him and the two who + hauled at his hands stepped back and kicked him. A look of pained + indignation slowly spread over his countenance as he realized beyond doubt + that they were really kicking him, and with sturdy vigor. He considered a + moment and then decided that such treatment was most unwarranted and + outrageous and, furthermore, that he must defend himself and chastise the + perpetrators. + </p> + <p> + “Hey!” he snorted, “what do you reckon yo're doing, anyhow? If you want to + do any kicking, why kick each other, an' I'll help you! But I'll lick the + whole bunch of you if you don't quite mauling me. Ain't you got no + manners? Don't you know anything? Come 'round waking a feller up an' + man-handling—” + </p> + <p> + “Get up!” snapped Stevenson, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Why, ain't I seen you before? Somewhere? Sometime?” queried Hopalong, his + brow wrinkling from intense concentration of thought. “I ain't dreaming; + I've seen a one-eyed coyote som'ers, lately, ain't I?” he appealed, + anxiously, to the others. + </p> + <p> + “Get up!” ordered Charley, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “An' I've seen you, too. Funny, all right.” + </p> + <p> + “You've seen me, all right,” retorted Stevenson. “Get up, damn you! Get + up!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I can't—my han's are tied!” exclaimed Hopalong in great + wonder, pausing in his exertions to cogitate deeply upon this most + remarkable phenomenon. “Tied up! Now what the devil do you think—” + </p> + <p> + “Use yore feet, you thief!” rejoined Stevenson roughly, stepping forward + and delivering another kick. “Use yore feet!” he reiterated. + </p> + <p> + “Thief! Me a thief! Shore I'll use my feet, you yaller dog!” yelled the + prostrate man, and his boot heel sank into the stomach of the offending + Mr. Stevenson with sickening force and laudable precision. He drew it back + slowly, as if debating shoving it farther. “Call me a thief, hey! Come + poking 'round kicking honest punchers an' calling 'em names! Anybody want + the other boot?” he inquired with grave solicitation. + </p> + <p> + Stevenson sat down forcibly and rocked to and fro, doubled up and gasping + for breath, and Hopalong squinted at him and grinned with happiness. “Hear + him sing! Reg'lar ol' brass band. Sounds like a cow pulling its hoofs + outen the mud. Called me a thief, he did, just now. An' I won't let nobody + kick me an' call me names. He's a liar, just a plain, squaw's dog liar, he—” + </p> + <p> + Two men grabbed him and raised him up, holding him tightly, and they were + not over careful to handle him gently, which he naturally resented. + Charley stepped in front of him to go to the aid of Stevenson and caught + the other boot in his groin, dropping as if he had been shot. The man on + the prisoner's left emitted a yell and loosed his hold to sympathize with + a bruised shinbone, and his companion promptly knocked the bound and still + intoxicated man down. Bill Thomas swore and eyed the prostrate figure with + resentment and regret. “Hate to hit a man who can fight like that when + he's loaded an' tied. I'm glad, all the same, that he ain't sober an' + loose.” + </p> + <p> + “An' you ain't going to hit him no more!” snapped Jed White, reddening + with anger. “I'm ready to hang him, 'cause that's what he deserves, an' + what we're here for, but I'm damned if I'll stand for any more mauling. I + don't blame him for fighting, an' they didn't have no right to kick him in + the beginning.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't kick him in the beginning,” grinned Bill. “Kicked him in the + ending. Anyhow,” he continued seriously, “I didn't hit him hard—didn't + have to. Just let him go an' shoved him quick.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm just naturally going to clean house,” muttered the prisoner, sitting + up and glaring around. “Untie my han's an' gimme a gun or a club or + anything, an' watch yoreselves get licked. Called me a thief! What are you + fellers, then?—sticking me up an' busting me for a few measly + dollars. Why didn't you take my money an' lemme sleep, 'stead of waking me + up an' kicking me? I wouldn't 'a' cared then.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, now; get up. We ain't through with you yet, not by a whole lot,” + growled Bill, helping him to his feet and steadying him. “I'm plumb glad + you kicked 'em; it was coming to 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you ain't; you can't fool me,” gravely assured Hopalong. “Yo're + lying, an' you know it. What you going to do now? Ain't I got money + enough? Wish I had an even break with you fellers! Wish my outfit was + here!” + </p> + <p> + Stevenson, on his feet again, walked painfully up and shook his fist at + the captive, from the side. “You'll find out what we want of you, you + damned hoss-thief!” he cried. “We're going to tie you to that there limb + so yore feet'll swing above the grass, that's what we're going to do.” + </p> + <p> + Bill and Jed had their hands full for a moment and as they finally + mastered the puncher, Charley came up with a rope. “Hurry up—no use + dragging it out this way. I want to get back to the ranch some time before + next week.” + </p> + <p> + “Why <i>I</i> ain't no hoss-thief, you liar!” Hopalong yelled. “My name's + Hopalong Cassidy of the Bar-20, an' when I tell my friends about what + you've gone an' done they'll make you hard to find! You gimme any kind of + a chance an' I'll do it all by myself, sick as I am, you yaller dogs!” + </p> + <p> + “Is that yore cayuse?” demanded Charley, pointing. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong squinted towards the animal indicated. “Which one?” + </p> + <p> + “There's only one there, you fool!” + </p> + <p> + “That so?” replied Hopalong, surprised. “Well, I never seen it afore. My + cayuse is—is—where the devil <i>is</i> it?” he asked, looking + around anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “How'd you get that one, then, if it ain't yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Never had it—'t ain't mine, nohow,” replied Hopalong, with strong + conviction. “Mine was a <i>hoss</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “You stole that cayuse last night outen Stevenson's corral,” continued + Charley, merely as a matter of form. Charley believed that a man had the + right to be heard before he died—it wouldn't change the result and + so could not do any harm. + </p> + <p> + “Did I? Why—” his forehead became furrowed again, but the events of + the night before were vague in his memory and he only stumbled in his + soliloquy. “But <i>I</i> wouldn't swap my cayuse for that spavined, + saddle-galled, ring-boned bone-yard! Why, it interferes, an' it's got the + heaves something awful!” he finished triumphantly, as if an appeal to + common sense would clinch things. But he made no headway against them, for + the rope went around his neck almost before he had finished talking and a + flurry of excitement ensued. When the dust settled he was on his back + again and the rope was being tossed over the limb. + </p> + <p> + The crowd had been too busily occupied to notice anything away from the + scene of their strife and were greatly surprised when they heard a hail + and saw a stranger sliding to a stand not twenty feet from them. “What's + this?” demanded the newcomer, angrily. + </p> + <p> + Charley's gun glinted as it swung up and the stranger swore again. “What + you doing?” he shouted. “Take that gun off'n me or I'll blow you apart!” + </p> + <p> + “Mind yore business an' sit still!” Charley snapped. “You ain't in no + position to blow anything apart. We've got a hoss-thief an' we're shore + going to hang him regardless.” + </p> + <p> + “An' if there's any trouble about it we can hang two as well as we can + one,” suggested Stevenson, placidly. “You sit tight an' mind yore own + affairs, stranger,” he warned. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong turned his head slowly. “He's a liar, stranger; just a plain, + squaw's dog of a liar. An' I'll be much obliged if you'll lick hell outen + 'em an' let—<i>why, hullo, hoss-thief</i>!” he shouted, at once + recognizing the other. It was the man he had met in the gospel tent, the + man he had chased for a horse-thief and then swapped mounts with. “Stole + any more cayuses?” he asked, grinning, believing that everything was all + right now. “Did you take that cayuse back to Grant?” he finished. + </p> + <p> + “Han's up!” roared Stevenson, also covering the stranger. “So yo're + another one of 'em, hey? We're in luck to-day. Watch him, boys, till I get + his gun. If he moves, drop him quick.” + </p> + <p> + “You damned fool!” cried Ferris, white with rage. “He ain't no thief, an' + neither am I! My name's Ben Ferris an' I live in Winchester. Why, that man + you've got is Hopalong Cassidy—Cassidy, of the Bar-20!” + </p> + <p> + “Sit still—you can talk later, mebby,” replied Stevenson, warily + approaching him. “Watch him, boys!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on!” shouted Ferris, murder in his eyes. “Don't you try that on me! + I'll get one of you before I go; I'll shore get one! You can listen a + minute, an' I can't get away.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; talk quick.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris pleaded as hard as he knew how and called attention to the + condition of the prisoner. “If he did take the wrong cayuse he was too + blind drunk to know it! Can't you <i>see</i> he was!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Yep; through yet?” asked Stevenson, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “No! I ain't started yet!” Ferris yelled. “He did me a good turn once, one + that I can't never repay, an' I'm going to stop this murder or go with + him. If I go I'll take one of you with me, an' my friends an' outfit'll + get the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till Old John gets here,” suggested Jed to Charley. “He ought to + know this feller.” + </p> + <p> + “For the Lord's sake!” snorted Charley. “He won't show up for a week. Did + you hear that, fellers?” he laughed, turning to the others. + </p> + <p> + “Stranger,” began Stevenson, moving slowly ahead again. “You give us yore + guns an' sit quiet till we gets this feller out of the way. We'll wait + till Old John Ferris comes before doing anything with you. He ought to + know you.” + </p> + <p> + “He knows me all right; an' he'd like to see me hung,” replied the + stranger. “I won't give up my guns, an' you won't lynch Hopalong Cassidy + while I can pull a trigger. That's flat!” He began to talk feverishly to + gain time and his eyes lighted suddenly. Seeing that Jed White was + wavering, Stevenson ordered them to go on with the work they had come to + perform, and he watched Ferris as a cat watches a mouse, knowing that he + would be the first man hit if the stranger got a chance to shoot. But + Ferris stood up very slowly in his stirrups so as not to alarm the five + with any quick movement, and shouted at the top of his voice, grabbing off + his sombrero and waving it frantically. A faint cheer reached his ears and + made the lynchers turn quickly and look behind them. Nine men were tearing + towards them at a dead gallop and had already begun to forsake their + bunched-up formation in favor of an extended line. They were due to arrive + in a very few minutes and caused Mr. Ferris' heart to overflow with joy. + </p> + <p> + “Me an' my outfit,” he said, laughing softly and waving his hand towards + the newcomers, “started out this morning to round up a bunch of cows, an' + we got jackasses instead. Now lynch him, damn you!” + </p> + <p> + The nine swept up in skirmish order, guns out and ready for anything in + the nature of trouble that might zephyr up. “What's the matter, Ben?” + asked Tom Murphy ominously. As under-foreman of the ranch he regarded + himself as spokesman. And at that instant catching sight of the rope, he + swore savagely under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, Tom; nothing now,” responded Mr. Ferris. “They was going to hang + my friend there, Mr. Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20. He's the feller that + lent me his cayuse to get home on when Molly was sick. I'm going to take + him back to the ranch when he gets sober an' introduce him to some very + good friends of hissn that he ain't never seen. Ain't I, Cassidy?” he + demanded with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Cassidy made no reply. He was sound asleep, as he had been since + the advent of his very good and capable friend, Mr. Ben Ferris, of + Winchester. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + MR. TOWNSEND, MARSHAL + </h3> + <p> + Mr. Cassidy went to the ranch and lived like a lord until shame drove him + away. He had no business to live on cake and pie and wonderful dishes that + Mrs. Ferris and her sister literally forced on him, and let Buck's mission + wait on his convenience. So he tore himself away and made up for lost time + as he continued his journey on his own horse, for which Tom Murphy and + three men had faced down the scowling population of Hoyt's Corners. The + rest of his journey was without incident until, on his return home along + another route, he rode into Rawhide and heard about the marshal, Mr. + Townsend. + </p> + <p> + This individual was unanimously regarded as an affliction upon society and + there had been objections to his continued existence, which had been + overruled by the object himself. Then word had gone forth that a + substantial reward and the undying gratitude of a considerable number of + people awaited the man who would rid the community of the pest who seemed + to be ubiquitous. Several had come in response to the call, one had + returned in a wagon, and the others were now looked upon as martyrs, and + as examples of asinine foolhardiness. Then it had been decided to elect a + marshal, or perhaps two or three, to preserve the peace of the town; but + this was a flat failure. In the first place, Mr. Townsend had dispersed + the meeting with no date set for a new one; in the second, no man wanted + the office; and as a finish to the comedy, Mr. Townsend cheerfully + announced that hereafter and henceforth he was the marshal, self-appointed + and self-sustained. Those who did not like it could easily move to other + localities. + </p> + <p> + With this touch of office-holding came ambition, and of stern stuff. The + marshal asked himself why he could not be more officers than one and found + no reason. Thereupon he announced that he was marshal, town council, + mayor, justice, and pound-keeper. He did not go to the trouble of + incorporating himself as the Town of Rawhide, because he knew nothing of + such immaterial things; but he was the town, and that sufficed. + </p> + <p> + He had been grievously troubled about finances in the past, and he firmly + believed that genius such as his should be above such petty annoyances as + being “broke.” That was why he constituted himself the keeper of the + public pound, which contented him for a short time, but later, feeling + that he needed more money than the pound was giving him, he decided that + the spirit of the times demanded public improvements, and therefore, as + the executive head of the town, he levied taxes and improved the town by + improving his wardrobe and the manner of his living. Each saloon must pay + into the town treasury the sum of one hundred dollars per year, which + entitled it to police protection and assured it that no new competitors + would be allowed to do business in Rawhide. + </p> + <p> + Needless to say he was not furiously popular, and the crowds congregated + where he was not. His tyranny was based upon his uncanny faculty of + anticipating the other man's draw. The citizens were not unaccustomed to + seeing swift death result to the slower man from misplaced confidence in + his speed of hand—that was in the game—an even break; but to + oppose an individual who <i>always</i> knew what you were going to do + before you knew it yourself—this was very discouraging. Therefore, + he flourished and waxed fat. + </p> + <p> + Of late, however, he had been very low in finances and could expect no + taxes to be paid for three months. Even the pound had yielded him nothing + for over a week, the old patrons of Rawhide's stores and saloons + preferring to ride twenty miles farther in another direction than to + redeem impounded horses. Perhaps his prices had been too high, he thought; + so he assembled the town council, the mayor, the marshal, and the keeper + of the public pound to consult upon the matter. He decided that the prices + were too high and at once posted a new notice announcing the cut. It was + hard to fall from a dollar to “two bits,” but the treasury was low—the + times were panicky. + </p> + <p> + As soon as he had changed the notice he strolled up to the Paradise to + inform the bartender that impounding fines had been cut to bargain prices + and to ask him to make the fact generally known through his patrons. As he + came within sight of the building he jumped with pleasure, for a horse was + standing dejectedly before the door. Joy of joys, trade was picking up—a + stranger had come to town! Hastening back to the corral, he added a cipher + to the posted figure, added a decimal point, and changed the cents sign to + that of a dollar. Two dollars and fifty cents was now the price prescribed + by law. Returning hastily to the Paradise, he led the animal away, + impounded it, and then sat down in front of the corral gate with his + Winchester across his knees. Two dollars and fifty cents! Prosperity had + indeed returned! + </p> + <p> + “Where the CG ranch is I dunno, but I do know where one of their cayuses + is,” he mused, glancing between two of the corral posts at the sleepy + animal. “If I has to auction it off to pay for its keep and the fine, the + saddle will bring a good, round sum. I allus knowed that a dollar wasn't + enough, nohow.” + </p> + <p> + Nat Fisher, punching cows for the CG and tired of his job, leaned + comfortably back in his chair in the Paradise and swapped lies with the + all-wise bartender. After a while he realized that he was hopelessly + outclassed at this diversion and he dug down into his pocket and brought + to light some loose silver and regarded it thoughtfully. It was all the + money he had and was beginning to grow interesting. + </p> + <p> + “Say, was you ever broke?” he asked suddenly, a trace of sadness in his + voice. + </p> + <p> + The bartender glanced at him quickly, but remained judiciously silent, + smelling the preamble of an attempt to “touch.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have been, am now, an' allus will be, more or less,” continued + Fisher, in soliloquy, not waiting for an answer to his question. “Money + an' me don't ride the same range, not any. Here I am fifty miles away from + my ranch, with four dollars and ninety-five cents between me an' + starvation an' thirst, an' me not going home for three days yet. I was + going to quit the CG this month, but now I gotta go on working for it till + another pay-day. I don't even own a cayuse. Now, just to show you what + kind of a prickly pear I am, I'll cut the cards with you to see who owns + this,” he suggested, smiling brightly at his companion. + </p> + <p> + The bartender laughed, treated on the house, and shuffled out from behind + the bar with a pack of greasy playing cards. “All at once, or a dollar a + shot?” he asked, shuffling deftly. + </p> + <p> + “Any way it suits you,” responded Fisher, nonchalantly. He knew how a + sport should talk; and once he had cut the cards to see who should own his + full month's pay. He hoped he would be more successful this time. + </p> + <p> + “Don't make no difference to me,” rejoined the bartender. + </p> + <p> + “All right; all at once, an' have it over with. It's a kid's game, at + that.” + </p> + <p> + “High wins, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “High wins.” + </p> + <p> + The bartender pushed the cards across the table for his companion to cut. + Nat did so, and turned up a deuce. “Oh, don't bother,” he said, sliding + the four dollars and ninety-five cents across the table. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” grinned the bartender, who was a stickler for rules. He reached + over and turned up a card, and then laughed. “Matched, by George!” + </p> + <p> + “Try again,” grinned Fisher, his face clearing with hope. + </p> + <p> + The bartender shuffled, and Fisher turned a five, which proved to be just + one point shy when his companion had shown his card. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” remarked Fisher, watching his money disappear into the bartender's + pocket, “I'll put up my gun agin ten of yore dollars if yo're game. How + about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Done—that's a good weapon.” + </p> + <p> + “None better. Ah, a jack!” + </p> + <p> + “I say queen—nope, <i>king</i>!” exulted the dispenser of liquids. + “Say, mebby you can get a job around here when you quit the CG,” he + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “That's a good idea,” replied Fisher. “But let's finish this while we're + at it. I got a good saddle outside on my cayuse—go look it over an' + tell me how much you'll put up agin it. If you win it an' can't use it, + you can sell it. It's first class.” + </p> + <p> + The bartender walked to the door, looked carefully around for a moment, + his eyes fastening upon a trail in the sandy street. Then he laughed. + “There ain't no saddle out here,” he reported, well knowing where it could + be found. + </p> + <p> + “What! Has that ornery piebald—well, what do you think of that!” + exclaimed Fisher, looking up and down the street. “This is the first time + that ever happened to me. Why, some coyote stole it! Look at the tracks!” + </p> + <p> + “No; it ain't stolen,” the bartender responded. He considered a moment and + then made a suggestion. “Mebby the marshal can tell you where it is—he + knows everything like that. Nobody can take a cayuse out of this town + while the marshal is up an' well.” + </p> + <p> + “Lucky town, all right,” chirped Fisher. “An' where is the marshal?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll find him down the back way a couple of hundred yards; can't miss + him. He allus hangs out there when there are cayuses in town.” + </p> + <p> + “Good for him! I'll chase right down an' see him; an' when I get that + piebald——!” + </p> + <p> + The bartender watched him go around the corner and shook his head sadly. + “Yes; hell of a lucky town,” he snorted bitterly, listening for the riot + to begin. + </p> + <p> + The marshal still sat against the corral gate and stroked the Winchester + in beatific contemplation. He had a fine job and he was happy. Suddenly + leaning forward to look up the road, he smiled derisively and shifted the + gun. A cow-puncher was coming his way rapidly, and on foot. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the marshal of this flea of a town?” politely inquired the + newcomer. + </p> + <p> + “I am the same,” replied the man with the rifle. “Anything I kin do for + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; have you seen a piebald cayuse straying around loose-like, or + anybody leading one—CG being the brand?” + </p> + <p> + “I did; it was straying.” + </p> + <p> + “An' which way did it go?” + </p> + <p> + “Into the town pound.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Pond! What'n blazes is it doing with a pond? Couldn't it drink + without getting in? Where's the pond?” + </p> + <p> + “Right here. It's eating its fool head off. I said pound, not pond. + P-o-u-n-d; which means that it's pawned, in hock, for destroying the + vegetation of Rawhide, an' disturbing the public peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Good joke on the piebald, all right; it was never locked up before,” + laughed Fisher, trying to read a sign that faced away from him at a slight + angle. “Get it out for me an' I'll disturb <i>its</i> peace. Sorry it put + you to all that trouble,” he sympathized. + </p> + <p> + “Two dollars an' four bits, an' a dollar initiation fee—it wasn't + never in the pound before. That makes three an' a half. Got the money with + you?” + </p> + <p> + “What!” yelled Fisher, emerging from his trance. “What!” he yelled again. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't none deaf,” placidly replied the marshal. “Got the money, the + three an' a half?” + </p> + <p> + “If you think yo're going to skin me outen three-fifty, one-fifty, or one + measly cent, you need some medicine, an' I'll give it to you in pill form! + You'd make a bum-looking angel, so get up an' hand over that cayuse, <i>an' + do it damned quick</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “Three-fifty, an' two bits extry for feed. It'll cost you 'bout a dollar a + day for feed. At the end of the week I'll sell that cayuse at auction to + pay its bills if you don't cough up. Got the money?” + </p> + <p> + “I've got a lead slug for you if I can borrow my gun for five minutes!” + retorted Fisher, seething double from anger. + </p> + <p> + “Five dollars more for contempt of court,” pleasantly responded Mr. + Townsend. “As Justice of the Peace of this community I must allow no + disrespect, no contempt of the sovereign law of this town to go + unpunished. That makes it eight-seventy-five.” + </p> + <p> + “An' to think I lost my gun!” shouted Fisher, dancing with rage. “I'll get + that cayuse out an' I won't pay a cent, not a damned cent! An' I'll get + you at the same time!” + </p> + <p> + “Now you dust around for fifteen dollars even an' stop yore contempt of + court an' threats or I'll drill you just for luck!” rejoined Mr. Townsend, + angrily. “If you keep on working yore mouth like that there won't be + nothing coming to you when I sell that cayuse of yourn. Turn around an' + strike out or I'll put you with yore ancestors!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + THE STRANGER'S PLAN + </h3> + <p> + Fisher, wild with rage, returned to the Paradise and profanely unfolded + the tale of his burning wrongs to the bartender and demanded the loan of + his gun, which the bartender promptly refused. The present owner of the + gun liked Fisher very much for being such a sport and sympathized with him + deeply, but he did not want to have such a pleasing acquaintance killed. + </p> + <p> + “Now, see here: you cool down an' I'll lend you fifteen dollars on that + saddle of yourn. You go up an' get that cayuse out before the price goes + up any higher—you don't know that man like I do,” remarked the man + behind the bar earnestly. “That feller Townsend can shoot the eyes out of + a small dog at ten miles, purty nigh. Do you savvy my drift?” + </p> + <p> + “I won't pay him a cussed cent, an' when he goes to sell that piebald at + auction, I'll be on hand with a gun; I'll get one somewhere, all right, + even if I have to steal it. Then I'll shoot out <i>his</i> eyes at ten + paces. Why, he's a two-laigged hold-up! That man would—” he stopped + as a stranger entered the room. “Hey, stranger! Don't you leave that + cayuse of yourn outside all alone or that coyote of a marshal will steal + it, shore. He's the biggest thief I ever knowed. He'll lift yore animal + quick as a wink!” Fisher warned, excitedly. + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked at him in surprise and then smiled. “Is it usual for a + marshal to steal cayuses? Somewhat out of line, ain't it?” he asked + Fisher, glancing at the bartender for light. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care what's the rule—that marshal just stole my cayuse; an' + he'll take yourn, too, if you ain't careful,” Fisher replied. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” drawled the stranger, smiling still more, “I reckon I ain't going + to stay out there an' watch it, an' I can't bring it in here. But I reckon + it'll be all right. You see, I carry 'big medicine' agin hoss-thieves,” he + replied, tapping his holster and smiling as he remembered the time, not + long past, when he himself had been accused of being one. “I'll take a + chance if he will—what'll you all have?” + </p> + <p> + “Little whiskey,” replied Fisher, uneasily, worrying because he could not + stand for a return treat. “But, say; you keep yore eye on that animal, + just the same,” he added, and then hurriedly gave his reasons. “An' the + worst part of the whole thing is that I ain't got no gun, an' can't seem + to borrow none, neither,” he added, wistfully eyeing the stranger's Colt. + “I gambled mine away to the bartender here an' he won't lemme borrow it + for five minutes!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I never heard tell of such a thing before!” exclaimed the stranger, + hardly believing his ears, and aghast at the thought that such conditions + could exist. “Friend,” he said, addressing the bartender, “how is it that + this sort of thing can go on in this town?” When the bartender had + explained at some length, his interested listener smote the bar with a + heavy fist and voiced his outraged feelings. “I'll shore be plumb happy to + spread that coyote marshal all over his cussed pound! Say, come with me; + I'm going down there right now an' get that cayuse, an' if the marshal + opens his mouth to peep I'll get him, too. I'm itching for a chance to + tunnel a man like him. Come on an' see the show!” + </p> + <p> + “Not much!” retorted Fisher. “While I am some pleased to meet a white man, + an' have a deep an' abiding gratitude for yore noble offer, I can't let + you do it. He put it over on me, an' I'm the one that's got to shoot him + up. He's mine, my pudding; an' I'm hogging him all to myself. That is one + luxury I can indulge in even if I am broke; an' I'm sorry, but I can't + give you cards. Seeing, however, as you are so friendly to the cause of + liberty an' justice, suppose you lend me yore gun for about three minutes + by the watch. From what I've been told about this town such an act will + win for you the eternal love an' gratitude of a down-trodden people; yore + gun will blaze the way to liberty an' light, freedom an' the right to own + yore own property, an' keep it. All I ask is that I be the undeserving + medium.” + </p> + <p> + “A-men,” sighed the bartender. “Deacon Jones will now pass down the aisle + an' collect the buttons an' tin money.” + </p> + <p> + “Stranger,” continued Fisher, warming up, when he saw that his words had + not produced the desired result, “King James the Twelfth, on the memorable + an' blood-soaked field of Trafalgar, gave men their rights. On that great + day he signed the Magnet Charter, and proved himself as great a liberator + as the sainted Lincoln. You, on this most auspicious occasion, hold in + yore strong hand the destiny of this town—the women an' children in + this cursed community will rise up an' bless you forever an' pass yore + name down to their ancestors as a man of deeds an' honor! Let us pause to + consider this—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold that pause!” interrupted the astounded bartender hurriedly, and with + shaking voice. “String it out till I get untangled! I ain't up much on + history, so I won't take no chance with that; but I want to tell our + eloquent guest that there ain't no women <i>or</i> children in this town. + An' if there was, I sort of reckon their ancestors would be born first. + What do you think about it—” + </p> + <p> + “Let us pause to consider the shameful an' burning <i>indignity</i> + perpetrated upon us to-day!” continued Fisher, unheeding the bartender's + words. “I, a peaceful, law-abiding <i>citizen</i> of this <i>glorious</i> + Commonwealth, a free an' <i>equal</i> member of a liberty-loving nation, a + nation whose standard is, <i>now</i> and forever, 'Gimme liberty or gimme + det', a <i>nation</i> that stands for all the conceivable benefits that + mankind may enjoy, a <i>nation</i> that scintillates pyrotechnically over + the prostitution of power—” + </p> + <p> + <i>Bang!</i> went the bartender's fist on the counter. “Hey! Pause again! + Wait a minute! Go back to 'shameful an' burning,' and gimme a chance!” + </p> + <p> + “—that stands for an even break, I, Nathaniel G. Fisher, have been + deprived of one of my inalienable rights, the right of locomotion to + distant an' other parts. <i>An''</i> I say, right here an' now, that I + won't allow no spavined individual with thieving prehensils to—” + </p> + <p> + “Has that pound-keeper got a rifle?” calmly interrupted the stranger, + without a pang of remorse. + </p> + <p> + “He has. Thus has it allus been with tyrants—well armed, fortified + by habit an' tradition—” + </p> + <p> + “Then you won't get my gun, savvy? We'll find another way to get that + cayuse as long as you feel that the marshal is yore hunting. Besides, this + man's gall deserves some respect; it is genius, an' to pump genius full of + cold lead is to act rash. Now, suppose you tell me when this auction is + due to come off.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not for a week; he wants to run up the board an' keep expenses. + Tyrants, such as him—” + </p> + <p> + “Shore,” interposed the bartender, “he'll make the expenses equal what he + gets for the cayuse, no matter what it comes to. An' he's the whole town, + an' the justice of the peace, besides. What he says goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm the Governor of the State an' I've got the Supreme Court right + here in my holster, so I reckon I can reverse his official acts an' fill + his legal opinions full of holes,” the stranger replied, laughing + heartily. “Bartender, will you help me play a little joke on His Honore, + the Town,—just a little harmless joke?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that all depends whether the joke is harmless on <i>me</i>. You + see, he can shoot like the devil—he allus knows when a man is going + to draw, an' gets his gun out first. I ain't got no respect for him, but I + take off my hat to his gunplay, all right.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger smiled. “Well, I can shoot a bit myself. But I shore wish + he'd hold that auction quick—I've got to go on home without losing + any more time. Fisher, suppose you go down to the pound and dare that + tumble-bug to hold the auction this afternoon. Tell him that you'll shoot + him full of holes if he goes pulling off any auction to-day, an' dare him + to try it. I want it to come off before night, an' I reckon that'll hustle + it along.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do anything to get the edge on that thief,” replied Fisher, quickly, + “but don't you reckon I'd better tote a gun, going down an' bearding such + a thief in his own den? You know I allus like to shoot when I'm being shot + at.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't blame you; it's only a petty weakness,” grinned the + stranger, hanging onto his Colt as if fearing that the other would snatch + it and run. “But you'll do better without any gun—me an' the + bartender don't want to have to go down there an' bring you back on a + plank.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, then,” sighed Fisher, reluctantly, “but he'll jump the price + again. He'll fine me for contempt of court an' make me pay money I ain't + got for disturbing him. But I'm game—so long.” + </p> + <p> + When he had gained the street, the stranger turned to the bartender. “Now, + friend, you tell me if this man of gall, this Mr. Townsend, has got many + friends in town—anybody that'll be likely to pot shoot from the back + when things get warm. I can't watch both ends unless I know what I'm up + against.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>No!</i> Every man in town hates him,” answered the bartender, hastily, + and with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that's good. Now, I wonder if you could see 'most everybody that's in + town now an' get 'em to promise to help me by letting me run this all by + myself. All I want them to do is not to say a word. It ain't hard to keep + still when you want to.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I reckon I might see 'em—there ain't many here this time of + day,” responded the bartender. “But what's yore game, anyhow?” he asked, + suddenly growing suspicious. + </p> + <p> + “It's just a little scheme I figgered out,” the stranger replied, and then + he confided in the bartender, who jigged a few fancy steps to show his + appreciation of the other's genius. His suspicions left him at once, and + he hastened out to tell the inhabitants of the town to follow his + instructions to the letter, and he knew they would obey, and be glad, + hilariously glad, to do so. While he was hurrying around giving his + instructions, the CG puncher returned to the hotel and reported. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it worked, all right,” Fisher growled. “I told him what I'd do to + him if he tried to auction that cayuse off an' he retorted that if I + didn't shut up an' mind my own business, that he'd sell the horse this + noon, at twelve o'clock, in the public square, wherever that is. I told + him he was a coyote and dared him to do it. Told him I'd pump him full of + air ducts if he didn't wait till next week. Said I had the promise of a + gun an' that it'd give me great pleasure to use it on him if he tried any + auctioneering at my expense this noon. Then he fined me five dollars more, + swore that he'd show me what it meant to dare the marshal of Rawhide an' + insult the dignity of the court an' town council, an' also that he'd shoot + my liver all through my system if I didn't leave him to his reflections. + Now, look here, stranger; noon is only two hours away an' I'm due to lose + my outfit: what are <i>you</i> going to do to get me out of this mess?” he + finished anxiously, hands on hips. + </p> + <p> + “You did real well, very fine, indeed,” replied the stranger, smiling with + content. “An' don't you worry about that outfit—I'm going to get it + back for you an' a little bit more. So, as long as you don't lose nothing, + you ain't got no kick coming, have you? An' you ain't got no interest in + what I'm going to do. Just sit tight an' keep yore eyes an' ears open at + noon. Meantime, if you want something to do to keep you busy, practise + making speeches—you ought to be ashamed to be punching cows an' + working for a living when you could use yore talents an' get a lot of + graft besides. Any man who can say as much on nothing as you can ought to + be in the Senate representing some railroad company or waterpower steal—you + don't have to work there, just loaf an' take easy money for cheating the + people what put you there. Now, don't get mad—I'm only stringing + you: I wouldn't be mean enough to call you a senator. To tell the truth, I + think yo're too honest to even think of such a thing. But go ahead an' + practise—<i>I</i> don't mind it a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh! I couldn't go to Congress,” laughed Fisher. “I'd have to practise by + getting elected mayor of some town an' then go to the Legislature for the + finishing touches.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Townsend would beat you out,” murmured the stranger, looking out of + the window and wishing for noon. He sauntered over to a chair, placed it + where he could see his horse, and took things easy. The bartender returned + with several men at his heels, and all were grinning and joking. They took + up their places against the bar and indulged in frequent fits of + chuckling, not letting their eyes stray from the man in the chair and the + open street through the door, where the auction was to be held. They + regarded the stranger in the light of a would-be public benefactor, a + martyr, who was to provide the town with a little excitement before he + followed his predecessors into the grave. Perhaps he would <i>not</i> be + killed, perhaps he would shoot the pound-keeper and general public + nuisance—but ah, this was the stuff of which dreams were made: the + marshal would never be killed, he would thrive and outlive his + fellow-townsmen, and die in bed at a ripe old age. + </p> + <p> + One of the citizens, dangling his legs from the card table, again looked + closely at the man with the plan, and then turned to a companion beside + him. “I've seen that there feller som'ers, sometime,” he whispered. “I <i>know</i> + I have. But I'll be teetotally dod-blasted if I can place him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Jim; I never saw him afore, an' I don't know who he is,” replied + the other, refilling his pipe with elaborate care, “but if he can kill + Townsend to-day, I'll be so plumb joyous I won't know what to do with + m'self.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid he won't, though,” remarked another, lolling back against the + bar. “The marshal was born to hang—nobody can beat him on the draw. + But, anyhow, we're going to see some fun.” + </p> + <p> + The first speaker, still straining his memory for a clue to the stranger's + identity, pulled out a handful of silver and placed it on the table. “I'll + bet that he makes good,” he offered, but there were no takers. + </p> + <p> + The stranger now lazily arose and stepped into the doorway, leaning + against the jamb and shaking his holster sharply to loosen the gun for + action. He glanced quickly behind him and spoke curtly: “Remember, now—<i>I</i> + am to do all the talking at this auction; you fellers just look on.” + </p> + <p> + A mumble of assent replied to him, and the townsmen craned their necks to + look out. A procession slowly wended its way up the street, led by the + marshal, astride a piebald horse bearing the crude brand of the CG. Three + men followed him and numerous dogs of several colors, sizes, and ages + roamed at will, in a listless, bored way, between the horse and the men. + The dust arose sluggishly and slowly dissipated in the hot, shimmering + air, and a fly buzzed with wearying persistence against the dirty glass in + the front window. + </p> + <p> + The marshal, peering out from under the pulled-down brim of his Stetson, + looked critically at the sleepy horse standing near the open door of the + Paradise and sought its brand, but in vain, for it was standing with the + wrong side towards him. Then he glanced at the man in the door, a puzzled + expression stealing over his face. He had known that man once, but time + and events had wiped him nearly out of his memory and he could not place + him. He decided that the other horse could wait until he had sold the one + he was on, and, stopping before the door of the Paradise, he raised his + left arm, his right arm lying close to his side, not far from the holster + on his thigh. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen an' feller-citizens,” he began: “As marshal of this booming + city, I am about to offer for sale to the highest bidder this A Number 1 + piebald, pursooant to the decree of the local court an' with the sanction + of the town council an' the mayor. This same sale is for to pay the town + for the board an' keep of this animal, an' to square the fine in such + cases made an' provided. It's sound in wind an' limb, fourteen han's high, + an' in all ways a beautiful piece of hoss-flesh. Now, gentlemen, how much + am I bid for this cayuse? Remember, before you make me any offer, that + this animal is broke to punching cows an' is a first-class cayuse.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd in the Paradise had flocked out into the street and oozed along + the front of the building, while the stranger now leaned carelessly + against his own horse, critically looking over the one on sale. Fisher, + uneasy and worried, squirmed close at hand and glanced covertly from his + horse and saddle to the guns in the belts on the members of the crowd. + </p> + <p> + It was the stranger who broke the silence: “Two bits I bid—two + bits,” he said, very quietly, whereat the crowd indulged in a faint + snicker and a few nudges. + </p> + <p> + The marshal looked at him and then ignored him. “How much, gentlemen?” he + asked, facing the crowd again. + </p> + <p> + “Two bits,” repeated the stranger, as the crowd remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “Two bits!” yelled the marshal, glaring at him angrily: “<i>Two bits!</i> + Why, the <i>look</i> in this cayuse's eyes is worth four! Look at the + spirit in them eyes, look at the intelligence! The saddle alone is worth a + clean forty dollars of any man's money. I am out here to sell this animal + to the highest bidder; the sale's begun, an' I want bids, not jokes. Now, + who'll start it off?” he demanded, glancing around; but no one had + anything to say except the terse stranger, who appeared to be getting + irritated. + </p> + <p> + “You've got a starter—I've given you a bid. I bid two bits—t-w-o + b-i-t-s, twenty-five cents. Now go ahead with yore auction.” + </p> + <p> + The marshal thought he saw an attempt at humor, and since he was feeling + quite happy, and since he knew that good humor is conducive to good + bidding, he smiled, all the time, however, racking his memory for the name + of the humorist. So he accepted the bid: “All right, this gentleman bids + two bits. Two bits I am bid—two bits. Twenty-five cents. Who'll make + it twenty-five dollars? Two bits—who says twenty-five dollars? Ah, + did <i>you</i> say twenty-five dollars?” he snapped, leveling an accusing + and threatening fore-finger at the man nearest him, who squirmed + restlessly and glanced at the stranger. “<i>Did you say twenty-five + dollars?</i>” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + The stranger came to the rescue. “He did not. He hasn't opened his mouth. + But <i>I</i> said twenty-five <i>cents</i>,” quietly observed the + humorist. + </p> + <p> + “Who'll gimme thirty? Who'll gimme thirty dollars? Did I hear thirty + dollars? Did I hear twenty-five dollars bid? Who said thirty dollars? Did + <i>you</i> say twenty-five dollars?” + </p> + <p> + “How could he when he was talking politics to the man behind him?” asked + the stranger. “I said two bits,” he added complacently, as he watched the + auctioneer closely. + </p> + <p> + “I want twenty-five dollars—an' you shut yore blasted mouth!” + snapped the marshal at the persistent twenty-five-cent man. He did not see + the fire smouldering in the squinting eyes so alertly watching him. + “Twenty-five dollars—not a cent less takes the cayuse. Why, + gentlemen, he's worth twenty in <i>cans</i>! Gimme twenty-five dollars, + somebody. <i>I</i> bid twenty-five. I want thirty. I want thirty, + gentlemen; you must gimme thirty. <i>I</i> bid twenty-five dollars—who's + going to make it thirty?” + </p> + <p> + “Show us yore twenty-five an' she's yourn,” remarked the stranger, with + exasperating assurance, while Fisher grew pale with excitement. The + stranger was standing clear of his horse now, and alert readiness was + stamped all over him. “You accepted my bid—show yore twenty-five + dollars or take my two bits.” + </p> + <p> + “You close that face of yourn!” exploded the marshal, angrily. “I don't + mind a little fun, but you've got altogether too damned much to say. + You've queered the bidding, an' now you shut up!” + </p> + <p> + “I said two bits an' I mean just that. You show yore twenty-five or gimme + that cayuse on my bid,” retorted the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “By the pans of Julius Caesar!” shouted the marshal. “I'll put you to + sleep so you'll never wake up if I hears any more about you an' yore two + bits!” + </p> + <p> + “Show me, Rednose,” snapped the other, his gun out in a flash. “I want + that cayuse, an' I want it quick. You show me twenty-five dollars or I'll + take it out from under you on my bid, you yaller dog! <i>Stop it!</i> Shut + up! That's suicide, that is. Others have tried it an' failed, an' yo're no + sleight-of-hand gun-man. This is the first time I ever paid a hoss-thief + in <i>silver</i>, or bought stolen goods, but everything has to have a + beginning. You get nervous with that hand of yourn an' I'll cure you of + it! Git off that piebald, an' quick!” + </p> + <p> + The marshal felt stunned and groped for a way out, but the gun under his + nose was as steady as a rock. He sat there stupidly, not knowing enough to + obey orders. + </p> + <p> + “Come, get off that cayuse,” sharply commanded the stranger. “An' I'll + take yore Winchester as a fine for this high-handed business you've been + carrying on. You may be the local court an' all the town officials, but + I'm the Governor, an' here's my Supreme Court, as I was saying to the boys + a little while ago. Yo're overruled. Get off that cayuse, an' don't waste + no more time about it, neither!” + </p> + <p> + The marshal glared into the muzzle of the weapon and felt a sinking in the + pit of his stomach. Never before had he failed to anticipate the pull of a + gun. As the stranger said, there must always be a beginning, a first time. + He was thinking quickly now; he was master of himself again, but he + realized that he was in a tight place unless he obeyed the man with the + drop. Not a man in town would help him; on the other hand, they were all + against him, and hugely enjoying his discomfiture. With some men he could + afford to take chances and jerk at his gun even when at such a + disadvantage, but— + </p> + <p> + “Stranger,” he said slowly, “what's yore name?” + </p> + <p> + The crowd listened eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “My <i>friends</i> call me Hopalong Cassidy; other people, other things—you + gimme that cayuse an' that Winchester. Here! Hand the gun to Fisher, so + there won't be no lamentable accidents: I don't want to shoot you, 'less I + have to.” + </p> + <p> + “They're both yourn,” sighed Mr. Townsend, remembering a certain day over + near Alameda, when he had seen Mr. Cassidy at gun-play. He dismounted + slowly and sorrowfully. “Do I—do I get my two bits?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “You shore do—yore gall is worth it,” said Mr. Cassidy, turning the + piebald over to its overjoyed owner, who was already arranging further + gambling with his friend, the bartender. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Townsend pocketed the one bid, surveyed glumly the hilarious crowd + flocking in to the bar to drink to their joy in his defeat, and wandered + disconsolately back to the pound. He was never again seen in that + locality, or by any of the citizens of Rawhide, for between dark and dawn + he resumed his travels, bound for some locality far removed from limping, + red-headed drawbacks. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + JOHNNY LEARNS SOMETHING + </h3> + <p> + For several weeks after Hopalong got back to the ranch, full of + interesting stories and minus the grouch, things went on in a way placid + enough for the most peacefully inclined individual that ever sat a saddle. + And then trouble drifted down from the north and caused a look of anxiety + to spoil Buck Peters' pleasant expression, and began to show on the faces + of his men. When one finds the carcasses of two cows on the same day, and + both are skinned, there can be only one conclusion. The killing and + skinning of two cows out of herds that are numbered by thousands need not, + in themselves, bring lines of worry to any foreman's brow; but there is + the sting of being cheated, the possibility of the losses going higher + unless a sharp lesson be given upon the folly of fooling with a very keen + and active buzz-saw,—and it was the determination of the outfit of + the Bar-20 to teach that lesson, and as quickly as circumstances would + permit. + </p> + <p> + It was common knowledge that there was a more or less organized band of + shiftless malcontents making its headquarters in and near Perry's Bend, + some distance up the river, and the deduction in this case was easy. The + Bar-20 cared very little about what went on at Perry's Bend—that was + a matter which concerned only the ranches near that town—as long as + no vexatious happenings sifted too far south. But they had so sifted, and + Perry's Bend, or rather the undesirable class hanging out there, was due + to receive a shock before long. + </p> + <p> + About a week after the finding of the first skinned cows, Pete Wilson + tornadoed up to the bunk house with a perforated arm. Pete was on foot, + having lost his horse at the first exchange of shots, which accounts for + the expression describing his arrival. Pete hated to walk, he hated still + more to get shot, and most of all he hated to have to admit that his + rifle-shooting was so far below par. He had seen the thief at work and, + too eager to work up close to the cattle skinner before announcing his + displeasure, had missed the first shot. When he dragged himself out from + under his deceased horse the scenery was undisturbed save for a small + cloud of dust hovering over a distant rise to the north of him. After + delivering a short and bitter monologue he struck out for the ranch and + arrived in a very hot and wrathful condition. It was contagious, that + condition, and before long the entire outfit was in the saddle and + pounding north, Pete overjoyed because his wound was so slight as not to + bar him from the chase. The shock was on the way, and as events proved, + was to be one long to linger in the minds of the inhabitants of Perry's + Bend and the surrounding range. + </p> + <p> + The patrons of the Oasis liked their tobacco strong. The pungent smoke + drifted in sluggish clouds along the low, black ceiling, following its + upward slant toward the east wall and away from the high bar at the other + end. This bar, rough and strong, ran from the north wall to within a scant + two feet of the south wall, the opening bridged by a hinged board which + served as an extension to the counter. Behind the bar was a rear door, low + and double, the upper part barred securely—the lower part was used + most. In front of and near the bar was a large round table, at which four + men played cards silently, while two smaller tables were located along the + north wall. Besides dilapidated chairs there were half a dozen low wooden + boxes partly filled with sand, and attention was directed to the existence + and purpose of these by a roughly lettered sign on the wall, reading: + “Gents will look for a box first,” which the “gents” sometimes did. The + majority of the “gents” preferred to aim at various knotholes in the floor + and bet on the result, chancing the outpouring of the proprietor's wrath + if they missed. + </p> + <p> + On the wall behind the bar was a smaller and neater request: “Leave your + guns with the bartender.—Edwards.” This, although a month old, still + called forth caustic and profane remarks from the regular frequenters of + the saloon, for hitherto restraint in the matter of carrying weapons had + been unknown. They forthwith evaded the order in a manner consistent with + their characteristics—by carrying smaller guns where they could not + be seen. The majority had simply sawed off a generous part of the long + barrels of their Colts and Remingtons, which did not improve their + accuracy. + </p> + <p> + Edwards, the new marshal of Perry's Bend, had come direct from Kansas and + his reputation as a fighter had preceded him. When he took up his first + day's work he was kept busy proving that he was the rightful owner of it + and that it had not been exaggerated in any manner or degree. With the + exception of one instance the proof had been bloodless, for he reasoned + that gun-play should give way, whenever possible, to a crushing “right” or + “left” to the point of the jaw or the pit of the stomach. His proficiency + in the manly art was polished and thorough and bespoke earnest + application. The last doubting Thomas to be convinced came to five minutes + after his diaphragm had been rudely and suddenly raised several inches by + a low right hook, and as he groped for his bearings and got his wind back + again he asked, very feebly, where “Kansas” was; and the name stuck. + </p> + <p> + When Harlan heard the nickname for the first time he stopped pulling the + cork out of a whiskey bottle long enough to remark, casually, “I allus + reckoned Kansas was purty close to hell,” and said no more about it. + Harlan was the proprietor and bartender of the Oasis and catered to the + excessive and uncritical thirsts of the ruck of range society, and he had + objected vigorously to the placing of the second sign in his place of + business; but at the close of an incisive if inelegant reply from the + marshal, the sign went up, and stayed up. Edwards' language and delivery + were as convincing as his fists. + </p> + <p> + The marshal did not like the Oasis; indeed, he went further and cordially + hated it. Harlan's saloon was a thorn in his side and he was only waiting + for a good excuse to wipe it off the local map. He was the Law, and behind + him were the range riders, who would be only too glad to have the nest of + rustlers wiped out and its gang of ne'er-do-wells scattered to the four + winds. Indeed, he had been given to understand in a most polite and + diplomatic way that if this were not done lawfully they would try to do it + themselves, and they had great faith in their ability to handle the + situation in a thorough and workmanlike manner. This would not do in a + law-abiding community, as he called the town, and so he had replied that + the work was his, and that it would be performed as soon as he believed + himself justified to act. Harlan and his friends were fully conversant + with the feeling against them and had become a little more cautious, + alertly watching out for trouble. + </p> + <p> + On the evening of the day which saw Pete Wilson's discomfiture most of the + habitues had assembled in the Oasis where, besides the card-players + already mentioned, eight men lounged against the bar. There was some + laughter, much subdued talking, and a little whispering. More whispering + went on under that roof than in all the other places in town put together; + for here rustling was planned, wayfaring strangers were “trimmed” in + “frame-ups” at cards, and a hunted man was certain to find assistance. + Harlan had once boasted that no fugitive had ever been taken from his + saloon, and he was behind the bar and standing on the trap door which led + to the six-by-six cellar when he made the assertion. It was true, for only + those in his confidence knew of the place of refuge under the floor; it + had been dug at night and the dirt carefully disposed of. + </p> + <p> + It had not been dark very long before talking ceased and card-playing was + suspended while all looked up as the front door crashed open and two + punchers entered, looking the crowd over with critical care. + </p> + <p> + “Stay here, Johnny,” Hopalong told his youthful companion, and then walked + forward, scrutinizing each scowling face in turn, while Johnny stood with + his back to the door, keenly alert, his right hand resting lightly on his + belt not far from the holster. + </p> + <p> + Harlan's thick neck grew crimson and his eyes hard. “Looking fer + something?” he asked with bitter sarcasm, his hands under the bar. Johnny + grinned hopefully and a sudden tenseness took possession of him as he + watched for the first hostile move. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Hopalong replied coolly, appraising Harlan's attitude and look in + one swift glance, “but it ain't here, now. Johnny, get out,” he ordered, + backing after his companion, and safely outside, the two walked towards + Jackson's store, Johnny complaining about the little time spent in the + Oasis. + </p> + <p> + As they entered the store they saw Edwards, whose eye asked a question. + </p> + <p> + “No; he ain't in there yet,” Hopalong replied. + </p> + <p> + “Did you look all over? Behind the bar?” Edwards asked, slowly. “He can't + get out of town through that cordon you've got strung around it, an' he + ain't nowhere else. Leastwise, I couldn't find him.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on back!” excitedly exclaimed Johnny, turning towards the door. “You + didn't look behind the bar! Come on—bet you ten dollars that's where + he is!” + </p> + <p> + “Mebby yo're right, Kid,” replied Hopalong, and the marshal's nodding head + decided it. + </p> + <p> + In the saloon there was strong language, and Jack Quinn, expert skinner of + other men's cows, looked inquiringly at the proprietor. “What's up now, + Harlan?” + </p> + <p> + The proprietor laughed harshly but said nothing—taciturnity was his + one redeeming trait. “Did you say cigars?” he asked, pushing a box across + the bar to an impatient customer. Another beckoned to him and he leaned + over to hear the whispered request, a frown struggling to show itself on + his face. “Nix; you know my rule. No trust in here.” + </p> + <p> + But the man at the far end of the line was unlike the proprietor and he + prefaced his remarks with a curse. “<i>I</i> know what's up! They want + Jerry Brown, that's what! An' I hopes they don't get him, the bullies!” + </p> + <p> + “What did he do? Why do they want him?” asked the man who had wanted + trust. + </p> + <p> + “Skinning. He was careless or crazy, working so close to their ranch + houses. Nobody that had any sense would take a chance like that,” replied + Boston, adept at sleight-of-hand with cards and very much in demand when a + frame-up was to be rung in on some unsuspecting stranger. His one great + fault in the eyes of his partners was that he hated to divvy his winnings + and at times had to be coerced into sharing equally. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, them big ranches make me mad,” announced the first speaker. “Ten + years ago there was a lot of little ranchers, an' every one of 'em had his + own herd, an' plenty of free grass an' water for it. Where are the little + herds now? Where are the cows that <i>we</i> used to own?” he cried, + hotly. “What happens to a maverick-hunter now-a-days? By God, if a man + helps hisself to a pore, sick dogie he's hunted down! It can't go on much + longer, an' that's shore.” + </p> + <p> + Cries of approbation arose on all sides, for his auditors ignored the fact + that their kind, by avarice and thievery, had forever killed the + occupation of maverick-hunting. That belonged to the old days, before the + demand for cows and their easy and cheap transportation had boosted the + prices and made them valuable. + </p> + <p> + Slivers Lowe leaped up from his chair. “Yo're right, Harper! Dead right! + <i>I</i> was a little cattle owner once, so was you, an' Jerry, an' most + of us!” Slivers found it convenient to forget that fully half of his small + herd had perished in the bitter and long winter of five years before, and + that the remainder had either flowed down his parched throat or been lost + across the big round table near the bar. Not a few of his cows were banked + in the east under Harlan's name. + </p> + <p> + The rear door opened slightly and one of the loungers looked up and + nodded. “It's all right, Jerry. But get a move on!” + </p> + <p> + “Here, <i>you</i>!” called Harlan, quickly bending over the trap door, “<i>Lively!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Jerry was half way to the proprietor when the front door swung open and + Hopalong, closely followed by the marshal, leaped into the room, and + immediately thereafter the back door banged open and admitted Johnny. + Jerry's right hand was in his side coat pocket and Johnny, young and + self-confident, and with a lot to learn, was certain that he could beat + the fugitive on the draw. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you won't blot no more brands!” he cried, triumphantly, watching + both Jerry and Harlan. + </p> + <p> + The card-players had leaped to their feet and at a signal from Harlan they + surged forward to the bar and formed a barrier between Johnny and his + friends; and as they did so that puncher jerked at his gun, twisting to + half face the crowd. At that instant fire and smoke spurted from Jerry's + side coat pocket and the odor of burning cloth arose. As Johnny fell, the + rustler ducked low and sprang for the door. A gun roared twice in the + front of the room and Jerry staggered a little and cursed as he gained the + opening, but he plunged into the darkness and threw himself into the + saddle on the first horse he found in the small corral. + </p> + <p> + When the crowd massed, Hopalong leaped at it and strove to tear his way to + the opening at the end of the bar, while the marshal covered Harlan and + the others. Finding that he could not get through. Hopalong sprang on the + shoulder of the nearest man and succeeded in winging the fugitive at the + first shot, the other going wild. Then, frantic with rage and anxiety, he + beat his way through the crowd, hammering mercilessly at heads with the + butt of his Colt, and knelt at his friend's side. + </p> + <p> + Edwards, angered almost to the point of killing, ordered the crowd to + stand against the wall, and laughed viciously when he saw two men + senseless on the floor. “Hope he beat in yore heads!” he gritted, + savagely. “Harlan, put yore paws up in sight or I'll drill you clean! Now + climb over an' get in line—quick!” + </p> + <p> + Johnny moaned and opened his eyes. “Did—did I—get him?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but he gimleted you, all right,” Hopalong replied. “You'll come + 'round if you keep quiet.” He arose, his face hard with the desire to + kill. “I'm coming back for <i>you</i>, Harlan, after I get yore friend! + An' all the rest of you pups, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Get me out of here,” whispered Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Shore enough, Kid; but keep quiet,” replied Hopalong, picking him up in + his arms and moving carefully towards the door. “We'll get him, Johnny; + an' all the rest, too, when——” The voice died out in the + direction of Jackson's and the marshal, backing to the front door, slipped + out and to one side, running backward, his eyes on the saloon. + </p> + <p> + “Yore day's about over, Harlan,” he muttered. “There's going to be some + few funerals around here before many hours pass.” + </p> + <p> + When he reached the store he found the owner and two Double-Arrow punchers + taking care of Johnny. “Where's Hopalong?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Gone to tell his foreman,” replied Jackson. “Hey, youngster, you let them + bandages alone! Hear me?” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Kansas,” remarked John Bartlett, foreman of the Double-Arrow. “I + come nigh getting yore man; somebody rode past me like a streak in the + dark, so I just ups an' lets drive for luck, an' so did he. I heard him + cuss an' I emptied my gun after him.” + </p> + <p> + “The rest was a-passing the word along to ride in when I left the line,” + remarked one of the other punchers. “How you feeling now, Johnny?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + THE END OF THE TRAIL + </h3> + <p> + The rain slanted down in sheets and the broken plain, thoroughly + saturated, held the water in pools or sent it down the steep sides of the + arroyo, to feed the turbulent flood which swept along the bottom, + foam-flecked and covered with swiftly moving driftwood. Around a bend in + the arroyo, where the angry water flung itself against the ragged bulwark + of rock and flashed away in a gleaming line of foam, a horseman appeared + bending low in the saddle for better protection against the storm. He rode + along the edge of the stream on the farther bank, opposite the steep bluff + on the northern side, forcing his wounded and jaded horse to keep fetlock + deep in the water which swirled and sucked about its legs. He was trying + his hardest to hide his trail. Lower down the hard, rocky ground extended + to the water's edge, and if he could delay his pursuers for an hour or so, + he felt that, even with his tired horse, he would have more than an even + chance. + </p> + <p> + But they had gained more than he knew. Suddenly above him on the top of + the steep bluff across the torrent a man loomed up against the clouds, + peered intently into the arroyo, and then waved his sombrero to an unseen + companion. A puff of smoke flashed from his shoulder and streaked away, + the report of the shot lost in the gale. The fugitive's horse reared and + plunged into the deep water and with its rider was swept rapidly towards + the bend, the way they had come. + </p> + <p> + “That makes the fourth time I've missed that coyote!” angrily exclaimed + Hopalong as Red Connors joined him. + </p> + <p> + The other quickly raised his rifle and fired; and the horse, spilling its + rider out of the saddle, floated away tail first. The fugitive, gripping + his rifle, bobbed and whirled at the whim of the greedy water as shots + struck near him. Making a desperate effort, he staggered up the bank and + fell exhausted behind a boulder. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the coyote is afoot, anyhow,” said Red, with great satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but how are we going to get to him?” asked Hopalong. “We can't get + the cayuses down here, an' we can't swim <i>that</i> water without them. + An' if we could, he'd pot us easy.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a way out of it somewhere,” Red replied, disappearing over the + edge of the bluff to gamble with Fate. + </p> + <p> + “Hey! Come back here, you chump!” cried Hopalong, running forward. “He'll + get you, shore!” + </p> + <p> + “That's a chance I've got to take if I get him,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + A puff of smoke sailed from behind the boulder on the other bank and + Hopalong, kneeling for steadier aim, fired and then followed his friend. + Red was downstream casting at a rock across the torrent but the wind toyed + with the heavy, water-soaked <i>reata</i> as though it were a string. As + Hopalong reached his side a piece of driftwood ducked under the water and + an angry humming sound died away downstream. As the report reached their + ears a jet of water spurted up into Red's face and he stepped back + involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “He's so shaky,” Hopalong remarked, looking back at the wreath of smoke + above the boulder. “I reckon I must have hit him harder than I thought in + Harlan's. Gee! He's wild as blazes!” he yelled as a bullet hummed high + above his head and struck sharply against the rock wall. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Red replied, coiling the rope. “I was trying to rope that rock over + there. If I could anchor to that, the current would push us over quick. + But it's too far with this wind blowing.” + </p> + <p> + “We can't do nothing here 'cept get plugged. He'll be getting steadier as + he rests from his fight with the water,” Hopalong remarked, and added + quickly, “Say, remember that meadow back there a ways? We can make her + from there, all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're right; that's what we've got to do. He's sending 'em nearer every + shot—Gee! I could 'most feel the wind of that one. An' blamed if it + ain't stopped raining. Come on.” + </p> + <p> + They clambered up the slippery, muddy bank to where they had left their + horses, and cantered back over their trail. Minute after minute passed + before the cautious skulker among the rocks across the stream could + believe in his good fortune. When he at last decided that he was alone + again he left his shelter and started away, with slowly weakening stride, + over cleanly washed rock where he left no trail. + </p> + <p> + It was late in the afternoon before the two irate punchers appeared upon + the scene, and their comments, as they hunted slowly over the hard ground, + were numerous and bitter. Deciding that it was hopeless in that vicinity, + they began casting in great circles on the chance of crossing the trail + further back from the river. But they had little faith in their success. + As Red remarked, snorting like a horse in his disgust, “I'll bet four + dollars an' a match he's swum down the river clean to hell just to have + the laugh on us.” Red had long since given it up as a bad job, though + continuing to search, when a shout from the distant Hopalong sent him + forward on a run. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, Red!” cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of them. “Look there! Ain't + that a house?” + </p> + <p> + “Naw; course not! It's a—it's a ship!” Red snorted sarcastically. + “What did you think it might be?” + </p> + <p> + “G'wan!” retorted his companion. “It's a mission.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, g'wan yoreself! What's a mission doing up here?” Red snapped. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think they do? What do they do anywhere?” hotly rejoined + Hopalong, thinking about Johnny. “There! See the cross?” + </p> + <p> + “Shore enough!” + </p> + <p> + “An' there's tracks at last—mighty wobbly, but tracks just the same. + Them rocks couldn't go on forever. Red, I'll bet he's cashed in by this + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Cashed nothing! Them fellers don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if he's in that joint we might as well go back home. We won't get + him, not nohow,” declared Hopalong. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! You wait an' see!” replied Red, pugnaciously. + </p> + <p> + “Reckon you never run up agin a mission real hard,” Hopalong responded, + his memory harking back to the time he had disagreed with a convent, and + they both meant about the same to him as far as winning out was concerned. + </p> + <p> + “Think I'm a fool kid?” snapped Red, aggressively. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you ain't no <i>kid</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “You let <i>me</i> do the talking; <i>I'll</i> get him.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; an' I'll do the laughing,” snickered Hopalong, at the door. + “Sic 'em, Red!” + </p> + <p> + The other boldly stepped into a small vestibule, Hopalong close at his + heels. Red hitched his holster and walked heavily into a room at his left. + With the exception of a bench, a table, and a small altar, the room was + devoid of furnishings, and the effect of these was lost in the dim light + from the narrow windows. The peculiar, not unpleasant odor of burning + incense and the dim light awakened a latent reverence and awe in Hopalong, + and he sneaked off his sombrero, an inexplicable feeling of guilt stealing + over him. There were three doors in the walls, deeply shrouded in the dusk + of the room, and it was very hard to watch all three at once. + </p> + <p> + Red was peering into the dark corners, his hand on the butt of his Colt, + and hardly knew what he was looking for. “This joint must 'a' looked plumb + good to that coyote, all right. He had a hell of a lot of luck, but he + won't keep it for long, damn him!” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Quit cussing!” tersely ordered Hopalong. “An' for God's sake, throw out + that damned cigarette! Ain't you got no manners?” + </p> + <p> + Red listened intently and then grinned. “Hear that? They're playing + dominoes in there—come on!” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, you chump! 'Dominee' means 'mother' in Latin, which is what they + speaks.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Hanged if I can tell—I've heard it somewhere, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't care what it means. This is a frame-up so that coyote can + get away. I'll bet they gave him a cayuse an' started him off while we've + been losing time in here. I'm going inside an' ask some questions.” + </p> + <p> + Before he could put his plan into execution, Hopalong nudged him and he + turned to see his friend staring at one of the doors. There had been no + sound, but he would swear that a monk stood gravely regarding them, and he + rubbed his eyes. He stepped back suspiciously and then started forward + again. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, stranger,” he remarked, with quiet emphasis, “we're after that + cow-lifter, an' we mean to get him. Savvy?” + </p> + <p> + The monk did not appear to hear him, so he tried another tack. “<i>Habla + Espanola?</i>” he asked, experimentally. + </p> + <p> + “You have ridden far?” replied the monk in perfect English. + </p> + <p> + “All the way from the Bend,” Red replied, relieved. “We're after Jerry + Brown. He tried to kill Johnny, an' near made good. An' I reckon we've + treed him, judging from the tracks.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you capture him?” + </p> + <p> + “He won't have no more use for no side pocket shooting.” + </p> + <p> + “I see; you will kill him.” + </p> + <p> + “Shore's it's wet outside.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you are doomed to disappointment.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya-as?” asked Red with a rising inflection. + </p> + <p> + “You will not want him now,” replied the monk. + </p> + <p> + Red laughed sarcastically and Hopalong smiled. + </p> + <p> + “There ain't a-going to be no argument about it. Trot him out,” ordered + Red, grimly. + </p> + <p> + The monk turned to Hopalong. “Do you, too, want him?” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong nodded. + </p> + <p> + “My friends, he is safe from your punishment.” + </p> + <p> + Red wheeled instantly and ran outside, returning in a few moments, smiling + triumphantly. “There are tracks coming in, but there ain't none going + away. He's here. If you don't lead us to him we'll shore have to rummage + around an' poke him out for ourselves: which is it?” + </p> + <p> + “You are right—he is here, and he is not here.” + </p> + <p> + “We're waiting,” Red replied, grinning. + </p> + <p> + “When I tell you that you will not want him, do you still insist on seeing + him?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll see him, an' we'll want him, too.” + </p> + <p> + As the rain poured down again the sound of approaching horses was heard, + and Hopalong ran to the door in time to see Buck Peters swing off his + mount and step forward to enter the building. Hopalong stopped him and + briefly outlined the situation, begging him to keep the men outside. The + monk met his return with a grateful smile and, stepping forward, opened + the chapel door, saying, “Follow me.” + </p> + <p> + The unpretentious chapel was small and nearly dark, for the usual dimness + was increased by the lowering clouds outside. The deep, narrow window + openings, fitted with stained glass, ran almost to the rough-hewn rafters + supporting the steep-pitched roof, upon which the heavy rain beat again + with a sound like that of distant drums. Gusts of rain and the water from + the roof beat against the south windows, while the wailing wind played its + mournful cadences about the eaves, and the stanch timbers added their + creaking notes to swell the dirge-like chorus. + </p> + <p> + At the farther end of the room two figures knelt and moved before the + white altar, the soft light of flickering candles playing fitfully upon + them and glinting from the altar ornaments, while before a rough coffin, + which rested upon two pedestals, stood a third, whose rich, sonorous Latin + filled the chapel with impressive sadness. “Give eternal rest to them, O + Lord,”—the words seeming to become a part of the room. The ineffably + sad, haunting melody of the mass whispered back from the room between the + assaults of the enraged wind, while from the altar came the responses in a + low, Gregorian chant, and through it all the clinking of the censer chains + added intermittent notes. Aloft streamed the vapor of the incense, + wavering with the air currents, now lost in the deep twilight of the + sanctuary, and now faintly revealed by the glow of the candles, perfuming + the air with its aromatic odor. + </p> + <p> + As the last deep-toned words died away the celebrant moved slowly around + the coffin, swinging the censer over it and then, sprinkling the body and + making the sign of the cross above its head, solemnly withdrew. + </p> + <p> + From the shadows along the side walls other figures silently emerged and + grouped around the coffin. Raising it they turned it slowly around and + carried it down the dim aisle in measured tread, moving silently as + ghosts. + </p> + <p> + “He is with God, Who will punish according to his sins,” said a low voice, + and Hopalong started, for he had forgotten the presence of the guide. “God + be with you, and may you die as he died—repentant and in peace.” + </p> + <p> + Buck chafed impatiently before the chapel door leading to a small, + well-kept graveyard, wondering what it was that kept quiet for so long a + time his two most assertive men, when he had momentarily expected to hear + more or less turmoil and confusion. + </p> + <p> + <i>C-r-e-a-k!</i> He glanced up, gun in hand and raised as the door swung + slowly open. His hand dropped suddenly and he took a short step forward; + six black-robed figures shouldering a long box stepped slowly past him, + and his nostrils were assailed by the pungent odor of the incense. Behind + them came his fighting punchers, humble, awed, reverent, their sombreros + in their hands, and their heads bowed. + </p> + <p> + “What in blazes!” exclaimed Buck, wonder and surprise struggling for the + mastery as the others cantered up. + </p> + <p> + “He's cashed,” Red replied, putting on his sombrero and nodding toward the + procession. + </p> + <p> + Buck turned like a flash and spoke sharply: “Skinny! Lanky! Follow that + glory-outfit, an' see what's in that box!” + </p> + <p> + Billy Williams grinned at Red. “Yo're shore pious, Red.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up!” snapped Red, anger glinting in his eyes, and Billy subsided. + </p> + <p> + Lanky and Skinny soon returned from accompanying the procession. + </p> + <p> + “I had to look twice to be shore it was him. His face was plumb happy, + like a baby. But he's gone, all right,” Lanky reported. + </p> + <p> + “Deader'n hell,” remarked Skinny, looking around curiously. “This here is + some shack, ain't it?” he finished. + </p> + <p> + “All right—he knowed how he'd finish when he began. Now for that + dear Mr. Harlan,” Buck replied, vaulting into the saddle. He turned and + looked at Hopalong, and his wonder grew. “Hey, <i>you</i>! Yes, <i>you</i>! + Come out of that an' put on yore lid! Straddle leather—we can't stay + here all night.” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong started, looked at his sombrero and silently obeyed. As they rode + down the trail and around a corner he turned in his saddle and looked + back; and then rode on, buried in thought. + </p> + <p> + Billy, grinning, turned and playfully punched him in the ribs. “Getting + glory, Hoppy?” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong raised his head and looked him steadily in the eyes; and Billy, + losing his curiosity and the grin at the same instant, looked ahead, + whistling softly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <h3> + EDWARDS' ULTIMATUM + </h3> + <p> + Edwards slid off the counter in Jackson's store and glowered at the + pelting rain outside, perturbed and grouchy. The wounded man in the corner + stirred and looked at him without interest and forthwith renewed his + profane monologue, while the proprietor, finishing his task, leaned back + against the shelves and swore softly. It was a lovely atmosphere. + </p> + <p> + “Seems to me they've been gone a long time,” grumbled the wounded man. + “Reckon he led 'em a long chase—had six hours' start, the toad.” He + paused and then as an afterthought said with conviction: “But they'll get + him—they allus do when they make up their minds to it.” + </p> + <p> + Edwards nodded moodily and Jackson replied with a monosyllable. + </p> + <p> + “Wish I could 'a' gone with 'em,” Johnny growled. “I like to square my own + accounts. It's allus that way. I get plugged an' my friends clean the + slate. There was that time Bye-an'-Bye went an' ambushed me—ah, the + devil! But I tell you one thing: when I get well I'm going down to + Harlan's an' clean house proper.” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're in hard luck again: that'll be done as soon as yore friends get + back,” Jackson replied, carefully selecting a dried apricot from a box on + the counter and glancing at the marshal to see how he took the remark. + </p> + <p> + “That'll be done before then,” Edwards said crisply, with the air of a man + who has just settled a doubt. “They won't be back much before to-morrow if + he headed for the country I think he did. I'm going down to the Oasis an' + tell that gang to clear out of this town. They've been here too long now. + I never had 'em dead to rights before, but I've got it on 'em this time. + I'd 'a' sent 'em packing yesterday only I sort of hated to take a man's + business away from him an' make him lose his belongings. But I've wrastled + it all out an' they've got to go.” He buttoned his coat about him and + pulled his sombrero more firmly on his head, starting for the door. “I'll + be back soon,” he said over his shoulder as he grasped the handle. + </p> + <p> + “You better wait till you get help—there's too many down there for + one man to watch an' handle,” Jackson hastily remarked. “Here, I'll go + with you,” he offered, looking for his hat. + </p> + <p> + Edwards laughed shortly. “You stay here. I do my own work by myself when I + can—that's what I'm here for, an' I can do this, all right. If I + took any help they'd reckon I was scared,” and the door slammed shut + behind him. + </p> + <p> + “He's got sand a plenty,” Jackson remarked. “He'd try to push back a + stampede by main strength if he reckoned it was his duty. It's his good + luck that he wasn't killed long ago—<i>I'd</i> 'a' been.” + </p> + <p> + “They're a bunch of cowards,” replied Johnny. “As long as you ain't afraid + of 'em, none of 'em wants to start anything. Bunch of sheep!” he snorted. + “Didn't Jerry shoot me through his pocket?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; an' yo're another lucky dog,” Jackson responded, having in mind that + at first Johnny had been thought to be desperately wounded. “Why, yore + friends have got the worst of this game; they're worse off than you are—out + all day an' night in this cussed storm.” + </p> + <p> + While they talked Edwards made his way through the cold downpour to + Harlan's saloon, alone and unafraid, and greatly pleased by the order he + would give. At last he had proof enough to work on, to satisfy his + conscience, for the inevitable had come as the culmination of continued + and clever defiance of law and order. + </p> + <p> + He deliberately approached the front door of the Oasis and, opening it, + stepped inside, his hands resting on his guns—he had packed two + Colts for the last twenty-four hours. His appearance caused a ripple of + excitement to run around the room. After what had taken place, a visit + from him could mean only one thing—trouble. And it was entirely + possible that he had others within call to help him out if necessary. + </p> + <p> + Harlan knew that he would be the one held responsible and he ceased wiping + a glass and held the cloth suspended in one hand and the glass in the + other. “Well?” he snapped, angrily, his eyes smouldering with fixed + hatred. + </p> + <p> + “Mebby you think it's well, but it's going to be a blamed sight better + before sundown to-morrow night,” evenly replied the marshal. “I just + dropped in sort of free-like to tell you to pack up an' get out of town + before dark—load yore wagon an' vamoose; an' take yore friends with + you, too. If you don't—” he did not finish in words, for his + tightening lips made them unnecessary. + </p> + <p> + “<i>What!</i>” yelled Harlan, red with anger. He placed his hands on the + bar and leaned over it as if to give emphasis to his words. “<i>Me</i> + pack up an' git! <i>Me</i> leave this shack! Who's going to pay me for it, + hey? <i>Me</i> leave town! You drop out again an' go back to Kansas where + you come from—they're easier back there!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so far I ain't found nothing very craggy 'round here,” retorted + Edwards, closely watching the muttering crowd by the bar. “Takes more than + a loud voice an' a pack of sneaking coyotes to send me looking for + something easier. An' let me tell you this: <i>You</i> stay away from + Kansas—they hangs people like you back there. That's whatever. You + pack up an' git out of this town or I'll start a burying plot with you on + yore own land.” + </p> + <p> + The low, angry buzz of Harlan's friends and their savage, scowling faces + would have deterred a less determined man; but Edwards knew they were + afraid of him, and the men on whom he could call to back him up. And he + knew that there must always be a start, there must be one man to show the + way; and each of the men he faced was waiting for some one else to lead. + </p> + <p> + “You all slip over the horizon before dark to-night, an' it's dark early + these days,” he continued. “<i>Don't get restless with yore hands!</i>” he + snapped ominously at the crowd. “I means what I say—you shake the + mud from this town off yore boots before dark—before that Bar-20 + outfit gets back,” he finished meaningly. + </p> + <p> + Questions, imprecations, and threats filled the room, and the crowd began + to spread out slowly. His guns came out like a flash and he laughed with + the elation that comes with impending battle. “The first man to start + it'll drop,” he said evenly. “Who's going to be the martyr?” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>won't</i> leave town!” shouted Harlan. “I'll stay here if I'm killed + for it!” + </p> + <p> + “I admire yore loyalty to principle, but you've got damned little sense,” + retorted the marshal. “You ain't no practical man. <i>Keep yore hands + where they are!</i>”—his vibrant voice turned the shifting crowd to + stone-like rigidity and he backed slowly toward the door, the poor light + gleaming dully from the polished blue steel of his Colts. Rugged, + lion-like, charged to the finger tips with reckless courage and dare-devil + self-confidence, his personality overflowed and dominated the room, almost + hypnotic in its effect. He was but one against many, but he was the + master, and they knew it; they had known it long enough to accept it + without question, and the training now stood him in good stead. + </p> + <p> + For a moment he stood in the open doorway, keenly scrutinizing them for + signs of danger, his unwavering guns charged with certain death and his + strong face made stronger by the shadows in its hollows. “Before dark!”—and + he was gone. + </p> + <p> + He left behind him deep silence, which endured for several moments. + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord, I <i>won't</i>!” cried Harlan, still staring at the door. + </p> + <p> + The spell was broken and a babel of voices filled the room, threats + mingling with excuses, hot, vibrant, profane. These men were not cowards + all the way through, but only when face to face with the master. They had + flourished in a way by their wits alone on the same range with the outfits + of the C-80 and the Double-Arrow, for individually they were “bad,” and + collectively they made a force of no mean strength. Edwards had landed + among them like a thunderbolt and had proved his prowess, and they still + held him in awesome respect. His reckless audacity and grim singleness of + purpose had saved him on more than one occasion, for had he wavered once + he would have been shot down without mercy. But gradually his enforcement + of hampering laws became more and more intolerable, and their subordinated + spirits were nearly on the point of revolt. When he faced them they + resumed their former positions in relation to him—but once out of + his sight they plotted to destroy him. Here was the crisis: it was now or + never. They could not evade his ultimatum—it was obey or fight. + </p> + <p> + Submission was not to be thought of, for to flee would be to lose caste, + and the story of such an act would follow them wherever they went, and + brand them as cowards. Here they had lived, and here they would stay if + possible, and to this end they discussed ways and means. + </p> + <p> + “Harlan's right!” emphatically announced Laramie Joe. “We can't pull out + and have this foller us.” + </p> + <p> + “We should have started it with a rush when he was in here,” remarked + Boston, regretfully. + </p> + <p> + Harlan stopped his pacing and faced them, shoving out a bottle of whiskey + as an aid to his logic. + </p> + <p> + “That chance is past, an' I don't know but what it is a good thing,” he + began. “He was primed an' looking fer trouble, an' he'd shore got a few of + us afore he went under. What we want is strategy—that's the game. + You fellers have got as much brains as him, an' if we thrash this thing + out we can find a way to call his play—an' get him! No use of any of + us getting plugged 'less we have to. But whatever we do we've got to start + it right quick an' have it over before that Bar-20 gang comes back. + Harper, you an' Quinn go scouting—an' don't take no guns with you, + neither. Act like you was hitting the long trail out, an' work back here + on a circle. See how many of his friends are in town. While you are gone + the rest of us will hold a pow-wow an' take the kinks out of this game. + Chase along, an' don't waste no time.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” cried Slivers Lowe emphatically. “There's blamed few fellers in + town now that have any use for him, for most of them are off on the + ranges. Bet we won't have more than six to fight, an' there's that many of + us here.” + </p> + <p> + The scouts departed at once and the remaining four drew close in + consultation. + </p> + <p> + “One more drink around and then no more till this trouble is over,” Harlan + said, passing the bottle. The drinks, in view of the coming drought and + the thirsty work ahead, were long and deep, and new courage and + vindictiveness crept through their veins. + </p> + <p> + “Now here's the way it looks to me,” Harlan continued, placing the bottle, + untasted by himself, on the floor behind him. “We've got to work a + surprise an' take Edwards an' his friends off their guard. That'll be easy + if we're careful, because they think we ain't looking for fight. When we + get them out of the way we can take Jackson's store an' use one of the + other shacks and wait for the Bar-20 to ride in. They'll canter right in, + like they allus do, an' when they get close enough we'll open the game + with a volley an' make every shot tell. 'T won't last long, 'cause every + one of us will have his man named before they get here. Then the few + straddlers in town, seeing how easy we've gone an' handled it'll join us. + We've got four men to come in yet, an' by the time the C-80 an' + Double-Arrow hears about it we'll be fixed to drive 'em back home. We + ought to be over a dozen strong by dark.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds good, all right,” remarked Slivers, thoughtfully, “but can we + do it that easy?” + </p> + <p> + “Course we can! We ain't fools, an' we all can shoot as well as them,” + snapped Laramie Joe, the most courageous of the lot. Laramie had taken + only one drink, and that a small one, for he was wise enough to realize + that he needed his wits as keen as he could have them. + </p> + <p> + “We can do it easy, if Edwards goes under first,” hastily replied Harlan. + “An' me an' Laramie will see to that part of it. If we don't get him, you + all can hit the trail an' we won't be sore about it. That is, unless you + are made of the stuff that stands up an' fights 'stead of running away. I + reckon I ain't none mistaken in any of you. You'll all be there when + things get hot.” + </p> + <p> + “You can bet the shack <i>I</i> won't do no trail-hitting,” growled + Boston, glancing at Slivers, who squirmed a little under the hint. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm glued to the crowd; you can't lose me, fellers,” Slivers + remarked, re-crossing his legs uneasily. “Are we going to begin it from + here?” + </p> + <p> + “We ought to spread out cautions and surround Jackson's, or wherever + Edwards is,” Laramie Joe suggested. “That's my—” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're right! Now you've hit it plumb on the head!” interrupted Harlan, + slapping Laramie heartily across the back. “What did I tell you about our + brains?” he cried, enthusiastically. He had been on the point of + suggesting that plan of operations when Laramie took the words out of his + mouth. “I'd never thought of that, Laramie,” he lied, his face beaming. + “Why, we've got 'em licked to a finish right now!” + </p> + <p> + “This <i>is</i> a hummer of a game,” laughed Slivers. “But how about the + Bar-20 crowd?” + </p> + <p> + “I've told you that already,” replied the proprietor. + </p> + <p> + “You bet it's a hummer,” cried Boston, reaching for the whiskey bottle + under cover of the excitement and enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + Harlan pushed it away with his foot and raised his clenched fist. “Do you + wonder I didn't think of that plan?” he demanded. “Ain't I been too mad to + think at all? Hain't I seen my friends treated like dogs, an' made to + swaller insults when I couldn't raise my hand to stop it? Didn't I see + Jerry Brown chased out of my place like a wild beast? If we are what we've + been called, then we'll sneak out of town with our tails atween our laigs; + but if we're men we'll stay right here an' cram the insults down the + throats of them that made 'em! If we're <i>men</i> let's prove it an' make + them liars swaller our lead.” + </p> + <p> + “My sentiments an' allus was!” roared Slivers, slapping Harlan's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “We're men, all right, an' we'll show 'em it, too!” + </p> + <p> + At that instant the door opened and four guns covered it before it had + swung a foot. + </p> + <p> + “Put 'em down—it's Quinn!” exclaimed the man in the doorway, + flinching a bit. “All right, Jed,” he called over his shoulder to the man + who crowded him. After Quinn came Big Jed and Harper brought up the rear. + They had no more than shaken the water from their sombreros when the back + door let in Charley Rich and his two companions, Frank and Tom Nolan. + While greetings were being exchanged and the existing conditions explained + to the newcomers, Harper and Quinn led Harlan to one side and reported, + the proprietor smiling and nodding his head wisely. And while he listened, + Slivers surreptitiously corralled the whiskey bottle and when the last man + finished with it there was nothing in it but air. + </p> + <p> + “Well, boys,” exclaimed Harlan, “things are our way. Quinn, here, met Joe + Barr, of the C-80, who said Converse an' four other fellers, all friends + of Edwards, stopped at the ranch an' won't be back home till the storm + stops. Harper saw Fred Neil going back to his ranch, so all we've got to + figger on is the marshal, Barr, an' Jackson, an' they're all in Jackson's + store. Lacey might cut in, since he'd sell more liquor if I went under, + but he can't do very much if he does take a hand. Now we'll get right at + it.” The whole thing was gone over thoroughly and in detail, positions + assigned and a signal agreed upon. Seeing that weapons were in good + condition after their long storage in the cellar, and that cartridge belts + were full, the ten men left the room one at a time or in pairs, Harlan and + Laramie Joe being the last. And both Harlan and Laramie delayed long + enough to take the precaution of placing horses where they would be handy + in case of need. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + HARLAN STRIKES + </h3> + <p> + Joe Barr laughingly replied to Johnny Nelson's growled remarks about the + condition of things in general and tried to soothe him, but Johnny was + unsoothable. + </p> + <p> + “An' I've been telling him right along that he's got the best of it,” + complained Jackson in a weary voice. “Got a measly hole through his + shoulder—good Lord! if it had gone a little lower!” he finished with + a show of exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “An' ain't I been telling you all along that it ain't the measly hole in + my shoulder that's got me on the prod?” retorted Johnny, with more + earnestness than politeness. “But why couldn't I go with my friends after + Jerry an' get shot later if I had to get it at all? Look what I'm missing, + roped an' throwed in this cussed ten-by-ten shack while they're having a + little excitement.” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're missing some blamed nasty weather, Kid,” replied the marshal. “You + ain't got no kick coming at all. Why, I got soaked clean through just + going down to the Oasis.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm kicking, just the same,” snapped Johnny. “An' furthermore, I + don't see nobody big enough to stop me, neither—did you all get + that?” + </p> + <p> + The rear door opened and Fred Neal looked in. “Hey, Barr; come out an' + gimme a hand in the corral. Busted my cinch all to pieces half a mile out—an' + how the devil it ever busted like that is—” the door slammed shut + and softened his monologue. + </p> + <p> + “Would you listen to that!” snorted Barr in an injured tone. “Didn't I go + an' tell him near a month ago that his cussed cinch wouldn't hold no + better'n a piece of wet paper?” His complaint added materially to the + atmosphere of sullen discontent pervading the room. “An' now I gotter go + out in this rain an'—” the slam of the door surpassed anything yet + attempted in that line of endeavor. Jackson grabbed a can of corn as it + jarred off the shelf behind him and directed a pleasing phrase after the + peevish Barr. + </p> + <p> + “Say, won't somebody please smile?” gravely asked Edwards. “I never saw + such a happy, cheerful bunch before.” + </p> + <p> + “I might smile if I wasn't so blamed hungry,” retorted Johnny. “Doesn't + anybody ever eat in this town?” he asked in great sarcasm. “Mebby a good + feed won't do me no good, but I'm going to fill myself regardless. An' + after that, if the grub don't shock me to death, I'm shore going to trim + somebody at Ol' Sledge—for two bits a hand.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could play you enough hands at that price I could sell out an' live + high without working,” grinned Jackson, preparing to give the reckless + invalid all he could eat. “That's purty high, Kid; but I just feel real + devilish, an' I'm coming in.” + </p> + <p> + “An' I'll go over to my shack, get some money, an' bust the pair of you,” + laughed Edwards, again buttoning his coat and going towards the door. + “Holy Cats! A log must 'a' got jammed in the sluice-gate up there,” he + muttered, scowling at the black sky. “It's coming down harder'n ever, but + here goes,” and he stepped quickly into the storm. + </p> + <p> + Jackson paused with a frying pan in his hands and looked through the + window after the departing marshal, and saw him stagger, stumble forward, + then jerk out his guns and begin firing. Hard firing now burst out in + front and Jackson, cursing angrily, dropped the pan and reached for his + rifle—to drop it also and sink down, struck by the bullet which + drilled through the window. Johnny let out a yell of rage, grabbed his + Colt, and ran to the door in time to see Edwards slowly raise up on one + elbow, fire his last shot, and fall back riddled by bullets. + </p> + <p> + Jackson crawled to his rifle and then to the side window, where he propped + his back against a box and prepared to do his best. “It was shore a + surprise,” he swore. “An' they went an' got Edwards before he could do + anything.” + </p> + <p> + “They did not!” retorted Johnny. “He—” the glass in the door + vibrated sharply and the speaker, stepping to one side out of sight, with + a new and superficial wound, opened fire on the building down the street. + Two men were lying on the ground across the street—these Edwards had + shot—and another was trying to drag himself to the shelter of a + building. A man sprinted from an old corral close by in a brave and + foolhardy attempt to save his friend, and Johnny swore because he had to + fire twice at the same mark. + </p> + <p> + The rear door crashed open and shut as Barr, closely followed by Neal, ran + in. They had been caught in the corral but, thanks to Harlan's whiskey, + had managed to hold their own until they had a chance to make a rush for + the store. + </p> + <p> + “Where's the marshal?” cried Barr, catching sight of Jackson. “Are you + plugged bad?” he asked, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ain't plugged a whole lot <i>good</i>!” snapped Jackson. “An' + Edwards is dead. They shot him down without warning. We're going to get + ours, too—these walls don't stop them bullets. How many out there?” + </p> + <p> + “Must be a dozen,” hastily replied Neal, who had not remained idle. Both + he and Barr were working like mad men moving boxes and barrels against the + walls to make a breastwork capable of stopping the bullets which came + through the boards. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon—I'm bleeding inside,” Jackson muttered, wearily and + without hope. “Wonder how—long we—can hold out?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll hold out till we're good an' dead!” replied Johnny, hotly. “They + ain't got us yet an' they'll pay for it before they do. If we can hold 'em + off till Buck an' the rest come back we'll have the pleasure of seeing 'em + buried.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll get you next time!” assured Barr to an enemy, slipping a fresh + cartridge into the Sharps and peering intently at a slight rise on the + muddy plain. “You shoot like yo're drunk,” he mumbled. + </p> + <p> + “But what is it all about, anyhow?” asked Neal, finding time for an + immaterial question. “Who are they?—can't see nothing but blurs + through this rain!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; what's the game?” asked Barr, mildly surprised that he had not + thought of it before. + </p> + <p> + “It's that Oasis gang,” Johnny responded. He fired, and growled with + disappointment. “Harlan's at the head of it,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Edwards—told Harlan to—get out of—town,” Jackson began. + </p> + <p> + “An' to take his gang with him,” Johnny interposed quickly to save Jackson + from the strain. “They had till dark. Guess the rest. Oh, you <i>coyote</i>!” + he shouted, staggering back. There was a report farther down the barricade + and Neal called out, “I got him, Nelson; he's done. How are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Mad! Mad!” yelled Johnny, touching his twice-wounded shoulder and dancing + with rage and pain. “Right in the same place! Oh, wait! <i>Wait!</i> Hey, + gimme a rifle—I can't do nothing with a Colt at this range; my name + ain't Hopalong,” and he went slamming around the room in hot search of + what he wanted. + </p> + <p> + “There ain't—no more—Johnny,” feebly called Jackson, raising + slightly to ease himself. “You can have—my gun purty—soon. I + won't be able—to use it—much longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't Buck an' Hoppy hurry up!” snarled Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Be a long time—mebby,” mumbled Jackson, his trembling hands trying + to steady the rifle. “They're all—around us. <i>Ah</i>, missed!” he + intoned hoarsely, trying to pump the lever with unobeying hands. “I can't + last—much—” the words ceased abruptly and the clatter of the + rifle on the floor told the story. + </p> + <p> + Johnny stumbled over to him and dragged him aside, covering the upturned + face with his own sombrero, and picked up the rifle. Rolling a barrel of + flour against the wall below the window he fixed himself as comfortably as + possible and threw a shell into the chamber. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you coyotes; you pay <i>me</i> for <i>that</i>!” he gritted, resting + the gun on the window sill and holding it so he could work it with one + hand and shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Wonder how them pups ever pumped up enough courage to cut loose like + this?” queried Neal from behind his flour barrel. + </p> + <p> + “Whiskey,” hazarded Barr. “Harlan must 'a' got 'em drunk. An' that's three + times I've missed that snake. Wish it would stop raining so I could see + better.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you wish they'd all drop dead? Wish good when you wish at all: + got as much chance of having it come true,” responded Neal, sarcastically. + He smothered a curse and looked curiously at his left arm, and from it to + the new, yellow-splintered hole in the wall, which was already turning + dark from the water soaking into it. “Hey, Joe; we need some more boxes!” + he exclaimed, again looking at his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” came Johnny's voice. “Three of 'em—five of 'em, an' about six + feet long an' a foot deep. But if my outfit gets here in time we'll want + more'n a dozen.” + </p> + <p> + “Say! Lacey's firing now!” suddenly cried Barr. “He's shooting out of his + windy. That'll stop 'em from rushing us! Good boy, Lacey!” he shouted, but + Lacey did not hear him in the uproar. + </p> + <p> + “An' he's worse off than we are, being alone,” commented Neal. “Hey! One + of us better make a break for help—my ranch's the nearest. What d'ye + say?” + </p> + <p> + “It's suicide; they'll get you before you get ten feet,” Barr replied with + conviction. + </p> + <p> + “No; they won't—the corral hides the back door, an' all the firing + is on this side. I can sneak along the back wall an' by keeping the + buildings atween me an' them, get a long ways off before they know + anything about it. Then it's a dash—an' they can't catch me. But can + you fellers hold out if I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Two can hold out as good as three—go ahead,” Johnny replied. “Leave + me some of yore Colt cartridges, though. You can't use 'em all before you + get home.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't stop fer that; there's a shelfful of all kinds behind the counter,” + Barr interposed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, so long an' good luck,” and the rear door closed, and softly this + time. + </p> + <p> + “Two hours is some wait under the present circumstances,” Barr muttered, + shifting his position behind his barricade. “He can't do it in less, + nohow.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny ducked and looked foolish. “Missed me by a foot,” he explained. “He + can't do it in two—not there an' back,” he replied. “The trail is + mud over the fetlocks. Give him three at the least.” + </p> + <p> + “They ain't shooting as much as they was before.” + </p> + <p> + “Waiting till they gets sober, I reckon,” Johnny replied. + </p> + <p> + “If we don't hear no ruction in a few minutes we'll know he got away all + right,” Barr soliloquized. “An' he's got a fine cayuse for mud, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Hey, why can't you do the same thing if he makes it?” Johnny suddenly + asked. “I can hold her alone, all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're a cheerful liar, you are,” laughed Barr. “But can <i>you</i> ride?” + </p> + <p> + “Reckon so, but I ain't a-going to.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we <i>both</i> can go—it's a cinch!” Barr cried. “Come on!” + </p> + <p> + “Lord!—an' I never even thought of that! Reckon I was too mad,” + Johnny replied. “But I sort of hates to leave Jackson an' Edwards,” he + added, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “But they're gone! You can't do them no good by staying.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I know. An' how about Lacey chipping in on our fight?” demanded + Johnny. “I ain't a-going to leave him to take it all. You go, Barr; it + wasn't yore fight, nohow. You didn't even know what you was fighting for!” + </p> + <p> + “Huh! When anybody shoots at me it's my fight, all right,” replied Barr, + seating himself on the floor behind the breastwork. “I forgot all about + Lacey,” he apologized. At that instant a tomato can went <i>spang!</i> and + fell off the shelf. “An' it's too late, anyhow; they ain't a-going to let + nobody else get away on that side.” + </p> + <p> + “An' they're tuning up again, too,” Johnny replied, preparing for trouble. + “Look out for a rush, Barr.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <h3> + THE BAR-20 RETURNS. + </h3> + <p> + Hopalong Cassidy stopped swearing at the weather and looked up and along + the trail in front of him, seeing a hard-riding man approach. He turned + his head and spoke to Buck Peters, who rode close behind him. “Somebody's + shore in a hurry—why, it's Fred Neal.” + </p> + <p> + It was. Mr. Neal was making his arms move and was also shouting something + at the top of his voice. The noise of the rain and of the horses' hoofs + splashing in the mud and water at first made his words unintelligible, but + it was not long before Hopalong heard something which made him sit up even + straighter. In a moment Neal was near enough to be heard distinctly and + the outfit shook itself out of its weariness and physical misery and + followed its leader at reckless speed. As they rode, bunched close + together, Neal briefly and graphically outlined the relative positions of + the combatants, and while Buck's more cautious mind was debating the best + way to proceed against the enemy, Hopalong cried out the plan to be + followed. There would be no strategy—Johnny, wounded and desperate, + was fighting for his life. The simplest way was the best—a dash + regardless of consequences to those making it, for time was a big factor + to the two men in Jackson's store. + </p> + <p> + “Ride right at 'em!” Hopalong cried. “I know that bunch. They'll be too + scared to shoot straight. Paralyze 'em! Three or four are gone now—an' + the whole crowd wasn't worth one of the men they went out to get. The + quicker it's over the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are,” came from the rear. + </p> + <p> + “Ride up the arroyo as close as we can get, an' then over the edge an' + straight at 'em,” Buck ordered. “Their shooting an' the rain will cover + what noise we make on the soft ground. An' boys, <i>no quarter</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “Reckon <i>not</i>!” gritted Red, savagely. “Not with Edwards an' Jackson + dead, an' the Kid fighting for his life!” + </p> + <p> + “They're still at it!” cried Lanky Smith, as the faint and intermittent + sound of firing was heard; the driving wind was blowing from the town, and + this, also, would deaden the noise of their approach. + </p> + <p> + “Thank the Lord! That means that there's somebody left to fight 'em,” + exclaimed Red. “Hope it's the Kid,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “They can't rush the store till they get Lacey, an' they can't rush him + till they get the store,” shouted Neal over his shoulder. “They'd be in a + cross fire if they tried either—an' that's what licks 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll be in a cross fire purty soon,” promised Pete, grimly. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong and Red reached the edge of the arroyo first and plunged over the + bank into the yellow storm-water swirling along the bottom like a + miniature flood. After them came Buck, Neal, and the others, the water + shooting up in sheets as each successive horse plunged in. Out again on + the farther side they strung out into single file along the narrow + foot-hold between water and bank and raced towards the sharp bend some + hundreds of yards ahead, the point in the arroyo's course nearest the + town. The dripping horses scrambled up the slippery incline and then, + under the goading of spurs and quirts, leaped forward as fast as they + could go across the level, soggy plain. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of a mile ahead of them lay the scattered shacks of the town, + and as they drew nearer to it the riders could see the flashes of guns and + the smoke-fog lying close to the ground. Fire spat from Jackson's store + and a cloud of smoke still lingered around a window in Lacey's saloon. + Then a yell reached their ears, a yell of rage, consternation and warning. + Figures scurried to seek cover and the firing from Jackson's and Lacey's + grew more rapid. + </p> + <p> + A mounted man emerged from a corral and tore away, others following his + example, and the outfit separated to take up the chase individually. + Harlan, wounded hard, was trying to run to where he had left his horse, + and after him fled Slivers Lowe. Hopalong was gaining on them when he saw + Slivers raise his arm and fire deliberately into the back of the + proprietor of the Oasis, leap over the falling body, vault into the saddle + of Harlan's horse and gallop for safety. Hopalong's shots went wide and + the last view any one had of Slivers in that part of the country was when + he dropped into an arroyo to follow it for safety. Laramie Joe fled before + Red Connors and Red's rage was so great that it spoiled his accuracy, and + he had the sorrow of seeing the pursued grow faint in the mist and fog. + Pursuit was tried until the pursuers realized that their mounts were too + worn out to stand a show against the fresh animals ridden by the survivors + of the Oasis crowd. + </p> + <p> + Red circled and joined Hopalong. “Blasted coyotes,” he growled. “Killed + Jackson an' Edwards, an' wanted the Kid! He's shore showed 'em what + fighting is, all right. But I wonder what got into 'em all at once to give + 'em nerve enough to start things?” + </p> + <p> + “Edwards paid his way, all right,” replied Hopalong. “If I do as well when + my time comes I won't do no kicking.” + </p> + <p> + “Yore time ain't coming that way,” responded Red, grinning. “You'll die a + natural death in bed, unless you gets to cussing me.” + </p> + <p> + “Shore there ain't no more, Buck?” Hopalong called. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. There was only five, I reckon, an' they was purty well shot up when + we took a hand. You know, Johnny was in it all the time,” replied the + foreman, smiling. “This town's had the cleaning up it's needed for some + time,” he added. + </p> + <p> + They were at Jackson's store now, and hurriedly dismounted and ran in to + see Johnny. They found him lying across some boxes, which brought him + almost to the level of a window sill. He was too weak to stand, while near + him in similar condition lay Barr, too weak from loss of blood to do more + than look his welcome. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Kid?” cried Buck anxiously, bending over him, while others + looked to Barr's injuries. + </p> + <p> + “Tired, Buck, awful tired; an' all shot up,” Johnny slowly replied. “When + I saw you fellers—streak past this windy—I sort of went flat—something + seemed to break inside me,” he said, faintly and with an effort, and the + foreman ordered him not to talk. Deft fingers, schooled by practice in + rough and ready surgery, were busy over him and in half an hour he lay on + Jackson's cot, covered with bandages. + </p> + <p> + “Why, hullo, Lacey!” exclaimed Hopalong, leaping forward to shake hands + with the man Red and Billy had gone to help. “Purty well scratched up, but + lively yet, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm able to hobble over here an' shake han's with these scrappers—they're + shore wonders,” Lacey replied. “Fought like a whole regiment! Hullo, + Johnny!” and his hand-clasp told much. + </p> + <p> + “Yore cross fire did it, Lacey; that was the whole thing,” Johnny smiled. + “Yo're all right!” + </p> + <p> + Red turned and looked out of the window toward the Oasis and then glanced + at Buck. “Reckon we better burn Harlan's place—it's all that's left + of that gang now,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes; I reckon so,” replied the foreman. “That's as—” + </p> + <p> + “No, we won't!” Hopalong interposed quickly. “That stands till Johnny sets + it off. It's the Kid's celebration—he was shot in it.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny smiled. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <h3> + BARB WIRE + </h3> + <p> + After the flurry at Perry's Bend the Bar-20 settled down to the calm + routine work and sent several drive herds to their destination without any + unusual incidents. Buck thought that the last herd had been driven when, + late in the summer, he received an order that he made haste to fill. The + outfit was told to get busy and soon rounded up the necessary number of + three-year-olds. Then came the road branding, the final step except + inspection, and this was done not far from the ranch house, where the + facilities were best for speedy work. + </p> + <p> + Entirely recovered from all ill effects of his afternoon in Jackson's + store up in Perry's bend, Johnny Nelson waited with Red Connors on the + platform of the branding chute and growled petulantly at the sun, the + dust, but most of all at the choking, smarting odor of burned hair which + filled their throats and caused them to rub the backs of grimy hands + across their eyes. Chute-branding robbed them of the excitement, the + leaven of fun and frolic, which they always took from open or corral + branding—and the work of a day in the corral or open was condensed + into an hour or two by the chute. This was one cow wide, narrow at the + bottom and flared out as it went up, so the animal could not turn, and + when filled was, to use Johnny's graphic phrase, “like a chain of cows in + a ditch.” Eight of the wondering and crowded animals, guided into the pen + by men who knew their work to the smallest detail and lost no time in its + performance, filed into the pen after those branded had filed out. As the + first to enter reached the farther end a stout bar dropped into place, + just missing the animal's nose; and as the last cow discovered that it + could go no farther and made up its mind to back out, it was stopped by + another bar, which fell behind it. The iron heaters tossed a hot iron each + to Red and Johnny and the eight were marked in short order, making about + two hundred and fifty they had branded in three hours. This number + compared very favorably with that of the second chute where Lanky Smith + and Frenchy McAlister waved cold irons and sarcastically asked their iron + men if the sun was supposed to provide the heat; whereat the down-trodden + heaters provided heat with great generosity in their caustic retorts. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Susanna, don't you cry for me,” sang Billy Williams, one of the + feeders. “But why in Jericho don't you fellers get a move on you? You + ain't no good on the platform—you ought to be mixing biscuits for + Cookie. Frenchy and Lanky are the boys to turn 'em out,” he offered, + gratis. + </p> + <p> + Red's weary air bespoke a vast and settled contempt for such inanities and + his iron descended against the side of the victim below him—he would + not deign to reply. Not so with Johnny, who could not refrain from hot + retort. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a fool <i>all</i> the time,” snapped Johnny. “Mind yore own + business, you shorthorn. Big-mouthed old woman, that's what—” his + tone dropped and the words sank into vague mutterings which a strangling + cough cut short. “Blasted idiot,” he whispered, tears coming into his eyes + at the effort. Burning hair is bad for throat and temper alike. + </p> + <p> + Red deftly knocked his companion's iron up and spoke sharply. “You mind + yourn better—that makes the third you've tried to brand twice. Why + don't you look what yo're doing? Hot iron! Hot iron! What're you fellers + doing?” he shouted down at the heaters. “This ain't no time to go to + sleep. How d'ye expect us to do any work when you ain't doing any + yoreselves!” Red's temper was also on the ragged edge. + </p> + <p> + “You've got one in yore other hand, you sheep!” snorted one of the iron + heaters with restless pugnacity. “Go tearing into us when you—” he + growled the rest and kicked viciously at the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Lovely bunch,” grinned Billy who, followed by Pete Wilson, mounted the + platform to relieve the branders. “Chase yoreselves—me an' Pete are + shore going to show you cranky bugs how to do a hundred an hour. Ain't we, + Pete? An' look here, you,” he remarked to the heaters, “don't you fellers + keep <i>us</i> waiting for hot irons!” + </p> + <p> + “That's right! Make a fool out of yoreself first thing!” snapped one of + the pair on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, I never loved you as much as I do this minute,” grinned Johnny + wearily. “Wish you'd 'a' come along to show us how to do it an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I would, only—” + </p> + <p> + “Quit chinning an' get busy,” remarked Red, climbing down. “The chute's + full; an' it's all yourn.” + </p> + <p> + Billy caught the iron, gave it a preliminary flourish, and started to work + with a speed that would not endure for long. He branded five out of the + eight and jeered at his companion for being so slow. + </p> + <p> + “Have yore fun now, Billy,” Pete replied with placid good nature. “Before + we're through with this job you'll be lucky if you can do two of the + string, if you keep up that pace.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll be missing every other one,” growled his heater with overflowing + malice. “That iron ain't cold, you Chinaman!” + </p> + <p> + “Too cold for me—don't miss none,” chuckled Billy sweetly. “Fill the + chute! Fill the chute! Don't keep us waiting!” he cried to the guiders, + hopping around with feigned eagerness and impatience. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong Cassidy rode up and stopped as Red returned to take the place of + one of the iron heaters. “How they coming, Red?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Fast. You can sic that inspector on 'em the first thing to-morrow + morning, if he gets here on time. Bet he's off som'ers getting full of + redeye. Who're going with you on this drive?” + </p> + <p> + “The inspector is all right—he's here now an' is going to spend the + night with us so as to be on hand the first thing to-morrow,” replied + Hopalong, grinning at the hard-working pair on the platform. “Why, I + reckon I'll take you, Johnny, Lanky, Billy, Pete, an' Skinny, an' we'll + have two hoss-wranglers an' a cook, of course. We'll drive up the + right-hand trail through West Valley this time. It's longer, but there'll + be more water that way at this time of the year. Besides, I don't want no + more foot-sore cattle to nurse along. Even the West Valley trail will be + dry enough before we strike Bennett's Creek.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we'll have to drive 'em purty hard till we reach the creek,” replied + Red, thoughtfully. “Say; we're going to have three thousand of the finest + three-year-old steers ever sent north out of these parts. An' we ought to + do it in a month an' deliver 'em fat an' frisky. We can feed 'em good for + the last week.” + </p> + <p> + “I just sent some of the boys out to drive in the cayuses,” Hopalong + remarked, “an' when they get here you fellers match for choice an' pick + yore remuda. No use taking too few. About eight apiece'll do us nice. I + shore like a good cavvieyeh.” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Hoppy!” came from the platform as Billy grinned his welcome + through the dust on his face. “Want a job?” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo yoreself,” growled Pete. “Stick yore iron on that fourth steer + before he gets out, an' talk less with yore mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “Pete's still rabid,” called Billy, performing the duty Pete suggested. + </p> + <p> + “That may be the polite name for it,” snorted one of the iron heaters, + testing an iron, “but that ain't what I'd say. Might as well cover the + subject thoroughly while yo're on it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, verily,” endorsed his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Here comes the last of 'em,” smiled Pete, watching several cattle being + driven towards the chute. “We'll have to brand 'em on the move, Billy; + there ain't enough to fill the chute.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; hot iron, you!” + </p> + <p> + Early the next morning the inspector looked them over and made his count, + the herd was started north and at nightfall had covered twelve miles. For + the next week everything went smoothly, but after that, water began to be + scarce and the herd was pushed harder, and became harder to handle. + </p> + <p> + On the night of the twelfth day out four men sat around the fire in West + Valley at a point a dozen miles south of Bennett's Creek, and ate + heartily. The night was black—not a star could be seen and the south + wind hardly stirred the trampled and burned grass. They were thoroughly + tired out and their tempers were not in the sweetest state imaginable, for + the heat during the last four days had been almost unbearable even to them + and they had had their hands full with the cranky herd. They ate silently, + hungrily—there would be time enough for the few words they had to + say when the pipes were going for a short smoke before turning in. + </p> + <p> + “I feel like hell,” growled Red, reaching for another cup of coffee, but + there was no reply; he had voiced the feelings of all. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong listened intently and looked up, staring into the darkness, and + soon a horseman was seen approaching the fire. Hopalong nodded welcome and + waved his hand towards the food, and the stranger, dismounting, picketed + his horse and joined the circle. When the pipes were lighted he sighed + with satisfaction and looked around the group. “Driving north, I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; an' blamed glad to get off this dry range,” Hopalong replied. “The + herd's getting cranky an' hard to hold—but when we pass the creek + everything'll be all right again. An' ain't it hot! When you hear us kick + about the heat it means something.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going yore way,” remarked the stranger. “I came down this trail about + two weeks ago. Reckon I was the last to ride through before the fence went + up. Damned outrage, says I, an' I told 'em so, too. They couldn't see it + that way an' we had a little disagreement about it. They said as how they + was going to patrol it.” + </p> + <p> + “Fence! What fence?” exclaimed Red. + </p> + <p> + “Where's there any fence?” demanded Hopalong sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty mile north of the creek,” replied the stranger, carefully packing + his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “What? Twenty miles north of the creek?” cried Hopalong. “What creek?” + </p> + <p> + “Bennett's. The 4X has strung three strands of barb wire from Coyote Pass + to the North Arm. Thirty mile long, without a gate, so they says.” + </p> + <p> + “But it don't close this trail!” cried Hopalong in blank astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “It shore does. They say they owns that range an' can fence it in all they + wants. I told 'em different, but naturally they didn't listen to me. An' + they'll fight about it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “But they <i>can't</i> shut off this trail!” exclaimed Billy, with angry + emphasis. “They don't own it no more'n we do!” + </p> + <p> + “I know all about that—you heard me tell you what they said.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can we get past it?” demanded Hopalong. + </p> + <p> + “Around it, over the hills. You'll lose about three days doing it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't take no sand-range herd over them rocks, an' I ain't going to + drive 'round no North Arm or Coyote Pass if I could,” Hopalong replied + with quiet emphasis. “There's poison springs on the east an' nothing but + rocks on the west. We go straight through.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid that you'll have to fight if you do,” remarked the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll fight!” cried Johnny, leaning forward. “Blasted coyotes! What + right have they got to block a drive trail that's as old as cattle-raising + in these parts! That trail was here before I was born, it's allus been + open, an' it's going to stay open! You watch us go through!” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're dead right, Kid; we'll cut that fence an' stick to this trail, an' + fight if we has to,” endorsed Red. “The Bar-20 ain't crawling out of no + hole that it can walk out of. They're bluffing; that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think they are; an' there's twelve men in that outfit,” suggested + the stranger, offhand. + </p> + <p> + “We ain't got time to count odds; we never do down our way when we know + we're right. An' we're right enough in this game,” retorted Hopalong, + quickly. “For the last twelve days we've had good luck, barring the few on + this dry range; an' now we're in for the other kind. By the Lord, I wish + we was here without the cows to take care of—we'd show 'em something + about blocking drive trails that ain't in their little book!” + </p> + <p> + “Blast it all! Wire fences coming down this way now,” mused Johnny, + sullenly. He hated them by training as much as he hated horse-thieves and + sheep; and his companions had been brought up in the same school. Barb + wire, the death-knell to the old-time punching, the bar to riding at will, + a steel insult to fire the blood—it had come at last. + </p> + <p> + “We've shore got to cut it, Red,—” began Hopalong, but the cook had + to rid himself of some of his indignation and interrupted with heat. + </p> + <p> + “Shore we have!” came explosively from the tail board of the chuck wagon. + “Got to lay it agin my li'l axe an' swat it with my big ol' monkey wrench! + An' won't them posts save me a lot of trouble hunting chips an' firewood!” + </p> + <p> + “We've shore got to cut it, Red,” Hopalong repeated slowly. “You an' + Johnny an' me'll ride ahead after we cross the creek to-morrow an' do it. + I don't hanker after no fight with all these cows on my han's, but we've + got to risk one.” + </p> + <p> + “Shore!” cried Johnny, hotly. “I can't get over the gall of them fellers + closing up the West Valley drive trail. Why, I never heard tell of such a + thing afore!” + </p> + <p> + “We're short-handed; we ought to have more'n we have to guard the herd if + there's a fight. If it stampedes—oh, well, that'll work out + to-morrow. The creek's only about twelve miles away an' we'll start at + daylight, so tumble in,” Hopalong said as he arose. “Red, I'm going out to + take my shift—I'll send Pete in. Stranger,” he added, turning, “I'm + much obliged to you for the warning. They might 'a' caught us with our + hands tied.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right,” hastily replied the stranger, who was in hearty + accord with the plans, such as they were. “My name's Hawkins, an' I don't + like range fences no more'n you do. I used to hunt buffalo all over this + part of the country before they was all killed off, an' I allus rode where + I pleased. I'm purty old, but I can still see an' shoot; an' I'm going to + stick right along with you fellers an' see it through. Every man counts in + this game.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's blamed white of you,” Hopalong replied, greatly pleased by + the other's offer. “But I can't let you do it. I don't want to drag you + into no trouble, an'—” + </p> + <p> + “You ain't dragging me none; I'm doing it myself. I'm about as mad as you + are over it. I ain't good for much no more, an' if I shuffles off fighting + barb wire I'll be doing my duty. First it was nesters, then railroads an' + more nesters, then sheep, an' now it's wire—won't it never stop? By + the Lord, it's got to stop, or this country will go to the devil an' won't + be fit to live in. Besides, I've heard of your fellers before—I'll + tie to the Bar-20 any day.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reckon you must if you must; yo're welcome enough,” laughed + Hopalong, and he strode off to his picketed horse, leaving the others to + discuss the fence, with the assistance of the cook, until Pete rode in. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <h3> + THE FENCE + </h3> + <p> + When Hopalong rode in at midnight to arouse the others and send them out + to relieve Skinny and his two companions, the cattle were quieter than he + had expected to leave them, and he could see no change of weather + threatening. He was asleep when the others turned in, or he would have + been further assured in that direction. + </p> + <p> + Out on the plain where the herd was being held, Red and the three other + guards had been optimistic until half of their shift was over and it was + only then that they began to worry. The knowledge that running water was + only twelve miles away had the opposite effect than the one expected, for + instead of making them cheerful, it caused them to be beset with worry and + fear. Water was all right, and they could not have got along without it + for another day; but it was, in this case, filled with the possibility of + grave danger. + </p> + <p> + Johnny was thinking hard about it as he rode around the now restless herd, + and then pulled up suddenly, peered into the darkness and went on again. + “Damn that disreputable li'l rounder! Why the devil can't he behave, + 'stead of stirring things up when they're ticklish?” he muttered, but he + had to grin despite himself. A lumbering form had blundered past him from + the direction of the camp and was swallowed up by the night as it sought + the herd, annoying and arousing the thirsty and irritable cattle along its + trail, throwing challenges right and left and stirring up trouble as it + passed. The fact that the challenges were bluffs made no difference to the + pawing steers, for they were anxious to have things out with the rounder. + </p> + <p> + This frisky disturber of bovine peace was a yearling that had slipped into + the herd before it left the ranch and had kept quiet and respectable and + out of sight in the middle of the mass for the first few days and nights. + But keeping quiet and respectable had been an awful strain, and his + mischievous deviltry grew constantly harder to hold in check. Finally he + could stand the repression no longer, and when he gave way to his + accumulated energy it had the snap and ginger of a tightly stretched + rubber band recoiling on itself. On the fourth night out he had thrown off + his mask and announced his presence in his true light by butting a sleepy + steer out of its bed, which bed he straightway proceeded to appropriate + for himself. This was folly, for the ground was not cold and he had no + excuse for stealing a body-warmed place to lie down; it was pure + cussedness, and retribution followed hard upon the act. In about half a + minute he had discovered the great difference between bullying poor, + miserable, defenceless dogies and trying to bully a healthy, fully + developed, and pugnacious steer. After assimilating the preliminary + punishment of what promised to be the most thorough and workmanlike + thrashing he had ever known, the indignant and frightened bummer wheeled + and fled incontinently with the aroused steer in angry pursuit. The best + way out was the most puzzling to the vengeful steer, so the bummer + cavorted recklessly through the herd, turning and twisting and doubling, + stepping on any steer that happened to be lying down in his path, butting + others, and leavening things with great success. Under other conditions he + would have relished the effect of his efforts, for the herd had arisen as + one animal and seemed to be debating the advisability of stampeding; but + he was in no mood to relish anything and thought only of getting away. + Finally escaping from his pursuer, that had paused to fight with a + belligerent brother, he rambled off into the darkness to figure it all out + and to maintain a sullen and chastened demeanor for the rest of the night. + This was the first time a brick had been under the hat. + </p> + <p> + But the spirits of youth recover quickly—his recovered so quickly + that he was banished from the herd the very next night, which banishment, + not being at all to his liking, was enforced only by rigid watchfulness + and hard riding; and he was roundly cursed from dark to dawn by the + worried men, most of whom disliked the bumming youngster less than they + pretended. He was only a cub, a wild youth having his fling, and there was + something irresistibly likable and comical in his awkward antics and + eternal persistence, even though he was a pest. Johnny saw more in him + than his companions could find, and had quite a little sport with him: he + made fine practice for roping, for he was about as elusive as a + grasshopper and uncertain as a flea. Johnny was in the same general class + and he could sympathize with the irrepressible nuisance in its efforts to + stir up a little life and excitement in so dull a crowd; Johnny hoped to + be as successful in his mischievous deviltry when he reached the town at + the end of the drive. + </p> + <p> + But to-night it was dark, and the bummer gained his coveted goal with + ridiculous ease, after which he started right in to work off the high + pressure of the energy he had accumulated during the last two nights. He + had desisted in his efforts to gain the herd early in the evening and had + rambled off and rested during the first part of the night, and the herders + breathed softly lest they should stir him to renewed trials. But now he + had succeeded, and although only Johnny had seen him lumber past, the + other three guards were aware of it immediately by the results and swore + in their throats, for the cattle were now on their feet, snorting and + moving about restlessly, and the rattling of horns grew slowly louder. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't he having a devil of a good time!” grinned Johnny. But it was not + long before he realized the possibilities of the bummer's efforts and he + lost his grin. “If we get through the night without trouble I'll see that + you are picketed if it takes me all day to get you,” he muttered. “Fun is + fun, but it's getting a little too serious for comfort.” + </p> + <p> + Sometime after the middle of the second shift the herd, already irritable, + nervous, and cranky because of the thirst they were enduring, and worked + up to the fever pitch by the devilish manoeuvres of the exuberant and + hard-working bummer, wanted only the flimsiest kind of an excuse to + stampede, and they might go without an excuse. A flash of lightning, a + crash of thunder, a wind-blown paper, a flapping wagon cover, the sudden + and unheralded approach of a careless rider, the cracking and flare of a + match, or the scent of a wolf or coyote—or water, would send an + avalanche of three thousand crazed steers crashing its irresistible way + over a pitch-black plain. + </p> + <p> + Red had warned Pete and Billy, and now he rode to find Johnny and send him + to camp for the others. As he got halfway around the circle he heard + Johnny singing a mournful lay, and soon a black bulk loomed up in the dark + ahead of him. “That you, Kid?” he asked. “That you, Johnny?” he repeated, + a little louder. + </p> + <p> + The song stopped abruptly. “Shore,” replied Johnny. “We're going to have + trouble aplenty to-night. Glad daylight ain't so very far off. That cussed + li'l rake of a bummer got by me an' into the herd. He's shore raising Ned + to-night, the li'l monkey: it's getting serious, Red.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll shoot that yearling at daylight, damn him!” retorted Red. “I should + 'a' done it a week ago. He's picked the worst time for his cussed + devilment! You ride right in an' get the boys, an' get 'em out here quick. + The whole herd's on its toes waiting for the signal; an' the wink of an + eye'll send 'em off. God only knows what'll happen between now and + daylight! If the wind should change an' blow down from the north, they'll + be off as shore as shooting. One whiff of Bennett's Creek is all that's + needed, Kid; an'—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pshaw!” interposed Johnny. “There ain't no wind at all now. It's been + quiet for an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; an' that's one of the things that's worrying me. It means a change, + shore.” + </p> + <p> + “Not always; we'll come out of this all right,” assured Johnny, but he + spoke without his usual confidence. “There ain't no use—” he paused + as he felt the air stir, and he was conscious of Red's heavy breathing. + There was a peculiar hush in the air that he did not like, a closeness + that sent his heart up in his throat, and as he was about to continue a + sudden gust snapped his neck-kerchief out straight. He felt that + refreshing coolness which so often precedes a storm and as he weighed it + in his mind a low rumble of thunder rolled in the north and sent a chill + down his back. + </p> + <p> + “Good God! Get the boys!” cried Red, wheeling. “It's <i>changed</i>! An' + Pete an' Billy out there in front of—<i>there they go</i>!” he + shouted as a sudden tremor shook the earth and a roaring sound filled the + air. He was instantly lost to ear and eye, swallowed by the oppressive + darkness as he spurred and quirted into a great, choking cloud of dust + which swept down from the north, unseen in the night. The deep thunder of + hoofs and the faint and occasional flash of a six-shooter told him the + direction, and he hurled his mount after the uproar with no thought of the + death which lurked in every hole and rock and gully on the uneven and + unseen plain beneath him. His mouth and nose were lined with dust, his + throat choked with it, and he opened his burning eyes only at intervals, + and then only to a slit, to catch a fleeting glance of—nothing. He + realized vaguely that he was riding north, because the cattle would head + for water, but that was all, save that he was animated by a desperate + eagerness to gain the firing line, to join Pete and Billy, the two men who + rode before that crazed mass of horns and hoofs and who were pleading and + swearing and yelling in vain only a few feet ahead of annihilation—if + they were still alive. A stumble, a moment's indecision, and the avalanche + would roll over them as if they were straws and trample them flat beneath + the pounding hoofs, a modern Juggernaut. If he, or they, managed to escape + with life, it would make a good tale for the bunk house some night; if + they were killed it was in doing their duty—it was all in a day's + work. + </p> + <p> + Johnny shouted after him and then wheeled and raced towards the camp, + emptying his Colt in the air as a warning. He saw figures scurrying across + the lighted place, and before he had gained it his friends raced past him + and gave him hard work catching up to them. And just behind him rode the + stranger, to do what he could for his new friends, and as reckless of + consequences as they. + </p> + <p> + It seemed an age before they caught up to the stragglers, and when they + realized how true they had ridden in the dark they believed that at last + their luck was turning for the better, and pushed on with renewed hope. + Hopalong shouted to those nearest him that Bennett's Creek could not be + far away and hazarded the belief that the steers would slow up and stop + when they found the water they craved; but his words were lost to all but + himself. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the punchers were almost trapped and their escape made + miraculous, for without warning the herd swerved and turned sharply to the + right, crossing the path of the riders and forcing them to the east, + showing Hopalong their silhouettes against the streak of pale gray low + down in the eastern sky. When free from the sudden press of cattle they + slowed perceptibly, and Hopalong did likewise to avoid running them down. + At that instant the uproar took on a new note and increased threefold. He + could hear the shock of impact, whip-like reports, the bellowing of cattle + in pain, and he arose in his stirrups to peer ahead for the reason, + seeing, as he did so, the silhouettes of his friends arise and then drop + from his sight. Without additional warning his horse pitched forward and + crashed to the earth, sending him over its head. Slight as was the warning + it served to ease his fall, for instinct freed his feet from the stirrups, + and when he struck the ground it was feet first, and although he fell flat + at the next instant, the shock had been broken. Even as it was, he was + partly stunned, and groped as he arose on his hands and knees. Arising + painfully he took a short step forward, tripped and fell again; and felt a + sharp pain shoot through his hand as it went first to break the fall. + Perhaps it was ten seconds before he knew what it was that had thrown him, + and when he learned that he also learned the reason for the whole calamity—in + his torn and bleeding hand he held a piece of barb wire. + </p> + <p> + “Barb wire!” he muttered, amazed. “Barb wire! Why, what the—<i>Damn + that ranch</i>!” he shouted, sudden rage sweeping over him as the + situation flashed through his mind and banished all the mental effects of + the fall. “They've gone an' strung it south of the creek as well! Red! + Johnny! Lanky!” he shouted at the top of his voice, hoping to be heard + over the groaning of injured cattle and the general confusion. “Good Lord! + <i>are they killed</i>!” + </p> + <p> + They were not, thanks to the forced slowing up, and to the pool of water + and mud which formed an arm of the creek, a back-water away from the pull + of the current. They had pitched into the mud and water up to their + waists, some head first, some feet first, and others as they would go into + a chair. Those who had been fortunate enough to strike feet first pulled + out the divers, and the others gained their feet as best they might and + with varying degrees of haste, but all mixed profanity and thankfulness + equally well; and were equally and effectually disguised. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong, expecting the silence of death or at least the groaning of + injured and dying, was taken aback by the fluent stream of profanity which + greeted his ears. But all efforts in that line were eclipsed when the + drive foreman tersely explained about the wire, and the providential mud + bath was forgotten in the new idea. They forthwith clamored for war, and + the sooner it came the better they would like it. + </p> + <p> + “Not now, boys; we've got work to do first,” replied Hopalong, who, + nevertheless, was troubled grievously by the same itching trigger finger. + They subsided—as a steel spring subsides when held down by a weight—and + went off in search of their mounts. Daylight had won the skirmish in the + east and was now attacking in force, and revealed a sight which, stilling + the profanity for the moment, caused it to flow again with renewed energy. + The plain was a shambles near the creek, and dead and dying steers showed + where the fence had stood. The rest of the herd had passed over these. The + wounded cattle and three horses were put out of their misery as the first + duty. The horse that Hopalong had ridden had a broken back; the other two, + broken legs. When this work was out of the way the bruised and shaken men + gave their attention to the scattered cattle on the other side of the + creek, and when Hawkins rode up after wasting time in hunting for the + trail in the dark, he saw four men with the herd, which was still + scattered; four others near the creek, of whom only Johnny was mounted, + and a group of six strangers riding towards them from the west and along + the fence, or what was left of that portion of it. + </p> + <p> + “That's awful!” he cried, stopping his limping horse near Hopalong. “An' + here come the fools that done it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Johnny, his voice breaking from rage, “but they won't go + back again! I don't care if I'm killed if I can get one or two of that + crowd—” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, Kid!” snapped Hopalong as the 4X outfit drew near. “I know just + how you feel about it; feel that way myself. But there ain't a-going to be + no fighting while I've got these cows on my han's. That gang'll be here + when we come back, all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Mebby one or two of 'em won't,” remarked Hawkins, as he looked again over + the carnage along the fence. “I never did much pot-shooting, 'cept agin + Injuns; but I dunno—” He did not finish, for the strangers were + almost at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + Cranky Joe led the 4X contingent and he did the talking for it without + waste of time. “Who the hell busted that fence?” he demanded, + belligerently, looking around savagely. Johnny's hand twitched at the + words and the way they were spoken. + </p> + <p> + “I did; did you think somebody leaned agin it?” replied Hopalong, very + calmly,—so calmly that it was about one step short of an explosion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why didn't you go around?” + </p> + <p> + “Three thousand stampeding cattle don't go 'round wire fences in the + dark.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's not our fault. Reckon you better dig down an' settle up for + the damages, an' half a cent a head for water; an' then go 'round. You + can't stampede through the other fence.” + </p> + <p> + “That so?” asked Hopalong. + </p> + <p> + “Reckon it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Yo're real shore it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Well there's only six of us here, but there's six more that we can get + blamed quick if we need 'em. It's so, all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, coming down to figures, there's eight here, with two hoss-wranglers + an' a cook to come,” retorted Hopalong, kicking the belligerent Johnny on + the shins. “We're just about mad enough to tackle anything: ever feel that + way?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no use getting all het up,” rejoined Cranky Joe. “We ain't a-going to + fight 'less we has to. Better pay up.” + </p> + <p> + “Send yore bills to the ranch—if they're O. K., Buck'll pay 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Nix; I take it when I can get it.” + </p> + <p> + “I ain't got no money with me that I can spare.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you can leave enough cows to buy back again.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to pay you one damned cent, an' the only cows I'll leave + are the dead ones—an' if I could take them with me I'd do it. An' + I'm not going around the fence, neither.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; you are. An' yo're going to pay,” snapped Cranky Joe. + </p> + <p> + “Take it out of the price of two hundred dead cows an' gimme what's left,” + Hopalong retorted. “It'll cost you nine of them twelve men to pry it out'n + me.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't pay?” demanded the other, coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Not a plugged peso.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I said before, I don't want to fight nobody 'less I has to,” + replied Cranky Joe. “I'll give you a chance to change yore mind. We'll be + out here after it to-morrow, cash or cows. That'll give you twenty-four + hours to rest yore herd an' get ready to drive. Then you pay, an' go back, + 'round the fence.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; to-morrow suits me,” responded Hopalong, who was boiling with + rage and felt constrained to hold it back. If it wasn't for the cows—! + </p> + <p> + Red and three companions swept up and stopped in a swirl of dust and asked + questions until Hopalong shut them up. Their arrival and the manner of + their speech riled Cranky Joe, who turned around and loosed one more + remark; and he never knew how near to death he was at that moment. + </p> + <p> + “You fellers must own the earth, the way you act,” he said to Red and his + three companions. + </p> + <p> + “We ain't fencing it in to prove it,” rejoined Hopalong, his hand on Red's + arm. + </p> + <p> + Cranky Joe wheeled to rejoin his friends. “To-morrow,” he said, + significantly. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong and his men watched the six ride away, too enraged to speak for a + moment. Then the drive foreman mastered himself and turned to Hawkins. + “Where's their ranch house?” he demanded, sharply. “There must be some way + out of this, an' we've got to find it; an' before to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “West; three hours' ride along the fence. I could find 'em the darkest + night what ever happened; I was out there once,” Hawkins replied. + </p> + <p> + “Describe 'em as exact as you can,” demanded Hopalong, and when Hawkins + had done so the Bar-20 drive foreman slapped his thigh and laughed + nastily. “One house with one door an' only two windows—are you + shore? Good! Where's the corrals? Good again! So they'll take pay for + their blasted fence, eh? Cash or cows, hey! Don't want no fight 'less it's + necessary, but they're going to make us pay for the fence that killed two + hundred head, an' blamed nigh got us, too. An' half a cent a head for + drinking water! I've paid that more'n once—some of the poor devils + squatting on the range ain't got nothing to sell but water, but I don't + buy none out of Bennett's Creek! Pete, you mounted fellers round up a + little—bunch the herd a little closer, an' drive straight along the + trail towards that other fence. We'll all help you as soon as the + wranglers bring us up something to ride. Push 'em hard, limp or no limp, + till dark. They'll be too tired to go crow-hopping 'round any in the dark + to-night. An' say! When you see that bummer, if he wasn't got by the + fence, drop him clean. So they've got twelve men, hey! Huh!” + </p> + <p> + “What you going to do?” asked Red, beginning to cool down, and very + curious. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; tell us,” urged Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'm going to cut that fence, an' cut it all to hell. Then I'm going + to push the herd through it as far out of danger as I can. When they're + all right Cookie an' the hoss-wranglers will have to hold 'em during the + night while we do the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the rest?” demanded Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll tell you that later; it can wait,” replied Hopalong. “Meanwhile, + you get out there with Pete an' help get the herd in shape. We'll be with + you soon—here comes the wranglers an' the cavvieyeh. 'Bout time, + too.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <h3> + MR. BOGGS IS DISGUSTED + </h3> + <p> + The herd gained twelve miles by dark and would pass through the northern + fence by noon of the next day, for Cook's axe and monkey wrench had been + put to good use. For quite a distance there was no fence: about a mile of + barb wire had been pulled loose and was tangled up into several large + piles, while rings of burned grass and ashes surrounded what was left of + the posts. The cook had embraced this opportunity to lay in a good supply + of firewood and was the happiest man in the outfit. + </p> + <p> + At ten o'clock that night eight figures loped westward along the southern + fence and three hours later dismounted near the first corral of the 4X + ranch. They put their horses in a depression on the plain and then + hastened to seek cover, being careful to make no noise. + </p> + <p> + At dawn the door of the bunk house opened quickly and as quickly slammed + shut again, three bullets in it being the reason. An uproar ensued and + guns spat from the two windows in the general direction of the unseen + besiegers, who did not bother about replying; they had given notification + of their presence and until it was necessary to shoot there was no earthly + use of wasting ammunition. Besides, the drive outfit had cooled down + rapidly when it found that its herd was in no immediate danger and was not + anxious to kill any one unless there was need. The situation was conducive + to humor rather than anger. But every time the door moved it collected + more lead, and it finally remained shut. + </p> + <p> + The noise in the bunk house continued and finally a sombrero was waved + frantically at the south window and a moment later Nat Boggs, foreman of + the incarcerated 4X outfit, stuck his head out very cautiously and yelled + questions which bore directly on the situation and were to the point. He + appeared to be excited and unduly heated, if one might judge from his + words and voice. There was no reply, which still further added to his heat + and excitement. Becoming bolder and a little angrier he allowed his + impetuous nature to get the upper hand and forthwith attempted the feat of + getting through that same window; but a sharp <i>pat!</i> sounded on a + board not a foot from him, and he reconsidered hastily. His sombrero again + waved to insist on a truce, and collected two holes, causing him much + mental anguish and threatening the loss of his worthy soul. He danced up + and down with great agility and no grace and made remarks, thereby leading + a full-voiced chorus. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't that a hell of a note?” he demanded plaintively as he paused for + breath. “Stick <i>yore</i> hat out, Cranky, an' see what <i>you</i> can + do,” he suggested, irritably. + </p> + <p> + Cranky Joe regarded him with pity and reproach, and moved back towards the + other end of the room, muttering softly to himself. “I know it ain't much + of a bonnet, but he needn't rub it in,” he growled, peevishly. + </p> + <p> + “Try again; mebby they didn't see you,” suggested Jim Larkin, who had a + reputation for never making a joke. He escaped with his life and checked + himself at the side of Cranky Joe, with whom he conferred on the harshness + of the world towards unfortunates. + </p> + <p> + The rest of the morning was spent in snipe-shooting at random, trusting to + luck to hit some one, and trusting in vain. At noon Cranky Joe could stand + the strain no longer and opened the door just a little to relive the + monotony. He succeeded, being blessed with a smashed shoulder, and + immediately became a general nuisance, adding greatly to the prevailing + atmosphere. Boggs called him a few kinds of fools and hastened to nail the + door shut; he hit his thumb and his heart became filled with venom. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Now</i> look at what they went an' done!” he yelled, running around in + a circle. “Damned outrage!” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” snorted Cranky Joe with maddening superiority. “That ain't nothing—just + look at me!” + </p> + <p> + Boggs looked, very fixedly, and showed signs of apoplexy, and Cranky Joe + returned to his end of the room to resume his soliloquy. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you come out an' take them cows!” inquired an unkind voice from + without. “Ain't changed yore mind, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll give you a drink for half a cent a head—that's the regular + price for watering cows,” called another. + </p> + <p> + The faint ripple of mirth which ran around the plain was lost in opinions + loudly expressed within the room; and Boggs, tears of rage in his eyes, + flung himself down on a chair and invented new terms for describing human + beings. + </p> + <p> + John Terry was observing. He had been fluttering around the north window, + constantly getting bolder, and had not been disturbed. When he withdrew + his sombrero and found that it was intact he smiled to himself and leaned + his elbows on the sill, looking carefully around the plain. The discovery + that there was no cover on the north side cheered him greatly and he + called to Boggs, outlining a plan of action. + </p> + <p> + Boggs listened intently and then smiled for the first time since dawn. + “Bully for you, Terry!” he enthused. “Wait till dark—we'll fool + 'em.” + </p> + <p> + A bullet chipped the 'dobe at Terry's side and he ducked as he leaped + back. “From an angle—what did I tell you?” he laughed. “We'll drop + out here an' sneak behind the house after dark. They'll be watching the + door—an' they won't be able to see us, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + Boggs sucked his thumb tenderly and grinned. “After which—,” he + elated. + </p> + <p> + “After which—,” gravely repeated Terry, the others echoing it with + unrestrained joy. + </p> + <p> + “Then, mebby, I can get a drink,” chuckled Larkin, brightening under the + thought. + </p> + <p> + “The moon comes up at ten,” warned a voice. “It'll be full to-night—an' + there ain't many clouds in sight.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ol' King Cole was a merry ol' soul</i>,” hummed McQuade, lightly. + </p> + <p> + “An'—a—merry—ol'—soul—was—he!—was—he!” + thundered the chorus, deep-toned and strong. “<i>He had a wife for every + toe, an' some toes counted three!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” cried Meade, holding up his hand. + </p> + <p> + “<i>An' every wife had sixteen dogs, an' every dog a flea!</i>” shouted a + voice from the besiegers, followed by a roar of laughter. + </p> + <p> + The hilarity continued until dark, only stopping when John Terry slipped + out of the window, dropped to all-fours and stuck his head around the + corner of the rear wall. He saw many stars and was silently handed to Pete + Wilson. + </p> + <p> + “What was that noise?” exclaimed Boggs in a low tone. “Are you all right, + Terry?” he asked, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + Three knocks on the wall replied to his question and then McQuade went + out, and three more knocks were heard. + </p> + <p> + “Wonder why they make that funny noise,” muttered Boggs. + </p> + <p> + “Bumped inter something, I reckon,” replied Jim Larkin. “Get out of my way—I'm + next.” + </p> + <p> + Boggs listened intently and then pushed Duke Lane back. “Don't like that—sounds + like a crack on the head. Hey, Jim! <i>Say</i> something!” he called + softly. The three knocks were repeated, but Boggs was suspicious and he + shook his head decisively. “To 'ell with the knocking—<i>say</i> + something!” + </p> + <p> + “Still got them twelve men?” asked a strange voice, pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “<i>An' every dog a flea</i>,” hummed another around the corner. + </p> + <p> + “Hell!” shouted Boggs. “To the door, fellers! To the door—quick!” + </p> + <p> + A whistle shrilled from behind the house and a leaden tattoo began on the + door. “Other window!” whispered O'Neill. The foreman got there before him + and, shoving his Colt out first to clear the way, yelled with rage and + pain as a pole hit his wrist and knocked the weapon out of his hand. He + was still commenting when Duke Lane pried open the door and, dropping + quickly on his stomach, wriggled out, followed closely by Charley Beal and + Tim. At that instant the tattoo drummed with greater vigor and such a hail + of lead poured in through the opening that the door was promptly closed, + leaving the three men outside to shift for themselves with the darkness + their only cover. + </p> + <p> + Duke and his companions whispered together as they lay flat and agreed + upon a plan of action. Going around the ends of the house was suicide and + no better than waiting for the rising moon to show them to the enemy; but + there was no reason why the roof could not be utilized. Tim and Charley + boosted Duke up, then Tim followed, and the pair on the roof pulled + Charley to their side. Flat roofs were great institutions they decided as + they crawled cautiously towards the other side. This roof was of hard, + sun-baked adobe, over two feet thick, and they did not care if their + friends shot up on a gamble. + </p> + <p> + “Fine place, all right,” thought Charley, grinning broadly. Then he turned + an agonized face to Tim, his chest rising. “<i>Hitch! Hitch!</i>” he + choked, fighting with all his will to master it. “<i>Hitch-chew! + Hitch-chew! Hitch-chew!</i>” he sneezed, loudly. There was a scramble + below and a ripple of mirth floated up to them. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hitch-chew</i>?” jeered a voice. “What do we want to hit you for?” + </p> + <p> + “Look us over, children,” invited another. + </p> + <p> + “Wait until the moon comes up,” chuckled the third. “Be like knocking the + nigger baby down for Red an' the others. Ladies and gents: We'll now have + a little sketch entitled 'Shooting snipe by moonlight.'” + </p> + <p> + “Jack-snipe, too,” laughed Pete. “Will somebody please hold the bag?” + </p> + <p> + The silence on the roof was profound and the three on the ground tried + again. + </p> + <p> + “Let me call yore attention to the trained coyotes, ladies an' gents,” + remarked Johnny in a deep, solemn voice. “Coyotes are not birds; they do + not roost on roofs as a general thing; but they are some intelligent an' + can be trained to do lots of foolish tricks. These ani-mules were—” + </p> + <p> + “Step this way, people; on-ly ten cents, two nickels,” interrupted Pete. + “They bark like dogs, an' howl like hell.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up!” snapped Tim, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “After the moon comes up,” said Hopalong, “when you fellers get tired + dodging, you can chuck us yore guns an' come down. An' don't forget that + this side of the house is much the safest,” he warned. + </p> + <p> + “Go to hell!” snarled Duke, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Won't; they're laying for me down there.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny crawled to the north end of the wall and, looking cautiously around + the corner, funnelled his hands: “On the roof, Red! On the roof!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” was the reply, followed by gun-shots. + </p> + <p> + “Hey! Move over!” snapped Tim, working towards the edge furthest from the + cheerful Red, whose bullets were not as accurate in the dark as they + promised to become in a few minutes when the moon should come up. + </p> + <p> + “Want to shove me off?” snarled Charley, angrily. “For heaven's sake, + Duke, do you want the whole earth?” he demanded of his second companion. + </p> + <p> + “You just bet yore shirt I do! An' I want a hole in it, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you got no sense?” + </p> + <p> + “Would I be up here if I had?” + </p> + <p> + “It's going to be hot as blazes up here when the sun gets high,” + cheerfully prophesied Tim: “an' dry, too,” he added for a finishing touch. + </p> + <p> + “We'll be lucky if we're live enough to worry about the sun's heat—<i>say</i>, + that was a <i>close</i> one!” exclaimed Duke, frantically trying to + flatten a little more. “Ah, thought so—there's that blamed moon!” + </p> + <p> + “Wish I'd gone out the window instead,” growled Charley, worming behind + Duke, to the latter's prompt displeasure. + </p> + <p> + “You fellers better come down, one at a time,” came from below. “Send yore + guns down first, too. Red's a blamed good shot.” + </p> + <p> + “Hope he croaks,” muttered Duke. “<i>That's</i> closer yet!” + </p> + <p> + Tim's hand raised and a flash of fire singed Charley's hair. “Got to do + something, anyhow,” he explained, lowering the Colt and peering across the + plain. + </p> + <p> + “You damned near succeeded!” shouted Charley, grabbing at his head. “Why, + they're three hundred, an' you trying for 'em with a—<i>oh!</i>” he + moaned, writhing. + </p> + <p> + “Locoed fool!” swore Duke, “showing 'em where we are! They're doing good + enough as it is! You ought—got <i>you</i>, too!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I'm</i> going down—that blamed fool out there ain't caring what + he hits,” mumbled Charley, clenching his hands from pain. He slid over the + edge and Pete grabbed him. + </p> + <p> + “Next,” suggested Pete, expectantly. + </p> + <p> + Tim tossed his Colt over the edge. “Here's another,” he swore, following + the weapon. He was grabbed and bound in a trice. + </p> + <p> + “When may we expect you, Mr. Duke?” asked Johnny, looking up. + </p> + <p> + “Presently, friend, presently. I want to—<i>wow</i>!” he finished, + and lost no time in his descent, which was meteoric. “That feller'll <i>kill</i> + somebody if he ain't careful!” he complained as Pete tied his hands behind + his back. + </p> + <p> + “You wait till daylight an' see,” cheerily replied Pete as the three were + led off to join their friends in the corral. + </p> + <p> + There was no further action until the sun arose and then Hopalong hailed + the house and demanded a parley, and soon he and Boggs met midway between + the shack and the line. + </p> + <p> + “What d'you want?” asked Boggs, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “Want you to stop this farce so I can go on with my drive.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ain't holding you!” exploded the 4X foreman. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; but you are. I can't let you an' yore men out to hang on our + flanks an' worry us; an' I don't want to hold you in that shack till you + all die of thirst, or come out to be all shot up. Besides, I can't fool + around here for a week; I got business to look after.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry about us dying with thirst; that ain't worrying us none.” + </p> + <p> + “I heard different,” replied Hopalong, smiling. “Them fellers in the + corral drank a quart apiece. See here, Boggs; you can't win, an' you know + it. Yo're not bucking me, but the whole range, the whole country. It's a + fight between conditions—the fence idea agin the open range idea, + an' open trails. The fence will lose. You closed a drive trail that's + 'most as old as cow-raising. Will the punchers of this part of the country + stand for it? Suppose you lick us,—which you won't—can you + lick all the rest of us, the JD, Wallace's, Double-Arrow, C-80, + Cross-O-Cross, an' the others! That's just what it amounts to, an' you + better stop right now, before somebody gets killed. You know what that + means in this section. Yo're six to our eight, you ain't got a drink in + that shack, an' you dasn't try to get one. You can't do a thing agin us, + an' you know it.” + </p> + <p> + Boggs rested his hands on his hips and considered, Hopalong waiting for + him to reply. He knew that the Bar-20 man was right but he hated to admit + it, he hated to say he was whipped. + </p> + <p> + “Are any of them six hurt?” he finally asked. + </p> + <p> + “Only scratches an' sore heads,” responded Hopalong, smiling. “We ain't + tried to kill anybody, yet. I'm putting that up to you.” + </p> + <p> + Boggs made no reply and Hopalong continued: “I got six of yore twelve men + prisoners, an' all yore cayuses are in my han's. I'll shoot every animal + before I'll leave 'em for you to use against me, an' I'll take enough of + yore cows to make up for what I lost by that fence. You've got to pay for + them dead cows, anyhow. If I do let you out you'll have to road-brand me + two hundred, or pay cash. My herd ain't worrying me—it's moving all + the time. It's through that other fence by now. An' if I have to keep my + outfit here to pen you in or shoot you off I can send to the JD for a gang + to push the herd. Don't make no mistake: yo're getting off easy. Suppose + one of my men had been killed at the fence—what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you want me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Stop this foolishness an' take down them fences for a mile each side of + the trail. If Buck has to come up here the whole thing'll go down. + Road-brand me two hundred of yore three-year-olds. Now as soon as you + agree, an' say that the fight's over, it will be. You can't win out; an' + what's the use of having yore men killed off?” + </p> + <p> + “I hate to quit,” replied the other, gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “I know how that is; but yo're wrong on this question, dead wrong. You + don't own this range or the trail. You ain't got no right to close that + old drive trail. Honest, now; have you?” + </p> + <p> + “You say them six ain't hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “No more'n I said.” + </p> + <p> + “An' if I give in will you treat my men right?” + </p> + <p> + “Shore.” + </p> + <p> + “When will you leave.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as soon as I get them two hundred three-year-olds.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hate a quitter; but I can't do nothing, nohow,” mused the 4X + foreman. He cleared his throat and turned to look at the house. “All + right; when you get them cows you get out of here, an' don't never come + back!” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong flung his arm with a shout to his men and the other kicked + savagely at an inoffensive stick and slouched back to his bunk house, a + beaten man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <h3> + TEX EWALT HUNTS TROUBLE + </h3> + <p> + Not more than a few weeks after the Bar-20 drive outfit returned to the + ranch a solitary horseman pushed on towards the trail they had followed, + bound for Buckskin and the Bar-20 range. His name was Tex Ewalt and he + cordially hated all of the Bar-20 outfit and Hopalong in particular. He + had nursed a grudge for several years and now, as he rode south to rid + himself of it and to pay a long-standing debt, it grew stronger until he + thrilled with anticipation and the sauce of danger. This grudge had been + acquired when he and Slim Travennes had enjoyed a duel with Hopalong + Cassidy up in Santa Fe, and had been worsted; it had increased when he + learned of Slim's death at Cactus Springs at the hands of Hopalong; and, + some time later, hearing that two friends of his, “Slippery” Trendley and + “Deacon” Rankin, with their gang, had “gone out” in the Panhandle with the + same man and his friends responsible for it, Tex hastened to Muddy Wells + to even the score and clean his slate. Even now his face burned when he + remembered his experiences on that never-to-be-forgotten occasion. He had + been played with, ridiculed, and shamed, until he fled from the town as a + place accursed, hating everything and everybody. It galled him to think + that he had allowed Buck Peters' momentary sympathy to turn him from his + purpose, even though he was convinced that the foreman's action had saved + his life. And now Tex was returning, not to Muddy Wells, but to the range + where the Bar-20 outfit held sway. + </p> + <p> + Several years of clean living had improved Tex, morally and physically. + The liquor he had once been in the habit of consuming had been reduced to + a negligible quantity; he spent the money on cartridges instead, and his + pistol work showed the results of careful and dogged practice, + particularly in the quickness of the draw. Punching cows on a remote + northern range had repaid him in health far more than his old game of + living on his wits and other people's lack of them, as proved by his clear + eye and the pink showing through the tan above his beard; while his + somber, steady gaze, due to long-held fixity of purpose, indicated the + resourcefulness of a perfectly reliable set of nerves. His low-hung + holster tied securely to his trousers leg to assure smoothness in drawing, + the restrained swing of his right hand, never far from the well-worn + scabbard which sheathed a triggerless Colt's “Frontier”—these showed + the confident and ready gun-man, the man who seldom missed. “Frontiers” + left the factory with triggers attached, but the absence of that part did + not always incapacitate a weapon. Some men found that the regular method + was too slow, and painstakingly cultivated the art of thumbing the hammer. + “Thumbing” was believed to save the split second so valuable to a man in + argument with his peers. Tex was riding with the set purpose of picking a + fair fight with the best six-shooter expert it had ever been his + misfortune to meet, and he needed that split second. He knew that he + needed it and the knowledge thrilled him with a peculiar elation; he had + changed greatly in the past year and now he wanted an “even break” where + once he would have called all his wits into play to avoid it. He had found + himself and now he acknowledged no superior in anything. + </p> + <p> + On his way south he met and talked with men who had known him, the old + Tex, in the days when he had made his living precariously. They did not + recognize him behind his beard, and he was content to let the oversight + pass. But from these few he learned what he wished to know, and he was + glad that Hopalong Cassidy was where he had always been, and that his + gun-work had improved rather than depreciated with the passing of time. He + wished to prove himself master of The Master, and to be hailed as such by + those who had jeered and laughed at his ignominy several years before. So + he rode on day after day, smiling and content, neither under-rating nor + over-rating his enemy's ability with one weapon, but trying to think of + him as he really was. He knew that if there was any difference between + Hopalong Cassidy and himself that it must be very slight—perhaps so + slight as to result fatally to both; but if that were so then it would + have to work out as it saw fit—he at least would have accomplished + what many, many others had failed in. + </p> + <p> + In the little town of Buckskin, known hardly more than locally, and never + thought of by outsiders except as the place where the Bar-20 spent their + spare time and money, and neutral ground for the surrounding ranches, was + Cowan's saloon, in the dozen years of its existence the scene of good + stories, boisterous fun, and quick deaths. Put together roughly, of crude + materials, sticking up in inartistic prominence on the dusty edge of a + dustier street; warped, bleached by the sun, and patched with boards + ripped from packing cases and with the flattened sides of tin cans; low of + ceiling, the floor one huge brown discoloration of spring, creaking + boards, knotted and split and worn into hollows, the unpretentious + building offered its hospitality to all who might be tempted by the + scrawled, sprawled lettering of its sign. The walls were smoke-blackened, + pitted with numerous small and clear-cut holes, and decorated with + initials carelessly cut by men who had come and gone. + </p> + <p> + Such was Cowan's, the best patronized place in many hot and dusty miles + and the Mecca of the cowboys from the surrounding ranches. Often at night + these riders of the range gathered in the humble building and told tales + of exceeding interest; and on these occasions one might see a row of + ponies standing before the building, heads down and quiet. It is strange + how alike cow-ponies look in the dim light of the stars. On the south side + of the saloon, weak, yellow lamp light filtered through the dirt on the + window panes and fell in distorted patches on the plain, blotched in + places by the shadows of the wooden substitutes for glass. + </p> + <p> + It was a moonlight night late in the fall, after the last beef round-up + was over and the last drive outfit home again, that two cow-ponies stood + in front of Cowan's while their owners lolled against the bar and talked + over the latest sensation—the fencing in of the West Valley range, + and the way Hopalong Cassidy and his trail outfit had opened up the old + drive trail across it. The news was a month old, but it was the last event + of any importance and was still good to laugh over. + </p> + <p> + “Boys,” remarked the proprietor, “I want you to meet Mr. Elkins. He came + down that trail last week, an' he didn't see no fence across it.” The man + at the table arose slowly. “Mr. Elkins, this is Sandy Lucas, an' Wood + Wright, of the C-80. Mr. Elkins here has been a-looking over the country, + sizing up what the beef prospects will be for next year; an' he knows all + about wire fences. Here's how,” he smiled, treating on the house. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Elkins touched the glass to his bearded lips and set it down untasted + while he joked over the sharp rebuff so lately administered to wire fences + in that part of the country. While he was an ex-cow-puncher he believed + that he was above allowing prejudice to sway his judgment, and it was his + opinion, after careful thought, that barb wire was harmful to the best + interests of the range. He had ridden over a great part of the cattle + country in the last few yeas, and after reviewing the existing conditions + as he understood them, his verdict must go as stated, and emphatically. He + launched gracefully into a slowly delivered and lengthy discourse upon the + subject, which proved to be so entertaining that his companions were + content to listen and nod with comprehension. They had never met any one + who was so well qualified to discuss the pros and cons of the barb-wire + fence question, and they learned many things which they had never heard + before. This was very gratifying to Mr. Elkins, who drew largely upon + hearsay, his own vivid imagination, and a healthy logic. He was very glad + to talk to men who had the welfare of the range at heart, and he hoped + soon to meet the man who had taken the initiative in giving barb wire its + first serious setback on that rich and magnificent southern range. + </p> + <p> + “You shore ought to meet Cassidy—he's a fine man,” remarked Lucas + with enthusiasm. “You'll not find any better, no matter where you look. + But you ain't touched yore liquor,” he finished with surprise. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to excuse me, gentlemen,” replied Mr. Elkins, smiling + deprecatingly. “When a man likes it as much as I do it ain't very easy to + foller instructions an' let it alone. Sometimes I almost break loose an' + indulge, regardless of whether it kills me or not. I reckon it'll get me + yet.” He struck the bar a resounding blow with his clenched hand. “But I + ain't going to cave in till I has to!” + </p> + <p> + “That's purty tough,” sympathized Wood Wright, reflectively. “I ain't so + very much taken with it, but I know I would be if I knowed I couldn't have + any.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's human nature, all right,” laughed Lucas. “That reminds me of + a little thing that happened to me once—” + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” exclaimed Cowan, holding up his hand for silence. “I reckon + that's the Bar-20 now, or some of it—sounds like them when they're + feeling frisky. There's allus something happening when them fellers are + around.” + </p> + <p> + The proprietor was right, as proved a moment later when Johnny Nelson, + continuing his argument, pushed open the door and entered the room. “I + didn't neither; an' you know it!” he flung over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Then who did?” demanded Hopalong, chuckling. “Why, hullo, boys,” he said, + nodding to his friends at the bar. “Nobody else would do a fool thing like + that; nobody but you, Kid,” he added, turning to Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care a hang what you think; I say I didn't an'—” + </p> + <p> + “He shore did, all right; I seen him just afterward,” laughed Billy + Williams, pressing close upon Hopalong's heels. “Howdy, Lucas; an' there's + that ol' coyote, Wood Wright. How's everybody feeling?” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the rest of you fellers?” inquired Cowan. + </p> + <p> + “Stayed home to-night,” replied Hopalong. + </p> + <p> + “Got any loose money, you two?” asked Billy, grinning at Lucas and Wright. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon we have—an' our credit's good if we ain't. We're good for + a dollar or two, ain't we, Cowan?” replied Lucas. + </p> + <p> + “Two dollars an' four bits,” corrected Cowan. “I'll raise it to three + dollars even when you pay me that 'leven cents you owe me.” + </p> + <p> + “'Leven cents? What 'leven cents?” + </p> + <p> + “Postage stamps an' envelope for that love letter you writ.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to blazes; that wasn't no love letter!” snorted Lucas, indignantly. + “That was my quarterly report. I never did write no love letters, nohow.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll trim you fellers to-night, if you've got the nerve to play us,” + grinned Johnny, expectantly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; an' we've got that, too. Give us the cards, Cowan,” requested Wood + Wright, turning. “They won't give us no peace till we take all their money + away from 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Open game,” prompted Cowan, glancing meaningly at Elkins, who stood by + idly looking on, and without showing much interest in the scene. + </p> + <p> + “Shore! Everybody can come in what wants to,” replied Lucas, heartily, + leading the others to the table. “I allus did like a six-handed game best—all + the cards are out an' there's some excitement in it.” + </p> + <p> + When the deal began Elkins was seated across the table from Hopalong, + facing him for the first time since that day over in Muddy Wells, and + studying him closely. He found no changes, for the few years had left no + trace of their passing on the Bar-20 puncher. The sensation of facing the + man he had come south expressly to kill did not interfere with Elkins' + card-playing ability for he played a good game; and as if the Fates were + with him it was Hopalong's night off as far as poker was concerned, for + his customary good luck was not in evidence. That instinctive feeling + which singles out two duellists in a card game was soon experienced by the + others, who were careful, as became good players, to avoid being caught + between them; in consequence, when the game broke up, Elkins had most of + Hopalong's money. At one period of his life Elkins had lived on poker for + five years, and lived well. But he gained more than money in this game, + for he had made friends with the players and placed the first wire of his + trap. Of those in the room Hopalong alone treated him with reserve, and + this was cleverly swung so that it appeared to be caused by a temporary + grouch due to the sting of defeat. As the Bar-20 man was known to be given + to moods at times this was accepted as the true explanation and gave + promise of hotly contested games for revenge later on. The banter which + the defeated puncher had to endure stirred him and strengthened the + reserve, although he was careful not to show it. + </p> + <p> + When the last man rode off, Elkins and the proprietor sought their bunks + without delay, the former to lie awake a long time, thinking deeply. He + was vexed at himself for failing to work out an acceptable plan of action, + one that would show him to be in the right. He would gain nothing more + than glory, and pay too dearly for it, if he killed Hopalong and was in + turn killed by the dead man's friends—and he believed that he had + become acquainted with the quality of the friendship which bound the units + of the Bar-20 outfit into a smooth, firm whole. They were like brothers, + like one man. Cassidy must do the forcing as far as appearances went, and + be clearly in the wrong before the matter could be settled. + </p> + <p> + The next week was a busy one for Elkins, every day finding him in the + saddle and riding over some one of the surrounding ranches with one or + more of its punchers for company. In this way he became acquainted with + the men who might be called on to act as his jury when the showdown came, + and he proceeded to make friends of them in a manner that promised + success. And some of his suggestions for the improvement of certain + conditions on the range, while they might not work out right in the long + run, compelled thought and showed his interest. His remarks on the + condition and numbers of cattle were the same in substance in all cases + and showed that he knew what he was talking about, for the punchers were + all very optimistic about the next year's showing in cattle. + </p> + <p> + “If you fellers don't break all records for drive herds of quality next + year I don't know nothing about cows; an' I shore don't know nothing + else,” he told the foreman of the Bar-20, as they rode homeward after an + inspection of that ranch. “There'll be more dust hanging over the drive + trails leading from this section next year when spring drops the barriers + than ever before. You needn't fear for the market, neither—prices + will stand. The north an' central ranges ain't doing what they ought to + this year—it'll be up to you fellers down south, here, to make that + up; an' you can do it.” This was not a guess, but the result of thought + and study based on the observations he had made on his ride south, and + from what he had learned from others along the way. It paralleled Buck's + own private opinion, especially in regard to the southern range; and the + vague suspicions in the foreman's mind disappeared for good and all. + </p> + <p> + Needless to say Elkins was a welcome visitor at the ranch houses and was + regarded as a good fellow. At the Bar-20 he found only two men who would + not thaw to him, and he was possessed of too much tact to try any + persuasive measures. One was Hopalong, whose original cold reserve seemed + to be growing steadily, the Bar-20 puncher finding in Elkins a personality + that charged the atmosphere with hostility and quietly rubbed him the + wrong way. Whenever he was in the presence of the newcomer he felt the + tugging of an irritating and insistent antagonism and he did not always + fully conceal it. John Bartlett, Lucas, and one or two of the more + observing had noticed it and they began to prophesy future trouble between + the two. The other man who disliked Elkins was Red Connors; but what was + more natural? Red, being Hopalong's closest companion, would be very apt + to share his friend's antipathy. On the other hand, as if to prove + Hopalong's dislike to be unwarranted, Johnny Nelson swung far to the other + extreme and was frankly enthusiastic in his liking for the cattle scout. + And Johnny did not pour oil on the waters when he laughingly twitted + Hopalong for allowing “a licking at cards to make him sore.” This was the + idea that Elkins was quietly striving to have generally accepted. + </p> + <p> + The affair thus hung fire, Elkins chafing at the delay and cautiously + working for an opening, which at last presented itself, to be promptly + seized. By a sort of mutual, unspoken agreement, the men in Cowan's that + night passed up the cards and sat swapping stories. Cowan, swearing at a + smoking lamp, looked up with a grin and burned his fingers as a roar of + laughter marked the point of a droll reminiscence told by Bartlett. + </p> + <p> + “That's a good story, Bartlett,” Elkins remarked, slowing refilling his + pipe. “Reminds me of the lame Greaser, Hippy Joe, an' the canned oysters. + They was both bad, an' neither of 'em knew it till they came together. It + was like this. . . .” The malicious side glance went unseen by all but + Hopalong, who stiffened with the raging suspicion of being twitted on his + own deformity. The humor of the tale failed to appeal to him, and when his + full senses returned Lucas was in the midst of the story of the deadly + game of tag played in a ten-acre lot of dense underbrush by two of his + old-time friends. It was a tale of gripping interest and his auditors were + leaning forward in their eagerness not to miss a word. “An' Pierce won,” + finished Lucas; “some shot up, but able to get about. He was all right in + a couple of weeks. But he was bound to win; he could shoot all around Sam + Hopkins.” + </p> + <p> + “But the best shot won't allus win in that game,” commented Elkins. + “That's one of the minor factors.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir! It's <i>luck</i> that counts there,” endorsed Bartlett, + quickly. “Luck, nine times out of ten.” + </p> + <p> + “Best shot ought to win,” declared Skinny Thompson. “It ain't all luck, + nohow. Where'd I be against Hoppy, there?” + </p> + <p> + “Won't neither!” cried Johnny, excitedly. “The man who sees the other + first wins out. That's wood-craft, an' brains.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw! What do you know about it, anyhow?” demanded Lucas. “If he can't + shoot so good what chance has he got—if he misses the first try, + what then?” + </p> + <p> + “What chance has he got! First chance, miss or no miss. If he can't see + the other first, where the devil does his good shooting come in?” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” snorted Wood Wright, belligerently. “Any fool can <i>see</i>, but + he can't <i>shoot</i>! An' it's as much luck as wood-craft, too, an' don't + you forget it!” + </p> + <p> + “The first shot don't win, Johnny; not in a game like that, with all the + dodging an' ducking,” remarked Red. “You can't put one where you want it + when a feller's slipping around in the brush. It's the most that counts, + an' the best shot gets in the most. I wouldn't want to have to stand up + against Hoppy an' a short gun, not in that game; no, sir!” and Red shook + his head with decision. + </p> + <p> + The argument waxed hot. With the exception of Hopalong, who sat silently + watchful, every one spoke his opinion and repeated it without regard to + the others. It appeared that in this game, the man with the strongest + lungs would eventually win out, and each man tried to show his superiority + in that line. Finally, above the uproar, Cowan's bellow was herd, and he + kept it up until some notice was taken of it. “Shut up! <i>Shut up</i>! + For God's sake, <i>quit</i>! Never saw such a bunch of tinder—let + somebody drop a cold, burned-out match in this gang, an' hell's to pay. + Here, <i>all</i> of you, play cards an' forget about cross-tag in the + scrub. You'll be arguing about playing marbles in the dark purty soon!” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” muttered Johnny, “but just the same, the man who—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind about the man who! Did you hear <i>me</i>?” yelled Cowan, + swiftly reaching for a bucket of water. “<i>This</i> is a game where <i>I</i> + gets the most in, an' don't forget it!” + </p> + <p> + “Come on; play cards,” growled Lucas, who did not relish having his + decision questioned on his own story. Undoubtedly somewhere in the wide, + wide world there was such a thing as common courtesy, but none of it had + ever strayed onto that range. + </p> + <p> + The chairs scraped on the rough floor as the men pulled up to a table. “I + don't care a hang,” came Elkins' final comment as he shuffled the cards + with careful attention. “I'm not any fancy Colt expert, but I'm damned if + I won't take a chance in that game with any man as totes a gun. + Leastawise, of <i>course</i>, I wouldn't take no such advantage of a lame + man.” + </p> + <p> + The effect would have been ludicrous but for its deadly significance. + Cowan, stooping to go under the bar, remained in that hunched-up attitude, + his every faculty concentrated in his ears; the match on its way to the + cigarette between Red's lips was held until it burned his fingers, when it + was dropped from mere reflex action, the hand still stiffly aloft; Lucas, + half in and half out of his chair, seemed to have got just where he + intended, making no effort to seat himself. Skinny Thompson, his hand on + his gun, seemed paralyzed; his mouth was open to frame a reply that never + was uttered and he stared through narrowed eyelids at the blunderer. The + sole movement in the room was the slow rising of Hopalong and the markedly + innocent shuffling of the cards by Elkins, who appeared to be entirely + ignorant of the weight and effect of his words. He dropped the pack for + the cut and then looked up and around as if surprised by the silence and + the expressions he saw. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong stood facing him, leaning over with both hands on the table. His + voice, when he spoke, rumbled up from his chest in a low growl. “You won't + <i>have</i> no advantage, Elkins. Take it from me, you've had yore last + fling. I'm glad you made it plain, this time, so it's something I can take + hold of.” He straightened slowly and walked to the door, and an audible + sigh sounded through the room as it was realized that trouble was not + immediately imminent. At the door he paused and turned back around, + looking back over his shoulder. “At noon to-morrow I'm going to hoof it + north through the brush between the river an' the river trail, starting at + the old ford a mile down the river.” He waited expectantly. + </p> + <p> + “Me too—only the other way,” was the instant rejoinder. “Have it + yore own way.” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong nodded and the closing door shut him out into the night. Without + a word the Bar-20 men arose and followed him, the only hesitant being + Johnny, who was torn between loyalty and new-found friendship; but with a + sorrowful shake of the head, he turned away and passed out, not far behind + the others. + </p> + <p> + “Clannish, ain't they?” remarked Elkins, gravely. + </p> + <p> + Those remaining were regarding him sternly, questioningly, Cowan with a + deep frown darkening his face. “You hadn't ought to 'a' said that, + Elkins.” The reproof was almost an accusation. + </p> + <p> + Elkins looked steadily at the speaker. “You hadn't ought to 'a' let me say + it,” he replied. “How did I know he was so touchy?” His gaze left Cowan + and lingered in turn on each of the others. “Some of you ought to 'a' told + me. I wouldn't 'a' said it only for what I said just before, an' I didn't + want him to think I was challenging him to no duel in the brush. So I says + so, an' then he goes an' takes it up that I <i>am</i> challenging him. I + ain't got no call to fight with nobody. Ain't I tried to keep out of + trouble with him ever since I've been here? Ain't I kept out of the poker + games on his account? Ain't I?” The grave, even tones were dispassionate, + without a trace of animus and serenely sure of justice. + </p> + <p> + The faces around him cleared gradually and heads began to nod in + comprehending consent. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I reckon you have,” agreed Cowan, slowly, but the frown was not + entirely gone. “Yes, I reckon—mebby—you have.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <h3> + THE MASTER + </h3> + <p> + It was noon by the sun when Hopalong and Red shook hands south of the old + ford and the former turned to enter the brush. Hopalong was cool and + ominously calm while his companion was the opposite. Red was frankly + suspicious of the whole affair and nursed the private opinion that Mr. + Elkins would lay in ambush and shoot his enemy down like a dog. And Red + had promised himself a dozen times that he would study the signs around + the scene of action if Hopalong should not come back, and take a keen + delight, if warranted, in shooting Mr. Elkins full of holes with no regard + for an even break. He was thinking the matter over as his friend breasted + the first line of brush and could not refrain from giving a slight + warning. “Get him, Hoppy,” he called, earnestly; “get him good. Let <i>him</i> + do some of the moving about. I'll be here waiting for you.” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong smiled in reply and sprang forward, the leaves and branches + quickly shutting him from Red's sight. He had worked out his plan of + action the night before when he was alone and the world was still, and as + soon as he had it to his satisfaction he had dropped off to sleep as + easily as a child—it took more than gun-play to disturb his nerves. + He glanced about him to make sure of his bearings and then struck on a + curving line for the river. The first hundred yards were covered with + speed and then he began to move more slowly and with greater regard for + caution, keeping close to the earth and showing a marked preference for + low ground. Sky-lines were all right in times of peace, but under the + present conditions they promised to become unhealthy. His eyes and ears + told him nothing for a quarter of an hour, and then he suddenly stopped + short and crouched as he saw the plain trail of a man crossing his own + direction at a right angle. From the bottom of one of the heel prints a + crushed leaf was slowly rising back towards its original position, telling + him how new the trail was; and as if this were not enough for his trained + mind he heard a twig snap sharply as he glanced along the line of prints. + It sounded very close, and he dropped instantly to one knee and thought + quickly. Why had the other left so plain a trail, why had he reached up + and broken twigs that projected above his head as he passed? Why had he + kicked aside a small stone, leaving a patch of moist, bleached grass to + tell where it had lain? Elkins had stumbled here, but there were no toe + marks to tell of it. Hopalong would not track, for he was no assassin; but + he knew that he would do if he were, and careless. The answer leaped to + his suspicious mind like a flash, and he did not care to waste any time in + trying to determine whether or not Elkins was capable of such a trick. He + acted on the presumption that the trail had been made plain for a good + reason, and that not far ahead at some suitable place,—and there + were any number of such within a hundred yards,—the maker of the + plain trail lay in wait. Smiling savagely he worked backward and turning, + struck off in a circle. He had no compunctions whatever now about shooting + the other player of the game. It was not long before he came upon the same + trail again and he started another circle. A bullet <i>zipped</i> past his + ear and cut a twig not two inches from his head. He fired at the smoke as + he dropped, and then wriggled rapidly backward, keeping as flat to the + earth as he could. Elkins had taken up his position in a thicket which + stood in the centre of a level patch of sand in the old bed of the river,—the + bed it had used five years before and forsaken at the time of the big + flood when it cut itself a new channel and made the U-bend which now + surrounded this piece of land on three sides. Even now, during the rainy + season, the thicket which sheltered Mr. Elkins was frequently an island in + a sluggish, shallow overflow. + </p> + <p> + “Hole up, blast you!” jeered Hopalong, hugging the ground. The second + bullet from Mr. Elkins' gun cut another twig, this one just over his head, + and he laughed insolently. “I ain't ascared to do the moving, even if you + are. Judging from the way you keep out o' sight the canned oysters are in + the can again. <i>I</i> never did no ambushing, you coyote.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't make remarks like that an' get away with 'em—I've knowed + you too long,” retorted Elkins, shifting quickly, and none too soon. “You + went an' got Slim afore he was wide awake. I know <i>you</i>, all right.” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong's surprise was but momentary, and his mind raced back over the + years. Who was this man Elkins, that he knew Slim Travennes? “Yo're a + liar, Elkins, an' so was the man who told you that!” + </p> + <p> + “Call me Ewalt,” jeered the other, nastily. “Nobody'll hear it, an' you'll + not live to tell it. Ewalt, Tex Ewalt; call me that.” + </p> + <p> + “So you've come back after all this time to make me get you, have you? + Well, I ain't a-going to shoot no buttons off you <i>this</i> time. I + allus reckoned you learned something at Muddy Wells—but you'll learn + it here,” Hopalong rejoined, sliding into a depression, and working with + great caution towards the dry river bed, where fallen trees and hillocks + of sand provided good cover in plenty. Everything was clear now and + despite the seriousness of the situation he could not repress a smile as + he remembered vividly that day at the carnival when Tex Ewalt came to town + with the determination to kill him and show him up as an imitation. His + grievance against Elkins was petty when compared to that against Ewalt, + and he began to force the issue. As he peered over a stranded log he + caught sight of his enemy disappearing into another part of the thicket, + and two of his three shots went home. Elkins groaned with pain and fear as + he realized that his right knee-cap was broken and would make him slow in + his movements. He was lamed for life, even if he did come out of the duel + alive; lamed in the same way that Hopalong was—the affliction he had + made cruel sport of had come to him. But he had plenty of courage and he + returned the fire with remarkable quickness, his two shots sounding almost + as one. + </p> + <p> + Hopalong wiped the blood from his cheek and wormed his way to a new place; + when half way there he called out again, “How's yore health—Tex?” in + mock sympathy. + </p> + <p> + Elkins lied manfully and when he looked to get in another shot his enemy + was on the farther bank, moving up to get behind him. He did not know + Hopalong's new position until he raised his head to glance down over the + dried river bed, and was informed by a bullet that nicked his ear. As he + ducked, another grazed his head, the third going wild. He hazarded a + return shot, and heard Hopalong's laugh ring out again. + </p> + <p> + “Like the story Lucas told, the best shot is going to win out this time, + too,” the Bar-20 man remarked, grimly. “You thought a game like this would + give you some chance against a better shot, didn't you? You are a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “It ain't over yet, not by a damned sight!” came the retort. + </p> + <p> + “An' you thought you had a little the best of it if you stayed still an' + let me do the moving, didn't you? You'll learn something before I get + through with you: but it'll be too late to do you any good,” Hopalong + called, crouched below a hillock of sand so the other could not take + advantage of the words and single him out for a shot. + </p> + <p> + “You can't learn me nothing, you assassin; I've got my eyes open, this + time.” He knew that he had had them open before, and that Hopalong was in + no way an assassin; but if he could enrage his enemy and sting him into + some reflex carelessness he might have the last laugh. + </p> + <p> + Elkins' retort was wasted, for the sudden and unusual, although a familiar + sound, had caught Hopalong's ear and he was giving all his attention to + it. While he weighed it, his incredulity holding back the decision his + common sense was striving to give him, the noise grew louder rapidly and + common sense won out in a cry of warning an instant before a five-foot + wall of brown water burst upon his sight, sweeping swiftly down the old, + dry river bed; and behind it towered another and greater wall. Tree trunks + were dancing end over end in it as if they were straws. + </p> + <p> + “Cloud-burst!” he yelled. “Run, Tex! Run for yore life! Cloud-burst up the + valley! Run, you fool; <i>Run</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Tex's sarcastic retort was cut short as he instinctively glanced north, + and his agonized curse lashed Hopalong forward. “Can't run—knee + cap's busted! Can't swim, can't do—ah, hell—!” + </p> + <p> + Hopalong saw him torn from his shelter and whisked down the raging torrent + like an arrow from a bow. The Bar-20 puncher leaped from the bank, shot + under the yellow flood and arose, gasping and choking many yards + downstream, fighting madly to get the muddy water out of his throat and + eyes. As he struck out with all his strength down the current, he caught + sight of Tex being torn from a jutting tree limb, and he shouted + encouragement and swam all the harder, if such a thing were possible. + Tex's course was checked for a moment by a boiling back-current and as he + again felt the pull of the rushing stream Hopalong's hand gripped his + collar and the fight for safety began. Whirled against logs and stumps, + drawn down by the weight of his clothes and the frantic efforts of Tex to + grasp him—fighting the water and the man he was trying to save at + the same time, his head under water as often as it was out of it, and + Tex's vise-like fingers threatening him—he headed for the west shore + against powerful cross-currents that made his efforts seem useless. He + seemed to get the worst of every break. Once, when caught by a friendly + current, they were swung under an overhanging branch, but as Hopalong's + hand shot up to grasp it a submerged bush caught his feet and pulled him + under, and Tex's steel-like arms around his throat almost suffocated him + before he managed to beat the other into insensibility and break the hold. + </p> + <p> + “I'll let you go!” he threatened; but his hand grasped the other's collar + all the tighter and his fighting jaw was set with greater determination + than ever. + </p> + <p> + They shot out into the main stream, where the U-bend channel joined the + short-cut, and it looked miles wide to the exhausted puncher. He was + fighting only on his will now. He would not give up, though he scarce + could lift an arm, and his lungs seemed on fire. He did not know whether + Tex was dead or alive, but he would get the body ashore with him, or go + down trying. He bumped into a log and instinctively grasped it. It turned, + and when he came up again it was bobbing five feet ahead of him. Ages + seemed to pass before he flung his numb arm over it and floated with it. + He was not alone in the flood; a coyote was pushing steadily across his + path towards the nearer bank, and on a gliding tree trunk crouched a + frightened cougar, its ears flattened and its sharp claws dug solidly + through the bark. Here and there were cattle and a snake wriggled smoothly + past him, apparently as much at home in the water as out of it. The log + turned again and he just managed to catch hold of it as he came up for the + second time. + </p> + <p> + Things were growing black before his eyes and strange, weird ideas and + images floated through his brain. When he regained some part of his senses + he saw ahead of him a long, curling crest of yellow water and foam, and he + knew, vaguely, that it was pouring over a bar. The next instant his feet + struck bottom and he fought his way blindly and slowly, with the stubborn + determination of his kind, towards the brush-covered point twenty feet + away. + </p> + <p> + When he opened his eyes and looked around he became conscious of + excruciating pains and he closed them again to rest. His outflung hand + struck something that made him look around again, and he saw Tex Ewalt, + face down at his side. He released his grasp on the other's collar and + slowly the whole thing came to him, and then the necessity for action, + unless he wished to lose what he had fought so hard to save. + </p> + <p> + Anything short of the iron man Tex had become would have been dead before + this or have been finished by the mauling he now got from Hopalong. But + Tex groaned, gurgled a curse, and finally opened his eyes upon his + rescuer, who sank back with a grunt of satisfaction. Slowly his + intelligence returned as he looked steadily into Hopalong's eyes, and with + it came the realization of a strange truth: he did not hate this man at + all. Months of right living, days and nights of honest labor shoulder to + shoulder with men who respected him for his ability and accepted him as + one of themselves, had made a new man of him, although the legacy of + hatred from the old Tex had disguised him from himself until now; but the + new Tex, battered, shot-up, nearly drowned, looked at his old enemy and + saw him for the man he really was. He smiled faintly and reached out his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Cassidy, yo're the boss,” he said. “Shake.” + </p> + <p> + They shook. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bar-20 Days, by Clarence E. 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Mulford + +Release Date: April 22, 2006 [EBook #4922] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BAR-20 DAYS *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers + + + + + +BAR-20 DAYS + +By Clarence E. Mulford + + + +AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO "M. D." + + + + + +BAR-20 DAYS + + + +CHAPTER I + +ON A STRANGE RANGE + +Two tired but happy punchers rode into the coast town and dismounted in +front of the best hotel. Putting up their horses as quickly as possible +they made arrangements for sleeping quarters and then hastened out to +attend to business. Buck had been kind to delegate this mission to them +and they would feel free to enjoy what pleasures the town might afford. +While at that time the city was not what it is now, nevertheless it was +capable of satisfying what demands might be made upon it by two very +active and zealous cow-punchers. Their first experience began as they +left the hotel. + +"Hey, you cow-wrastlers!" said a not unpleasant voice, and they turned +suspiciously as it continued: "You've shore got to hang up them guns +with the hotel clerk while you cavorts around on this range. This is +_fence_ country." + +They regarded the speaker's smiling face and twinkling eyes and laughed. +"Well, yo're the foreman if you owns that badge," grinned Hopalong, +cheerfully. "We don't need no guns, nohow, in this town, we don't. +Plumb forgot we was toting them. But mebby you can tell us where lawyer +Jeremiah T. Jones grazes in daylight?" + +"Right over yonder, second floor," replied the marshal. "An' come +to think of it, mebby you better leave most of yore cash with the +guns--somebody'll take it away from you if you don't. It'd be an awful +temptation, an' flesh is weak." + +"Huh!" laughed Johnny, moving back into the hotel to leave his gun, +closely followed by Hopalong. "Anybody that can turn that little trick +on me an' Hoppy will shore earn every red cent; why, we've been to +Kansas City!" + +As they emerged again Johnny slapped his pocket, from which sounded a +musical jingling. "If them weak people try anything on us, we may come +between them and _their_ money!" he boasted. + +"From the bottom of my heart I pity you," called the marshal, watching +them depart, a broad smile illuminating his face. "In about twenty-four +hours they'll put up a holler for me to go git it back for 'em," he +muttered. "An' I almost believe I'll do it, too. I ain't never seen none +of that breed what ever left a town without empty pockets an' aching +heads--an' the smarter they think they are the easier they fall." A +fleeting expression of discontent clouded the smile, for the lure of the +open range is hard to resist when once a man has ridden free under +its sky and watched its stars. "An' I wish I was one of 'em again," he +muttered, sauntering on. + +Jeremiah T. Jones, Esq., was busy when his door opened, but he leaned +back in his chair and smiled pleasantly at their bow-legged entry, +waving them towards two chairs. Hopalong hung his sombrero on a letter +press and tipped his chair back against the wall; Johnny hung grimly to +his hat, sat stiffly upright until he noticed his companion's pose, +and then, deciding that everything was all right, and that Hopalong was +better up in etiquette than himself, pitched his sombrero dexterously +over the water pitcher and also leaned against the wall. Nobody could +lose him when it came to doing the right thing. + +"Well, gentlemen, you look tired and thirsty. This is considered good +for all human ailments of whatsoever nature, degree, or wheresoever +located, in part or entirety, _ab initio_," Mr. Jones remarked, filling +glasses. There was no argument and when the glasses were empty, he +continued: "Now what can I do for you? From the Bar-20? Ah, yes; I was +expecting you. We'll get right at it," and they did. Half an hour later +they emerged on the street, free to take in the town, or to have the +town take them in,--which was usually the case. + +"What was that he said for us to keep away from?" asked Johnny with keen +interest. + +"Sh! Not so loud," chuckled Hopalong, winking prodigiously. + +Johnny pulled tentatively at his upper lip but before he could reply his +companion had accosted a stranger. + +"Friend, we're pilgrims in a strange land, an' we don't know the trails. +Can you tell us where the docks are?" + +"Certainly; glad to. You'll find them at the end of this street," and he +smilingly waved them towards the section of the town which Jeremiah T. +Jones had specifically and earnestly warned them to avoid. + +"Wonder if you're as thirsty as me?" solicitously inquired Hopalong of +his companion. + +"I was just wondering the same," replied Johnny. "Say," he confided in +a lower voice, "blamed if I don't feel sort of lost without that Colt. +Every time I lifts my right laig she goes too high--don't feel natural, +nohow." + +"Same here; I'm allus feeling to see if I lost it," Hopalong responded. +"There ain't no rubbing, no weight, nor nothing." + +"Wish I had something to put in its place, blamed if I don't." + +"Why, now yo're talking--mebby we can buy something," grinned Hopalong, +happily. "Here's a hardware store--come on in." + +The clerk looked up and laid aside his novel. "Good-morning, gentlemen; +what can I do for you? We've just got in some fine new rifles," he +suggested. + +The customers exchanged looks and it was Hopalong who first found his +voice. "Nope, don't want no rifles," he replied, glancing around. +"To tell the truth, I don't know just what we do want, but we want +something, all right--got to have it. It's a funny thing, come to think +of it; I can't never pass a hardware store without going in an' buying +something. I've been told my father was the same way, so I must inherit +it. It's the same with my pardner, here, only he gets his weakness from +his whole family, and it's different from mine. He can't pass a saloon +without going in an' buying something." + +"Yo're a cheerful liar, an' you know it," retorted Johnny. "You know the +reason why I goes in saloons so much--you'd never leave 'em if I didn't +drag you out. He inherits that weakness from his grandfather, twice +removed," he confided to the astonished clerk, whose expression didn't +know what to express. + +"Let's see: a saw?" soliloquized Hopalong. "Nope; got lots of 'em, an' +they're all genuine Colts," he mused thoughtfully. "Axe? Nails? Augurs? +Corkscrews? Can we use a corkscrew, Johnny? Ah, thought I'd wake you up. +Now, what was it Cookie said for us to bring him? Bacon? Got any bacon? +Too bad--oh, don't apologize; it's all right. Cold chisels--that's the +thing if you ain't got no bacon. Let me see a three-pound cold chisel +about as big as that,"--extending a huge and crooked forefinger,--"an' +with a big bulge at one end. Straight in the middle, circling off into +a three-cornered wavy edge on the other side. What? Look here! You can't +tell us nothing about saloons that we don't know. I want a three-pound +cold chisel, any kind, so it's cold." + +Johnny nudged him. "How about them wedges?" + +"Twenty-five cents a pound," explained the clerk, groping for his +bearings. + +"They might do," Hopalong muttered, forcing the article mentioned into +his holster. "Why, they're quite hocus-pocus. You take the brother to +mine, Johnny." + +"Feels good, but I dunno," his companion muttered. "Little wide at the +sharp end. Hey, got any loose shot?" he suddenly asked, whereat Hopalong +beamed and the clerk gasped. It didn't seem to matter whether they +bought bacon, cold chisels, wedges, or shot; yet they looked sober. + +"Yes, sir; what size?" + +"Three pounds of shot, I said!" Johnny rumbled in his throat. "Never +mind what size." + +"We never care about size when we buy shot," Hopalong smiled. "But, +Johnny, wouldn't them little screws be better?" he asked, pointing +eagerly. + +"Mebby; reckon we better get 'em mixed--half of each," Johnny gravely +replied. "Anyhow, there ain't much difference." + +The clerk had been behind that counter for four years, and executing +and filling orders had become a habit with him; else he would have given +them six pounds of cold chisels and corkscrews, mixed. His mouth was +still open when he weighed out the screws. + +"Mix 'em! Mix 'em!" roared Hopalong, and the stunned clerk complied, and +charged them for the whole purchase at the rate set down for screws. + +Hopalong started to pour his purchase into the holster which, being open +at the bottom, gayly passed the first instalment through to the floor. +He stopped and looked appealingly at Johnny, and Johnny, in pain from +holding back screams of laughter, looked at him indignantly. Then a +guileless smile crept over Hopalong's face and he stopped the opening +with a wad of wrapping paper and disposed of the shot and screws, Johnny +following his laudable example. After haggling a moment over the bill +they paid it and walked out, to the apparent joy of the clerk. + +"Don't laugh, Kid; you'll spoil it all," warned Hopalong, as he noted +signs of distress on his companion's face. "Now, then; what was it we +said about thirst? Come on; I see one already." + +Having entered the saloon and ordered, Hopalong beamed upon the +bartender and shoved his glass back again. "One more, kind stranger; +it's good stuff." + +"Yes, feels like a shore-enough gun," remarked Johnny, combining two +thoughts in one expression, which is brevity. + +The bartender looked at him quickly and then stood quite still and +listened, a puzzled expression on his face. + +_Tic--tickety-tick--tic-tic_, came strange sounds from the other side of +the bar. Hopalong was intently studying a chromo on the wall and Johnny +gazed vacantly out of the window. + +"What's that? What in the deuce is that?" quickly demanded the man with +the apron, swiftly reaching for his bung-starter. + +_Tickety-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic_, the noise went on, and Hopalong, slowly +rolling his eyes, looked at the floor. A screw rebounded and struck his +foot, while shot were rolling recklessly. + +"Them's making the noise," Johnny explained after critical survey. + +"Hang it! I knowed we ought to 'a' got them wedges!" Hopalong exclaimed, +petulantly, closing the bottom of the sheath. "Why, I won't have no gun +left soon 'less I holds it in." The complaint was plaintive. + +"Must be filtering through the stopper," Johnny remarked. "But don't it +sound nice, especially when it hits that brass cuspidor!" + +The bartender, grasping the mallet even more firmly, arose on his toes +and peered over the bar, not quite sure of what he might discover. He +had read of infernal machines although he had never seen one. "What the +blazes!" he exclaimed in almost a whisper; and then his face went hard. +"You get out of here, quick! You've had too much already! I've seen +drunks, but--G'wan! Get out!" + +"But we ain't begun yet," Hopalong interposed hastily. "You see--" + +"Never mind what I see! I'd hate to see what you'll be seeing before +long. God help you when you finish!" rather impolitely interrupted the +bartender. He waved the mallet and made for the end of the counter with +no hesitancy and lots of purpose in his stride. "G'wan, now! Get out!" + +"Come on, Johnny; I'd shoot him only we didn't put no powder with the +shot," Hopalong remarked sadly, leading the way out of the saloon and +towards the hardware store. + +"You better get out!" shouted the man with the mallet, waving the weapon +defiantly. "An' don't you never come back again, neither," he warned. + +"Hey, it leaked," Hopalong said pleasantly as he closed the door of the +hardware store behind him, whereupon the clerk jumped and reached for +the sawed-off shotgun behind the counter. Sawed-off shotguns are great +institutions for arguing at short range, almost as effective as dynamite +in clearing away obstacles. + +"Don't you come no nearer!" he cried, white of face. "You git out, or +I'll let _this_ leak, an' give you _all_ shot, an' more than you can +carry!" + +"Easy! Easy there, pardner; we want them wedges," Hopalong replied, +somewhat hurriedly. "The others ain't no good; I choked on the very +first screw. Why, I wouldn't hurt you for the world," Hopalong assured +him, gazing interestedly down the twin tunnels. + +Johnny leaned over a nail keg and loosed the shot and screws into it, +smiling with childlike simplicity as he listened to the tintinnabulation +of the metal shower among the nails. "It _does_ drop when you let go of +it," he observed. + +"Didn't I tell you it would? I allus said so," replied Hopalong, looking +back to the clerk and the shotgun. "Didn't I, stranger?" + +The clerk's reply was a guttural rumbling, ninety per cent profanity, +and Hopalong, nodding wisely, picked up two wedges. "Johnny, here's yore +gun. If this man will stop talking to hisself and drop that lead-sprayer +long enough to take our good money, we'll wear em." + +He tossed a gold coin on the table, and the clerk, still holding tightly +to the shotgun, tossed the coin into the cash box and cautiously +slid the change across the counter. Hopalong picked up the money and, +emptying his holster into the nail keg, followed his companion to +the street, in turn followed slowly by the suspicious clerk. The door +slammed shut behind them, the bolt shot home, and the clerk sat down on +a box and cogitated. + +Hopalong hooked his arm through Johnny's and started down the street. "I +wonder what that feller thinks about us, anyhow. I'm glad Buck sent Red +over to El Paso instead of us. Won't he be mad when we tell him all the +fun we've had?" he asked, grinning broadly. + +They were to meet Red at Dent's store on the way back and ride home +together. + + + +They were strangely clad for their surroundings, the chaps glaringly out +of place in the Seaman's Port, and winks were exchanged by the regular +_habitues_ when the two punchers entered the room and called for drinks. +They were very tired and a little under the weather, for they had made +the most of their time and spent almost all of their money; but any one +counting on robbing them would have found them sober enough to look out +for themselves. Night had found them ready to go to the hotel, but on +the way they felt that they must have one more bracer, and finish their +exploration of Jeremiah T. Jones' tabooed section. The town had begun to +grow wearisome and they were vastly relieved when they realized that the +rising sun would see them in the saddle and homeward bound, headed for +God's country, which was the only place for cow-punchers after all. + +"Long way from the home port, ain't you, mates?" queried a tar of +Hopalong. Another seaman went to the bar to hold a short, whispered +consultation with the bartender, who at first frowned and then finally +nodded assent. + +"Too far from home, if that's what yo're driving at," Hopalong replied. +"Blast these hard trails--my feet are shore on the prod. Ever meet my +side pardner? Johnny, here's a friend of mine, a salt-water puncher, an' +he's welcome to the job, too." + +Johnny turned his head ponderously and nodded. "Pleased to meet you, +stranger. An' what'll you all have?" + +"Old Holland, mate," replied the other, joining them. + +"All up!" invited Hopalong, waving them forward. "Might as well do +things right or not at all. Them's my sentiments, which I holds +as proper. Plain rye, general, if you means me," he replied to the +bartender's look of inquiry. + +He drained the glass and then made a grimace. "Tastes a little +off--reckon it's my mouth; nothing tastes right in this cussed town. +Now, up on our--" He stopped and caught at the bar. "Holy smoke! That's +shore alcohol!" + +Johnny was relaxing and vainly trying to command his will power. +"Something's wrong; what's the matter?" he muttered sleepily. + +"Guess you meant beer; you ain't used to drinking whiskey," grinned the +bartender, derisively, and watching him closely. + +"I can--drink as much whiskey as--" and, muttering, Johnny slipped to +the floor. + +"That wasn't whiskey!" cried Hopalong, sleepily, "that liquor was +_fixed_!" he shouted, sudden anger bracing him. "An' I'm going to fix +_you_, too!" he added, reaching for his gun, and drawing forth a wedge. +His sailor friend leaped at him, to go down like a log, and Hopalong, +seething with rage, wheeled and threw the weapon at the man behind the +bar, who also went down. The wedge, glancing from his skull, swept a row +of bottles and glasses from the shelf and, caroming, went through the +window. + +In an instant Hopalong was the vortex of a mass of struggling men +and, handicapped as he was, fought valiantly, his rage for the time +neutralizing the effects of the drug. But at last, too sleepy to stand +or think, he, too, went down. + +"By the Lord, that man's a fighter!" enthusiastically remarked the +leader, gently touching his swollen eye. "George must 'a' put an awful +dose in that grog." + +"Lucky for us he didn't have no gun--the wedge was bad enough," groaned +a man on the floor, slowly sitting up. "Whoever swapped him that wedge +for his gun did us a good turn, all right." + +A companion tentatively readjusted his lip. "I don't envy Wilkins his +job breaking in that man when he gets awake." + +"Don't waste no time, mates," came the order. "Up with 'em an' aboard. +We've done our share; let the mate do his, an' be hanged. Hullo, +Portsmouth; coming around, eh?" he asked the man who had first felt the +wedge. "I was scared you was done for that time." + +"No more shanghaiing hair pants for me, no more!" thickly replied +Portsmouth. "Oh, my head, it's bust open!" + +"Never mind about the bartender--let him alone; we can't waste no time +with him now!" commanded the leader sharply. "Get these fellers on board +before we're caught with 'em. We want our money after that." + +"All clear!" came a low call from the lookout at the door, and soon a +shadowy mass surged across the street and along a wharf. There was a +short pause as a boat emerged out of the gloom, some whispered orders, +and then the squeaking of oars grew steadily fainter in the direction of +a ship which lay indistinct in the darkness. + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE REBOUND + +A man moaned and stirred restlessly in a bunk, muttering incoherently. +A stampeded herd was thundering over him, the grinding hoofs beating him +slowly to death. He saw one mad steer stop and lower its head to gore +him and just as the sharp horns touched his skin, he awakened. Slowly +opening his bloodshot eyes he squinted about him, sick, weak, racking +with pain where heavy shoes had struck him in the melee, his head +reverberating with roars which seemed almost to split it open. Slowly he +regained his full senses and began to make out his surroundings. He +was in a bunk which moved up and down, from side to side, and was never +still. There was a small, round window near his feet--thank heaven it +was open, for he was almost suffocated by the foul air and the heat. +Where was he? What had happened? Was there a salty odor in the air, or +was he still dreaming? Painfully raising himself on one elbow he looked +around and caught sight of a man in the bunk across. It was Johnny +Nelson! Then, bit by bit, the whole thing came to him and he cursed +heartily as he reviewed it and reached the only possible conclusion. +He was at sea! He, Hopalong Cassidy, the best fighting unit of a good +fighting outfit, shanghaied and at sea! Drugged, beaten, and stolen to +labor on a ship. + +Johnny was muttering and moaning and Hopalong slowly climbed out of the +narrow bunk, unsteadily crossed the moving floor, and shook him. "Reckon +he's in a stampede, too!" he growled. "They shore raised h--l with us. +Oh, what a beating we got! But we'll pass it along with trimmings." + +Johnny's eyes opened and he looked around in confusion. "Wha', +Hopalong!" + +"Yes; it's me, the prize idiot of a blamed good pair of 'em. How'd you +feel?" + +"Sleepy an' sick. My eyes ache an' my head's splitting. Where's Buck an' +the rest?" + +Hopalong sat down on the edge of the bunk and sore luridly, eloquently, +beautifully, with a fervor and polish which left nothing to be desired +in that line, and caused his companion to gaze at him in astonishment. + +"I had a mighty bad dream, but you must 'a' had one a whole lot worse, +to listen to you," Johnny remarked. "Gee, you're going some! What's the +matter with you. You sick, too?" + +Thereupon Hopalong unfolded the tale of woe and when Johnny had +grasped its import and knew that his dream had been a stern reality, he +straightway loosed his vocabulary and earned a draw. "Well, I'm going +back again," he finished, with great decision, arising to make good his +assertion. + +"Swim or walk?" asked Hopalong nonchalantly. + +"Huh! Oh, Lord!" + +"Well, I ain't going to either swim or walk," Hopalong soliloquized. +"I'm just going to stay right here in this one-by-nothing cellar an' +spoil the health an' good looks of any pirate that comes down that +ladder to get me out." He looked around, interested in life once more, +and his trained eye grasped the strategic worth of their position. "Only +one at a time, an' down that ladder," he mused, thoughtfully. "Why, +Johnny, we owns this range as long as we wants to. They can't get us +out. But, say, if only we had our guns!" he sighed, regretfully. + +"You're right as far as you go; but you don't go to the eating part. +We'll starve, an' we ain't got no water. I can drink about a bucketful +right now," moodily replied his companion. + +"Well, yo're right; but mebby we can find food an' water." + +"Don't see no signs of none. Hey!" Johnny exclaimed, smiling faintly +in his misery. "Let's get busy an' burn the cussed thing up! Got any +matches?" + +"First you want to drown yoreself swimming, an' now you want to roast +the pair of us to death," Hopalong retorted, eyeing the rear wall of the +room. "Wonder what's on the other side of that partition?" + +Johnny looked. "Why, water; an' lots of it, too." + +"Naw; the water is on the other sides." + +"Then how do I know?--sh! I hear somebody coming on the roof." + +"Tumble back in yore bunk--quick!" Hopalong hurriedly whispered. "Be +asleep--if he comes down here it'll be our deal." + +The steps overhead stopped at the companionway and a shadow appeared +across the small patch of sunlight on the floor of the forecastle. +"Tumble up here, you blasted loafers!" roared a deep voice. + +No reply came from the forecastle--the silence was unbroken. + +"If I have to come down there I'll--" the first mate made promises in no +uncertain tones and in very impolite language. He listened for a moment, +and having very good ears and hearing nothing, made more promises and +came down the ladder quickly and nimbly. + +"_I'll_ bring you to," he muttered, reaching a brawny hand for +Hopalong's nose, and missing. But he made contact with his own face, +which stopped a short-arm blow from the owner of the aforesaid nose, a +jolt full of enthusiasm and purpose. Beautiful and dazzling flashes of +fire filled the air and just then something landed behind his ear and +prolonged the pyrotechnic display. When the skyrockets went up he lost +interest in the proceedings and dropped to the floor like a bag of meal. + +Hopalong cut another piece from the rope in his hand and watched his +companion's busy fingers. "Tie him good, Johnny; he's the only ace we've +drawn in this game so far, an' we mustn't lose him." + +Johnny tied an extra knot for luck and leaned forward, his eyes riveted +on the bump under the victim's coat. His darting hand brought into sight +that which pleased him greatly. "Oh, joy! Here, Hoppy; you take it." + +Hopalong turned the weapon over in his hand, spun the cylinder and +gloated, the clicking sweet music to his ears. "Plumb full, too! I never +reckoned I'd ever be so tickled over a snub-nosed gun like this--but I +feel like singing!" + +"An' I feel like dying," grunted Johnny, grabbing at his stomach. "If +the blamed shack would only stand still!" he groaned, gazing at the +floor with strong disgust. "I don't reckon I've ever been so blamed sick +in all my--" the sentence was unfinished, for the open porthole caught +his eye and he leaped forward to use it for a collar. + +Hopalong gazed at him in astonishment and sudden pity took possession of +him as his pallid companion left the porthole and faced him. + +"You ought to have something to eat, Kid--I'm purty hungry myself--what +the blazes!" he exclaimed, for Johnny's protesting wail was finished +outside the port. Then a light broke upon him and he wondered how soon +it would be his turn to pay tribute to Neptune. + +"Mr. Wilkins!" shouted a voice from the deck, and Hopalong moved back +a step. "Mr. Wilkins!" After a short silence the voice soliloquized: +"Guess he changed his mind about it; I'll get 'em up for him," and feet +came into view. When halfway down the ladder the second mate turned his +head and looked blankly down a gun barrel while a quiet but angry voice +urged him further: "Keep a-coming, keep a-coming!" The second mate +complained, but complied. + +"Stick 'em up higher--now, Johnny, wobble around behind the nice man an' +take _his_ gun--you shut yore yap! I'm bossing this trick, not you. Got +it, Kid? There's the rope--that's right. Nobody'd think you sick to see +you work. Well, that's a good draw; but it's only a pair of aces against +a full, at that. Wonder who'll be the next. Hope it's the foreman." + +Johnny, keeping up by sheer grit, pointed to the rear wall. "What about +that?" + +For reply his companion walked over to it, put his shoulder to it and +pushed. He stepped back and hurled his weight against it, but it was +firm despite its squeaking protest. Then he examined it foot by foot and +found a large knot, which he drove in by a blow of the gun. Bending, he +squinted through the opening for a full minute and then reported: + +"Purty black in there at this end, but up at the other there's a light +from a hole in the roof, an' I could see boxes an' things like that. I +reckon it's the main cellar." + +"If we could get out at the other end with that gun you've got we could +raise blazes for a while," suggested Johnny. "Anyhow, mebby they can +come at us that way when they find out what we've gone an' done." + +"Yo're right," Hopalong replied, looking around. Seeing an iron bar +he procured it and, pushing it through the knot hole in the partition, +pulled. The board, splitting and cracking under the attack, finally +broke from its fastenings with a sharp report, and Hopalong, pulling it +aside, stepped out of sight of his companion. Johnny was grinning at the +success of his plan when he was interrupted. + +"Ahoy, down there!" yelled a stentorian voice from above. "Mr. Wilkins! +What the devil are you doing so long?" and after a very short wait other +feet came into sight. Just then the second mate, having managed to slip +off the gag, shouted warning: + +"Look out, Captain! They've got us and our guns! One of them has--" but +Johnny's knee thudded into his chest and ended the sentence as a bullet +sent a splinter flying from under the captain's foot. + +"Hang these guns!" Johnny swore, and quickly turned to secure the gag +in the mouth of the offending second mate. "You make any more yaps like +that an' I'll wing you for keeps with yore own gun!" he snapped. "We're +caught in yore trap an' we'll fight to a finish. You'll be the first to +go under if you gets any smart." + +"Ahoy, men!" roared the captain in a towering rage, dancing frantically +about on the deck and shouting for the crew to join him. He filled the +air with picturesque profanity and stamped and yelled in passion at such +rank mutiny. + +"Hand grenades! Hand grenades!" he cried. Then he remembered that his +two mates were also below and would share in the mutineers' fate, and +his rage increased at his galling helplessness. When he had calmed +sufficiently to think clearly he realized that it was certain death for +any one to attempt going down the ladder, and that his must be a waiting +game. He glanced at his crew, thirteen good men, all armed with windlass +bars and belaying pins, and gave them orders. Two were to watch the +hatch and break the first head to appear, while the others returned to +work. Hunger and thirst would do the rest. And what joy would be his +when they were forced to surrender! + +Hopalong groped his way slowly towards the patch of light, barking his +shins, stumbling and falling over the barrels and crates and finally, +losing his footing at a critical moment, tumbled down upon a box marked +"Cotton." There was a splintering crash and the very faint clink of +metal. Dazed and bruised, he sat up and felt of himself--and found that +he had lost his gun in the fall. + +"Now, where in blazes did it fly to?" he muttered angrily, peering +about anxiously. His eyes suddenly opened their widest and he stared in +surprise at a field gun which covered him; and then he saw parts of two +more. + +"Good Lord! Is this a gunboat?" he cried. "Are we up against bluejackets +an' Uncle Sam?" He glanced quickly back the way he had come when he +heard Johnny's shot, but he could see nothing. He figured that Johnny +had sense enough to call for help if he needed it, and put that +possibility out of his mind. "Naw, this ain't no gunboat--the Government +don't steal men; it enlists 'em. But it's a funny pile of junk, all the +same. Where in blazes is that toy gun? _Well_, I'll be hanged!" and he +plunged toward the "Cotton" box he had burst in his descent, and worked +at it frantically. + +"Winchesters! Winchesters!" he cried, dragging out two of them. "Whoop! +Now for the cartridges--there shore must be some to go with these +guns!" He saw a keg marked "Nails," and managed to open it after great +labor--and found it full of army Colts. Forcing down the desire to turn +a handspring, he slipped one of the six-shooters in his empty holster +and patted it lovingly. "Old friend, I'm shore glad to see you, all +right. You've been used, but that don't make no difference." Searching +further, he opened a full box of _machetes_, and soon after found +cartridges of many kinds and calibres. It took him but a few minutes to +make his selection and cram his pockets with them. Then he filled two +Colts and two Winchesters--and executed a short jig to work off the +dangerous pressure of his exuberance. + +"But what an unholy lot of weapons," he soliloquized on his way back to +Johnny. "An' they're all second-hand. Cannons, too--an' _machetes_!" he +exclaimed, suddenly understanding. "Jumping Jerusalem!--a filibustering +expedition bound for Cuba, or one of them wildcat republics down south! +Oh, ho, my friends; I see where you have bit off more'n you can chew." +In his haste to impart the joyous news to his companion, he barked his +shins shamefully. + +"'Way down south in the land o' cotton, cinnamon seed an''--whoa, blast +you!" and Hopalong stuck his head through the opening in the partition +and grinned. "Heard you shoot, Kid; I reckoned you might need me--an' +these!" he finished, looking fondly upon the weapons as he shoved them +into the forecastle. + +Johnny groaned and held his stomach, but his eyes lighted up when he saw +the guns, and he eagerly took one of each kind, a faint smile wreathing +his lips. "Now we'll show these water snakes what kind of men they +stole," he threatened. + +Up on the deck the choleric captain still stamped and swore, and his +crew, with well-concealed mirth, went about their various duties as +if they were accustomed to have shanghaied men act this way. They +sympathized with the unfortunate pair, realizing how they themselves +would feel if shanghaied to break broncos. + +Hogan, A. B., stated the feelings of his companions very well in his +remarks to the men who worked alongside: "In me hear-rt I'm dommed glad +av it, Yensen. I hope they bate the old man at his own game. 'T is a +shame in these days for honest men to be took in that unlawful way. I've +heard me father tell of the press gangs on the other side, an' 't is +small business." + +Yensen looked up to reply, chanced to glance aft, and dropped his +calking iron in his astonishment. "Yumping Yimminy! Luk at dat fallar!" + +Hogan looked. "The deuce! That's a man after me own heat-rt! Kape yore +pagan mouth shut! If ye take a hand agin 'em I'll swab up the deck wid +yez. G'wan wor-rking like a sane man, ye ijit!" + +"Ay ent ban fight wit dat fallar! Luk at the gun!" + +A man had climbed out of the after hatch and was walking rapidly towards +them, a rifle in his hands, while at his thigh swung a Colt. He watched +the two seamen closely and caught sight of Hogan's twinkling blue eyes, +and a smile quivered about his mouth. Hogan shut and opened one eye and +went on working. + +As soon as Hopalong caught sight of the captain, the rifle went up and +he announced his presence without loss of time. "Throw up yore hands, +you pole-cat! I'm running this ranch from now on!" + +The captain wheeled with a jerk and his mouth opened, and then clicked +shut as he started forward, his rage acting galvanically. But he stopped +quickly enough when he looked down the barrel of the Winchester and +glared at the cool man behind it. + +"What the blank are you doing?" he yelled. + +"Well, I ain't kidnapping cow-punchers to steal my boat," replied +Hopalong. "An' you fellers stand still or I'll drop you cold!" he +ordered to the assembled and restless crew. "Johnny!" he shouted, and +his companion popped up through the hatch like a jack-in-the-box. +"Good boy, Johnny. Tie this coyote foreman like you did the others," he +ordered. While Johnny obeyed, Hopalong looked around the circle, and +his eyes rested on Hogan's face, studying it, and found something there +which warmed his heart. "Friend, do you know the back trail? Can you +find that runt of a town we left?" + +"Aye, aye." + +"Shore, you; who'd you think I was talking to? Can you find the way +back, the way we came?" + +"Shure an' I can that, if I'm made to." + +"You'll swing for mutiny if you do, you bilge-wallering pirate!" roared +the trussed captain. "Take that gun away from him, d'ye hear!" he yelled +at the crew. "I'm captain of this ship, an' I'll hang every last one of +you if you don't obey orders! This is mutiny!" + +"You won't do no hanging with that load of weapons below!" retorted +Hopalong. "Uncle Sam is looking for filibusters--this here gun is +'cotton,'" he said, grinning. He turned to the crew. "But you fellers +are due to get shot if you sees her through," he added. + +"I'm captain of this ship--" began the helpless autocrat. + +"You shore look like it, all right," Hopalong replied, smiling. "If +yo're the captain you order her turned around and headed over the back +trail, or I'll drop you overboard off yore own ship!" Then fierce anger +at the thought of the indignities and injuries he and his companion had +suffered swept over him and prompted a one-minute speech which left +no doubt as to what he would do if his demand was not complied with. +Johnny, now free to watch the crew, added a word or two of endorsement, +and he acted a little as if he rather hoped it would not be complied +with: he itched for an excuse. + +The captain did some quick thinking; the true situation could not be +disguised, and with a final oath of rage he gave in. "'Bout ship, Hogan; +nor' by nor'west," he growled, and the seaman started away to execute +the command, but was quickly stopped by Hopalong. + +"Hogan, is that right?" he demanded. "No funny business, or we'll clean +up the whole bunch, an' blamed quick, too!" + +"That's the course, sor. That's the way back to town. I can navigate, +an' me orders are plain. Ye're Irish, by the way av ye, and 't is back +to town ye go, sor!" He turned to the crew: "Stand by, me boys." And in +a short time the course was nor' by nor'west. + +The return journey was uneventful and at nightfall the ship lay at +anchor off the low Texas coast, and a boat loaded with men grounded on +the sandy beach. Four of them arose and leaped out into the mild surf +and dragged the boat as high up on the sand as it would go. Then the +two cow-punchers followed and one of them gave a low-spoken order to the +Irishman at his side. + +"Yes, sor," replied Hogan, and hastened to help the captain out onto the +sand and to cut the ropes which bound him. "Do ye want the mates, too, +sor?" he asked, glancing at the trussed men in the boat. + +"No; the foreman's enough," Hopalong responded, handing his weapons to +Johnny and turning to face the captain, who was looking into Johnny's +gun as he rubbed his arms to restore perfect circulation. + +"Now, you flat-faced coyote, yo're going to get the beating of yore +life, an' I'm going to give it to you!" Hopalong cried, warily advancing +upon the man whom he held to be responsible for the miseries of the past +twenty-four hours. "You didn't give me a square deal, but I'm man enough +to give you one! When you drug an' steal any more cow-punchers--" action +stopped his words. + +It was a great fight. A filibustering sea captain is no more peaceful +than a wild boar and about as dangerous; and while this one was not at +his best, neither was Hopalong. The latter luckily had acquired some +knowledge of the rudiments of the game and had the vigor of youth to +oppose to the captain's experience and his infuriated but well-timed +rushes. The seamen, for the honor of their calling and perhaps with a +mind to the future, cheered on the captain and danced up and down in +their delight and excitement. They had a lot of respect for the prowess +of their master, and for the man who could stand up against him in a +fair and square fist fight. To give assistance to either in a fair fight +was not to be thought of, and Johnny's gun was sufficient after-excuse +for non-interference. + +The _sop! sop!_ of the punishing blows as they got home and the steady +circling of Hopalong in avoiding the dangerous attacks, went on minute +after minute. Slowly the captain's strength was giving out, and he +resorted to trickery as his last chance. Retreating, he half raised his +arms and lowered them as if weary, ready as a cat to strike with all +his weight if the other gave an opening. It ought to have worked--it had +worked before--but Hopalong was there to win, and without the momentary +hesitation of the suspicious fighter he followed the retreat and his +hard hand flashed in over the captain's guard a fraction of a second +sooner than that surprised gentleman anticipated. The ferocious frown +gave way to placid peace and the captain reclined at the feet of the +battered victor, who stood waiting for him to get up and fight. The +captain lay without a sign of movement and as Hopalong wondered, Hogan +was the first to speak. + +"Fer the love av hiven, let him be! Ye needn't wait--he's done; I know +by the sound av it!" he exclaimed, stepping forward. "'T was a purty +blow, an' 't was a gr-rand foight ye put up, sor! A gr-rand foight, but +any more av that is murder! 'T is an Irishman's game, sor, an' ye did +yersilf proud. But now let him be--no man, least av all a Dootchman, +iver tuk more than that an' lived!" + +Hopalong looked at him and slowly replied between swollen lips, "Yo're +right, Hogan; we're square now, I reckon." + +"That's right, sor," Hogan replied, and turned to his companions. "Put +him in the boat; an' mind ye handle him gintly--we'll be sailing under +him soon. Now, sor, if it's yer pleasure, I'll be after saying good-bye +to ye, sor; an' to ye, too," he said, shaking hands with both punches. +"Fer a sick la-ad ye're a wonder, ye are that," he smiled at Johnny, +"but ye want to kape away from the water fronts. Good-bye to ye both, +an' a pleasant journey home. The town is tin miles to me right, over +beyant them hills." + +"Good-bye, Hogan," mumbled Hopalong gratefully. "Yo're square all the +way through; an' if you ever get out of a job or in any kind of trouble +that I can help you out of, come up to the Bar-20 an' you won't have to +ask twice. Good luck!" And the two sore and aching punchers, wiser in +the ways of the world, plodded doggedly towards the town, ten miles +away. + +The next morning found them in the saddle, bound for Dent's hotel and +store near the San Miguel Canyon. When they arrived at their destination +and Johnny found there was some hours to wait for Red, his restlessness +sent him roaming about the country, not so much "seeking what he might +devour" as hoping something might seek to devour him. He was so sore +over his recent kidnapping that he longed to find a salve. He faithfully +promised Hopalong that he would return at noon. + + + +CHAPTER III + +DICK MARTIN STARTS SOMETHING + +Dick Martin slowly turned, leaned his back against the bar, and +languidly regarded a group of Mexicans at the other end of the room. +Singly, or in combinations of two or more, each was imparting all he +knew, or thought he knew about the ghost of San Miguel Canyon. Their +fellow-countryman, new to the locality, seemed properly impressed. That +it was the ghost of Carlos Martinez, murdered nearly one hundred years +before at the big bend in the canyon, was conceded by all; but there was +a dispute as to why it showed itself only on Friday nights, and why it +was never seen by any but a Mexican. Never had a Gringo seen it. The +Mexican stranger was appealed to: Did this not prove that the murder +had been committed by a Mexican? The stranger affected to consider the +question. + +Martin surveyed them with outward impassiveness and inward contempt. A +realist, a cynic, and an absolute genius with a Colt .45, he was well +known along the border for his dare-devil exploits and reckless courage. +The brainiest men in the Secret Service, Lewis, Thomas, Sayre, and +even old Jim Lane, the local chief, whose fingers at El Paso felt every +vibration along the Rio Grande, were not as well known--except to those +who had seen the inside of Government penitentiaries--and they were +quite satisfied to be so eclipsed. But the Service knew of the ghost, +as it knew everything pertaining to the border, and gave it no serious +thought; if it took interest in all the ghosts and superstitions +peculiar to the Mexican temperament it would have no time for serious +work. Martin once, in a spirit of savage denial, had wasted the better +part of several successive Friday nights in the San Miguel, but to no +avail. When told that the ghost showed itself only to Mexicans he had +shrugged his shoulders eloquently and laughed, also eloquently. + +"A Greaser," he replied, "is one-half fear and superstition, an' the +other half imagination. There ain't no ghosts, but I know the _Greasers_ +have seen 'em, all right. A Greaser can see anything scary if he makes +up his mind to. If _I_ ever see one an' he keeps on being one after +I shoot, I'll either believe in ghosts, or quit drinking." His eyes +twinkled as he added: "An' of the two, I think I'd _prefer_ to see +ghosts!" + +He was flushed and restless with deviltry. His fifth glass always +made him so; and to-night there was an added stimulus. He believed +the strange Mexican to be Juan Alvarez, who was so clever that the +Government had never been able to convict him. Alvarez was fearless to +recklessness and Martin, eager to test him, addressed the group with the +blunt terseness for which he was famed, and hated. + +"Greasers are cowards," he asserted quietly, and with a smile which +invited excitement. He took a keen delight in analyzing the expressions +on the faces of those hit. It was one of his favorite pastimes when +feeling coltish. + +The group was shocked into silence, quickly followed by great unrest and +hot, muttered words. Martin did not move a muscle, the smile was set, +but between the half-closed eyelids crouched Combat, on its toes. The +Mexicans knew it was there without looking for it--the tone of his +voice, the caressing purr of his words, and his unnatural languor were +signs well known to them. Not a criminal sneaking back from voluntary +banishment in Mexico who had seen those signs ever forgot them, if he +lived. Martin watched the group cat-like, keenly scrutinizing each face, +reading the changing emotions in every shifting expression; he had this +art down so well that he could tell when a man was debating the pull of +a gun, and beat him on the draw by a fraction of a second. + +"De senor ees meestak," came the reply, as quiet and caressing as the +words which provoked it. The strange Mexican was standing proudly and +looking into the squinting eyes with only a grayness of face and a +tigerish litheness to tell what he felt. + +"None go through the canyon after dark on Fridays," purred Martin. + +"_I_ go tro' de canyon nex' Friday night. Eef I do, then you mak apology +to me?" + +"I'll limit my remark to all but one Greaser." + +The Mexican stepped forward. "I tak' thees gloove an' leave eet at +de Beeg Ben', for you to fin' in daylight," he said, tapping one of +Martin's gauntlets which lay on the bar. "You geev' me eet befo' I go?" + +"Yes; at nine o'clock to-morrow night," Martin replied, hiding his +elation. He was sure that he knew the man now. + +The Mexican, cool and smiling, bowed and left the room, his companions +hastening after him. + +"Well, I'll bet twenty-five dollars he flunks!" breathed the bartender, +straightening up. + +Martin turned languidly and smiled at him. "I'll take that, Charley," he +replied. + + + +Johnny Nelson was always late, and on this occasion he was later than +usual. He was to have joined Hopalong and Red, if Red had arrived, at +Dent's at noon the day before, and now it was after nine o'clock at +night as he rode through San Felippe without pausing and struck east +for the canyon. The dropping trail down the canyon was serious enough +in broad daylight, but at night to attempt its passage was foolhardy, +unless one knew every turn and slant by heart, which Johnny did not. He +was thirty-three hours late now, and he was determined to make up what +he could in the next three. + +When Johnny left Hopalong at Dent's he had given his word to be back on +time and not to keep his companions waiting, for Red might be on time +and he would chafe if he were delayed. But, alas for Johnny's good +intentions, his course took him through a small Mexican hamlet in which +lived a senorita of remarkable beauty and rebellious eyes; and Johnny +tarried in the town most of the day, riding up and down the streets, +practising the nice things he would say if he met her. She watched +him from the heavily draped window, and sighed as she wondered if her +dashing Americano would storm the house and carry her off like the +knights of old. Finally he had to turn away with heavy and reluctant +heart, promising himself that he would return when no petulant and +sarcastic companions were waiting for him. Then--ah! what dreams youth +knows. + +Half an hour ahead of him on another trail rode Juan, smiling with +satisfaction. He had come to San Felippe to get a look at the canyon on +Friday nights, and Martin had given him an excuse entirely unexpected. +For this he was truly grateful, even while he knew that the American +had tried to pick a quarrel with him and thus rid the border of a man +entirely too clever for the good of customs receipts; and failing in +that, had hoped the treacherous canyon trail would gain that end in +another manner. Old Jim Lane's fingers touched wires not one whit more +sensitive than those which had sent Juan Alvarez to look over the San +Miguel--and Lane's wires had been slow this time. When Juan had left the +saloon the night before and had seen Manuel slip away from the group and +ride off into the north, he had known that the ghost would show itself +the following night. + +But Juan was to be disappointed. He was still some distance from the +canyon when a snarling bulk landed on the haunches of his horse. He +jerked loose his gun and fired twice and then knew nothing. When he +opened his eyes he lay quietly, trying to figure it out with a head +throbbing with pain from his fall. The cougar must have been desperate +for food to attack a man. He moved his foot and struck something soft +and heavy. His shots had been lucky, but they had not saved him his +horse and a sprained arm and leg. There would be no gauntlet found at +the Big Bend at daylight. + +When Johnny Nelson reached the twin boulders marking the beginning of +the sloping run where the trail pitched down, he grinned happily at +sight of the moon rising over the low hills and then grabbed at his +holster, while every hair in his head stood up curiously. A wild, +haunting, feminine scream arose to a quavering soprano and sobbed away +into silence. No words can adequately describe the unearthly wail in +that cry and it took a full half-minute for Johnny to become himself +again and to understand what it was. Once more it arose, nearer, and +Johnny peered into the shadows along a rough backbone of rock, his Colt +balanced in his half-raised hand. + +"You come 'round me an' you'll get hurt," he muttered, straining his +eyes to peer into the blackness of the shadows. "Come on out, Soft-foot; +the moon's yore finish. You an' me will have it out right here an' +now--I don't want no cougar trailing me through that ink-black canyon on +a two-foot ledge--" he thought he saw a shadow glide across a dim patch +of moonlight, but when his smoke rifted he knew he had missed. "Damn +it! You've got a mate 'round here somewhere," he complained. "Well, +I'll have to chance it, anyhow. Come on, bronc! Yo're shaking like a +leaf--get out of this!" + +When he began to descend into the canyon he allowed his horse to pick +its own way without any guidance from him, and gave all of his attention +to the trail behind him. The horse could get along better by itself in +the dark, and it was more than possible that one or two lithe cougars +might be slinking behind him on velvet paws. The horse scraped along +gingerly, feeling its way step by step, and sending stones rattling and +clattering down the precipice at his left to tinkle into the stream at +the bottom. + +"Gee, but I wish I'd not wasted so much time," muttered the rider +uneasily. "This here canyon-cougar combination is the worst _I_ ever +butted up against. I'll never be late again, not never; not for all the +girls in the world. Easy, bronc," he cautioned, as he felt the animal +slip and quiver. "Won't this trail ever start going up again?" he +growled petulantly, taking his eyes off the black back trail, where no +amount of scrutiny showed him anything, and turned in the saddle to peer +ahead--and a yell of surprise and fear burst from him, while chills ran +up and down his spine. An unearthly, piercing shriek suddenly rang out +and filled the canyon with ear-splitting uproar and a glowing, sheeted +half-figure of a man floated and danced twenty feet from him and over +the chasm. He jerked his gun and fired, but only once, for his mount had +its own ideas about some things and this particular one easily headed +the list. The startled rider grabbed reins and pommel, his blood +congealed with fear of the precipice less than a foot from his side, and +he gave all his attention to the horse. But scared as he was he heard, +or thought that he heard, a peculiar sound when he fired, and he would +have sworn that he hit the mark--the striking of the bullet was not +drowned in the uproar and he would never forget the sound of that +impact. He rounded Big Bend as if he were coming up to the judge's +stand, and when he struck the upslant of the emerging trail he had made +a record. Cold sweat beaded his forehead and he was trembling from head +to foot when he again rode into the moonlight on the level plain, where +he tried to break another record. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +JOHNNY ARRIVES + +Meanwhile Hopalong and Red quarrelled petulantly and damned the erring +Johnny with enthusiastic abandon, while Dent smiled at them and joked; +but his efforts at levity made little impression on the irate pair. Red, +true to his word, had turned up at the time set, in fact, he was half +an hour ahead of time, for which miracle he endeavored to take great and +disproportionate credit. Dent was secretly glad about the delay, for he +found his place lonesome. He thoroughly enjoyed the company of the two +gentlemen from the Bar-20, whose actions seemed to be governed by whims +and who appeared to lack all regard for consequences; and they squabbled +so refreshingly, and spent their money cheerfully. Now, if they would +only wind up the day by fighting! Such a finish would be joy indeed. And +speaking of fights, Dent was certain that Mr. Cassidy had been in one +recently, for his face bore marks that could only be acquired in that +way. + +After supper the two guests had relapsed into a silence which endured +only as long as the pleasing fulness. Then the squabbling began again, +growing worse until they fell silent from lack of adequate expression. +Finally Red once again spoke of their absent friend. + +"We oughtn't get peevish, Hoppy--he's only thirty-six hours late," +suggested Red. "An' he might be a week," he added thoughtfully, as his +mind ran back over a long list of Johnny's misdeeds. + +"Yes, he might. An' won't he have a fine cock-an'-bull tale to explain +it," growled Hopalong, reminiscently. "His excuses are the worst part of +it generally." + +"Eh, does he--make excuses?" asked Dent, mildly surprised. + +"He does to _us_," retorted Red savagely. "He's worse than a woman; take +him all in all an' you've got the toughest proposition that ever wore +pants. But he's a good feller, at that." + +"Well, you've got a lot of nerve, you have!" retorted Hopalong. "You +don't want to say anything about the Kid--if there's anybody that can +beat him in being late an' acting the fool generally, it's you. An' +what's more, you know it!" + +Red wheeled to reply, but was interrupted by a sudden uproar outside, +fluent swearing coming towards the house. The door opened with a bang, +admitting a white-faced, big-eyed man with one leg jammed through the +box he had landed on in dismounting. + +"Gimme a drink, quick!" he shouted wildly, dragging the box over to +the bar with a cheerful disregard for chairs and other temporary +obstructions. "Gimme a drink!" he reiterated. + +"Give you six hops in the neck!" yelled Red, missing and almost sitting +down because of the enthusiasm he had put into his effort. Johnny +side-stepped and ducked, and as he straightened up to ask for whys +and wherefores, Red's eyes opened wide and he paused in his further +intentions to stare at the apparition. + +"Sick?" queried Hopalong, who was frightened. + +"Gimme that drink!" demanded Johnny feverishly, and when he had it he +leaned against the bar and mopped his face with a trembling hand. + +"What's the matter with you, anyhow?" asked Red, with deep anxiety. + +"Yes; for God's sake, what's happened to you?" demanded Hopalong. + +Johnny breathed deeply and threw back his shoulders as if to shake off +a weight. "Fellers, I had a cougar soft-footing after me in that +dark canyon, my cayuse ran away on a two-foot ledge up the +wall,_--an'--I--saw--a--ghost_!" + +There was a respectful silence. Johnny, waiting a reasonable length of +time for replies and exclamations, flushed a bit and repeated his +frank and candid statement, adding a few adjectives to it. "_A real, +screeching, flying ghost_! An' I'm going _home_, an' I'm going to _stay_ +there. I ain't never coming back no more, not for anything. Damn this +border country, _anyhow_!" + +The silence continued, whereupon Johnny grew properly indignant. "You +act like I told you it was going to rain! Why don't you say something? +Didn't you hear what I said, you fools!" he asked pugnaciously. "Are you +in the habit of having a thing like that told you? Why don't you show +some interest, you dod-blasted, thick-skulled wooden-heads?" + +Red looked at Hopalong, Hopalong looked at Red, and then they both +looked at Dent, whose eyes were fixed in a stare on Johnny. + +"Huh!" snorted Hopalong, warily arising. "Was that all?" he asked, +nodding at Red, who also arose and began to move cautiously toward their +erring friend. "Didn't you see no more'n one ghost? Anybody that can see +one ghost, an' no more, is wrong somewhere. Now, stop, an' think; didn't +you see _two_?" He was advancing carefully while he talked, and Red was +now behind the man who saw one ghost. + +"Why, you--" there was a sudden flurry and Johnny's words were cut short +in the melee. + +"Good, Red! Ouch!" shouted Hopalong. "Look out! Got any rope, Dent? +Well, hurry up: there ain't no telling what he'll do if he's loose. The +mescal they sells down in this country ain't liquor--it's poison," he +panted. "An' he can't even stand whiskey!" + +Finding the rope was easier than finding a place to put it, and the +unequal battle raged across the room and into the next, where it sounded +as if the house were falling down. Johnny's voice was shrill and full of +vexation and his words were extremely impolite and lacked censoring. +His feet appeared to be numerous and growing rapidly, judging from the +amount of territory they covered and defended, and Red joyfully kicked +Hopalong in the melee, which in this instance also stands for stomach; +Red always took great pains to do more than his share in a scrimmage. +Dent hovered on the flanks, his hands full of rope, and begged with +great earnestness to be allowed to apply it to parts of Johnny's +thrashing anatomy. But as the flanks continued to change with +bewildering swiftness he begged in vain, and began to make suggestions +and give advice pleasing to the three combatants. Dent knew just how +it should be done, and was generous with the knowledge until Johnny +zealously planted five knuckles on his one good eye, when the engagement +became general. + +The table skidded through the door on one leg and caromed off the bar at +a graceful angle, collecting three chairs and one sand-box cuspidor on +the way. The box on Johnny's leg had long since departed, as Hopalong's +shin could testify. One chair dissolved unity and distributed itself +lavishly over the room, while the bed shrunk silently and folded itself +on top of Dent, who bucked it up and down with burning zeal and finally +had sense enough to crawl from under it. He immediately celebrated his +liberation by getting a strangle hold on two legs, one of which happened +to be the personal property of Hopalong Cassidy; and the battle raged on +a lower plane. Red raised one hand as he carefully traced a neck to its +own proper head and then his steel fingers opened and swooped down and +shut off the dialect. Hopalong pushed Dent off him and managed to catch +Johnny's flaying arm on the third attempt, while Dent made tentative +sorties against Johnny's spurred boots. + +"Phew! Can he fight like that when he's sober?" reverently asked +Dent, seeing how close his fingers could come to his gaudy eye without +touching it. "I won't be able to see at all in an hour," he added, +gloomily. + +Hopalong, seated on Johnny's chest, soberly made reply as he tenderly +flirted with a raw shin. "It's the mescal. I'm going to slip some of +that stuff into Pete's cayuse some of these days," he promised, happy +with a new idea. Pete Wilson had no sense of humor. + +"That ghost was plumb lucky," grunted Red, "an' so was the sea-captain," +he finished as an afterthought, limping off toward the bar, slowly and +painfully followed by his disfigured companions. "One drink; then to +bed." + +After Red had departed, Hopalong and Dent smoked a while and then, +knocking the ashes out of his pipe, Hopalong arose. "An' yet, Dent, +there are people that believe in ghosts," he remarked, with a vast and +settled contempt. + +Dent gave critical scrutiny to the scratched bar for a moment. "Well, +the Greasers all say there _is_ a ghost in the San Miguel, though I +never saw it. But some of them have seen it, an' no Greasers ride that +trail no more." + +"Huh!" snorted Hopalong. "Some Greasers must have filled the Kid up on +ghosts while he was filling hisself up on mescal. Ghosts? R-a-t-s!" + +"It shows itself only to Greasers, an' then only on Friday nights," +explained Dent, thoughtfully. This was Friday night. Others had seen +that ghost, but they were all Mexicans; now that a "white" man of +Johnny's undisputed calibre had been so honored Dent's skepticism +wavered and he had something to think about for days to come. True, +Johnny was not a Greaser; but even ghosts might make mistakes once in a +while. + +Hopalong laughed, dismissing the subject from his mind as being beneath +further comment. "Well, we won't argue--I'm too tired. An' I'm sorry you +got that eye, Dent." + +"Oh, that's all right," hastily assured the store-keeper, smiling +faintly. "I was just spoiling for a fight, an' now I've had it. Feels +sort of good. Yes, first thing in the morning--breakfast'll be ready +soon as you are. Good-night." + +But the proprietor couldn't sleep. Finally he arose and tiptoed into +the room where Johnny lay wrapped in the sleep of the exhausted. After +cautious and critical inspection, which was made hard because of his +damaged eye, he tiptoed back to his bunk, shaking his head slowly. "He +wasn't drunk," he muttered. "He saw that ghost all right; an' I'll bet +everything I've got on it!" + + + +At daybreak three quarrelling punchers rode homeward and after a +monotonous journey arrived at the bunk house and reported. It took +them two nights adequately to describe their experiences to an envious +audience. The morning after the telling of the ghost story things began +to happen. Red starting it by erecting a sign. + + +NOTISE--NO GHOSTS ALOWED + + +An exuberant handful of the outfit watched him drive the last nail and +step back to admire his work, and the running fire of comment covered +all degrees of humor, and promised much hilarity in the future at the +expense of the only man on the Bar-20 who had seen a ghost. + +In a week Johnny and his acute vision had become a bye-word in that part +of the country and his friends had made it a practice to stop him and +gravely discuss spirit manifestations of all kinds. He had thrashed Wood +Wright and been thrashed by Sandy Lucas in two beautiful and memorable +fights and was only waiting to recover from the last affair before +having the matter out with Rich Finn. These facts were beginning to have +the effect he strove for; though Cowan still sold a new concoction of +gin, brandy, and whiskey which he called "Flying Ghost," and which he +proudly guaranteed would show more ghosts per drink than any liquor +south of the Rio Grande--and some of his patrons were eager to back up +his claims with real money. + +This was the condition of affairs when Hopalong Cassidy strolled into +Cowan's and forgot his thirst in the story being told by a strange +Mexican. It was Johnny's ghost, without a doubt, and when he had +carelessly asked a few questions he was convinced that Johnny had really +seen something. On the way home he cogitated upon it and two points +challenged his intelligence with renewed insistence: the ghost showed +itself only on Friday, and then only to "Greasers." His suspicious mind +would not rest until he had reviewed the question from all sides, and +his opinion was that there was something more than spiritual about the +ghost of the San Miguel--and a cold, practical reason for it. + +When he rode into the corral at the ranch he saw that another sign had +been put on the corral wall. He had destroyed the first, speaking his +mind in full at the time. He swept his gloved hand upward with a rush, +tore the flimsy board from its fastenings, broke it to pieces across +his saddle, and tossed the fragments from him. He was angry, for he had +warned the outfit that they were carrying the joke too far, that Johnny +was giving way to hysterical rage more frequently, and might easily do +something that they all would regret. And he felt sorry for the Kid; he +knew what Johnny's feelings were and he made up his mind to start a few +fights himself if the persecution did not cease. When he stepped into +the bunk house and faced his friends they listened to a three-minute +speech that made them squirm, and as he finished talking the deep voice +of the foreman endorsed the promises he had just heard made, for Buck +had entered the gallery without being noticed. The joke had come to an +end. + +When Johnny rode in that evening he was surprised to find Hopalong +waiting for him a short distance from the corral and he replied to his +friend's gesture by riding over to him. "What's up now?" he asked. + +"Come along with me. I want to talk to you for a few minutes," and +Hopalong led the way toward the open, followed by Johnny, who was more +or less suspicious. Finally Hopalong stopped, turned, and looked his +companion squarely in the eyes. "Kid, I'm in dead earnest. This ain't +no fool joke--now you tell me what that ghost looked like, how he acted, +an' all about it. I mean what I say, because now I know that you saw +_something_. If it wasn't a ghost it was made to look like one, anyhow. +Now go ahead." + +"I've told you a dozen times already," retorted Johnny, his face +flushing. "I've begged you to believe me an' told you that I wasn't +fooling. How do I know you ain't now? I'm not going to tell--" + +"Hold on; yes, you are. Yo're going to tell it slow, an' just like you +saw it," Hopalong interrupted hastily. "I know I've doubted it, but who +wouldn't! Wait a minute--I've done a heap of thinking in the past few +days an' I know that you saw a ghost. Now, everybody knows that there +ain't no such thing as ghosts; then what was it you saw? There's a game +on, Kid, an' it's a dandy; an' you an' me are going to bust it up an' +get the laugh on the whole blasted crowd, from Buck to Cowan." + +Johnny's suspicions left him with a rush, for his old Hoppy was one man +in a thousand, and when he spoke like that, with such sharp decision, +Johnny knew what it meant. Hopalong listened intently and when the short +account was finished he put out his hand and smiled. + +"We're the fools, Kid; not you. There's something crooked going on in +that canyon, an' I know it! But keep mum about what we think." + +Johnny lost his grouch so suddenly and beamed upon his friends with such +a superior air that they began to worry about what was in the wind. +The suspense wore on them, for with Hopalong's assistance, Johnny might +spring some game on them all that would more than pay up for the fun +they had enjoyed at his expense; and the longer the suspense lasted the +worse it became. They never lost sight of him while he was around and +Hopalong had to endure the same surveillance; and it was no uncommon +thing to see small groups of the anxious men engaged in deep discussion. +When they found that Buck must have been told and noticed his smile was +as fixed as Hopalong's or Johnny's, they were certain that trouble of +some nature was in store for them. + +Several weeks later Buck Peters drew rein and waited for a stranger to +join him. + +"Howdy. Is yore name Peters?" asked the newcomer, sizing him up in one +trained glance. + +"Well, who are you, an' what do you want?" + +"I want to see Peters, Buck Peters. That yore name?" + +"Yes; what of it?" + +"My name's Fox. Old Jim Lane gave me a message for you," and the +stranger spoke earnestly to some length. "There; that's the situation. +We've got to have shrewd men that they don't know an' won't suspect. +Lane wants to pay a couple of yore men their wages for a month or two. +He said he was shore he could count on you to help him out." + +"He's right; he can. I don't forget favors. I've got a couple of men +that--there's one of 'em now. Hey, Hoppy! Whoop-e, Hoppy!" + +Mr. Cassidy arrived quickly, listened eagerly, named Red and Johnny +to accompany him, overruled his companions by insisting that if Johnny +didn't go the whole thing was off, carried his point, and galloped off +to find the lucky two, his eyes gleaming with anticipation and joy. Fox +laughed, thanked the foreman, and rode on his way north; and that night +three cow-punchers rode south, all strangely elated. And the friends who +watched them go heaved signs of relief, for the reprisals evidently were +to be postponed for a while. + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE GHOST OF THE SAN MIGUEL + +Juan Alvarez had not been in San Felippe since Dick Martin left, which +meant for over a month. Martin was down the river looking for a man who +did not wish to be found; and some said that Martin cared nothing about +international boundaries when he wanted any one real bad. And there was +that geologist who wore blue glasses and was always puttering around in +the canyon and hammering chips of rock off the steep walls; he must have +slipped one noon, because his body was found on a flat boulder at the +edge of the stream. Manuel had found it and wanted to be paid for his +trouble in bringing it to town--but Manuel was a fool. Who, indeed, +would pay good money for a dead Gringo, especially after he was dead? +And there were three cow-punchers holding a herd of 6-X cattle up +north, an hour or so from the town. They wanted to buy steers from Senor +Rodriguez, but said that he was a robber and threatened to cut his ears +off. Cannot a man name his own price? These cow-punchers liked to get +drunk and gallop through San Felippe, shooting like crazy men. They got +drunk one Friday night and went shouting and singing to the Big Bend in +the canyon to see the flying ghost, and they called it names and fired +off their pistols and sang loudly; and for a week they insulted all the +Mexicans in town by calling them liars and cowards. Was it the fault +of any one that the ghost would show itself only to Mexicans? Oh, these +Gringos--might the good God punish them for their sins! + +Thus the peons complained to the padre while they kept one eye open for +the advent of the rowdy cow-punchers, who always wanted to drink, and +then to fight with some one, either with fists or pistols. Why should +any one fight with them, especially with such things as fists? + +"Let them fight among themselves. What have you to do with heretics?" +reproved the good padre, who ostracized himself from the pleasant parts +of the wide world that he might make easier the life and struggles of +his ignorant flock. "God is not hasty--He will punish in His own way +when it best suits Him. And perhaps you will profit much if you are more +regular to mass instead of wasting the cool hours of the morning in bed. +Think well of what I have said, my children." + +But the cow-punchers were not punished and they swore they would not +leave the vicinity until they had all the steers they wanted, and at +their own price. And one night their herd stampeded and was checked +only in time to save it from going over the canyon's edge. And for some +reason Sanchez kept out of the padre's way and did not go to confess +when he should, for the padre spoke plainly and set hard obligations for +penance. + +The cow-punchers swore that it had been done by some Mexican and said +that they would come to town some day soon and kill three Mexicans +unless the guilty one was found and brought to them. Then the padre +mounted his donkey and went out to them to argue and they finally told +him they would wait for two weeks. But the padre was too smart for +them--he sent a messenger to find Senor Dick Martin, and in one week +Senor Martin came to town. There was no fight. The Gringo rowdies were +cowards at heart and Martin could not shoot them down in cold blood, +and he could not arrest them, because he was not a policeman or even a +sheriff, but only a revenue officer, which was a most foolish law. But +he watched them all the time and wanted them to fight--there was no more +shooting or drunkenness in town. Nobody wanted to fight Senor Martin, +for he was a great man. He even went so far as to talk with them about +it and wave his arms, but they were as frightened at him as little +children might be. + +So the Mexicans gossiped and exulted, some of the bolder of them even +swaggering out to the Gringo camp; but Martin drove them back again, +saying he would not allow them to bully men who could not retaliate, +which was right and fair. Then, afraid to go away and leave the mad +cow-punchers so close to town, he ordered them to drive their herd +farther east, nearer to Dent's store, and never to return to San Felippe +unless they needed the padre; and they obeyed him after a long talk. +After seeing them settled in their new camp, which was on Monday +morning, Martin returned to San Felippe and told the padre where he +could be found and then rode away again. San Felippe celebrated for +a whole day and two Mexican babies were christened after Senor Dick +Martin, which was honor all around. + +Friday, when Manuel went over to spy upon the cow-punchers in their new +camp, he found them so drunk that they could not stand, and before he +crept away at dusk two of them were sleeping like gorged snakes and the +third was firing off his revolver at random, which diversion had not a +little to do with Manuel's departure. + +When Manuel crept away he headed straight for a crevice near the wall of +the canyon at the Big Bend and, reaching it, looked all around and then +dropped into it. Not long thereafter another Mexican appeared, this one +from San Felippe, and also disappeared into the crevice. As darkness +fell Manuel reappeared with something under his jacket and a moment +later a light gleamed at the base of a slender sapling which grew on the +edge of the canyon wall and leaned out over the abyss. It was cleverly +placed, for only at one spot on the Mexican side of the distant Rio +Grande could it be seen--the high canyon walls farther down screened it +from any one who might be riding on the north bank of the river. In a +moment there came an answering twinkle and Manuel, covering the lantern +with a blanket, was swallowed up in the darkness of the crevice. + +Without a trace of emotion, Dick Martin, from his place of concealment, +caught the answering gleam, and he watched Manuel disappear. "Cassidy +was right in every point; Lewis or Sayre couldn't 'a' done this +better. I hope he won't be late," he muttered, and settled himself more +comfortably to wait for the cue for action, smiling as the moon poked +its rim over the low hills to his right. "This means promotion for me, +or I've very much mistaken," he chuckled. + +Hopalong was not late and as soon as it was dark he and his companions +stole into the canyon on foot. They felt their way down the east end of +the trail, not far from Dent's, toward the Big Bend, which they gained +without a mishap. Johnny was sent up to a place they had noticed and +marked in their memories at the time they had rioted down to defy the +ghost. He was to stop any one trying to escape up the San Felippe end +of the canyon trail, and his confidence in his ability to do this was +exuberant. Hopalong and Red slowly and laboriously worked their way down +the perilous path leading to the bottom, forded the stream, and crept up +the other side, where they found cover not far from a wide crack in the +canyon wall. Upon the occasion of their hilarious visit to the Big Bend +they had observed that a faint trail led to the crack and had cogitated +deeply upon this fact. + +Three hours passed before the watchers in and above the canyon were +rewarded by anything further; and then a light flickered far down the +canyon and close to the edge of the stream. Immediately strange noises +were heard and suddenly the ghost swung out of the opening in the rock +wall near Hopalong and Red and danced above their heads, while the +shrieking which had so frightened Johnny and his horse filled the canyon +with uproar and sent Martin wriggling nearer to the crevice which he had +watched so closely. The noise soon ceased, but the ghost danced on, and +the sound of men stumbling along the rocky ledge bordering the stream +became more and more audible. Four were in the party and they all +carried bulky loads on their backs and grunted with pleasure and +relief as they entered the entrance in the wall. When the last man had +disappeared and the noise of their passing had died out, Johnny's rope +sailed up and out, and the ghost swayed violently and then began to sag +in an unaccountable manner towards the trail as the owner of the rope +hitched its free end around a spur of rock and made it fast. Then he +feverishly scrambled down the steep path to join his friends. + +Hopalong and Red, wriggling on their stomachs towards the crack in the +wall, paused in amazement and stared across the canyon; and then the +former chuckled and whispered something in his companion's ear. "That +was why he lugged his rope along! He's just idiot enough to want +a souveneer an' plaything at the risk of losing the game. Come +on!--they'll tumble to what's up an' get away if we don't hustle." + +When the two punchers cautiously and noiselessly entered the crack +and felt their way along its rock walls they heard fluent swearing in +Spanish by the man who worked the ghost, and who could not understand +its sudden ambition to take root. It was made painfully clear to him +a moment later when a pair of brawny hands reached out of the darkness +behind him and encircled his throat a hand's width below his gleaming +cigarette. Another pair used cords with deftness and despatch and he was +left by himself to browse upon the gag when all his senses returned. + +Hopalong, with Red inconsiderately stepping on his heels, felt his +way along the wall of the crevice, alert and silent, his Colt nestling +comfortably in his right hand, while the left was pushed out ahead +feeling for trouble. As they worked farther away from the canyon distant +voices could be heard and they forthwith proceeded even more cautiously. +When Hopalong came to the second bend in the narrow passage he peered +around it and stopped so abruptly that Red's nose almost spread itself +over the back of his head. Red's indignation was all the harder to bear +because it must bloom unheard. + +In a huge, irregular room, whose roof could not be discerned in the dim +light of the few candles, five men were resting in various attitudes +of ease as they discussed the events of the night and tried to compute +their profits. They were secure, for Manuel, having by this time put +away the ghost and megaphone, was on duty at the mouth of the crevice, +and he was as sensitive to danger as a hound. + +"The risk is not much and the profits are large," remarked Pedro, in +Spanish. "We must burn a candle for the repose of the soul of Carlos +Martinez. It is he that made our plans safe. And a candle is not much +when we--" + +"Hands up!" said a quiet voice, followed by grim commands. The Mexicans +jumped as if stung by a scorpion, and could just discern two of the +rowdy gringo cow-punchers in the heavy shadows of the opposite wall, but +the candle light glinted in rings on the muzzles of their six-shooters. +Had Manuel betrayed them? But they had little time or inclination for +cogitation regarding Manuel. + +"Easy there!" shouted Red, and Pedro's hand stopped when half way to his +chest. Pedro was a gambler by nature, but the odds were too heavy and he +sullenly obeyed the command. + +"Stick 'em up! Stick 'em up! Higher yet, an' hold 'em there," purred +a soft voice from the other end of the room, where Dick Martin smiled +pleasantly upon them and wondered if there was anything on earth harder +to pound good common sense into than a "Greaser's" head. His gun was +blue, but it was, nevertheless, the most prominent part of his make-up, +even if the light was poor. + +One of the Mexicans reached involuntarily for his gun, for he was a +gun-man by training; while his companions felt for their knives, deadly +weapons in a melee. Martin, crying, "Watch 'em, Cassidy!" side-stepped +and lunged forward with the speed and skill of a boxer, and his hard +left hand landed on the point of Juan Alvarez' jaw with a force and +precision not to be withstood. But to make more certain that the +Mexican would not take part in any possible demonstration of resistance, +Martin's right circled up in a short half-hook and stopped against +Juan's short ribs. Martin weighed one hundred and eighty pounds and +packed no fat on his well-knit frame. + +At this moment a two-legged cyclone burst upon the scene in the person +of Johnny Nelson, whose rage had been worked up almost to the weeping +point because he had lost so much time hunting for the crevice where +it was not. Seeing Juan fall, and the glint of knives, he started in +to clean things up, yelling, "I'm a ghost! I'm a ghost! Take 'em alive! +Take 'em alive!" + +Hopalong and Red felt that they were in his way, and taking care of one +Mexican between them, while Martin knocked out another, they watched the +exits,--for anything was possible in such a chaotic mix-up,--and gave +Johnny plenty of room. The latter paused, triumphant, looked around to +see if he had missed any, and then advanced upon his friends and shoved +his jaw up close to Hopalong's face. "Tried to lose me, didn't you! +Wouldn't wait for me! For seven cents an' a toothbrush I'd give you +what's left!" + +Red grabbed him by trousers and collar and heaved him into the +passageway. "Go out an' play with yore souveneer or we'll step on you!" + +Johnny sat up, rubbed certain portions of his anatomy, and grinned. "Oh, +I've got it, all right! I'm shore going to take that ghost home an' make +some of them fools _eat_ it!" + +Martin smiled as he finished tying the last prisoner. "That's right, +Nelson; you've got it on 'em this time. Make 'em chew it." + + + +CHAPTER VI + +HOPALONG LOSES A HORSE + +For a month after their return from the San Miguel, Hopalong and his +companions worked with renewed zest, and told and retold the other +members of the outfit of their unusual experiences near the Mexican +border. Word had come up to them that Martin had secured the conviction +of the smugglers and was in line for immediate advancement. No one on +the range had the heart to meet Johnny Nelson, for Johnny carried with +him a piece of the ghost, and became pugnacious if his once-jeering +friends and acquaintances refused to nibble on it. Cowan still sold his +remarkable drink, but he had yielded to Johnny's persuasive methods and +now called it "Nelson's Pet." + +One bright day the outfit started rounding up a small herd of +three-year-olds, which Buck had sold, and by the end of the week the +herd was complete and ready for the drive. This took two weeks and when +Hopalong led his drive outfit through Hoyt's Corners on its homeward +journey he felt the pull of the town of Grant, some miles distant, and +it was too strong to be resisted. Flinging a word of explanation to the +nearest puncher, he turned to lope away, when Red's voice checked him. +Red wanted to delay his home-coming for a day or two and attend to a +purely personal matter at a ranch lying to the west. Hopalong, knowing +the reason for Red's wish, grinned and told him to go, and not to +propose until he had thought the matter over very carefully. Red's reply +was characteristic, and after arranging a rendezvous and naming the +time, the two separated and rode toward their destinations, while the +rest of the outfit kept on towards their ranch. + +"A man owes something to _all_ his friends," Hopalong mused. In this +case he owed a return game of draw poker to certain of Grant's leading +citizens, and he liked to pay his obligations when opportunity offered. + +It was mid-afternoon when he topped a rise and saw below him the handful +of shacks making up the town. A look of pleased interest flickered +across his face as he noticed a patched and dirty tent pitched close up +to the nearest shack. "Show!" he exclaimed. "Now, ain't that luck! +I'll shore take it in. If it's a circus, mebby it has a trick mule to +ride--I'll never forget that one up in Kansas City," he grinned. But +almost instantly a doubt arose and tempered the grin. "Huh! Mebby it's +the branding chute of some gospel sharp." As he drew near he focussed +his eyes on the canvas and found that his fears were justified. + +"All Are Welcome," he spelled out slowly. "Shore they are!" he muttered. +"I never nowhere saw such hard-working, all-embracing rustlers as them +fellers. They'll stick their iron on anything from a wobbly calf or +dying dogie to a staggering-with-age mosshead, an' shout 'tally one' +with the same joy. Well, not for mine, _this_ trip. I'm going to graze +loose an' buck-jump all I wants. Anyhow, if I did let him brand me I'd +only backslide in a week," and Hopalong pressed his pony to a more rapid +gait as two men emerged from the tent. "There's the sky-pilot now," he +muttered--"an' there's Dave!" he shouted, waving his arm. "Oh, Dave! +Dave!" + +Dave Wilkes looked up, and his grin of delight threatened to engulf +his ears. "Hullo, Cassidy! Glad to see you! Keep right on for the +store--I'll be with you in a minute." When David told his companion the +visitor's name the evangelist held up his hand eloquently and spoke. + +"I know all about him!" he exclaimed sorrowfully. "If I can lead him out +of his wickedness I will rest content though I save no more souls this +fortnight. Is it all true?" + +"Huh! What true?" + +"All that I have heard about him." + +"Well, I dunno what you've heard," replied Dave, with grave caution, +"but I reckon it might be if it didn't cover lying, stealing, cowardice, +an' such coyote traits. He's shore a holy terror with a short gun, all +right, but lemme tell you something mebby you _ain't_ heard: There ain't +a square man in this part of the country that won't feel some honored +an' proud to be called a friend of Hopalong Cassidy. Them's the +sentiments rampaging hereabouts. I ain't denying that he's gone an' +killed off a lot of men first an' last--but the only trouble there is +that he didn't get 'em soon enough. They all had lived too blamed long +when they went an' stacked up agin him an' that lightning short gun of +hissn. But, say, if yo're calculating to tackle him at yore game, lead +him gentle--don't push none. He comes to life real sudden when he's +shoved. So long; see you later, mebby." + +The revivalist looked after him and mused, "I hope I was informed wrong, +but this much I have to be thankful for: The wickedness of most of these +men, these over-grown children, is manly, stalwart, and open; few of +them are vicious or contemptible. Their one great curse is drink." + +When Hopalong entered the store he was vociferously welcomed by two +men, and the proprietor joining them, the circle was complete. When the +conversation threatened to repeat itself cards were brought and the next +two hours passed very rapidly. They were expensive hours to the Bar-20 +puncher, who finally arose with an apologetic grin and slapped his thigh +significantly. + +"Well, you've got it all; I'm busted wide open, except for a measly +dollar, an' I shore hopes you don't want that," he laughed. "You play a +whole lot better than you did the last time I was here. I've got to move +along. I'm going east an' see Wallace an' from there I've got to meet +Red an' ride home with him. But you come an' see us when you can--it's +_me_ that wants revenge this time." + +"Huh; you'll be wanting it worse than ever if we do," smiled Dave. + +"Say, Hoppy," advised Tom Lawrence, "better drop in an' hear the +sky-pilot's palaver before you go. It'll do you a whole lot of good, an' +it can't do you no harm, anyhow." + +"You going?" asked Hopalong suspiciously. + +"Can't--got too much work to do," quickly responded Tom, his brother Art +nodding happy confirmation. + +"Huh; I reckoned so!" snorted Hopalong sarcastically, as he shook hands +all around. "You all know where to find us--drop in an' see us when you +get down our way," he invited. + +"Sorry you can't stay longer, Cassidy," remarked Dave, as his friend +mounted. "But come up again soon--an' be shore to tell all the boys we +was asking for 'em," he called. + +Considering the speed with which Hopalong started for Wallace's, he +might have been expecting a relay of "quarter" horses to keep it going, +but he pulled up short at the tent. Such inconsistency is trying to the +temper of the best-mannered horse, and this particular animal was not in +the least good-mannered, wherefore its rider was obliged to soothe its +resentment in his own peculiar way, listening meanwhile to the loud and +impassioned voice of the evangelist haranguing his small audience. + +"I wonder," said Hopalong, glancing through the door, "if them friends +of mine reckon I'm any ascared to go in that tent? Huh, I'll just show +'em anyhow!" whereupon he dismounted, flung the reins over his horse's +head, and strode through the doorway. + +The nearest seat, a bench made by placing a bottom board of the +evangelist's wagon across two up-ended boxes, was close enough to the +exhorter and he dropped into it and glanced carelessly at his nearest +neighbor. The carelessness went out of his bearing as his eyes fastened +themselves in a stare on the man's neck-kerchief. Hopalong was hardened +to awful sights and at his best was not an artistic soul, but the +villainous riot of fiery crimson, gaudy yellow, and pugnacious and +domineering green which flaunted defiance and insolence from the +stranger's neck caused his breath to hang over one count and then come +double strong at the next exhalation. "Gee whiz!" he whispered. + +The stranger slowly turned his head and looked coldly upon the impudent +disturber of his reverent reflections. "Meaning?" he questioned, with +an upward slant in his voice. The neck-kerchief seemed to grow suddenly +malignant and about to spring. "Meaning?" repeated the other with great +insolence, while his eyes looked a challenge. + +While Hopalong's eyes left the scrambled color-insult and tried to +banish the horrible after-image, his mind groped for the rules of +etiquette governing free fist fights in gospel tents, and while he +hesitated as to whether he should dent the classic profile of the +color-bearer or just twist his nose as a sign of displeasure, the voice +of the evangelist arose to a roar and thundered out. Hopalong ducked +instinctively. + +"--Stop! Stop before it is too late, before death takes you in the +wallow of your sins! Repent and gain salvation--" + +Hopalong felt relieved, but his face retained its expression of +childlike innocence even after he realized that he was not being +personally addressed; and he glanced around. It took him ninety-seven +seconds to see everything there was to be seen, and his eyes were drawn +irresistibly back to the stranger's kerchief. "Awful! Awful thing for +a drinking man to wear, or run up against unexpectedly!" he muttered, +blinking. "Worse than snakes," he added thoughtfully. + +"Look ahere, you--" began the owner of the offensive decoration, if it +might be called such, but the evangelist drowned his voice in another +flight of eloquence. + +"--_Peace_! _Peace_ is the message of the Lord to His children," roared +the voice from the upturned soap box, and when the speaker turned and +looked in the direction of the two men-with-a-difference he found them +sitting up very straight and apparently drinking in his words with great +relish; whereupon he felt that he was making gratifying progress toward +the salvation of their spotted souls. He was very glad, indeed, that he +had been so grievously misinformed about the personal attributes of one +Hopalong Cassidy,--glad and thankful. + +"Death cometh as a thief in the night," the voice went on. "Think of +the friends who have gone before; who were well one minute and gone the +next! And it must come to all of us, to all of us, to me and to you--" + +The man with the afflicted neck started rocking the bench. + +"Something is coming to somebody purty soon," murmured Hopalong. He +began to sidle over towards his neighbor, his near hand doubled up into +a huge knot of protuberant knuckles and white-streaked fingers; but as +he was about to deliver his hint that he was greatly displeased at the +antics of the bench, a sob came to his ears. Turning his head swiftly, +he caught sight of the stranger's face, and sorrow was marked so +strongly upon it that the sight made Hopalong gape. His hand opened +slowly and he cautiously sidled back again, disgruntled, puzzled, +and vexed at himself for having strayed into a game where he was so +hopelessly at sea. He thought it all over carefully and then gave it up +as being too deep for him to solve. But he determined one thing: He was +not going to leave before the other man did, anyhow. + +"An' if I catch that howling kerchief outside," he muttered, smacking +his lips with satisfaction at what was in store for it. His visit +to Wallace was not very important, anyway, and it could wait on more +important events. + +"There sits a sinner!" thundered out the exhorter, and Hopalong looked +stealthily around for a sight of a villain. "God only has the right to +punish. 'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord, and whosoever takes the +law into his own hands, whosoever takes human life, defies the Creator. +There sits a man who has killed his fellow-men, his brothers! Are you +not a sinner, _Cassidy_?" + +Cassidy jumped clear of the bench as he jerked his head around and +stared over the suddenly outstretched arm and pointing finger of the +speaker and into his accusing eyes. + +"Answer me! Are you not a sinner?" + +Hopalong stood up, confused, bewildered, and then his suspended thoughts +stirred and formed. "Guilty, I reckon, an' in the first degree. But they +didn't get no more'n what was coming to 'em, no more'n they earned. An' +that's straight!" + +"How do you know they didn't? How do you know they earned it? How do you +_know_?" demanded the evangelist, who was delighted with the chance to +argue with a sinner. He had great faith in "personal contact," and +his was the assurance of training, of the man well rehearsed and fully +prepared. And he knew that if he should be pinned into a corner by logic +and asked for _his_ proofs, that he could squirm out easily and take the +offensive again by appealing to faith, the last word in sophistry, and a +greater and more powerful weapon than intelligence. _This_ was his game, +and it was fixed; he could not lose if he could arouse enough interest +in a man to hold him to the end of the argument. He continued to drive, +to crowd. "What right have you to think so? What right have you to judge +them? Have you divine insight? Are you inspired? 'Judge not lest ye be +judged,' saith the Lord, and you _dare_ to fly in the face of that great +command!" + +"You've got me picking the pea in _this_ game, all right," responded +Hopalong, dropping back on the bench. "But lemme tell you one thing; +Command or no command, devine or not devine, I know when a man has +lived too long, an' when he's going to try to get me. An' all the gospel +sharps south of heaven can't stop me from handing a thief what he's +earned. Go on with the show, but count me out." + +While the evangelist warmed to the attack, vaguely realizing that he +had made a mistake in not heeding Dave Wilkes' tip, Hopalong became +conscious of a sense of relief stealing over him and he looked around +wonderingly for the cause. The man with the kerchief had "folded his +tents" and departed; and Hopalong, heaving a sigh of satisfaction, +settled himself more comfortably and gave real attention to the +discourse, although he did not reply to the warm and eloquent man on the +soap box. Suddenly he sat up with a start as he remembered that he had a +long and hard ride before him if he wished to see Wallace, and arising, +strode towards the exit, his chest up and his chin thrust out. The only +reply he made to the excited and personal remarks of the revivalist was +to stop at the door and drop his last dollar into the yeast box before +passing out. + +For a moment he stood still and pondered, his head too full of what +he had heard to notice that anything out of the ordinary had happened. +Although the evangelist had adopted the wrong method he had gained +more than he knew and Hopalong had something to take home with him and +wrestle out for himself in spare moments; that is, he would have had +but for one thing: As he slowly looked around for his horse he came to +himself with a sharp jerk, and hot profanity routed the germ of religion +incubating in his soul. His horse was missing! Here was a pretty mess, +he thought savagely; and then his expression of anger and perplexity +gave way to a flickering grin as the probable solution came to his mind. + +"By the Lord, I never saw such a bunch to play jokes," he laughed. +"Won't they never grow up? They was watching me when I went inside an' +sneaked up and rustled my cayuse. Well, I'll get back again without much +trouble, all right. They ought to know me better by this time." + +"Hey, stranger!" he called to a man who was riding past, "have you seen +anything of a skinny roan cayuse fifteen han's high, white stocking on +the near foreleg, an' a bandage on the off fetlock, Bar-20 being the +brand?" + +The stranger, knowing the grinning inquisitor by sight, suspected that +a joke was being played: he also knew Dave Wilkes and that gentleman's +friends. He chuckled and determined to help it along a little. "Shore +did, pardner; saw a man leading him real cautious. Was he yourn?" + +"Oh, no; not at all. He belonged to my great-great-grandfather, who left +him to my second cousin. You see, I borrowed it," he grinned, making his +way leisurely towards the general store, kept by his friend Dave, the +joker. "Funny how everybody likes a joke," he muttered, opening the door +of the store. "Hey, Dave," he called. + +Mr. Wilkes wheeled suddenly and stared. "Why, I thought you was half-way +to Wallace's by now!" he exclaimed. "Did you come back to lose that lone +dollar?" + +"Oh, I lost that too. But yo're a real smart cuss, now ain't you?" +queried Hopalong, his eyes twinkling and his face wreathed with good +humor. "An' how innocent you act, too. Thought you could scare me, +didn't you? Thought I'd go tearing 'round this fool town like a house +afire, hey? Well, I reckon you can guess again. Now, I'm owning up that +the joke's on me, so you hand over my cayuse, an' I'll make up for lost +time." + +Dave Wilkes' face expressed several things, but surprise was dominant. +"Why, I ain't even seen yore ol' cayuse, you chump! Last time I saw it +you was on him, going like the devil. Did somebody pull you off it an' +take it away from you?" he demanded with great sarcasm. "Is somebody +abusing you?" + +Hopalong bit into a generous handful of dried apricots, chewed +complacently for a moment, and replied: "'At's aw right; I want my +cayuse." Swallowing hastily, he continued: "I want it, an' I've come to +the right place for it, too. Hand it over, David." + +"Dod blast it, I tell you I ain't got it!" retorted Dave, beginning +to suspect that something was radically wrong. "I ain't seen it, an' I +don't know nothing about it." + +Hopalong wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Well, then, Tom or Art does, +all right." + +"No, they don't, neither; I watched 'em leave an' they rode straight +out of town, an' went the other way, same as they allus do." Dave was +getting irritated. "Look here, you; are you joking or drunk, or both, or +is that animule of yourn really missing?" + +"Huh!" snorted Hopalong, trying some new prunes. "'Ese prunes er purty +good," he mumbled, in grave congratulation. "I don' get prunes like 'ese +very of'n." + +"I reckon you don't! They ought to be good! Cost me thirty cents a +half-pound," Dave retorted with asperity, anxiously shifting his feet. +It didn't take much of a loss to wipe out a day's profits with him. + +"An' I don't reckon you paid none too much for 'em, at that," Mr. +Cassidy responded, nodding his head in comprehension. "Ain't no worms in +'em, is there?" + +"Shore there is!" exploded Dave. "Plumb full of 'em!" + +"You don't say! Hardly know whether to take a chance with the worms or +try the apricots. Ain't no worms in them, anyhow. But when am I going to +get my cayuse? I've got a long way to go, an' delay is costly--how much +did you say these yaller fellers cost?" he asked significantly, trying +another handful of apricots. + +"On the dead level, cross my heart an' hope to die, but I ain't seen +yore cayuse since you left here," earnestly replied Dave. "If you don't +know where it is, then somebody went an' lifted it. It looks like it's +up to you to do some hunting, 'stead of cultivating a belly-ache at _my_ +expense. _I_ ain't trying to keep you, God knows!" + +Hopalong glanced out of the window as he considered, and saw, entering +the saloon, the same puncher who had confessed to seeing his horse. "Hey +Dave; wait a minute!" and he dashed out of the store and made good time +towards the liquid refreshment parlor. Dave promptly nailed the covers +on the boxes of prunes and apricots and leaned innocently against the +cracker box to await results, thinking hard all the while. It looked +like a plain case of horse-stealing to him. + +"Stranger," cried Hopalong, bouncing into the bar-room, "where did you +see that cayuse of mine?" + +"The ancient relic of yore family was aheading towards Hoyt's Corners," +the stranger replied, grinning broadly. "It's a long walk. Have +something before you starts?" + +"Damn the walk! Who was riding him?" + +"Nobody at all." + +"What do you mean?" + +"He wasn't being rid when I saw him." + +"Hang it, man; that cayuse was stole from me!" + +"Somewhat in the nature of a calamity, now ain't it?" smiled the +stranger, enjoying his contributions to the success of the joke. + +"You bet yore life it is!" shouted Hopalong, growing red and then pale. +"You tell me who was leading him, understand?" + +"Well, I couldn't see his face, honest I couldn't," replied the +stranger. "Every time I tried it I was shore blinded by the most awful +an' horrible neck-kerchief I've ever had the hard luck to lay my eyes +on. Of all the drunks I ever met, them there colors was--Hey! Wait a +minute!" he shouted at Hopalong's back. + +"Dave, gimme yore cayuse an' a rifle--quick!" cried Hopalong from +the middle of the street as he ran towards the store. "Hypocrite +son-of-a-hoss-thief went an' run mine off. Might 'a' knowed nobody but a +thief could wear such a kerchief!" + +"I'm with you!" shouted Dave, leading the way on the run towards the +corral in the rear of his store. + +"No, you ain't with me, neither!" replied Hopalong, deftly saddling. +"This ain't no plain hoss-thief case--it's a private grudge. See you +later, mebby," and he was pacing a cloud of dust towards the outskirts +of the town. + +Dave looked after him. "Well, that feller has shore got a big start on +you, but he can't keep ahead of that Doll of mine for very long. She can +out-run anything in these parts. 'Sides, Cassidy's cayuse looked sort +of done up, while mine's as fresh as a bird. That thief will get what's +coming to him, all right." + + + +CHAPTER VII + +MR. CASSIDY COGITATES + +While Hopalong tried to find his horse, Ben Ferris pushed forward, +circling steadily to the east and away from the direction of Hoyt's +corners, which was as much a menace to his health and happiness as the +town of Grant, twenty miles to his rear. If he could have been certain +that no danger was nearer to him than these two towns, he would have +felt vastly relieved, even if his horse was not fresh. During the last +hour he had not urged it as hard as he had in the beginning of his +flight and it had dropped to a walk for minutes at a stretch. This was +not because he felt that he had plenty of time, but for the reason that +he understood horses and could not afford to exhaust his mount so early +in the chase. He glanced back from time to time as if fearing what might +be on his trail, and well he might fear. According to all the traditions +and customs of the range, both of which he knew well, somewhere between +him and Grant was a posse of hard-riding cow-punchers, all anxious and +eager for a glance at him over their sights. In his mind's eye he +could see them, silent, grim, tenacious, reeling off the miles on that +distance-eating lope. He had stolen a horse, and that meant death if +they caught him. He loosened his gaudy kerchief and gulped in fear, +not of what pursued, but of what was miles before him. His own saddle, +strapped behind the one he sat in, bumped against him with each reach of +the horse and had already made his back sore--but he must endure it for +a time. Never in all his life had minutes been so precious. + +Another hour passed and the horse seemed to be doing well, much better +than he had hoped--he would rest it for a few minutes at the next water +while he drank his fill and changed the bumping saddle. As he rounded a +turn and entered a heavily grassed valley he saw a stream close at hand +and, leaping off, fixed the saddle first. As he knelt to drink he caught +a movement and jumped up to catch his mount. Time after time he almost +touched it, but it evaded him and kept up the game, cropping a mouthful +of grass during each respite. + +"All right!" he muttered as he let it eat. "I'll get my drink while you +eat an' then I'll get you!" + +He knelt by the stream again and drank long and deep. As he paused for +breath something made him leap up and to one side, reaching for his +Colt at the same instant. His fingers found only leather and he swore +fiercely as he remembered--he had sold the Colt for food and kept the +rifle for defence. As he faced the rear a horseman rounded the turn and +the fugitive, wheeling, dashed for the stolen horse forty yards away, +where his rifle lay in its saddle sheath. But an angry command and the +sharp hum of a bullet fired in front of him checked his flight and he +stopped short and swore. + +"I reckon the jig's up," remarked Mr. Cassidy, balancing the up-raised +Colt with nicety and indifference. + +"Yea; I reckon so," sullenly replied the other, tears running into his +eyes. + +"Well, I'm damned!" snorted Hopalong with cutting contempt. "Crying like +a li'l baby! Got nerve enough to steal my cayuse, an' then go an' +beller like a lost calf when I catch you. Yo're a fine specimen of a +hoss-thief, I don't think!" + +"Yo're a liar!" retorted the other, clenching his fists and growing red. + +Mr. Cassidy's mouth opened and then clicked shut as his Colt swung down. +But he did not shoot; something inside of him held his trigger finger +and he swore instead. The idea of a man stealing his horse, being caught +red-handed and unarmed, and still possessed of sufficient courage to +call his captor a name never tolerated or overlooked in that country! +And the idea that he, Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20, could not shoot +such a thief! "Damn that sky pilot! He's shore gone an' made me loco," +he muttered, savagely, and then addressed his prisoner. "Oh, you ain't +crying? Wind got in yore eyes, I reckon, an' sort of made 'em leak a +little--that it? Or mebby them unholy green roses an' yaller grass on +that blasted fool neck-kerchief of yourn are too much for _your_ eyes, +too!" + +"Look ahere!" snapped the man on the ground, stepping forward, one fist +upraised. "I came nigh onto licking you this noon in that gospel sharp's +tent for making fun of that scarf, an' I'll do it yet if you get any +smart about it! You mind yore own business an' close yore fool eyes if +you don't like my clothes!" + +"Say! You ain't no cry-baby after all. Hanged if I even think yo're a +real genuine hoss-thief!" enthused Mr. Cassidy. "You act like a twin +brother; but what the devil ever made you steal that cayuse, anyhow?" + +"An' that's none of yore business, neither; but I'll tell you, just the +same," replied the thief. "I had to have it; that's why. I'll fight +you rough-an'-tumble to see if I keep it, or if you take the cayuse an' +shoot me besides: is it a go?" + +Hopalong stared at him and then a grin struggled for life, got it, and +spread slowly over his tanned countenance. "Yore gall is refreshing! +Damned if it ain't worse than the scarf. Here, you tell me what made you +take a chance like stealing a cayuse this noon--I'm getting to like you, +bad as you are, hanged if I ain't!" + +"Oh, what's the use?" demanded the other, tears again coming into his +eyes. "You'll think I'm lying an' trying to crawl out--an' I won't do +neither." + +"_I_ didn't say _you_ was a liar," replied Hopalong. "It was the other +way about. Reckon you can try me, anyhow; can't you?" + +"Yes; I s'pose so," responded the other, slowly, and in a milder tone +of voice. "An' when I called you that I was mad and desperate. I was +hasty--you see, my wife's dying, or dead, over in Winchester. I was +riding hard to get to her before it was too late when my cayuse stepped +into a hole just the other side of Grant--you know what happened. I shot +the animal, stripped off my saddle an' hoofed it to town, an' dropped +into that gospel dealer's layout to see if he could make me feel any +better--which he could not. I just couldn't stand his palaver about +death an' slipped out. I was going to lay for you an' lick you for the +way you acted about this scarf--had to do something or go loco. But when +I got outside there was yore cayuse, all saddled an' ready to go. I +just up an' threw my saddle on it, followed suit with myself an' was +ten miles out of town before I realized just what I'd done. But the +realizing part of it didn't make no difference to me--I'd 'a' done +it just the same if I had stopped to think it over. That's flat, an' +straight. I've got to get to that li'l woman as quick as I can, an' I'd +steal all the cayuses in the whole damned country if they'd do me any +good. That's all of it--take it or leave it. I put it up to you. That's +yore cayuse, but you ain't going to get it without fighting me for it! +If you shoot me down without giving me a chance, all right! I'll cut a +throat for that wore-out bronc!" + +Hopalong was buried in thought and came to himself just in time to cover +the other and stop him not six feet away. "Just a minute, before you +make me shoot you! I want to think about it." + +"Damn that gun!" swore the fugitive, nervously shifting his feet and +preparing to spring. "We'd 'a' been fighting by this time if it wasn't +for that!" + +"You stand still or I'll blow you apart," retorted Hopalong, grimly. "A +man's got a right to think, ain't he? An' if I had somebody here to mind +these guns so you couldn't sneak 'em on me I'd fight you so blamed quick +that you'd be licked before you knew you was at it. But we ain't going +to fight--_stand still_! You ain't got no show at all when yo're dead!" + +"Then you gimme that cayuse--my God, man! Do you know the hell I've been +through for the last two days? Got the word up at Daly's Crossing an' +ain't slept since. I'll go loco if the strain lasts much longer! She +asking for me, begging to see me: an' me, like a damned idiot, wasting +time out here talking to another. Ride with me, behind me--it's only +forty miles more--tie me to the saddle an' blow me to pieces if you find +I'm lying--do anything you wants; but let me get to Winchester before +dark!" + +Hopalong was watching him closely and at the end of the other's outburst +threw back his head. "I reckon I'm a plain fool, a jackass; but I don't +care. I'll rope that cayuse for you. You come along to save time," +Hopalong ordered, spurring forward. His borrowed rope sailed out, +tightened, and in a moment he was working at the saddle. "Here, you; I'm +going to swamp mounts with you--this one is fresher an' faster." He had +his own saddle off and the other on in record time, and stepped back. +"There; don't stand there like a fool--wake up an' hustle! I might +change my mind--that's the way to move! Gimme that neck-kerchief for +a souveneer, an' get out. Send that cayuse back to Dave Wilkes, at +Grant--it's hissn. Don't thank me; just gimme that scarf an' ride like +the devil." + +The other, already mounted, tore the kerchief from his throat and handed +it quickly to his benefactor. "If you ever want a man to take you out of +hell, send to Winchester for Ben Ferris--that's me. So long!" + +Mr. Cassidy sat on his saddle where he had dropped it after making the +exchange and looked after the galloping horseman, and when a distant +rise had shut him from sight, turned his eyes on the scarf in his hand +and cogitated. Finally, with a long-drawn sigh he arose, and, placing +the scarf on the ground, caught and saddled his horse. Riding gloomily +back to where the riot of color fluttered on the grass he drew his Colt +and sent six bullets through it with a great amount of satisfaction. Not +content with the damage he had inflicted, he leaned over and swooped +it up. Riding further he also swooped up a stone and tied the kerchief +around it, and then stood up in his stirrups and drew back his arm with +critical judgment. He sat quietly for a time after the gaudy missile had +disappeared into the stream and then, wheeling, cantered away. But he +did not return to the town of Grant--he lacked the nerve to face Dave +Wilkes and tell his childish and improbable story. He would ride on and +meet Red as they had agreed; a letter would do for Mr. Wilkes, and after +he had broken the shock in that manner he could pay him a personal visit +sometime soon. Dave would never believe the story and when it was told +Hopalong wanted to have the value of the horse in his trousers pocket. +Of course, Ben Ferris _might_ have told the truth and he might return +the horse according to directions. Hopalong emerged from his reverie +long enough to appeal to his mount: + +"Bronc, I've been thinking: am I or am I not a jackass?" + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +RED BRINGS TROUBLE + +After a night spent on the plain and a cigarette for his breakfast, +Hopalong, grouchy and hungry, rode slowly to the place appointed for his +meeting with Red, but Mr. Connors was over two hours late. It was now +mid-forenoon and Hopalong occupied his time for a while by riding out +fancy designs on the sand; but he soon tired of this makeshift diversion +and grew petulant. Red's tardiness was all the worse because the erring +party to the agreement had turned in his saddle at Hoyt's Corners and +loosed a flippant and entirely uncalled-for remark about his friend's +ideas regarding appointments. + +"Well, that red-headed Romeo is shore late this time," Hopalong +muttered. "Why don't he find a girl closer to home, anyhow? Thank the +Lord I ain't got no use for shell games of any kind. Here I am, without +anything to eat an' no prospects of anything, sitting up on this locoed +layout like a sore thumb, an' can't move without hitting myself! An' +it'll be late to-day before I can get any grub, too. Oh, well," he +sighed, "I ain't in love, so things might be a whole lot worse with me. +An' he ain't in love, neither, only he won't listen to reason. He gets +mad an' calls me a sage hen an' says I'm stuck on myself because some +fool told me I had brains." + +He laughed as he pictured the object of his friend's affections. "Huh; +anybody that got one good, square look at her wouldn't ever accuse him +of having brains. But he'll forget her in a month. That was the life of +his last hobbling fit an' it was the worst he ever had." + +Grinning at his friend's peculiarly human characteristics he leaned back +in the saddle and felt for tobacco and papers. As he finished pouring +the chopped alfalfa into the paper he glanced up and saw a mounted man +top the sky-line of the distant hills and shoot down the slope at full +speed. + +"I knowed it: started three hours late an' now he's trying to make it up +in the last mile," Hopalong muttered, dexterously spreading the tobacco +along the groove and quickly rolling the cigarette. Lighting it he +looked up again and saw that the horseman was wildly waving a sombrero. + +"Huh! Wigwagging for forgiveness," laughed the man who waited. "Old +son-of-a-gun, I'd wait a week if I had some grub, an' he knows it. +Couldn't get mad at him if I tried." + +Mr. Connors' antics now became frantic and he shouted something at the +top of his voice. His friend spurred his mount. "Come on, bronc; wake +up. His girl said 'yes' an' now he wants me to get him out of his +trouble." Whereupon he jogged forward. "What's that?" he shouted, +sitting up very straight. "What's that?" + +Red energetically swept the sombrero behind him and pointed to the rear. +"War-whoops! W-a-r w-h-o-o-p-s! Injuns, you chump!" Mr. Connors appeared +to be mildly exasperated. + +"Yes?" sarcastically rejoined Mr. Cassidy in his throat, and then +shouted in reply: "Love an' liquor don't mix very well in you. Wake up! +Come out of it!" + +"That's straight--I mean it!" cried Mr. Connors, close enough now to +save the remainder of his lungs. "It's a bunch of young bucks on their +first war-trail, I reckon. 'T ain't Geronimo, all right; I wouldn't be +here now if it was. Three of 'em chased me an' the two that are left are +coming hot-foot somewhere the other side of them hills. They act sort of +mad, too." + +"Mebby they ain't acting at all," cheerily replied his companion. "An' +then that's the way you got that graze?" pointing to a bloody furrow on +Mr. Connors' cheek. "But just the same it looks like the trail left by a +woman's finger nail." + +"Finger nail nothing," retorted Mr. Connors, flushing a little. "But, +for God's sake, are you going to sit here like a wart on a dead dog +an' wait for 'em?" he demanded with a rising inflection. "Do you reckon +yo're running a dance, or a party, or something like that?" + +"How many?" placidly inquired Mr. Cassidy, gazing intently towards the +high sky-line of the distant hills. + +"Two--an' I won't tell you again, neither!" snapped the owner of the +furrowed cheek. "The others are 'way behind now--but we're standing +_still_!" + +"Why didn't you say there was others?" reproved Hopalong. "Naturally +I didn't see no use of getting all het up just because two sprouted +papooses feel like crowding us a bit; it wouldn't be none of _our_ +funeral, would it?" and the indignant Mr. Cassidy hurriedly dismounted +and hid his horse in a nearby chaparral and returned to his companion at +a run. + +"Red, gimme yore Winchester an' then hustle on for a ways, have an +accident, fall off yore cayuse, an' act scared to death, if you know +how. It's that little trick Buck told us about, an' it shore ought to +work fine here. We'll see if two infant feather-dusters can lick the +Bar-20. Get a-going!" + +They traded rifles, Hopalong taking the repeater in place of the +single-shot gun he carried, and Red departed as bidden, his face +gradually breaking into an enthusiastic grin as he ruminated upon the +plan. "Level-headed old cuss; he's a wonder when it comes to planning or +fighting. An' lucky,--well, I reckon!" + +Hopalong ran forward for a short distance and slid down the steep bank +of a narrow arroyo and waited, the repeater thrust out through the dense +fringe of grass and shrubs which bordered the edge. When settled to his +complete satisfaction and certain that he was effectually screened from +the sight of any one in front of him, he arose on his toes and looked +around for his companion, and laughed. Mr. Connors was bending very +dejectedly apparently over his prostrate horse, but in reality was +swearing heartily at the ignorant quadruped because it strove with might +and main to get its master's foot off its head so it could arise. The +man in the arroyo turned again and watched the hills and it was not +long before he saw two Indians burst into view over the crest and gallop +towards his friend. They were not to be blamed because they did not +know the pursued had joined a friend, for the second trail was yet some +distance in front of them. + +"Pair of budding warriors, all right; an' awful important. Somebody must +'a' told _them_ they had brains," Mr. Cassidy muttered. "They're just +at the age when they knows it all an' have to go 'round raising hell all +the time. Wonder when they jumped the reservation." + +The Indians, seeing Mr. Connors arguing with his prostrate horse, and +taking it for granted that he was not stopping for pleasure or to view +the scenery, let out a yell and dashed ahead at grater speed, at the +same time separating so as to encircle him and attack him front and rear +at the same time. They had a great amount of respect for cowboys. + +This manoeuvre was entirely unexpected and clashed violently with Mr. +Cassidy's plan of procedure, so two irate punchers swore heartily at +their rank stupidity in not counting on it. Of course everybody that +knew anything at all about such warfare knew that they would do just +such a thing, which made it all the more bitter. But Red had cultivated +the habit of thinking quickly and he saw at once that the remedy +lay with him; he astonished the exultant savages by straddling his +disgruntled horse as it scrambled to its feet and galloping away from +them, bearing slightly to the south, because he wished to lure his +pursuers to ride closer to his anxious and eager friend. + +This action was a success, for the yelling warriors, slowing perceptibly +because of their natural astonishment at the resurrection and speed of +an animal regarded as dead or useless, spurred on again, drawing closer +together, and along the chord of the arc made by Mr. Connors' trail. +Evidently the fool white man was either crazy or had original and +startling ideas about the way to rest a horse when hard pressed, which +pleased them much, since he had lost so much time. The pleasures of the +war-trail would be vastly greater if all white men had similar ideas. + +Hopalong, the light of fighting burning strong in his eyes, watched them +sweep nearer and nearer, splendid examples of their type and seeming to +be a part of their mounts. Then two shots rang out in quick succession +and a cloud of pungent smoke arose lazily from the edge of the arroyo +as the warriors fell from their mounts not sixty yards from the hidden +marksman. + +Mr. Connors' rifle spat fire once to make assurance doubly sure and he +hastily rejoined his friend as that person climbed out of the arroyo. + +"Huh! They must have been half-breeds!" snorted Red in great disgust, +watching his friend shed sand from his clothes. "I allus opined that +'Paches was too blamed slick to bite on a game like that." + +"Well, they are purty 'lusive animals, 'Paches; but there are +exceptions," replied Hopalong, smiling at the success of their scheme. +"Them two ain't 'Paches--they're the exceptions. But let me tell you +that's a good game, just the same. It is as long as they don't see the +second trail in time. Didn't Buck and Skinny get two that way?" + +"Yes, I reckon so. But what'll we do now? What's the next play?" asked +Red, hurriedly, his eyes searching the sky-line of the hills. "The rest +of the coyotes will be here purty soon, an' they'll be madder than ever +now. An' you better gimme back that gun, too." + +"Take yore old gun--who wants the blamed thing, anyhow?" Hopalong +demanded, throwing the weapon at his friend as he ran to bring up the +hidden horse. When he returned he grinned pleasantly. "Why, we'll go on +like we was greased for calamity, that's what we'll do. Did you reckon +we was going to play leap-frog around here an' wait for the rest of them +paint-shops, like a blamed fool pair of idiots?" + +"I didn't know what _you_ might do, remembering how you acted when I met +you," retorted Red, shifting his cartridge belt so the empty loops were +behind and out of the way. "But I shore knowed what we ought to do, all +right." + +"Well, mebby you also know how many's headed this way; do you?" + +"You've got me stumped there; but there's a round dozen, anyway," Red +replied. "You see, the three that chased me were out scouting ahead of +the main bunch; an' I didn't have no time to take no blasted census." + +"Then we've got to hit the home trail, an' hit it hard. Wind up that +four-laigged excuse of yourn, an' take my dust," Hopalong responded, +leading the way. "If we can get home there'll be a lot of disgusted +braves hitting the high spots on the back trail trying to find a way +out. Buck an' the rest of the boys will be a whole lot pleased, too. We +can muster thirty men in two hours if we gets to Buckskin, an' that's +twenty more than we'll need." + +"Tell you one thing, Hoppy; we can get as far as Powers' old ranch +house, an' that's shore," replied Red, thoughtfully. + +"Yes!" exploded his companion in scorn and pity. "That old sieve of a +shack ain't good enough for _me_ to die in, no matter what you think +about it. Why, it's as full of holes as a stiff hat in a melee. Yo're on +the wrong trail; think again." + +Mr. Cassidy objected not because he believed that Powers' old ranch +house was unworthy of serious consideration as a place of refuge and +defence, but for the reason that he wished to reach Buckskin so his +friends might all get in on the treat. Times were very dull on the +ranch, and this was an occasion far too precious to let slip by. +Besides, he then would have the pleasure of leading his friends against +the enemy and battling on even terms. If he sought shelter he and +Red would have to fight on the defensive, which was a game he hated +cordially because it put him in a relatively subordinate position and +thereby hurt his pride. + +"Let me tell you that it's a whole lot better than thin air with a +hard-working circle around us--an' you know what that means," retorted +Mr. Connors. "But if you don't want to take a chance in the shack, why +mebby we can make Wallace's, or the Cross-O-Cross. That is, if we don't +get turned out of our way." + +"We don't head for no Cross-O-Cross or Wallace's," rejoined his friend +with emphasis, "an' we won't waste no time in Powers' shack, neither; +we'll push right through as hard as we can go for Buckskin. Let them +fellers find their own hunting--our outfit comes first. An' besides +that'll mean a detour in a country fine for ambushes. We'd never get +through." + +"Well, have it yore own way, then!" snapped Red. "You allus was a +hard-headed old mule, anyhow." In his heart Red knew that Hopalong was +right about Wallace's and the Cross-O-Cross. + +Some time after the two punchers had quitted the scene of their trap, +several Apaches loped up, read the story of the tragedy at a glance, and +galloped on in pursuit. They had left the reservation a fortnight before +under the able leadership of that veteran of many war-trails--Black +Bear. Their leader, chafing at inaction and sick of the monotony of +reservation life, had yielded to the entreaties of a score of restless +young men and slipped away at their head, eager for the joys of raiding +and plundering. But instead of stealing horses and murdering isolated +whites as they had expected, they met with heavy repulses and were +now without the mind of their leader. They had fled from one defeat to +another and twice had barely eluded the cavalry which pursued them. Now +two more of their dwindling force were dead and another had been found +but an hour before. Rage and ferocity seethed in each savage heart and +they determined to get the puncher they had chased, and that other whose +trail they now saw for the first time. They would place at least one +victory against the string of their defeats, and at any cost. Whips rose +and fell and the war-party shot forward in a compact group, two scouts +thrown ahead to feel the way. + +Red and Hopalong rode on rejoicing, for there were three less Apaches +loose in the Southwest for the inhabitants to swear about and fear, and +there was an excellent chance of more to follow. The Southwest had +no toleration for the Government's policy of dealing with Indians and +derived a great amount of satisfaction every time an Apache was killed. +It still clung to the time-honored belief that the only good Indian +was a dead one. Mr. Cassidy voiced his elation and then rubbed an +empty stomach in vain regret,--when a bullet shrilled past his head, +so unexpectedly as to cause him to duck instinctively and then glance +apologetically at his red-haired friend; and both spurred their mounts +to greater speed. Next Mr. Connors grabbed frantically at his perforated +sombrero and grew petulant and loquacious. + +"Both them shots was lucky, Hoppy; the feller that fired at me did it +on the dead run; but that won't help us none if one of 'em connects +with us. You gimme that Sharps--got to show 'em that they're taking big +chances crowding us this way." He took the heavy rifle and turned in the +saddle. "It's an even thousand, if it's a yard. He don't look very big, +can't hardly tell him from his cayuse; an' the wind's puffy. Why don't +you dirty or rust this gun? The sun glitters all along the barrel. Well, +here goes." + +"Missed by a mile," reproved Hopalong, who would have been stunned by +such a thing as a hit under the circumstances, even if his good-shooting +friend had made it. + +"Yes! Missed the coyote I aimed for, but I got the cayuse of his off +pardner; see it?" + +"Talk about luck!" + +"That's all right: it takes blamed good shooting to miss that close in +this case. Look! It's slowed 'em up a bit, an' that's about all I hoped +to do. Bet they think I'm a real, shore-'nuff medicine-man. Now gimme +another cartridge." + +"I will not; no use wasting lead at this range. We'll need all the +cartridges we got before we get out of this hole. You can't do nothing +without stopping--an' that takes time." + +"Then I'll stop! The blazes with the time! Gimme another, d'ye hear?" + +Mr. Cassidy heard, complied, and stopped beside his companion, who was +very intent upon the matter at hand. It took some figuring to make a +hit when the range was so great and the sun so blinding and the wind +so capricious. He lowered the rifle and peered through the smoke at the +confusion he had caused by dropping the nearest warrior. He was said to +be the best rifle shot in the Southwest, which means a great deal, +and his enemies did not deny it. But since the Sharps shot a special +cartridge and was reliable up to the limit of its sight gauge, a matter +of eighteen hundred yards, he did not regard the hit as anything worthy +of especial mention. Not so his friend, who grinned joyously and loosed +his admiration. + +"Yo're a shore wonder with that gun, Red! Why don't you lose that +repeater an' get a gun like mine? Lord, if I could use a rifle like you, +I wouldn't have that gun of yourn for a gift. Just look at what you did +with it! Please get one like it." + +"I'm plumb satisfied with the repeater," replied Red. "I don't miss very +often at eight hundred with it, an' that's long enough range for most +anybody. An' if I do miss, I can send another that won't, an' right on +the tail of the first, too." + +"Ah, the devil! You make me disgusted with yore fool talk about that +carbine!" snapped his companion, and the subject was dropped. + +The merits of their respective rifles had always been a bone of +contention between them and one well chewed, at that. Red was very well +satisfied with his Winchester, and he was a good judge. + +"You did stop 'em a little," asserted Mr. Cassidy some time later when +he looked back. "You stopped 'em coming straight, but they're spreading +out to work up around us. Now, if we had good cayuses instead of these +wooden wonders, we could run away from 'em dead easy, draw their best +mounted warriors to the front an' then close with 'em. Good thing their +cayuses are well tired out, for as it is we've got to make a stand purty +soon. Gee! They don't like you, Red; they're calling you names in the +sign language. Just look at 'em cuss you!" + +"How much water have you got?" inquired his friend with anxiety. + +"Canteen plumb full. How're you fixed?" + +"I got the same, less one drink. That gives us enough for a couple of +days with some to spare, if we're careful," Mr. Connors replied. +New Mexican canteens are built on generous lines and are known as +life-preservers. + +"Look at that glory-hunter go!" exclaimed Red, watching a brave who was +riding half a mile to their right and rapidly coming abreast of them. +"Wonder how he got over there without us seeing him." + +"Here; stop him!" suggested Hopalong, holding out his Sharps. "We can't +let him get ahead of us and lay in ambush--that's what he's playing to +do." + +"My gun's good, and better, for me, at this range; but you know, I can't +hit a jack-rabbit going over rough country as fast as that feller is," +replied his companion, standing up in his stirrups and firing. + +"Huh! Never touched him! But he's edging off a-plenty. See him cuss you. +What's he calling you, anyhow?" + +"Aw, shut up! How the devil do _I_ know? I don't talk with my arms." + +"Are you superstitious, Red?" + +"No! Shut up!" + +"Well, I am. See that feller over there? If he gets in front of us it's +a shore sign that somebody's going to get hurt. He'll have plenty of +time to get cover an' pick us off as we come up." + +"Don't you worry--his cayuse is deader'n ours. They must 'a' been +pushing on purty hard the last few days. See it stumble?--what'd I tell +you!" + +"Yes; but they're gaining on us slow but shore. We've got to make a +stand purty soon--how much further do you reckon that infernal shack is, +anyhow?" Hopalong asked sharply. + +"'T ain't fur off--see it any minute now." + +"Here," remarked Hopalong, holding out his rifle, "stencil yore mark on +his hide; catch him just as he strikes the top of that little rise." + +"Ain't got time--that shack can't be much further." + +And it wasn't, for as they galloped over a rise they saw, half a mile +ahead of them, an adobe building in poor state of preservation. It was +Powers' old ranch house, and as they neared it, they saw that there was +no doubt about the holes. + +"Told you it was a sieve," grunted Hopalong, swinging in on the tail of +his companion. "Not worth a hang for anything," he added bitterly. + +"It'll answer, all right," retorted Red grimly. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +MR. HOLDEN DROPS IN + +Mr. Cassidy dismounted and viewed the building with open disgust, +walking around it to see what held it up, and when he finally realized +that it was self-supporting his astonishment was profound. Undoubtedly +there were shacks in the United States in worse condition, but he hoped +their number was small. Of course he knew that the building was small. +Of course he knew that the building would make a very good place of +defence, but for the sake of argument he called to his companion and +urged that they be satisfied with what defence they could extemporize in +the open. Mr. Connors hotly and hastily dissented as he led the horses +into the building, and straightway the subject was arbitrated with much +feeling and snappy eloquence. Finally Hopalong thought that Red was a +chump, and said so out loud, whereat Red said unpleasant things about +his good friend's pedigree, attributes, intelligence, et al., even going +so far as to prognosticate his friend's place of eternal abode. The +remarks were fast getting to be somewhat personal in tenor when a whine +in the air swept up the scale to a vicious shriek as it passed between +them, dropped rapidly to a whine again and quickly died out in the +distance, a flat report coming to their ears a few seconds later. +Invisible bees seemed to be winging through the air, the angry and +venomous droning becoming more pronounced each passing moment, and the +irregular cracking of rifles grew louder rapidly. An angry _s-p-a-t!_ +told of where a stone behind them had launched the ricochet which hurled +skyward with a wheezing scream. A handful of 'dobe dust sprang from the +corner of the building and sifted down upon them, causing Red to cough. + +"That ricochet was a Sharps!" exclaimed Hopalong, and they lost no time +in getting into the building, where the discussion was renewed as they +prepared for the final struggle. Red grunted his cheerful approval, for +now he was out of the blazing sun and where he could better appreciate +the musical tones of the flying bullets; but his companion, slamming +shut the door and propping it with a fallen roof-beam, grumbled and +finally gave rein to his rancor by sneering at the Winchester. + +"It shore gets me that after all I have said about that gun you will +tote it around with you and force yoreself into a suicide's grave," +quoth Mr. Cassidy, with exuberant pugnacity. "I ain't in no way +objecting to the suicide part of it, but I can't see that it's at all +fair to drag _me_ onto the edge of everlasting eternity with you. If you +ain't got no regard for yore own life you shore ought to think a little +about yore friend's. Now you'll waste all yore cartridges an' then +come snooping around me to borrow my gun. Why don't you lose the damned +thing?" + +"What I pack ain't none of yore business, which same I'll uphold," +retorted Mr. Connors, at last able to make himself heard. "You get over +on yore own side an' use yore Colt; I've wondered a whole lot where you +ever got the sense to use a Colt--_I_ wouldn't be a heap surprised to +see you toting a pearl-handled .22, like the kids use. Now you 'tend to +yore grave-yard aspirants, an' lemme do the same with mine." + +"The Lord knows I've stood a whole lot from you because you just can't +help being foolish, but I've got plumb weary and sick of it. It stops +right here or you won't get no 'Paches," snorted Hopalong, peering +intently through a hole in the shack. The more they squabbled the better +they liked it,--controversies had become so common that they were +merely a habit; and they served to take the grimness out of desperate +situations. + +"Aw, you can't lick one side of me," averred Red loftily. "You never did +stop anybody that was anything," he jeered as he fired from his window. +"Why, you couldn't even hit the bottom of the Grand Canyon if you leaned +over the edge." + +"You could, if you leaned too far, you red-headed wart of a half-breed," +snapped Hopalong. "But how about the Joneses, Tarantula Charley, Slim +Travennes, an' all the rest? How about them, hey?" + +"Huh! You couldn't 'a' got any of 'em if they had been sober," and Mr. +Connors shook so with mirth that the Indian at whom he had fired got +away with a whole skin and cheerfully derided the marksman. "That 'Pache +shore reckons it was you shooting at him, I missed him so far. Now, you +shut up--I want to get some so we can go home. I don't want to stay out +here all night an' the next day as well," Red grumbled, his words dying +slowly in his throat as he voiced other thoughts. + +Hopalong caught sight of an Apache who moved cautiously through a +chaparral lying about nine hundred yards away. As long as the distant +enemy lay quietly he could not be discerned, but he was not content +with assured safety and took a chance. Hopalong raised his rifle to his +shoulder as the Indian fired and the latter's bullet, striking the +edge of the hole through which Mr. Cassidy peered, kicked up a generous +handful of dust, some of which found lodgment in that individual's eyes. + +"Oh! Oh! Oh! Wow!" yelled the unfortunate, dancing blindly around the +room in rage and pain, and dropping his rifle to grab at his eyes. "Oh! +Oh! Oh!" + +His companion wheeled like a flash and grabbed him as he stumbled past. +"Are you plugged bad, Hoppy? Where did they get you? Are you hit bad?" +and Red's heart was in his voice. + +"No, I ain't plugged bad!" mimicked Hopalong. "I ain't plugged at all!" +he blazed, kicking enthusiastically at his solicitous friend. "Get me +some water, you jackass! Don't stand there like a fool! I ain't going to +fall down. Don't you know my eyes are full of 'dobe?" + +Red, avoiding another kick, hastily complied, and as hastily left +Mr. Cassidy to wash out the dirt while he returned to his post by the +window. "Anybody'd think you was full of red-eye, the way you act," +muttered Red peevishly. + +Hopalong, rubbing his eyes of the dirt, went back to the hole in the +wall and looked out. "Hey, Red! Come over here an' spill that brave's +conceit. I can't keep my eyes open long enough to aim, an' it's a nice +shot, too. It'd serve him right if you got him!" + +Mr. Connors obeyed the summons and peered out cautiously. "I can't see +him, nohow; where is the coyote?" + +"Over there in that little chaparral; see him now? _There!_ See him +moving. Do you mean to tell me--" + +"Yep; I see him, all right. You watch," was the reply. "He's just over +nine hundred--where's yore Sharps?" He took the weapon, glanced at the +Buffington sight, which he found to be set right, and aimed carefully. + +Hopalong blinked through another hole as his friend fired and saw the +Indian flop down and crawl aimlessly about on hands and knees. "What's +he doing now, Red?" + +"Playing marbles, you chump; an' here goes for his agate," replied the +man with the Sharps, firing again. "There! Gee!" he exclaimed, as a +bullet hummed in through the window he had quitted for the moment, and +thudded into the wall, making the dry adobe fly. It had missed him by +only a few inches and he now crept along the floor to the rear of the +room and shoved his rifle out among the branches of a stunted mesquite +which grew before a fissure in the wall. "You keep away from that windy +for a minute, Hoppy," he warned as he waited. + +A terror-stricken lizard flashed out of the fissure and along the wall +where the roof had fallen in and flitted into a hole, while a fly buzzed +loudly and hovered persistently around Red's head, to the rage of that +individual. "Ah, ha!" he grunted, lowering the rifle and peering through +the smoke. A yell reached his ears and he forthwith returned to his +window, whistling softly. + +Evidently Mr. Cassidy's eyes were better and his temper sweeter, for he +hummed "Dixie" and then jumped to "Yankee Doodle," mixing the two +airs with careless impartiality, which was a sign that he was thinking +deeply. "Wonder what ever became of Powers, Red. Peculiar feller, he +was." + +"In jail, I reckon, if drink hasn't killed him." + +"Yes; I reckon so," and Mr. Cassidy continued his medley, which prompted +his friend quickly to announce his unqualified disapproval. + +"You can make more of a mess of them two songs than anybody I ever heard +murder 'em! _Shut up!_"--and the concert stopped, the vocalist venting +his feelings at an Indian, and killing the horse instead. + +"Did you get him?" queried Red. + +"Nope; but I got his cayuse," Hopalong replied, shoving a fresh +cartridge into the foul, greasy breech of the Sharps. "An' here's where +I get him--got to square up for my eyes some way," he muttered, firing. +"Missed! Now what do you think of that!" he exclaimed. + +"Better take my Winchester," suggested Red, in a matter-of-fact way, but +he chuckled softly and listened for the reply. + +"Aw, you go to the devil!" snapped Mr. Cassidy, firing again. "Whoop! +Got him that time!" + +"Where?" asked his companion, with strong suspicion. + +"None of yore business!" + +"Aw, darn it! Who spilled the water?" yelled Red, staring blankly at the +overturned canteen. + +"Pshaw! Reckon I did, Red," apologized his friend ruefully. "Now of all +the cussed luck!" + +"Oh, well; we've got another, an' you had to wash out yore eyes. Lucky +we each had one--_Holy smoke!_ It's most all gone! The top is loose!" + +Heartfelt profanity filled the room and the two disgusted punchers went +sullenly back to their posts. It was a calamity of no small magnitude, +for, while food could be dispensed with for a long time if necessary, +going without water was another question. It was as necessary as +cartridges. + +Then Hopalong laughed at the ludicrous side of the whole affair, thereby +revealing one of the characteristics which endeared him to his friends. +No matter how desperate a situation might be, he could always find in it +something at which to laugh. He laughed going into danger and coming out +of it, with a joke or a pleasantry always trembling on the end of his +tongue. + +"Red, did it ever strike you how cussed thirsty a feller gets just +as soon as he knows he can't have no drink? But it don't make much +difference, nohow. We'll get out of this little scrape just as we've +allus got out of trouble. There's some mad war-whoops outside that are +worse off than we are, because they are at the wrong end of yore gun. I +feel sort of sorry for 'em." + +"Yo're shore a happy idiot," grinned Red. "Hey! Listen!" + +Galloping was heard and Hopalong, running to the door, looked out +through a crack as sudden firing broke out around the rear of the shack, +and fell to pulling away the props, crying, "It's a puncher, Red; he's +riding this way! Come on an' help him in!" + +"He's a blamed fool to ride this way! I'm with you!" replied Red, +running to his side. + +Half a mile from the house, coming across the open space as fast as he +could urge his horse, rode a cowboy, and not far behind him raced about +a dozen Apaches, yelling and firing. + +Red picked up his companion's rifle, and steadying it against the +jamb of the door, fired, dropping one of the foremost of the pursuers. +Quickly reloading again, he fired and missed. The third shot struck +another horse, and then taking up his own gun he began to fire rapidly, +as rapidly as he could work the lever and yet make his shots tell. +Hopalong drew his Colt and ran back to watch the rear of the house, and +it was well that he did so, for an Apache in that direction, believing +that the trapped punchers were so busily engaged with the new +developments as to forget for the moment, sprinted towards the +back window; and he had gotten within twenty paces of the goal when +Hopalong's Colt cracked a protest. Seeing that the warrior was no longer +a combatant, Mr. Cassidy ran back to the door just as the stranger fell +from his horse and crawled past Red. The door slammed shut, the props +fell against it, and the two friends turned to the work of driving back +the second band, which, however, had given up all hope of rushing the +house in the face of Red's telling fire, and had sought cover instead. + +The stranger dragged himself to the canteens and drank what little water +remained, and then turned to watch the two men moving from place to +place, firing coolly and methodically. He thought he recognized one of +them from the descriptions he had heard, but he was not sure. + +"My name's Holden," he whispered hoarsely, but the cracking of the +rifles drowned his voice. During a lull he tried again. "My name's +Holden," he repeated weakly. "I'm from the Cross-O-Cross, an' can't get +back there again." + +"Mine's Cassidy, an' that's Connors, of the Bar-20. Are you hurt very +bad?" + +"No; not very bad," lied Holden, trying to smile. "Gee, but I'm glad I +fell in with you two fellers," he exclaimed. He was but little more than +a boy, and to him Hopalong Cassidy and Red Connors were names with which +to conjure. "But I'm plumb sorry I went an' brought you more trouble," +he added regretfully. + +"Oh, pshaw! We had it before you came--you needn't do no worrying about +that, Holden; besides, I reckon you couldn't help it," Hopalong grinned +facetiously. "But tell us how you came to mix up with that bunch," he +continued. + +Holden shuddered and hesitated a moment, his companions alertly +shifting from crack to crack, window to window, their rifles cracking at +intervals. They appeared to him to act as if they had done nothing else +all their lives but fight Indians from that shack, and he braced up a +little at their example of coolness. + +"It's an awful story, awful!" he began. "I was riding towards Hoyt's +Corners an' when I got about half way there I topped a rise an' saw a +nester's house about half a mile away. It wasn't there the last time I +rode that way, an' it looked so peaceful an' home-like that I stopped +an' looked at it a few minutes. I was just going to start again when +that war-party rode out of a barranca close to the house an' went +straight for it at top speed. It seemed like a dream, 'cause I thought +Apaches never got so far east. They don't, do they? I thought not--these +must 'a' got turned out of their way an' had to hustle for safety. +Well, it was all over purty quick. I saw 'em drag out two women +an'--an'--purty soon a man. He was fighting like fury, but he didn't +last long. Then they set fire to the house an' threw the man's body up +on the roof. I couldn't seem to move till the flames shot up, but then +I must 'a' went sort of loco, because I emptied my gun at 'em, which was +plumb foolish at that distance, for me. The next thing I knowed was that +half of 'em was coming my way as hard as they could ride, an' I lit +out instanter; an' here I am. I can't get that sight outen my head +nohow--it'll drive me loco!" he screamed, sobbing like a child from the +horror of it all. + +His auditors still moved around the room, growing more and more +vindictive all the while and more zealously endeavoring to create a +still greater deficit in one Apache war-party. They knew what he had +looked upon, for they themselves had become familiar with the work of +Apaches in Arizona. They could picture it vividly in all its devilish +horror. Neither of them paid any apparent attention to their companion, +for they could not spare the time, and, also, they believed it best to +let him fight out his own battles unassisted. + +Holden sobbed and muttered as the minutes dragged along, at times acting +so strangely as to draw a covert side-glance from one or both of the +Bar-20 punchers. Then Mr. Connors saw his boon companion suddenly lean +out of a window and immediately become the target for the hard-working +enemy. He swore angrily at the criminal recklessness of it. "Hey, you! +Come in out of that! Ain't you got no brains at all, you blasted idiot! +Don't you know that we need every gun?" + +"Yes; that's right. I sort of forgot," grinned the reckless one, obeying +with alacrity and looking sheepish. "But you know there's two thundering +big tarantulas out there fighting like blazes. You ought to see 'em +jump! It's a sort of a leap-frog fight, Red." + +"Fool!" snorted Mr. Connors belligerently. "_You'd_ 'a' jumped if one of +them slugs had 'a' got you! Yo're the damnedest fool that ever walked on +two laigs, you blasted sage-hen!" Mr. Connors was beginning to lose his +temper and talk in his throat. + +"Well, they didn't get me, did they? What you yelling about, anyhow?" +growled Hopalong, trying to brazen it out. + +"An' _you_ talking about suicide to me!" snapped Mr. Connors, determined +to rub it in and have the last word. + +Mr. Holden stared, open-mouthed, at the man who could enjoy a miserable +spider fight under such distressing circumstances, and his shaken nerves +became steadier as he gave thought to the fact that he was a companion +of the two men about whose exploits he had heard so much. Evidently the +stories had not been exaggerated. What must they think of him for giving +way as he had? He rose to his feet in time to see a horse blunder into +the open on Red's side of the house, and after it blundered its owner, +who immediately lost all need of earthly conveyances. Holden laughed +from the joy of being with a man who could shoot like that, and he +took up his rifle and turned to a crack in the wall, filled with the +determination to let his companions know that he was built of the right +kind of timber after all, wounded as he was. + +Red's only comment, as he pumped a fresh cartridge into the barrel, was, +"He must 'a' thought he saw a spider fight, too." + +"Hey, Red," called Hopalong. "The big one is dead." + +"What big one?" + +"Why, don't you remember? That big tarantula I was watching. One was +bigger than the other, but the little feller shore waded into him an'--" + +"Go to the devil!" shouted Red, who had to grin, despite his anger. + +"Presently, presently," replied Hopalong, laughing. + +So the day passed, and when darkness came upon them all of the defenders +were wounded, Holden desperately so. + +"Red, one of us has got to try to make the ranch," Hopalong suddenly +announced, and his friend knew he was right. Since Holden had appeared +upon the scene they had known that they could not try a dash; one of +them had to stay. + +"We'll toss for it; heads, I go," Red suggested, flipping a coin. + +"Tails!" cried Hopalong. "It's only thirty miles to Buckskin, an' if I +can get away from here I'm good to make it by eleven to-night. I'll stop +at Cowan's an' have him send word to Lucas an' Bartlett, so there'll be +enough in case any of our boys are out on the range in some line house. +We can pick 'em up on the way back, so there won't be no time lost. If +I get through you can expect excitement on the outside of this sieve +by daylight. You an' Holden can hold her till then, because they never +attack at night. It's the only way out of this for us--we ain't got +cartridges or water enough to last another day." + +Red, knowing that Hopalong was taking a desperate chance in working +through the cordon of Indians which surrounded them, and that the house +was safe when compared to running such a gantlet, offered to go through +the danger line with him. For several minutes a wordy war raged and +finally Red accepted a compromise; he was to help, but not to work +through the line. + +"But what's the use of all this argument?" feebly demanded Holden. "Why +don't you both go? I ain't a-going to live nohow, so there ain't no use +of anybody staying here with me, to die with me. Put a bullet through me +so them devils can't play with me like they do with others, an' then get +away while you've got a chance. Two men can get through as easy as one." +He sank back, exhausted by the effort. + +"No more of that!" cried Red, trying to be stern. "I'm going to stay +with you an' see things through. I'd be a fine sort of a coyote to sneak +off an' leave you for them fiends. An', besides, I can't get away; my +cayuse is hit too hard an' yourn is dead," he lied cheerfully. "An' +yo're going to get well, all right. I've seen fellers hit harder than +you are pull through." + +Hopalong walked over to the prostrate man and shook hands with him. "I'm +awful glad I met you, Holden. Yo're pure grit all the way through, an' +I like to tie to that kind of a man. Don't you worry about nothing; Red +can handle this proposition, an' we'll have you in Buckskin by to-morrow +night; you'll be riding again in two weeks. So long." + +He turned to Red and shook hands silently, led his horse out of the +building and mounted, glad that the moon had not yet come up, for in the +darkness he had a chance. + +"Good luck, Hoppy!" cried Red, running to the door. "Good luck!" + +"You bet--an' lots of it, too," groaned Holden, but he was gone. Then +Red wheeled. "Holden, keep yore eyes an' ears open. I'm going out to see +that he gets off. He may run into a--" and he, too, was gone. + +Holden watched the doors and windows, striving to resist the weak, giddy +feeling in his head, and ten minutes later he heard a shot and then +several more in quick succession. Shortly afterward Red called out, and +almost immediately the Bar-20 puncher crawled in through a window. + +"Well?" anxiously cried the man on the floor. "Did he make it?" + +"I reckon so. He got away from the first crowd, anyhow. I wasn't very +far behind him, an' by the time they woke up to what was going on he +was through an' riding like blazes. I heard him call 'em half-breeds a +moment later an' it sounded far off. They hit me,--fired at my flash, +like I drilled one of them. But it ain't much, anyhow. How are you +feeling now?" + +"Fine!" lied the other. "That Cassidy is shore a wonder--he's all right, +an' so are you. I'll never see him again, but I shore hope he gets +through!" + +"Don't be foolish. Here, you finish the water in yore canteen--I picked +it up outside by yore cayuse. Then go to sleep," ordered Red. "I'll do +all the watching that's necessary." + +"I will if you'll call me when you get sleepy." + +"Why, shore I will. But don't you want the rest of the water? I ain't a +bit thirsty--I had all I could hold just before you came," Red remarked +as his companion pushed the canteen against him in the dark. He was +choking with thirst. "Well, then; all right," and Red pretended to +drink. "Now, then, you go to sleep; a good snooze will do you a world of +good--it's just what you need." + + + +CHAPTER X + +BUCK TAKES A HAND + +Cowan's saloon, club, and place of general assembly for the town of +Buckskin and the nearby ranches, held a merry crowd, for it was pay-day +on the range and laughter and liquor ran a close race. Buck Peters, +his hands full of cigars, passed through the happy-go-lucky, +do-as-you-please crowd and invited everybody to smoke, which nobody +refused to do. Wood Wright, of the C-80, tuned his fiddle anew and swung +into a rousing quick-step. Partners were chosen, the "women" wearing +handkerchiefs on their arms to indicate the fact, and the room shook and +quivered as the scraping of heavy boots filled the air with a cloud of +dust. "Allaman left!" cried the prompter, and then the dance stopped as +if by magic. The door had crashed open and a blood-stained man staggered +in and towards the bar, crying, "Buck! Red's hemmed in by 'Paches!" + +"Good God!" roared the foreman of the Bar-20, leaping forward, the +cigars falling to the floor to be crushed and ground into powder by +careless feet. He grasped his puncher and steadied him while Cowan slid +an extra generous glassful of brandy across the bar for the wounded man. +The room was in an uproar, men grabbing rifles and running out to get +their horses, for it was plain to be seen that there was hard work to be +done, and quickly. Questions, threats, curses filled the air, those +who remained inside to get the story listening intently to the jerky +narrative; those outside, caring less for the facts of an action past +than for the action to come, shouted impatiently for a start to be made, +even threatening to go on and tackle the proposition by themselves if +there were not more haste. Hopalong told in a graphic, terse manner all +that was necessary, while Buck and Cowan hurriedly bandaged his wounds. + +"Come on! Come on!" shouted the mounted crowd outside, angry, and +impatient for a start, the prancing of horses and the clinking of metal +adding to the noise. "Get a move on! _Will_ you hurry up!" + +"Listen, Hoppy!" pleaded Buck, in a furore. "Shut up, you outside!" he +yelled. "You say they know that you got away, Hoppy?" he asked. "All +right--_Lanky!_" he shouted. "_Lanky!_" + +"All right, Buck!" and Lanky Smith roughly pushed his way through the +crowd to his foreman's side. "Here I am." + +"Take Skinny and Pete with you, an' a lead horse apiece. Strike straight +for Powers' old ranch house. Them Injuns'll have pickets out looking for +Hoppy's friends. You three get the pickets nearest the old trail through +that arroyo to the southeast, an' then wait for us. We'll come along the +high bank on the left. Don't make no noise doing it, neither, if you can +help it. Understand? Good! Now ride like the devil!" + +Lanky grabbed Pete and Skinny on his way out and disappeared into the +corral; and very soon thereafter hoof-beats thudded softly in the sandy +street and pounded into the darkness of the north, soon lost to the ear. +An uproar of advice and good wishes crashed after them, for the game had +begun. + +"It's Powers' old shack, boys!" shouted a man in the door to the +restless force outside, which immediately became more restless. "Hey! +Don't go yet!" he begged. "Wait for me an' the rest. Don't be a lot of +idiots!" + +Excited and impatient voices replied from the darkness, vexed, grouchy, +and querulous. "Then get a move on--_whoa!_--it'll be light before we +get there if you don't hustle!" roared one voice above the confusion. +"You know what _that_ means!" + +"Come on! Come on! For God's sake, are you tied to the bar?" + +"Yo're a lot of old grandmothers! Come on!" + +Hopalong appeared in the door. "I'll show you the way, boys!" he +shouted. "Cowan, put my saddle on yore cayuse--_pronto_!" + +"Good for you, Hoppy!" came from the street. "We'll wait!" + +"You stay here; yo're hurt too much!" cried Buck to his puncher, as he +grabbed up a box of cartridges from a shelf behind the bar. "Ain't you +got no sense? There's enough of us to take care of this without you!" + +Hopalong wheeled and looked his foreman squarely in the eyes. "Red's +out there, waiting for me--I'm going! I'd be a fine sort of a coyote to +leave him in that hell hole an' not go back, wouldn't I!" he said, with +quiet determination. + +"Good for you, Cassidy!" cried a man who hastened out to mount. + +"Well, then, come on," replied Buck. "There's blamed few like you," he +muttered, following Hopalong outside. + +"Here's the cayuse, Cassidy," cried Cowan, turning the animal over to +him. "_Wait_, Buck!" and he leaped into the building and ran out again, +shoving a bottle of brandy and a package of food into the impatient +foreman's hand. "Mebby Red or Hoppy'll need it--so long, an' good +luck!" and he was alone in a choking cloud of dust, peering through the +darkness along the river trail after a black mass that was swallowed up +almost instantly. Then, as he watched, the moon pushed its rim up over +the hills and he laughed joyously as he realized what its light would +mean to the crowd. "There'll be great doings when _that_ gang cuts +loose," he muttered with savage elation. "Wish I was with 'em. Damn +Injuns, anyhow!" + +Far ahead of the main fighting force rode the three special-duty men, +reeling off the miles at top speed and constantly distancing their +friends, for they changed mounts at need, thanks to the lead horses +provided by Mr. Peters' cool-headed foresight. It was a race against +dawn, and every effort was made to win--the life of Red Connors hung in +the balance and a minute might turn the scale. + + + +In Powers' old ranch house the night dragged along slowly to the grim +watcher, and the man huddled in the corner stirred uneasily and babbled, +ofttimes crying out in horror at the vivid dreams of his disordered +mind. Pacing ceaselessly from window to window, crack to crack, when +the moon came up, Mr. Connors scanned the bare, level plain with anxious +eyes, searching out the few covers and looking for dark spots on the +dull gray sand. They never attacked at night, but still--. Through the +void came the quavering call of a coyote, and he listened for the reply, +which soon came from the black chaparral across the clearing. He knew +where two of them were hiding, anyhow. Holden was muttering and tried +to answer the calls, and Red looked at him for the hundredth time that +night. He glanced out of the window again and noticed that there was a +glow in the eastern sky, and shortly afterwards dawn swiftly developed. + +Pouring the last few drops of the precious water between the wounded +man's parched and swollen lips, he tossed the empty canteen from him and +stood erect. + +"Pore devil," he muttered, shaking his head sorrowfully, as he realized +that Holden's delirium was getting worse all the time. "If you was all +right we could give them wolves hell to dance to. Well, you won't +know nothing about it if we go under, an' that's some consolation." He +examined his rifle and saw that the Colt at his thigh was fully loaded +and in good working order. "An' they'll pay us for their victory, by +God! They'll pay for it!" He stepped closer to the window, throwing the +rifle into the hollow of his arm. "It's about time for the rush; about +time for the game--" + +There was movement by that small chaparral to the south! To the east +something stirred into bounding life and action; a coyote called +twice--and then they came, on foot and silently as fleeting shadows, +leaning forward to bring into play every ounce of energy in the slim, +red legs. Smoke filled the room with its acrid sting. The crashing of +the Winchester, worked with wonderful speed and deadly accuracy by the +best rifle shot in the Southwest, brought the prostrate man to his +feet in an instinctive response to the call to action, the necessity of +defence. He grasped his Colt and stumbled blindly to a window to help +the man who had stayed with him. + +On Red's side of the house one warrior threw up his arms and fell +forward, sprawling with arms and legs extended; another pitched to one +side and rolled over twice before he lay still; the legs of the third +collapsed and threw him headlong, bunched up in a grotesque pile +of lifeless flesh; the fourth leaped high into the air and turned a +somersault before he struck the sand, badly wounded, and out of the +fight. Holden, steadying himself against the wall, leaned in a window +on the other side of the shack and emptied his Colt in a dazed +manner--doing his very best. Then the man with the rifle staggered back +with a muttered curse, his right arm useless, and dropped the weapon to +draw his Colt with the other hand. + +Holden shrieked once and sank down, wagging his head slowly from side +to side, blood oozing from his mouth and nostrils; and his companion, +goaded into a frenzy of blood-lust and insane rage at the sight, threw +himself against the door and out into the open, to die under the clear +sky, to go like the man he was if he must die. "Damn you! It'll cost you +more yet!" he screamed, wheeling to place his back against the wall. + +The triumphant yells of the exultant savages were cut short and turned +to howls of dismay by a fusillade which thundered from the south where a +crowd of hard-riding, hard-shooting cow-punchers tore out of the thicket +like an avalanche and swept over the open sand, yelling and cursing, and +then separated to go in hot pursuit of the sprinting Apaches. Some stood +up in their stirrups and fired down at a slant, making a short, chopping +motion with their heavy Colts; others leaned forward, far over the necks +of their horses, and shot with stationary guns; while yet others, with +reins dangling free, worked the levers of blue Winchesters so rapidly +that the flashes seemed to merge into a continuous flame. + +"Thank God! Thank God--an' Hoppy!" groaned the man at the door of the +shack, staggering forward to meet the two men who had lost no time in +pursuit of the enemy, but had ridden straight to him. + +"I was scared stiff you was done fer!" cried Hopalong, leaping off his +horse and shaking hands with his friend, whose hand-clasp was not as +strong as usual. "How's Holden?" he demanded, anxiously. + +"He passed. It was a close--" began Red, weakly, but his foreman +interposed. + +"Shut up, an' drink this!" ordered Buck, kindly but sternly. "We'll do +the talking for a while; you can tell us all about it later on. Why, +_hullo_!" he cried as Lanky Smith and his two happy companions rode up. +"Reckon you must 'a' got them pickets." + +"Shore we did! Stalked 'em on our bellies, didn't we, Skinny?" modestly +replied Mr. Smith, the roping expert of the Bar-20. "Ropes an' clubbed +guns did the rest. Anyhow, there was only two anywhere near the trail." + +"We didn't see you," responded the foreman, tying the knot of a bandage +on Mr. Connors' arm. "An' we looked sharp, too." + +"Reckon we was hunting for more; we sort of forgot what you said about +waiting for you," Mr. Smith replied, grinning broadly. + +"An' you've got a good memory now," smiled Mr. Peters. + +"We didn't find no more, though," offered Mr. Pete Wilson, with grave +regret. "An' we looked good, too. But we got Red, an' that's the whole +game. Red, you old son-of-a-gun, you can lick yore weight in powder!" + +"It's too bad about Holden," muttered Red, sullenly. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +HOPALONG NURSES A GROUCH + +After the excitement incident to the affair at Powers' shack had died +down and the Bar-20 outfit worked over its range in the old, placid way, +there began to be heard low mutterings, and an air of peevish discontent +began to be manifested in various childish ways. And it was all caused +by the fact that Hopalong Cassidy had a grouch, and a big one. It +was two months old and growing worse daily, and the signs threatened +contagion. His foreman, tired and sick of the snarling, fidgety, +petulant atmosphere that Hopalong had created on the ranch, and +driven to desperation, eagerly sought some chance to get rid of the +"sore-thumb" temporarily and give him an opportunity to shed his +generous mantle of the blues. And at last it came. + +No one knew the cause for Hoppy's unusual state of mind, although there +were many conjectures, and they covered the field rather thoroughly; but +they did not strike on the cause. Even Red Connors, now well over all +ill effects of the wounds acquired in the old ranch house, was forced to +guess; and when Red had to do that about anything concerning Hopalong he +was well warranted in believing the matter to be very serious. + +Johnny Nelson made no secret of his opinion and derived from it a great +amount of satisfaction, which he admitted with a grin to his foreman. + +"Buck," he said, "Hoppy told me he went broke playing poker over in +Grant with Dave Wilkes and them two Lawrence boys, an' that shore +explains it all. He's got pack sores from carrying his unholy licking. +It was due to come for him, an' Dave Wilkes is just the boy to deliver +it. That's the whole trouble, an' I know it, an' I'm damned glad they +trimmed him. But he ain't got no right of making _us_ miserable because +he lost a few measly dollars." + +"Yo're wrong, son; dead, dead wrong," Buck replied. "He takes his +beatings with a grin, an' money never did bother him. No poker game that +ever was played could leave a welt on him like the one we all mourn, an' +cuss. He's been doing something that he don't want us to know--made a +fool of hisself some way, most likely, an' feels so ashamed that he's +sore. I've knowed him too long an' well to believe that gambling had +anything to do with it. But this little trip he's taking will fix him +up all right, an' I couldn't 'a' picked a better man--or one that I'd +rather get rid of just now." + +"Well, lemme tell you it's blamed lucky for him that you picked him to +go," rejoined Johnny, who thought more of the woeful absentee than he +did of his own skin. "I was going to lick him, shore, if it went on +much longer. Me an' Red an' Billy was going to beat him up good till he +forgot his dead injuries an' took more interest in his friends." + +Buck laughed heartily. "Well, the three of you might 'a' done it if +you worked hard an' didn't get careless, but I have my doubts. Now look +here--you've been hanging around the bunk house too blamed much lately. +Henceforth an' hereafter you've got to earn your grub. Get out on that +west line an' hustle." + +"You know I've had a toothache!" snorted Johnny with a show of +indignation, his face as sober as that of a judge. + +"An' you'll have a stomach ache from lack of grub if you don't earn yore +right to eat purty soon," retorted Buck. "You ain't had a toothache in +yore whole life, an' you don't know what one is. G'wan, now, or I'll +give you a backache that'll ache!" + +"Huh! Devil of a way to treat a sick man!" Johnny retorted, but he +departed exultantly, whistling with much noise and no music. But he was +sorry for one thing: he sincerely regretted that he had not been present +when Hopalong met his Waterloo. It would have been pleasing to look +upon. + +While the outfit blessed the proposed lease of range that took him out +of their small circle for a time, Hopalong rode farther and farther +into the northwest, frequently lost in abstraction which, judging by its +effect upon him, must have been caused by something serious. He had not +heard from Dave Wilkes about that individual's good horse which had been +loaned to Ben Ferris, of Winchester. Did Dave think he had been killed +or was still pursuing the man whose neck-kerchief had aroused such +animosity in Hopalong's heart? Or had the horse actually been returned? +The animal was a good one, a successful contender in all distances from +one to five miles, and had earned its owner and backers much money--and +Hopalong had parted with it as easily as he would have borrowed five +dollars from Red. The story, as he had often reflected since, was as old +as lying--a broken-legged horse, a wife dying forty miles away, and a +horse all saddled which needed only to be mounted and ridden. + +These thoughts kept him company for a day and when he dismounted before +Stevenson's "Hotel" in Hoyt's Corners he summed up his feelings for the +enlightenment of his horse. + +"Damn it, bronc! I'd give ten dollars right now to know if I was a +jackass or not," he growled. "But he was an awful slick talker if he +lied. An' I've got to go up an' face Dave Wilkes to find out about it!" + +Mr. Cassidy was not known by sight to the citizens of Hoyt's Corners, +however well versed they might be in his numerous exploits of wisdom and +folly. Therefore the habitues of Stevenson's Hotel did not recognize him +in the gloomy and morose individual who dropped his saddle on the floor +with a crash and stamped over to the three-legged table at dusk and +surlily demanded shelter for the night. + +"Gimme a bed an' something to eat," he demanded, eyeing the three men +seated with their chairs tilted against the wall. "Do I get 'em?" he +asked, impatiently. + +"You do," replied a one-eyed man, lazily arising and approaching him. +"One dollar, now." + +"An' take the rocks outen that bed--I want to sleep." + +"A dollar per for every rock you find," grinned Stevenson, pleasantly. +"There ain't no rocks in _my_ beds," he added. + +"Some folks likes to be rocked to sleep," facetiously remarked one of +the pair by the wall, laughing contentedly at his own pun. He bore all +the ear-marks of being regarded as the wit of the locality--every hamlet +has one; I have seen some myself. + +"Hee, hee, hee! Yo're a droll feller, Charley," chuckled Old John +Ferris, rubbing his ear with unconcealed delight. "That's a good un." + +"One drink, now," growled Hopalong, mimicking the proprietor, and +glaring savagely at the "droll feller" and his companion. "An' mind that +it's a good one," he admonished the host. + +"It's better," smiled Stevenson, whereat Old John crossed his legs and +chuckled again. Stevenson winked. + +"Riding long?" he asked. + +"Since I started." + +"Going fur?" + +"Till I stop." + +"Where do you belong?" Stevenson's pique was urging him against the +ethics of the range, which forbade personal questions. + +Hopalong looked at him with a light in his eye that told the host he had +gone too far. "Under my sombrero!" he snapped. + +"Hee, hee, hee!" chortled Old John, rubbing his ear again and nudging +Charley. "He ain't no fool, hey?" + +"Why, I don't know, John; he won't tell," replied Charley. + +Hopalong wheeled and glared at him, and Charley, smiling uneasily, made +an appeal: "Ain't mad, are you?" + +"Not yet," and Hopalong turned to the bar again, took up his liquor +and tossed it off. Considering a moment he shoved the glass back again, +while Old John tongued his lips in anticipation of a treat. "It is +good--fill it again." + +The third was even better and by the time the fourth and fifth had +joined their predecessors Hopalong began to feel a little more cheerful. +But even the liquor and an exceptionally well-cooked supper could not +separate him from his persistent and set grouch. And of liquor he had +already taken more than his limit. He had always boasted, with truth, +that he had never been drunk, although there had been two occasions when +he was not far from it. That was one doubtful luxury which he could not +afford for the reason that there were men who would have been glad to +see him, if only for a few seconds, when liquor had dulled his brain and +slowed his speed of hand. He could never tell when and where he might +meet one of these. + +He dropped into a chair by a card table and, baffling all attempts +to engage him in conversation, reviewed his troubles in a mumbled +soliloquy, the liquor gradually making him careless. But of all the +jumbled words his companions' diligent ears heard they recognized and +retained only the bare term "Winchester"; and their conjectures were +limited only by their imaginations. + +Hopalong stirred and looked up, shaking off the hand which had aroused +him. "Better go to bed, stranger," the proprietor was saying. "You +an' me are the last two up. It's after twelve, an' you look tired and +sleepy." + +"Said his wife was sick," muttered the puncher. "Oh, what you saying?" + +"You'll find a bed better'n this table, stranger--it's after twelve an' +I want to close up an' get some sleep. I'm tired myself." + +"Oh, that all? Shore I'll go to bed--like to see anybody stop me! Ain't +no rocks in it, hey?" + +"Nary a rock," laughingly reassured the host, picking up Hopalong's +saddle and leading the way to a small room off the "office," his +guest stumbling after him and growling about the rocks that lived in +Winchester. When Stevenson had dropped the saddle by the window and +departed, Hopalong sat on the edge of the bed to close his eyes for just +a moment before tackling the labor of removing his clothes. A crash and +a jar awakened him and he found himself on the floor with his back +to the bed. He was hot and his head ached, and his back was skinned +a little--and how hot and stuffy and choking the room had become! +He thought he had blown out the light, but it still burned, and +three-quarters of the chimney was thickly covered with soot. He was +stifling and could not endure it any longer. After three attempts he +put out the light, stumbled against his saddle and, opening the window, +leaned out to breathe the pure air. As his lungs filled he chuckled +wisely and, picking up the saddle, managed to get it and himself through +the window and on the ground without serious mishap. He would ride +for an hour, give the room time to freshen and cool off, and come back +feeling much better. Not a star could be seen as he groped his way +unsteadily towards the rear of the building, where he vaguely remembered +having seen the corral as he rode up. + +"Huh! Said he lived in Winchester an' his name was Bill--no, Ben +Ferris," he muttered, stumbling towards a noise he knew was made by a +horse rubbing against the corral fence. Then his feet got tangled up in +the cinch of his saddle, which he had kicked before him, and after great +labor he arose, muttering savagely, and continued on his wobbly way. +"Goo' Lord, it's darker'n cats in--_oof_!" he grunted, recoiling from +forcible contact with the fence he sought. Growling words unholy he felt +his way along it and finally his arm slipped through an opening and he +bumped his head solidly against the top bar of the gate. As he righted +himself his hand struck the nose of a horse and closed mechanically over +it. Cow-ponies look alike in the dark and he grinned jubilantly as he +complimented himself upon finding his own so unerringly. + +"Anything is easy, when you know how. Can't fool me, ol' cayuse," he +beamed, fumbling at the bars with his free hand and getting them down +with a fool's luck. "You can't do it--I got you firs', las', an' always; +an' I got you good. Yessir, I got you good. Quit that rearing, you ol' +fool! Stan' still, can't you?" The pony sidled as the saddle hit its +back and evoked profane abuse from the indignant puncher as he risked +his balance in picking it up to try again, this time successfully. He +began to fasten the girth, and then paused in wonder and thought deeply, +for the pin in the buckle would slide to no hole but the first. "Huh! +Getting fat, ain't you, piebald?" he demanded with withering sarcasm. +"You blow yoreself up any more'n I'll bust you wide open!" heaving +up with all his might on the free end of the strap, one knee pushing +against the animal's side. The "fat" disappeared and Hopalong laughed. +"Been learnin' new tricks, ain't you? Got smart since you been +travellin', hey?" He fumbled with the bars again and got two of them +back in place and then, throwing himself across the saddle as the horse +started forward as hard as it could go, slipped off, but managed to save +himself by hopping along the ground. As soon as he had secured the grip +he wished he mounted with the ease of habit and felt for the reins. +"G'wan now, an' easy--it's plumb dark an' my head's bustin'." + +When he saddled his mount at the corral he was not aware that two of the +three remaining horses had taken advantage of their opportunity and had +walked out and made off in the darkness before he replaced the bars, and +he was too drunk to care if he had known it. + +The night air felt so good that it moved him to song, but it was not +long before the words faltered more and more and soon ceased altogether +and a subdued snore rasped from him. He awakened from time to time, but +only for a moment, for he was tired and sleepy. + +His mount very quickly learned that something was wrong and that it was +being given its head. As long as it could go where it pleased it could +do nothing better than head for home, and it quickened its pace towards +Winchester. Some time after daylight it pricked up its ears and broke +into a canter, which soon developed signs of irritation in its rider. +Finally Hopalong opened his heavy eyes and looked around for his +bearings. Not knowing where he was and too tired and miserable to give +much thought to a matter of such slight importance, he glanced around +for a place to finish his sleep. A tree some distance ahead of him +looked inviting and towards it he rode. Habit made him picket the horse +before he lay down and as he fell asleep he had vague recollections +of handling a strange picket rope some time recently. The horse slowly +turned and stared at the already snoring figure, glanced over the +landscape, back the to queerest man it had ever met, and then fell +to grazing in quiet content. A slinking coyote topped a rise a short +distance away and stopped instantly, regarding the sleeping man with +grave curiosity and strong suspicion. Deciding that there was nothing +good to eat in that vicinity and that the man was carrying out a fell +plot for the death of coyotes, it backed away out of sight and loped on +to other hunting grounds. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A FRIEND IN NEED + +Stevenson, having started the fire for breakfast, took a pail and +departed towards the spring; but he got no farther than the corral gate, +where he dropped the pail and stared. There was only one horse in the +enclosure where the night before there had been four. He wasted no time +in surmises, but wheeled and dashed back towards the hotel, and his +vigorous shouts brought Old John to the door, sleepy and peevish. Old +John's mouth dropped open as he beheld his habitually indolent host +marking off long distances on the sand with each falling foot. + +"What's got inter you?" demanded Old John. + +"Our broncs are gone! Our broncs are gone!" yelled Stevenson, shoving +Old John roughly to one side as he dashed through the doorway and on +into the room he had assigned to the sullen and bibulous stranger. "I +knowed it! I knowed it!" he wailed, popping out again as if on springs. +"He's gone, an' he's took our broncs with him, the measly, low-down dog! +I knowed he wasn't no good! I could see it in his eye; an' he wasn't +drunk, not by a darn sight. Go out an' see for yoreself if they ain't +gone!" he snapped in reply to Old John's look. "Go on out, while I throw +some cold grub on the table--won't have no time this morning to do no +cooking. He's got five hours' start on us, an' it'll take some right +smart riding to get him before dark; but we'll do it, an' hang him, +too!" + +"What's all this here rumpus?" demanded a sleepy voice from upstairs. +"Who's hanged?" and Charley entered the room, very much interested. His +interest increased remarkably when the calamity was made known and he +lost no time in joining Old John in the corral to verify the news. + +Old John waved his hands over the scene and carefully explained what +he had read in the tracks, to his companion's great irritation, for +Charley's keen eyes and good training had already told him all there +was to learn; and his reading did not exactly agree with that of his +companion. + +"Charley, he's gone and took our cayuses; an' that's the very way he +came--'round the corner of the hotel. He got all tangled up an' fell +over there, an' here he bumped inter the palisade, an' dropped his +saddle. When he opened the bars he took my roan gelding because it was +the best an' fastest, an' then he let out the others to mix us up on +the tracks. See how he went? Had to hop four times on one foot afore he +could get inter the saddle. An' that proves he was sober, for no drunk +could hop four times like that without falling down an' being drug to +death. An' he left his own critter behind because he knowed it wasn't no +good. It's all as plain as the nose on your face, Charley," and Old John +proudly rubbed his ear. "Hee, hee, hee! You can't fool Old John, even if +he is getting old. No, sir, b' gum." + +Charley had just returned from inside the corral, where he had looked +at the brand on the far side of the one horse left, and he waited +impatiently for his companion to cease talking. He took quick advantage +of the first pause Old John made and spoke crisply. + +"I don't care what corner he came 'round, or what he bumped inter; an' +any fool can see that. An' if he left that cayuse behind because he +thought it wasn't no good, he _was_ drunk. That's a Bar-20 cayuse, an' +no hoss-thief ever worked for that ranch. He left it behind because +he stole it; that's why. An' he didn't let them others out because he +wanted to mix us up, neither. How'd he know if we couldn't tell the +tracks of our own animals? He did that to make us lose time; that's what +he did it for. An' he couldn't tell what bronc he took last night--it +was too dark. He must 'a' struck a match an' seen where that Bar-20 +cayuse was an' then took the first one nearest that wasn't it. An' now +you tell me how the devil he knowed yourn was the fastest, which it +ain't," he finished, sarcastically, gloating over a chance to rub it +into the man he had always regarded as a windy old nuisance. + +"Well, mebby what you said is--" + +"Mebby nothing!" snapped Charley. "If he wanted to mix the tracks would +he 'a' hopped like that so we couldn't help telling what cayuse he rode? +He knowed we'd pick his trail quick, an' he knowed that every minute +counted; that's why he hopped--why, yore roan was going like the wind +afore he got in the saddle. If you don't believe it, look at them +toe-prints!" + +"H'm; reckon yo're right, Charley. My eyes ain't nigh as good as they +once was. But I heard him say something 'bout Winchester," replied Old +John, glad to change the subject. "Bet he's going over there, too. He +won't get through that town on no critter wearing my brand. Everybody +knows that roan, an'--" + +"Quit guessing!" snapped Charley, beginning to lose some of the tattered +remnant of his respect for old age. "He's a whole lot likely to head for +a town on a stolen cayuse, now ain't he! But we don't care where he's +heading; we'll foller the trail." + +"Grub pile!" shouted Stevenson, and the two made haste to obey. + +"Charley, gimme a chaw of yore tobacker," and Old John, biting off a +generous chunk, quietly slipped it into his pocket, there to lay until +after he had eaten his breakfast. + +All talk was tabled while the three men gulped down a cold and +uninviting meal. Ten minutes later they had finished and separated to +find horses and spread the news; in fifteen more they had them and were +riding along the plain trail at top speed, with three other men close at +their heels. Three hundred yards from the corral they pounded out of +an arroyo, and Charley, who was leading, stood up in his stirrups and +looked keenly ahead. Another trail joined the one they were following +and ran with and on top of it. This, he reasoned, had been made by one +of the strays and would turn away soon. He kept his eyes looking +well ahead and soon saw that he was right in his surmise, and without +checking the speed of his horse in the slightest degree he went ahead +on the trail of the smaller hoof-prints. In a moment Old John spurred +forward and gained his side and began to argue hot-headedly. + +"Hey! Charley!" he cried. "Why are you follering this track?" he +demanded. + +"Because it's his; that's why." + +"Well, here, wait a minute!" and Old John was getting red from +excitement. "How do you know it is? Mebby he took the other!" + +"He started out on the cayuse that made these little tracks," retorted +Charley, "an' I don't see no reason to think he swapped animules. Don't +you know the prints of yore own cayuse?" + +"Lawd, no!" answered Old John. "Why, I don't hardly ride the same cayuse +the second day, straight hand-running. I tell you we ought to foller +that other trail. He's just cute enough to play some trick on us." + +"Well, you better do that for us," Charley replied, hoping against hope +that the old man would chase off on the other and give his companions a +rest. + +"He ain't got sand enough to tackle a thing like that single-handed," +laughed Jed White, winking to the others. + +Old John wheeled. "Ain't, hey! I am going to do that same thing an' +prove that you are a pack of fools. I'm too old to be fooled by a common +trick like that. An' I don't need no help--I'll ketch him all by myself, +an' hang him, too!" And he wheeled to follow the other trail, angry and +outraged. "Young fools," he muttered. "Why, I was fighting all around +these parts afore any of 'em knowed the difference between day an' +night!" + +"Hard-headed old fool," remarked Charley, frowning, as he led the way +again. + +"He's gittin' old an' childish," excused Stevenson. "They say warn't +nobody in these parts could hold a candle to him in his prime." + + + +Hopalong muttered and stirred and opened his eyes to gaze blankly into +those of one of the men who were tugging at his hands, and as he stared +he started his stupefied brain sluggishly to work in an endeavor to +explain the unusual experience. There were five men around him and +the two who hauled at his hands stepped back and kicked him. A look of +pained indignation slowly spread over his countenance as he realized +beyond doubt that they were really kicking him, and with sturdy vigor. +He considered a moment and then decided that such treatment was most +unwarranted and outrageous and, furthermore, that he must defend himself +and chastise the perpetrators. + +"Hey!" he snorted, "what do you reckon yo're doing, anyhow? If you want +to do any kicking, why kick each other, an' I'll help you! But I'll lick +the whole bunch of you if you don't quite mauling me. Ain't you got no +manners? Don't you know anything? Come 'round waking a feller up an' +man-handling--" + +"Get up!" snapped Stevenson, angrily. + +"Why, ain't I seen you before? Somewhere? Sometime?" queried Hopalong, +his brow wrinkling from intense concentration of thought. "I ain't +dreaming; I've seen a one-eyed coyote som'ers, lately, ain't I?" he +appealed, anxiously, to the others. + +"Get up!" ordered Charley, shortly. + +"An' I've seen you, too. Funny, all right." + +"You've seen me, all right," retorted Stevenson. "Get up, damn you! Get +up!" + +"Why, I can't--my han's are tied!" exclaimed Hopalong in great wonder, +pausing in his exertions to cogitate deeply upon this most remarkable +phenomenon. "Tied up! Now what the devil do you think--" + +"Use yore feet, you thief!" rejoined Stevenson roughly, stepping forward +and delivering another kick. "Use yore feet!" he reiterated. + +"Thief! Me a thief! Shore I'll use my feet, you yaller dog!" yelled the +prostrate man, and his boot heel sank into the stomach of the offending +Mr. Stevenson with sickening force and laudable precision. He drew it +back slowly, as if debating shoving it farther. "Call me a thief, +hey! Come poking 'round kicking honest punchers an' calling 'em names! +Anybody want the other boot?" he inquired with grave solicitation. + +Stevenson sat down forcibly and rocked to and fro, doubled up and +gasping for breath, and Hopalong squinted at him and grinned with +happiness. "Hear him sing! Reg'lar ol' brass band. Sounds like a cow +pulling its hoofs outen the mud. Called me a thief, he did, just now. +An' I won't let nobody kick me an' call me names. He's a liar, just a +plain, squaw's dog liar, he--" + +Two men grabbed him and raised him up, holding him tightly, and they +were not over careful to handle him gently, which he naturally resented. +Charley stepped in front of him to go to the aid of Stevenson and caught +the other boot in his groin, dropping as if he had been shot. The man +on the prisoner's left emitted a yell and loosed his hold to sympathize +with a bruised shinbone, and his companion promptly knocked the bound +and still intoxicated man down. Bill Thomas swore and eyed the prostrate +figure with resentment and regret. "Hate to hit a man who can fight like +that when he's loaded an' tied. I'm glad, all the same, that he ain't +sober an' loose." + +"An' you ain't going to hit him no more!" snapped Jed White, reddening +with anger. "I'm ready to hang him, 'cause that's what he deserves, an' +what we're here for, but I'm damned if I'll stand for any more mauling. +I don't blame him for fighting, an' they didn't have no right to kick +him in the beginning." + +"Didn't kick him in the beginning," grinned Bill. "Kicked him in the +ending. Anyhow," he continued seriously, "I didn't hit him hard--didn't +have to. Just let him go an' shoved him quick." + +"I'm just naturally going to clean house," muttered the prisoner, +sitting up and glaring around. "Untie my han's an' gimme a gun or a club +or anything, an' watch yoreselves get licked. Called me a thief! What +are you fellers, then?--sticking me up an' busting me for a few measly +dollars. Why didn't you take my money an' lemme sleep, 'stead of waking +me up an' kicking me? I wouldn't 'a' cared then." + +"Come on, now; get up. We ain't through with you yet, not by a whole +lot," growled Bill, helping him to his feet and steadying him. "I'm +plumb glad you kicked 'em; it was coming to 'em." + +"No, you ain't; you can't fool me," gravely assured Hopalong. "Yo're +lying, an' you know it. What you going to do now? Ain't I got money +enough? Wish I had an even break with you fellers! Wish my outfit was +here!" + +Stevenson, on his feet again, walked painfully up and shook his fist at +the captive, from the side. "You'll find out what we want of you, you +damned hoss-thief!" he cried. "We're going to tie you to that there limb +so yore feet'll swing above the grass, that's what we're going to do." + +Bill and Jed had their hands full for a moment and as they finally +mastered the puncher, Charley came up with a rope. "Hurry up--no use +dragging it out this way. I want to get back to the ranch some time +before next week." + +"Why _I_ ain't no hoss-thief, you liar!" Hopalong yelled. "My name's +Hopalong Cassidy of the Bar-20, an' when I tell my friends about what +you've gone an' done they'll make you hard to find! You gimme any kind +of a chance an' I'll do it all by myself, sick as I am, you yaller +dogs!" + +"Is that yore cayuse?" demanded Charley, pointing. + +Hopalong squinted towards the animal indicated. "Which one?" + +"There's only one there, you fool!" + +"That so?" replied Hopalong, surprised. "Well, I never seen it afore. +My cayuse is--is--where the devil _is_ it?" he asked, looking around +anxiously. + +"How'd you get that one, then, if it ain't yours?" + +"Never had it--'t ain't mine, nohow," replied Hopalong, with strong +conviction. "Mine was a _hoss_." + +"You stole that cayuse last night outen Stevenson's corral," continued +Charley, merely as a matter of form. Charley believed that a man had the +right to be heard before he died--it wouldn't change the result and so +could not do any harm. + +"Did I? Why--" his forehead became furrowed again, but the events of +the night before were vague in his memory and he only stumbled in +his soliloquy. "But _I_ wouldn't swap my cayuse for that spavined, +saddle-galled, ring-boned bone-yard! Why, it interferes, an' it's got +the heaves something awful!" he finished triumphantly, as if an appeal +to common sense would clinch things. But he made no headway against +them, for the rope went around his neck almost before he had finished +talking and a flurry of excitement ensued. When the dust settled he was +on his back again and the rope was being tossed over the limb. + +The crowd had been too busily occupied to notice anything away from the +scene of their strife and were greatly surprised when they heard a hail +and saw a stranger sliding to a stand not twenty feet from them. "What's +this?" demanded the newcomer, angrily. + +Charley's gun glinted as it swung up and the stranger swore again. "What +you doing?" he shouted. "Take that gun off'n me or I'll blow you apart!" + +"Mind yore business an' sit still!" Charley snapped. "You ain't in no +position to blow anything apart. We've got a hoss-thief an' we're shore +going to hang him regardless." + +"An' if there's any trouble about it we can hang two as well as we can +one," suggested Stevenson, placidly. "You sit tight an' mind yore own +affairs, stranger," he warned. + +Hopalong turned his head slowly. "He's a liar, stranger; just a plain, +squaw's dog of a liar. An' I'll be much obliged if you'll lick hell +outen 'em an' let--_why, hullo, hoss-thief_!" he shouted, at once +recognizing the other. It was the man he had met in the gospel tent, the +man he had chased for a horse-thief and then swapped mounts with. "Stole +any more cayuses?" he asked, grinning, believing that everything was all +right now. "Did you take that cayuse back to Grant?" he finished. + +"Han's up!" roared Stevenson, also covering the stranger. "So yo're +another one of 'em, hey? We're in luck to-day. Watch him, boys, till I +get his gun. If he moves, drop him quick." + +"You damned fool!" cried Ferris, white with rage. "He ain't no thief, +an' neither am I! My name's Ben Ferris an' I live in Winchester. Why, +that man you've got is Hopalong Cassidy--Cassidy, of the Bar-20!" + +"Sit still--you can talk later, mebby," replied Stevenson, warily +approaching him. "Watch him, boys!" + +"Hold on!" shouted Ferris, murder in his eyes. "Don't you try that on +me! I'll get one of you before I go; I'll shore get one! You can listen +a minute, an' I can't get away." + +"All right; talk quick." + +Ferris pleaded as hard as he knew how and called attention to the +condition of the prisoner. "If he did take the wrong cayuse he was too +blind drunk to know it! Can't you _see_ he was!" he cried. + +"Yep; through yet?" asked Stevenson, quietly. + +"No! I ain't started yet!" Ferris yelled. "He did me a good turn once, +one that I can't never repay, an' I'm going to stop this murder or +go with him. If I go I'll take one of you with me, an' my friends an' +outfit'll get the rest." + +"Wait till Old John gets here," suggested Jed to Charley. "He ought to +know this feller." + +"For the Lord's sake!" snorted Charley. "He won't show up for a week. +Did you hear that, fellers?" he laughed, turning to the others. + +"Stranger," began Stevenson, moving slowly ahead again. "You give us +yore guns an' sit quiet till we gets this feller out of the way. We'll +wait till Old John Ferris comes before doing anything with you. He ought +to know you." + +"He knows me all right; an' he'd like to see me hung," replied the +stranger. "I won't give up my guns, an' you won't lynch Hopalong Cassidy +while I can pull a trigger. That's flat!" He began to talk feverishly +to gain time and his eyes lighted suddenly. Seeing that Jed White was +wavering, Stevenson ordered them to go on with the work they had come to +perform, and he watched Ferris as a cat watches a mouse, knowing that +he would be the first man hit if the stranger got a chance to shoot. But +Ferris stood up very slowly in his stirrups so as not to alarm the five +with any quick movement, and shouted at the top of his voice, grabbing +off his sombrero and waving it frantically. A faint cheer reached his +ears and made the lynchers turn quickly and look behind them. Nine men +were tearing towards them at a dead gallop and had already begun to +forsake their bunched-up formation in favor of an extended line. They +were due to arrive in a very few minutes and caused Mr. Ferris' heart to +overflow with joy. + +"Me an' my outfit," he said, laughing softly and waving his hand towards +the newcomers, "started out this morning to round up a bunch of cows, +an' we got jackasses instead. Now lynch him, damn you!" + +The nine swept up in skirmish order, guns out and ready for anything in +the nature of trouble that might zephyr up. "What's the matter, Ben?" +asked Tom Murphy ominously. As under-foreman of the ranch he regarded +himself as spokesman. And at that instant catching sight of the rope, he +swore savagely under his breath. + +"Nothing, Tom; nothing now," responded Mr. Ferris. "They was going to +hang my friend there, Mr. Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20. He's the +feller that lent me his cayuse to get home on when Molly was sick. I'm +going to take him back to the ranch when he gets sober an' introduce him +to some very good friends of hissn that he ain't never seen. Ain't I, +Cassidy?" he demanded with a laugh. + +But Mr. Cassidy made no reply. He was sound asleep, as he had been +since the advent of his very good and capable friend, Mr. Ben Ferris, of +Winchester. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +MR. TOWNSEND, MARSHAL + +Mr. Cassidy went to the ranch and lived like a lord until shame drove +him away. He had no business to live on cake and pie and wonderful +dishes that Mrs. Ferris and her sister literally forced on him, and let +Buck's mission wait on his convenience. So he tore himself away and made +up for lost time as he continued his journey on his own horse, for +which Tom Murphy and three men had faced down the scowling population of +Hoyt's Corners. The rest of his journey was without incident until, +on his return home along another route, he rode into Rawhide and heard +about the marshal, Mr. Townsend. + +This individual was unanimously regarded as an affliction upon society +and there had been objections to his continued existence, which had +been overruled by the object himself. Then word had gone forth that a +substantial reward and the undying gratitude of a considerable number +of people awaited the man who would rid the community of the pest who +seemed to be ubiquitous. Several had come in response to the call, one +had returned in a wagon, and the others were now looked upon as martyrs, +and as examples of asinine foolhardiness. Then it had been decided to +elect a marshal, or perhaps two or three, to preserve the peace of the +town; but this was a flat failure. In the first place, Mr. Townsend had +dispersed the meeting with no date set for a new one; in the second, +no man wanted the office; and as a finish to the comedy, Mr. Townsend +cheerfully announced that hereafter and henceforth he was the marshal, +self-appointed and self-sustained. Those who did not like it could +easily move to other localities. + +With this touch of office-holding came ambition, and of stern stuff. +The marshal asked himself why he could not be more officers than one +and found no reason. Thereupon he announced that he was marshal, town +council, mayor, justice, and pound-keeper. He did not go to the trouble +of incorporating himself as the Town of Rawhide, because he knew nothing +of such immaterial things; but he was the town, and that sufficed. + +He had been grievously troubled about finances in the past, and he +firmly believed that genius such as his should be above such petty +annoyances as being "broke." That was why he constituted himself the +keeper of the public pound, which contented him for a short time, but +later, feeling that he needed more money than the pound was giving him, +he decided that the spirit of the times demanded public improvements, +and therefore, as the executive head of the town, he levied taxes +and improved the town by improving his wardrobe and the manner of his +living. Each saloon must pay into the town treasury the sum of one +hundred dollars per year, which entitled it to police protection and +assured it that no new competitors would be allowed to do business in +Rawhide. + +Needless to say he was not furiously popular, and the crowds congregated +where he was not. His tyranny was based upon his uncanny faculty of +anticipating the other man's draw. The citizens were not unaccustomed to +seeing swift death result to the slower man from misplaced confidence in +his speed of hand--that was in the game--an even break; but to oppose an +individual who _always_ knew what you were going to do before you knew +it yourself--this was very discouraging. Therefore, he flourished and +waxed fat. + +Of late, however, he had been very low in finances and could expect +no taxes to be paid for three months. Even the pound had yielded him +nothing for over a week, the old patrons of Rawhide's stores and saloons +preferring to ride twenty miles farther in another direction than +to redeem impounded horses. Perhaps his prices had been too high, he +thought; so he assembled the town council, the mayor, the marshal, and +the keeper of the public pound to consult upon the matter. He decided +that the prices were too high and at once posted a new notice announcing +the cut. It was hard to fall from a dollar to "two bits," but the +treasury was low--the times were panicky. + +As soon as he had changed the notice he strolled up to the Paradise +to inform the bartender that impounding fines had been cut to bargain +prices and to ask him to make the fact generally known through his +patrons. As he came within sight of the building he jumped with +pleasure, for a horse was standing dejectedly before the door. Joy of +joys, trade was picking up--a stranger had come to town! Hastening back +to the corral, he added a cipher to the posted figure, added a decimal +point, and changed the cents sign to that of a dollar. Two dollars and +fifty cents was now the price prescribed by law. Returning hastily to +the Paradise, he led the animal away, impounded it, and then sat down +in front of the corral gate with his Winchester across his knees. Two +dollars and fifty cents! Prosperity had indeed returned! + +"Where the CG ranch is I dunno, but I do know where one of their cayuses +is," he mused, glancing between two of the corral posts at the sleepy +animal. "If I has to auction it off to pay for its keep and the fine, +the saddle will bring a good, round sum. I allus knowed that a dollar +wasn't enough, nohow." + +Nat Fisher, punching cows for the CG and tired of his job, leaned +comfortably back in his chair in the Paradise and swapped lies with the +all-wise bartender. After a while he realized that he was hopelessly +outclassed at this diversion and he dug down into his pocket and brought +to light some loose silver and regarded it thoughtfully. It was all the +money he had and was beginning to grow interesting. + +"Say, was you ever broke?" he asked suddenly, a trace of sadness in his +voice. + +The bartender glanced at him quickly, but remained judiciously silent, +smelling the preamble of an attempt to "touch." + +"Well, I have been, am now, an' allus will be, more or less," continued +Fisher, in soliloquy, not waiting for an answer to his question. "Money +an' me don't ride the same range, not any. Here I am fifty miles away +from my ranch, with four dollars and ninety-five cents between me an' +starvation an' thirst, an' me not going home for three days yet. I was +going to quit the CG this month, but now I gotta go on working for it +till another pay-day. I don't even own a cayuse. Now, just to show you +what kind of a prickly pear I am, I'll cut the cards with you to see who +owns this," he suggested, smiling brightly at his companion. + +The bartender laughed, treated on the house, and shuffled out from +behind the bar with a pack of greasy playing cards. "All at once, or a +dollar a shot?" he asked, shuffling deftly. + +"Any way it suits you," responded Fisher, nonchalantly. He knew how a +sport should talk; and once he had cut the cards to see who should own +his full month's pay. He hoped he would be more successful this time. + +"Don't make no difference to me," rejoined the bartender. + +"All right; all at once, an' have it over with. It's a kid's game, at +that." + +"High wins, of course?" + +"High wins." + +The bartender pushed the cards across the table for his companion to +cut. Nat did so, and turned up a deuce. "Oh, don't bother," he said, +sliding the four dollars and ninety-five cents across the table. + +"Wait," grinned the bartender, who was a stickler for rules. He reached +over and turned up a card, and then laughed. "Matched, by George!" + +"Try again," grinned Fisher, his face clearing with hope. + +The bartender shuffled, and Fisher turned a five, which proved to be +just one point shy when his companion had shown his card. + +"Now," remarked Fisher, watching his money disappear into the +bartender's pocket, "I'll put up my gun agin ten of yore dollars if +yo're game. How about it?" + +"Done--that's a good weapon." + +"None better. Ah, a jack!" + +"I say queen--nope, _king_!" exulted the dispenser of liquids. "Say, +mebby you can get a job around here when you quit the CG," he suggested. + +"That's a good idea," replied Fisher. "But let's finish this while we're +at it. I got a good saddle outside on my cayuse--go look it over an' +tell me how much you'll put up agin it. If you win it an' can't use it, +you can sell it. It's first class." + +The bartender walked to the door, looked carefully around for a moment, +his eyes fastening upon a trail in the sandy street. Then he laughed. +"There ain't no saddle out here," he reported, well knowing where it +could be found. + +"What! Has that ornery piebald--well, what do you think of that!" +exclaimed Fisher, looking up and down the street. "This is the first +time that ever happened to me. Why, some coyote stole it! Look at the +tracks!" + +"No; it ain't stolen," the bartender responded. He considered a moment +and then made a suggestion. "Mebby the marshal can tell you where it +is--he knows everything like that. Nobody can take a cayuse out of this +town while the marshal is up an' well." + +"Lucky town, all right," chirped Fisher. "An' where is the marshal?" + +"You'll find him down the back way a couple of hundred yards; can't miss +him. He allus hangs out there when there are cayuses in town." + +"Good for him! I'll chase right down an' see him; an' when I get that +piebald----!" + +The bartender watched him go around the corner and shook his head sadly. +"Yes; hell of a lucky town," he snorted bitterly, listening for the riot +to begin. + +The marshal still sat against the corral gate and stroked the Winchester +in beatific contemplation. He had a fine job and he was happy. Suddenly +leaning forward to look up the road, he smiled derisively and shifted +the gun. A cow-puncher was coming his way rapidly, and on foot. + +"Are you the marshal of this flea of a town?" politely inquired the +newcomer. + +"I am the same," replied the man with the rifle. "Anything I kin do for +you?" + +"Yes; have you seen a piebald cayuse straying around loose-like, or +anybody leading one--CG being the brand?" + +"I did; it was straying." + +"An' which way did it go?" + +"Into the town pound." + +"What! Pond! What'n blazes is it doing with a pond? Couldn't it drink +without getting in? Where's the pond?" + +"Right here. It's eating its fool head off. I said pound, not pond. +P-o-u-n-d; which means that it's pawned, in hock, for destroying the +vegetation of Rawhide, an' disturbing the public peace." + +"Good joke on the piebald, all right; it was never locked up before," +laughed Fisher, trying to read a sign that faced away from him at a +slight angle. "Get it out for me an' I'll disturb _its_ peace. Sorry it +put you to all that trouble," he sympathized. + +"Two dollars an' four bits, an' a dollar initiation fee--it wasn't never +in the pound before. That makes three an' a half. Got the money with +you?" + +"What!" yelled Fisher, emerging from his trance. "What!" he yelled +again. + +"I ain't none deaf," placidly replied the marshal. "Got the money, the +three an' a half?" + +"If you think yo're going to skin me outen three-fifty, one-fifty, or +one measly cent, you need some medicine, an' I'll give it to you in +pill form! You'd make a bum-looking angel, so get up an' hand over that +cayuse, _an' do it damned quick_!" + +"Three-fifty, an' two bits extry for feed. It'll cost you 'bout a dollar +a day for feed. At the end of the week I'll sell that cayuse at auction +to pay its bills if you don't cough up. Got the money?" + +"I've got a lead slug for you if I can borrow my gun for five minutes!" +retorted Fisher, seething double from anger. + +"Five dollars more for contempt of court," pleasantly responded Mr. +Townsend. "As Justice of the Peace of this community I must allow +no disrespect, no contempt of the sovereign law of this town to go +unpunished. That makes it eight-seventy-five." + +"An' to think I lost my gun!" shouted Fisher, dancing with rage. "I'll +get that cayuse out an' I won't pay a cent, not a damned cent! An' I'll +get you at the same time!" + +"Now you dust around for fifteen dollars even an' stop yore contempt +of court an' threats or I'll drill you just for luck!" rejoined Mr. +Townsend, angrily. "If you keep on working yore mouth like that there +won't be nothing coming to you when I sell that cayuse of yourn. Turn +around an' strike out or I'll put you with yore ancestors!" + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE STRANGER'S PLAN + +Fisher, wild with rage, returned to the Paradise and profanely unfolded +the tale of his burning wrongs to the bartender and demanded the loan of +his gun, which the bartender promptly refused. The present owner of the +gun liked Fisher very much for being such a sport and sympathized with +him deeply, but he did not want to have such a pleasing acquaintance +killed. + +"Now, see here: you cool down an' I'll lend you fifteen dollars on that +saddle of yourn. You go up an' get that cayuse out before the price +goes up any higher--you don't know that man like I do," remarked the man +behind the bar earnestly. "That feller Townsend can shoot the eyes out +of a small dog at ten miles, purty nigh. Do you savvy my drift?" + +"I won't pay him a cussed cent, an' when he goes to sell that piebald at +auction, I'll be on hand with a gun; I'll get one somewhere, all right, +even if I have to steal it. Then I'll shoot out _his_ eyes at ten paces. +Why, he's a two-laigged hold-up! That man would--" he stopped as a +stranger entered the room. "Hey, stranger! Don't you leave that cayuse +of yourn outside all alone or that coyote of a marshal will steal it, +shore. He's the biggest thief I ever knowed. He'll lift yore animal +quick as a wink!" Fisher warned, excitedly. + +The stranger looked at him in surprise and then smiled. "Is it usual for +a marshal to steal cayuses? Somewhat out of line, ain't it?" he asked +Fisher, glancing at the bartender for light. + +"I don't care what's the rule--that marshal just stole my cayuse; an' +he'll take yourn, too, if you ain't careful," Fisher replied. + +"Well," drawled the stranger, smiling still more, "I reckon I ain't +going to stay out there an' watch it, an' I can't bring it in here. +But I reckon it'll be all right. You see, I carry 'big medicine' +agin hoss-thieves," he replied, tapping his holster and smiling as he +remembered the time, not long past, when he himself had been accused of +being one. "I'll take a chance if he will--what'll you all have?" + +"Little whiskey," replied Fisher, uneasily, worrying because he could +not stand for a return treat. "But, say; you keep yore eye on that +animal, just the same," he added, and then hurriedly gave his reasons. +"An' the worst part of the whole thing is that I ain't got no gun, an' +can't seem to borrow none, neither," he added, wistfully eyeing the +stranger's Colt. "I gambled mine away to the bartender here an' he won't +lemme borrow it for five minutes!" + +"Why, I never heard tell of such a thing before!" exclaimed the +stranger, hardly believing his ears, and aghast at the thought that such +conditions could exist. "Friend," he said, addressing the bartender, +"how is it that this sort of thing can go on in this town?" When the +bartender had explained at some length, his interested listener smote +the bar with a heavy fist and voiced his outraged feelings. "I'll shore +be plumb happy to spread that coyote marshal all over his cussed pound! +Say, come with me; I'm going down there right now an' get that cayuse, +an' if the marshal opens his mouth to peep I'll get him, too. I'm +itching for a chance to tunnel a man like him. Come on an' see the +show!" + +"Not much!" retorted Fisher. "While I am some pleased to meet a white +man, an' have a deep an' abiding gratitude for yore noble offer, I can't +let you do it. He put it over on me, an' I'm the one that's got to shoot +him up. He's mine, my pudding; an' I'm hogging him all to myself. That +is one luxury I can indulge in even if I am broke; an' I'm sorry, but +I can't give you cards. Seeing, however, as you are so friendly to the +cause of liberty an' justice, suppose you lend me yore gun for about +three minutes by the watch. From what I've been told about this town +such an act will win for you the eternal love an' gratitude of a +down-trodden people; yore gun will blaze the way to liberty an' light, +freedom an' the right to own yore own property, an' keep it. All I ask +is that I be the undeserving medium." + +"A-men," sighed the bartender. "Deacon Jones will now pass down the +aisle an' collect the buttons an' tin money." + +"Stranger," continued Fisher, warming up, when he saw that his words +had not produced the desired result, "King James the Twelfth, on the +memorable an' blood-soaked field of Trafalgar, gave men their rights. On +that great day he signed the Magnet Charter, and proved himself as +great a liberator as the sainted Lincoln. You, on this most auspicious +occasion, hold in yore strong hand the destiny of this town--the women +an' children in this cursed community will rise up an' bless you forever +an' pass yore name down to their ancestors as a man of deeds an' honor! +Let us pause to consider this--" + +"Hold that pause!" interrupted the astounded bartender hurriedly, and +with shaking voice. "String it out till I get untangled! I ain't up much +on history, so I won't take no chance with that; but I want to tell our +eloquent guest that there ain't no women _or_ children in this town. An' +if there was, I sort of reckon their ancestors would be born first. What +do you think about it--" + +"Let us pause to consider the shameful an' burning _indignity_ +perpetrated upon us to-day!" continued Fisher, unheeding the bartender's +words. "I, a peaceful, law-abiding _citizen_ of this _glorious_ +Commonwealth, a free an' _equal_ member of a liberty-loving nation, a +nation whose standard is, _now_ and forever, 'Gimme liberty or gimme +det', a _nation_ that stands for all the conceivable benefits that +mankind may enjoy, a _nation_ that scintillates pyrotechnically over the +prostitution of power--" + +_Bang!_ went the bartender's fist on the counter. "Hey! Pause again! +Wait a minute! Go back to 'shameful an' burning,' and gimme a chance!" + +"--that stands for an even break, I, Nathaniel G. Fisher, have been +deprived of one of my inalienable rights, the right of locomotion to +distant an' other parts. _An'_ I say, right here an' now, that I won't +allow no spavined individual with thieving prehensils to--" + +"Has that pound-keeper got a rifle?" calmly interrupted the stranger, +without a pang of remorse. + +"He has. Thus has it allus been with tyrants--well armed, fortified by +habit an' tradition--" + +"Then you won't get my gun, savvy? We'll find another way to get that +cayuse as long as you feel that the marshal is yore hunting. Besides, +this man's gall deserves some respect; it is genius, an' to pump genius +full of cold lead is to act rash. Now, suppose you tell me when this +auction is due to come off." + +"Oh, not for a week; he wants to run up the board an' keep expenses. +Tyrants, such as him--" + +"Shore," interposed the bartender, "he'll make the expenses equal what +he gets for the cayuse, no matter what it comes to. An' he's the whole +town, an' the justice of the peace, besides. What he says goes." + +"Well, I'm the Governor of the State an' I've got the Supreme Court +right here in my holster, so I reckon I can reverse his official acts +an' fill his legal opinions full of holes," the stranger replied, +laughing heartily. "Bartender, will you help me play a little joke on +His Honore, the Town,--just a little harmless joke?" + +"Well, that all depends whether the joke is harmless on _me_. You see, +he can shoot like the devil--he allus knows when a man is going to draw, +an' gets his gun out first. I ain't got no respect for him, but I take +off my hat to his gunplay, all right." + +The stranger smiled. "Well, I can shoot a bit myself. But I shore wish +he'd hold that auction quick--I've got to go on home without losing +any more time. Fisher, suppose you go down to the pound and dare that +tumble-bug to hold the auction this afternoon. Tell him that you'll +shoot him full of holes if he goes pulling off any auction to-day, an' +dare him to try it. I want it to come off before night, an' I reckon +that'll hustle it along." + +"I'll do anything to get the edge on that thief," replied Fisher, +quickly, "but don't you reckon I'd better tote a gun, going down an' +bearding such a thief in his own den? You know I allus like to shoot +when I'm being shot at." + +"Well, I don't blame you; it's only a petty weakness," grinned the +stranger, hanging onto his Colt as if fearing that the other would +snatch it and run. "But you'll do better without any gun--me an' the +bartender don't want to have to go down there an' bring you back on a +plank." + +"All right, then," sighed Fisher, reluctantly, "but he'll jump the price +again. He'll fine me for contempt of court an' make me pay money I ain't +got for disturbing him. But I'm game--so long." + +When he had gained the street, the stranger turned to the bartender. +"Now, friend, you tell me if this man of gall, this Mr. Townsend, has +got many friends in town--anybody that'll be likely to pot shoot from +the back when things get warm. I can't watch both ends unless I know +what I'm up against." + +"_No!_ Every man in town hates him," answered the bartender, hastily, +and with emphasis. + +"Ah, that's good. Now, I wonder if you could see 'most everybody that's +in town now an' get 'em to promise to help me by letting me run this all +by myself. All I want them to do is not to say a word. It ain't hard to +keep still when you want to." + +"Why, I reckon I might see 'em--there ain't many here this time of +day," responded the bartender. "But what's yore game, anyhow?" he asked, +suddenly growing suspicious. + +"It's just a little scheme I figgered out," the stranger replied, and +then he confided in the bartender, who jigged a few fancy steps to show +his appreciation of the other's genius. His suspicions left him at once, +and he hastened out to tell the inhabitants of the town to follow his +instructions to the letter, and he knew they would obey, and be glad, +hilariously glad, to do so. While he was hurrying around giving his +instructions, the CG puncher returned to the hotel and reported. + +"Well, it worked, all right," Fisher growled. "I told him what I'd do +to him if he tried to auction that cayuse off an' he retorted that if I +didn't shut up an' mind my own business, that he'd sell the horse this +noon, at twelve o'clock, in the public square, wherever that is. I told +him he was a coyote and dared him to do it. Told him I'd pump him full +of air ducts if he didn't wait till next week. Said I had the promise of +a gun an' that it'd give me great pleasure to use it on him if he tried +any auctioneering at my expense this noon. Then he fined me five dollars +more, swore that he'd show me what it meant to dare the marshal of +Rawhide an' insult the dignity of the court an' town council, an' also +that he'd shoot my liver all through my system if I didn't leave him to +his reflections. Now, look here, stranger; noon is only two hours away +an' I'm due to lose my outfit: what are _you_ going to do to get me out +of this mess?" he finished anxiously, hands on hips. + +"You did real well, very fine, indeed," replied the stranger, smiling +with content. "An' don't you worry about that outfit--I'm going to get +it back for you an' a little bit more. So, as long as you don't lose +nothing, you ain't got no kick coming, have you? An' you ain't got no +interest in what I'm going to do. Just sit tight an' keep yore eyes an' +ears open at noon. Meantime, if you want something to do to keep you +busy, practise making speeches--you ought to be ashamed to be punching +cows an' working for a living when you could use yore talents an' get a +lot of graft besides. Any man who can say as much on nothing as you +can ought to be in the Senate representing some railroad company or +waterpower steal--you don't have to work there, just loaf an' take +easy money for cheating the people what put you there. Now, don't get +mad--I'm only stringing you: I wouldn't be mean enough to call you a +senator. To tell the truth, I think yo're too honest to even think of +such a thing. But go ahead an' practise--_I_ don't mind it a bit." + +"Huh! I couldn't go to Congress," laughed Fisher. "I'd have to practise +by getting elected mayor of some town an' then go to the Legislature for +the finishing touches." + +"Mr. Townsend would beat you out," murmured the stranger, looking out of +the window and wishing for noon. He sauntered over to a chair, placed +it where he could see his horse, and took things easy. The bartender +returned with several men at his heels, and all were grinning and +joking. They took up their places against the bar and indulged in +frequent fits of chuckling, not letting their eyes stray from the man in +the chair and the open street through the door, where the auction was +to be held. They regarded the stranger in the light of a would-be +public benefactor, a martyr, who was to provide the town with a little +excitement before he followed his predecessors into the grave. Perhaps +he would _not_ be killed, perhaps he would shoot the pound-keeper and +general public nuisance--but ah, this was the stuff of which dreams were +made: the marshal would never be killed, he would thrive and outlive his +fellow-townsmen, and die in bed at a ripe old age. + +One of the citizens, dangling his legs from the card table, again looked +closely at the man with the plan, and then turned to a companion beside +him. "I've seen that there feller som'ers, sometime," he whispered. "I +_know_ I have. But I'll be teetotally dod-blasted if I can place him." + +"Well, Jim; I never saw him afore, an' I don't know who he is," replied +the other, refilling his pipe with elaborate care, "but if he can kill +Townsend to-day, I'll be so plumb joyous I won't know what to do with +m'self." + +"I'm afraid he won't, though," remarked another, lolling back against +the bar. "The marshal was born to hang--nobody can beat him on the draw. +But, anyhow, we're going to see some fun." + +The first speaker, still straining his memory for a clue to the +stranger's identity, pulled out a handful of silver and placed it on +the table. "I'll bet that he makes good," he offered, but there were no +takers. + +The stranger now lazily arose and stepped into the doorway, leaning +against the jamb and shaking his holster sharply to loosen the gun +for action. He glanced quickly behind him and spoke curtly: "Remember, +now--_I_ am to do all the talking at this auction; you fellers just look +on." + +A mumble of assent replied to him, and the townsmen craned their necks +to look out. A procession slowly wended its way up the street, led by +the marshal, astride a piebald horse bearing the crude brand of the CG. +Three men followed him and numerous dogs of several colors, sizes, and +ages roamed at will, in a listless, bored way, between the horse and +the men. The dust arose sluggishly and slowly dissipated in the hot, +shimmering air, and a fly buzzed with wearying persistence against the +dirty glass in the front window. + +The marshal, peering out from under the pulled-down brim of his Stetson, +looked critically at the sleepy horse standing near the open door of the +Paradise and sought its brand, but in vain, for it was standing with +the wrong side towards him. Then he glanced at the man in the door, a +puzzled expression stealing over his face. He had known that man once, +but time and events had wiped him nearly out of his memory and he could +not place him. He decided that the other horse could wait until he had +sold the one he was on, and, stopping before the door of the Paradise, +he raised his left arm, his right arm lying close to his side, not far +from the holster on his thigh. + +"Gentlemen an' feller-citizens," he began: "As marshal of this booming +city, I am about to offer for sale to the highest bidder this A Number +1 piebald, pursooant to the decree of the local court an' with the +sanction of the town council an' the mayor. This same sale is for to pay +the town for the board an' keep of this animal, an' to square the fine +in such cases made an' provided. It's sound in wind an' limb, fourteen +han's high, an' in all ways a beautiful piece of hoss-flesh. Now, +gentlemen, how much am I bid for this cayuse? Remember, before you +make me any offer, that this animal is broke to punching cows an' is a +first-class cayuse." + +The crowd in the Paradise had flocked out into the street and oozed +along the front of the building, while the stranger now leaned +carelessly against his own horse, critically looking over the one on +sale. Fisher, uneasy and worried, squirmed close at hand and glanced +covertly from his horse and saddle to the guns in the belts on the +members of the crowd. + +It was the stranger who broke the silence: "Two bits I bid--two bits," +he said, very quietly, whereat the crowd indulged in a faint snicker and +a few nudges. + +The marshal looked at him and then ignored him. "How much, gentlemen?" +he asked, facing the crowd again. + +"Two bits," repeated the stranger, as the crowd remained silent. + +"Two bits!" yelled the marshal, glaring at him angrily: "_Two bits!_ +Why, the _look_ in this cayuse's eyes is worth four! Look at the spirit +in them eyes, look at the intelligence! The saddle alone is worth a +clean forty dollars of any man's money. I am out here to sell this +animal to the highest bidder; the sale's begun, an' I want bids, not +jokes. Now, who'll start it off?" he demanded, glancing around; but no +one had anything to say except the terse stranger, who appeared to be +getting irritated. + +"You've got a starter--I've given you a bid. I bid two bits--t-w-o +b-i-t-s, twenty-five cents. Now go ahead with yore auction." + +The marshal thought he saw an attempt at humor, and since he was feeling +quite happy, and since he knew that good humor is conducive to good +bidding, he smiled, all the time, however, racking his memory for the +name of the humorist. So he accepted the bid: "All right, this gentleman +bids two bits. Two bits I am bid--two bits. Twenty-five cents. Who'll +make it twenty-five dollars? Two bits--who says twenty-five dollars? Ah, +did _you_ say twenty-five dollars?" he snapped, leveling an accusing and +threatening fore-finger at the man nearest him, who squirmed restlessly +and glanced at the stranger. "_Did you say twenty-five dollars?_" he +shouted. + +The stranger came to the rescue. "He did not. He hasn't opened his +mouth. But _I_ said twenty-five _cents_," quietly observed the humorist. + +"Who'll gimme thirty? Who'll gimme thirty dollars? Did I hear thirty +dollars? Did I hear twenty-five dollars bid? Who said thirty dollars? +Did _you_ say twenty-five dollars?" + +"How could he when he was talking politics to the man behind him?" asked +the stranger. "I said two bits," he added complacently, as he watched +the auctioneer closely. + +"I want twenty-five dollars--an' you shut yore blasted mouth!" snapped +the marshal at the persistent twenty-five-cent man. He did not see +the fire smouldering in the squinting eyes so alertly watching him. +"Twenty-five dollars--not a cent less takes the cayuse. Why, gentlemen, +he's worth twenty in _cans_! Gimme twenty-five dollars, somebody. _I_ +bid twenty-five. I want thirty. I want thirty, gentlemen; you must gimme +thirty. _I_ bid twenty-five dollars--who's going to make it thirty?" + +"Show us yore twenty-five an' she's yourn," remarked the stranger, with +exasperating assurance, while Fisher grew pale with excitement. The +stranger was standing clear of his horse now, and alert readiness +was stamped all over him. "You accepted my bid--show yore twenty-five +dollars or take my two bits." + +"You close that face of yourn!" exploded the marshal, angrily. "I don't +mind a little fun, but you've got altogether too damned much to say. +You've queered the bidding, an' now you shut up!" + +"I said two bits an' I mean just that. You show yore twenty-five or +gimme that cayuse on my bid," retorted the stranger. + +"By the pans of Julius Caesar!" shouted the marshal. "I'll put you to +sleep so you'll never wake up if I hears any more about you an' yore two +bits!" + +"Show me, Rednose," snapped the other, his gun out in a flash. "I want +that cayuse, an' I want it quick. You show me twenty-five dollars or +I'll take it out from under you on my bid, you yaller dog! _Stop it!_ +Shut up! That's suicide, that is. Others have tried it an' failed, an' +yo're no sleight-of-hand gun-man. This is the first time I ever paid a +hoss-thief in _silver_, or bought stolen goods, but everything has to +have a beginning. You get nervous with that hand of yourn an' I'll cure +you of it! Git off that piebald, an' quick!" + +The marshal felt stunned and groped for a way out, but the gun under his +nose was as steady as a rock. He sat there stupidly, not knowing enough +to obey orders. + +"Come, get off that cayuse," sharply commanded the stranger. "An' I'll +take yore Winchester as a fine for this high-handed business you've been +carrying on. You may be the local court an' all the town officials, but +I'm the Governor, an' here's my Supreme Court, as I was saying to the +boys a little while ago. Yo're overruled. Get off that cayuse, an' don't +waste no more time about it, neither!" + +The marshal glared into the muzzle of the weapon and felt a sinking in +the pit of his stomach. Never before had he failed to anticipate the +pull of a gun. As the stranger said, there must always be a beginning, a +first time. He was thinking quickly now; he was master of himself again, +but he realized that he was in a tight place unless he obeyed the man +with the drop. Not a man in town would help him; on the other hand, they +were all against him, and hugely enjoying his discomfiture. With some +men he could afford to take chances and jerk at his gun even when at +such a disadvantage, but-- + +"Stranger," he said slowly, "what's yore name?" + +The crowd listened eagerly. + +"My _friends_ call me Hopalong Cassidy; other people, other things--you +gimme that cayuse an' that Winchester. Here! Hand the gun to Fisher, so +there won't be no lamentable accidents: I don't want to shoot you, 'less +I have to." + +"They're both yourn," sighed Mr. Townsend, remembering a certain +day over near Alameda, when he had seen Mr. Cassidy at gun-play. He +dismounted slowly and sorrowfully. "Do I--do I get my two bits?" he +asked. + +"You shore do--yore gall is worth it," said Mr. Cassidy, turning the +piebald over to its overjoyed owner, who was already arranging further +gambling with his friend, the bartender. + +Mr. Townsend pocketed the one bid, surveyed glumly the hilarious crowd +flocking in to the bar to drink to their joy in his defeat, and wandered +disconsolately back to the pound. He was never again seen in that +locality, or by any of the citizens of Rawhide, for between dark and +dawn he resumed his travels, bound for some locality far removed from +limping, red-headed drawbacks. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +JOHNNY LEARNS SOMETHING + +For several weeks after Hopalong got back to the ranch, full of +interesting stories and minus the grouch, things went on in a way placid +enough for the most peacefully inclined individual that ever sat a +saddle. And then trouble drifted down from the north and caused a look +of anxiety to spoil Buck Peters' pleasant expression, and began to show +on the faces of his men. When one finds the carcasses of two cows on the +same day, and both are skinned, there can be only one conclusion. The +killing and skinning of two cows out of herds that are numbered by +thousands need not, in themselves, bring lines of worry to any foreman's +brow; but there is the sting of being cheated, the possibility of the +losses going higher unless a sharp lesson be given upon the folly +of fooling with a very keen and active buzz-saw,--and it was the +determination of the outfit of the Bar-20 to teach that lesson, and as +quickly as circumstances would permit. + +It was common knowledge that there was a more or less organized band of +shiftless malcontents making its headquarters in and near Perry's Bend, +some distance up the river, and the deduction in this case was easy. The +Bar-20 cared very little about what went on at Perry's Bend--that was +a matter which concerned only the ranches near that town--as long as no +vexatious happenings sifted too far south. But they had so sifted, and +Perry's Bend, or rather the undesirable class hanging out there, was due +to receive a shock before long. + +About a week after the finding of the first skinned cows, Pete Wilson +tornadoed up to the bunk house with a perforated arm. Pete was on foot, +having lost his horse at the first exchange of shots, which accounts +for the expression describing his arrival. Pete hated to walk, he hated +still more to get shot, and most of all he hated to have to admit that +his rifle-shooting was so far below par. He had seen the thief at work +and, too eager to work up close to the cattle skinner before announcing +his displeasure, had missed the first shot. When he dragged himself out +from under his deceased horse the scenery was undisturbed save for a +small cloud of dust hovering over a distant rise to the north of him. +After delivering a short and bitter monologue he struck out for +the ranch and arrived in a very hot and wrathful condition. It was +contagious, that condition, and before long the entire outfit was in +the saddle and pounding north, Pete overjoyed because his wound was so +slight as not to bar him from the chase. The shock was on the way, +and as events proved, was to be one long to linger in the minds of the +inhabitants of Perry's Bend and the surrounding range. + + + +The patrons of the Oasis liked their tobacco strong. The pungent smoke +drifted in sluggish clouds along the low, black ceiling, following its +upward slant toward the east wall and away from the high bar at the +other end. This bar, rough and strong, ran from the north wall to within +a scant two feet of the south wall, the opening bridged by a hinged +board which served as an extension to the counter. Behind the bar was +a rear door, low and double, the upper part barred securely--the lower +part was used most. In front of and near the bar was a large round +table, at which four men played cards silently, while two smaller tables +were located along the north wall. Besides dilapidated chairs there were +half a dozen low wooden boxes partly filled with sand, and attention +was directed to the existence and purpose of these by a roughly lettered +sign on the wall, reading: "Gents will look for a box first," which the +"gents" sometimes did. The majority of the "gents" preferred to aim +at various knotholes in the floor and bet on the result, chancing the +outpouring of the proprietor's wrath if they missed. + +On the wall behind the bar was a smaller and neater request: "Leave your +guns with the bartender.--Edwards." This, although a month old, still +called forth caustic and profane remarks from the regular frequenters of +the saloon, for hitherto restraint in the matter of carrying weapons +had been unknown. They forthwith evaded the order in a manner consistent +with their characteristics--by carrying smaller guns where they could +not be seen. The majority had simply sawed off a generous part of the +long barrels of their Colts and Remingtons, which did not improve their +accuracy. + +Edwards, the new marshal of Perry's Bend, had come direct from Kansas +and his reputation as a fighter had preceded him. When he took up his +first day's work he was kept busy proving that he was the rightful owner +of it and that it had not been exaggerated in any manner or degree. +With the exception of one instance the proof had been bloodless, for he +reasoned that gun-play should give way, whenever possible, to a crushing +"right" or "left" to the point of the jaw or the pit of the stomach. +His proficiency in the manly art was polished and thorough and bespoke +earnest application. The last doubting Thomas to be convinced came to +five minutes after his diaphragm had been rudely and suddenly raised +several inches by a low right hook, and as he groped for his bearings +and got his wind back again he asked, very feebly, where "Kansas" was; +and the name stuck. + +When Harlan heard the nickname for the first time he stopped pulling the +cork out of a whiskey bottle long enough to remark, casually, "I allus +reckoned Kansas was purty close to hell," and said no more about it. +Harlan was the proprietor and bartender of the Oasis and catered to the +excessive and uncritical thirsts of the ruck of range society, and he +had objected vigorously to the placing of the second sign in his place +of business; but at the close of an incisive if inelegant reply from the +marshal, the sign went up, and stayed up. Edwards' language and delivery +were as convincing as his fists. + +The marshal did not like the Oasis; indeed, he went further and +cordially hated it. Harlan's saloon was a thorn in his side and he was +only waiting for a good excuse to wipe it off the local map. He was the +Law, and behind him were the range riders, who would be only too glad +to have the nest of rustlers wiped out and its gang of ne'er-do-wells +scattered to the four winds. Indeed, he had been given to understand +in a most polite and diplomatic way that if this were not done lawfully +they would try to do it themselves, and they had great faith in their +ability to handle the situation in a thorough and workmanlike manner. +This would not do in a law-abiding community, as he called the town, and +so he had replied that the work was his, and that it would be performed +as soon as he believed himself justified to act. Harlan and his friends +were fully conversant with the feeling against them and had become a +little more cautious, alertly watching out for trouble. + +On the evening of the day which saw Pete Wilson's discomfiture most of +the habitues had assembled in the Oasis where, besides the card-players +already mentioned, eight men lounged against the bar. There was some +laughter, much subdued talking, and a little whispering. More whispering +went on under that roof than in all the other places in town put +together; for here rustling was planned, wayfaring strangers were +"trimmed" in "frame-ups" at cards, and a hunted man was certain to find +assistance. Harlan had once boasted that no fugitive had ever been taken +from his saloon, and he was behind the bar and standing on the trap door +which led to the six-by-six cellar when he made the assertion. It was +true, for only those in his confidence knew of the place of refuge under +the floor; it had been dug at night and the dirt carefully disposed of. + +It had not been dark very long before talking ceased and card-playing +was suspended while all looked up as the front door crashed open and two +punchers entered, looking the crowd over with critical care. + +"Stay here, Johnny," Hopalong told his youthful companion, and then +walked forward, scrutinizing each scowling face in turn, while Johnny +stood with his back to the door, keenly alert, his right hand resting +lightly on his belt not far from the holster. + +Harlan's thick neck grew crimson and his eyes hard. "Looking fer +something?" he asked with bitter sarcasm, his hands under the bar. +Johnny grinned hopefully and a sudden tenseness took possession of him +as he watched for the first hostile move. + +"Yes," Hopalong replied coolly, appraising Harlan's attitude and look in +one swift glance, "but it ain't here, now. Johnny, get out," he ordered, +backing after his companion, and safely outside, the two walked towards +Jackson's store, Johnny complaining about the little time spent in the +Oasis. + +As they entered the store they saw Edwards, whose eye asked a question. + +"No; he ain't in there yet," Hopalong replied. + +"Did you look all over? Behind the bar?" Edwards asked, slowly. "He +can't get out of town through that cordon you've got strung around it, +an' he ain't nowhere else. Leastwise, I couldn't find him." + +"Come on back!" excitedly exclaimed Johnny, turning towards the door. +"You didn't look behind the bar! Come on--bet you ten dollars that's +where he is!" + +"Mebby yo're right, Kid," replied Hopalong, and the marshal's nodding +head decided it. + +In the saloon there was strong language, and Jack Quinn, expert skinner +of other men's cows, looked inquiringly at the proprietor. "What's up +now, Harlan?" + +The proprietor laughed harshly but said nothing--taciturnity was his one +redeeming trait. "Did you say cigars?" he asked, pushing a box across +the bar to an impatient customer. Another beckoned to him and he leaned +over to hear the whispered request, a frown struggling to show itself on +his face. "Nix; you know my rule. No trust in here." + +But the man at the far end of the line was unlike the proprietor and he +prefaced his remarks with a curse. "_I_ know what's up! They want Jerry +Brown, that's what! An' I hopes they don't get him, the bullies!" + +"What did he do? Why do they want him?" asked the man who had wanted +trust. + +"Skinning. He was careless or crazy, working so close to their ranch +houses. Nobody that had any sense would take a chance like that," +replied Boston, adept at sleight-of-hand with cards and very much in +demand when a frame-up was to be rung in on some unsuspecting stranger. +His one great fault in the eyes of his partners was that he hated to +divvy his winnings and at times had to be coerced into sharing equally. + +"Aw, them big ranches make me mad," announced the first speaker. "Ten +years ago there was a lot of little ranchers, an' every one of 'em had +his own herd, an' plenty of free grass an' water for it. Where are the +little herds now? Where are the cows that _we_ used to own?" he cried, +hotly. "What happens to a maverick-hunter now-a-days? By God, if a man +helps hisself to a pore, sick dogie he's hunted down! It can't go on +much longer, an' that's shore." + +Cries of approbation arose on all sides, for his auditors ignored the +fact that their kind, by avarice and thievery, had forever killed the +occupation of maverick-hunting. That belonged to the old days, before +the demand for cows and their easy and cheap transportation had boosted +the prices and made them valuable. + +Slivers Lowe leaped up from his chair. "Yo're right, Harper! Dead right! +_I_ was a little cattle owner once, so was you, an' Jerry, an' most of +us!" Slivers found it convenient to forget that fully half of his small +herd had perished in the bitter and long winter of five years before, +and that the remainder had either flowed down his parched throat or been +lost across the big round table near the bar. Not a few of his cows were +banked in the east under Harlan's name. + +The rear door opened slightly and one of the loungers looked up and +nodded. "It's all right, Jerry. But get a move on!" + +"Here, _you_!" called Harlan, quickly bending over the trap door, +"_Lively!_" + +Jerry was half way to the proprietor when the front door swung open and +Hopalong, closely followed by the marshal, leaped into the room, and +immediately thereafter the back door banged open and admitted Johnny. +Jerry's right hand was in his side coat pocket and Johnny, young and +self-confident, and with a lot to learn, was certain that he could beat +the fugitive on the draw. + +"I reckon you won't blot no more brands!" he cried, triumphantly, +watching both Jerry and Harlan. + +The card-players had leaped to their feet and at a signal from Harlan +they surged forward to the bar and formed a barrier between Johnny and +his friends; and as they did so that puncher jerked at his gun, twisting +to half face the crowd. At that instant fire and smoke spurted from +Jerry's side coat pocket and the odor of burning cloth arose. As Johnny +fell, the rustler ducked low and sprang for the door. A gun roared twice +in the front of the room and Jerry staggered a little and cursed as he +gained the opening, but he plunged into the darkness and threw himself +into the saddle on the first horse he found in the small corral. + +When the crowd massed, Hopalong leaped at it and strove to tear his way +to the opening at the end of the bar, while the marshal covered Harlan +and the others. Finding that he could not get through. Hopalong sprang +on the shoulder of the nearest man and succeeded in winging the fugitive +at the first shot, the other going wild. Then, frantic with rage and +anxiety, he beat his way through the crowd, hammering mercilessly at +heads with the butt of his Colt, and knelt at his friend's side. + +Edwards, angered almost to the point of killing, ordered the crowd +to stand against the wall, and laughed viciously when he saw two men +senseless on the floor. "Hope he beat in yore heads!" he gritted, +savagely. "Harlan, put yore paws up in sight or I'll drill you clean! +Now climb over an' get in line--quick!" + +Johnny moaned and opened his eyes. "Did--did I--get him?" + +"No; but he gimleted you, all right," Hopalong replied. "You'll come +'round if you keep quiet." He arose, his face hard with the desire to +kill. "I'm coming back for _you_, Harlan, after I get yore friend! An' +all the rest of you pups, too!" + +"Get me out of here," whispered Johnny. + +"Shore enough, Kid; but keep quiet," replied Hopalong, picking him up in +his arms and moving carefully towards the door. "We'll get him, Johnny; +an' all the rest, too, when----" The voice died out in the direction of +Jackson's and the marshal, backing to the front door, slipped out and to +one side, running backward, his eyes on the saloon. + +"Yore day's about over, Harlan," he muttered. "There's going to be some +few funerals around here before many hours pass." + +When he reached the store he found the owner and two Double-Arrow +punchers taking care of Johnny. "Where's Hopalong?" he asked. + +"Gone to tell his foreman," replied Jackson. "Hey, youngster, you let +them bandages alone! Hear me?" + +"Hullo, Kansas," remarked John Bartlett, foreman of the Double-Arrow. "I +come nigh getting yore man; somebody rode past me like a streak in the +dark, so I just ups an' lets drive for luck, an' so did he. I heard him +cuss an' I emptied my gun after him." + +"The rest was a-passing the word along to ride in when I left the line," +remarked one of the other punchers. "How you feeling now, Johnny?" + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE END OF THE TRAIL + +The rain slanted down in sheets and the broken plain, thoroughly +saturated, held the water in pools or sent it down the steep sides of +the arroyo, to feed the turbulent flood which swept along the bottom, +foam-flecked and covered with swiftly moving driftwood. Around a bend +in the arroyo, where the angry water flung itself against the ragged +bulwark of rock and flashed away in a gleaming line of foam, a horseman +appeared bending low in the saddle for better protection against +the storm. He rode along the edge of the stream on the farther bank, +opposite the steep bluff on the northern side, forcing his wounded and +jaded horse to keep fetlock deep in the water which swirled and sucked +about its legs. He was trying his hardest to hide his trail. Lower down +the hard, rocky ground extended to the water's edge, and if he could +delay his pursuers for an hour or so, he felt that, even with his tired +horse, he would have more than an even chance. + +But they had gained more than he knew. Suddenly above him on the top of +the steep bluff across the torrent a man loomed up against the clouds, +peered intently into the arroyo, and then waved his sombrero to an +unseen companion. A puff of smoke flashed from his shoulder and streaked +away, the report of the shot lost in the gale. The fugitive's horse +reared and plunged into the deep water and with its rider was swept +rapidly towards the bend, the way they had come. + +"That makes the fourth time I've missed that coyote!" angrily exclaimed +Hopalong as Red Connors joined him. + +The other quickly raised his rifle and fired; and the horse, spilling +its rider out of the saddle, floated away tail first. The fugitive, +gripping his rifle, bobbed and whirled at the whim of the greedy water +as shots struck near him. Making a desperate effort, he staggered up the +bank and fell exhausted behind a boulder. + +"Well, the coyote is afoot, anyhow," said Red, with great satisfaction. + +"Yes; but how are we going to get to him?" asked Hopalong. "We can't get +the cayuses down here, an' we can't swim _that_ water without them. An' +if we could, he'd pot us easy." + +"There's a way out of it somewhere," Red replied, disappearing over the +edge of the bluff to gamble with Fate. + +"Hey! Come back here, you chump!" cried Hopalong, running forward. +"He'll get you, shore!" + +"That's a chance I've got to take if I get him," was the reply. + +A puff of smoke sailed from behind the boulder on the other bank and +Hopalong, kneeling for steadier aim, fired and then followed his friend. +Red was downstream casting at a rock across the torrent but the wind +toyed with the heavy, water-soaked _reata_ as though it were a string. +As Hopalong reached his side a piece of driftwood ducked under the water +and an angry humming sound died away downstream. As the report reached +their ears a jet of water spurted up into Red's face and he stepped back +involuntarily. + +"He's so shaky," Hopalong remarked, looking back at the wreath of smoke +above the boulder. "I reckon I must have hit him harder than I thought +in Harlan's. Gee! He's wild as blazes!" he yelled as a bullet hummed +high above his head and struck sharply against the rock wall. + +"Yes," Red replied, coiling the rope. "I was trying to rope that rock +over there. If I could anchor to that, the current would push us over +quick. But it's too far with this wind blowing." + +"We can't do nothing here 'cept get plugged. He'll be getting steadier +as he rests from his fight with the water," Hopalong remarked, and added +quickly, "Say, remember that meadow back there a ways? We can make her +from there, all right." + +"Yo're right; that's what we've got to do. He's sending 'em nearer every +shot--Gee! I could 'most feel the wind of that one. An' blamed if it +ain't stopped raining. Come on." + +They clambered up the slippery, muddy bank to where they had left their +horses, and cantered back over their trail. Minute after minute passed +before the cautious skulker among the rocks across the stream could +believe in his good fortune. When he at last decided that he was alone +again he left his shelter and started away, with slowly weakening +stride, over cleanly washed rock where he left no trail. + +It was late in the afternoon before the two irate punchers appeared +upon the scene, and their comments, as they hunted slowly over the hard +ground, were numerous and bitter. Deciding that it was hopeless in that +vicinity, they began casting in great circles on the chance of crossing +the trail further back from the river. But they had little faith in +their success. As Red remarked, snorting like a horse in his disgust, +"I'll bet four dollars an' a match he's swum down the river clean to +hell just to have the laugh on us." Red had long since given it up as +a bad job, though continuing to search, when a shout from the distant +Hopalong sent him forward on a run. + +"Hey, Red!" cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of them. "Look there! Ain't +that a house?" + +"Naw; course not! It's a--it's a ship!" Red snorted sarcastically. "What +did you think it might be?" + +"G'wan!" retorted his companion. "It's a mission." + +"Ah, g'wan yoreself! What's a mission doing up here?" Red snapped. + +"What do you think they do? What do they do anywhere?" hotly rejoined +Hopalong, thinking about Johnny. "There! See the cross?" + +"Shore enough!" + +"An' there's tracks at last--mighty wobbly, but tracks just the same. +Them rocks couldn't go on forever. Red, I'll bet he's cashed in by this +time." + +"Cashed nothing! Them fellers don't." + +"Well, if he's in that joint we might as well go back home. We won't get +him, not nohow," declared Hopalong. + +"Huh! You wait an' see!" replied Red, pugnaciously. + +"Reckon you never run up agin a mission real hard," Hopalong responded, +his memory harking back to the time he had disagreed with a convent, +and they both meant about the same to him as far as winning out was +concerned. + +"Think I'm a fool kid?" snapped Red, aggressively. + +"Well, you ain't no _kid_." + +"You let _me_ do the talking; _I'll_ get him." + +"All right; an' I'll do the laughing," snickered Hopalong, at the door. +"Sic 'em, Red!" + +The other boldly stepped into a small vestibule, Hopalong close at his +heels. Red hitched his holster and walked heavily into a room at his +left. With the exception of a bench, a table, and a small altar, the +room was devoid of furnishings, and the effect of these was lost in the +dim light from the narrow windows. The peculiar, not unpleasant odor of +burning incense and the dim light awakened a latent reverence and awe +in Hopalong, and he sneaked off his sombrero, an inexplicable feeling +of guilt stealing over him. There were three doors in the walls, deeply +shrouded in the dusk of the room, and it was very hard to watch all +three at once. + +Red was peering into the dark corners, his hand on the butt of his Colt, +and hardly knew what he was looking for. "This joint must 'a' looked +plumb good to that coyote, all right. He had a hell of a lot of luck, +but he won't keep it for long, damn him!" he remarked. + +"Quit cussing!" tersely ordered Hopalong. "An' for God's sake, throw out +that damned cigarette! Ain't you got no manners?" + +Red listened intently and then grinned. "Hear that? They're playing +dominoes in there--come on!" + +"Aw, you chump! 'Dominee' means 'mother' in Latin, which is what they +speaks." + +"How do you know?" + +"Hanged if I can tell--I've heard it somewhere, that's all." + +"Well, I don't care what it means. This is a frame-up so that coyote +can get away. I'll bet they gave him a cayuse an' started him off +while we've been losing time in here. I'm going inside an' ask some +questions." + +Before he could put his plan into execution, Hopalong nudged him and he +turned to see his friend staring at one of the doors. There had been no +sound, but he would swear that a monk stood gravely regarding them, +and he rubbed his eyes. He stepped back suspiciously and then started +forward again. + +"Look here, stranger," he remarked, with quiet emphasis, "we're after +that cow-lifter, an' we mean to get him. Savvy?" + +The monk did not appear to hear him, so he tried another tack. "_Habla +Espanola?_" he asked, experimentally. + +"You have ridden far?" replied the monk in perfect English. + +"All the way from the Bend," Red replied, relieved. "We're after Jerry +Brown. He tried to kill Johnny, an' near made good. An' I reckon we've +treed him, judging from the tracks." + +"And if you capture him?" + +"He won't have no more use for no side pocket shooting." + +"I see; you will kill him." + +"Shore's it's wet outside." + +"I'm afraid you are doomed to disappointment." + +"Ya-as?" asked Red with a rising inflection. + +"You will not want him now," replied the monk. + +Red laughed sarcastically and Hopalong smiled. + +"There ain't a-going to be no argument about it. Trot him out," ordered +Red, grimly. + +The monk turned to Hopalong. "Do you, too, want him?" + +Hopalong nodded. + +"My friends, he is safe from your punishment." + +Red wheeled instantly and ran outside, returning in a few moments, +smiling triumphantly. "There are tracks coming in, but there ain't none +going away. He's here. If you don't lead us to him we'll shore have to +rummage around an' poke him out for ourselves: which is it?" + +"You are right--he is here, and he is not here." + +"We're waiting," Red replied, grinning. + +"When I tell you that you will not want him, do you still insist on +seeing him?" + +"We'll see him, an' we'll want him, too." + +As the rain poured down again the sound of approaching horses was heard, +and Hopalong ran to the door in time to see Buck Peters swing off his +mount and step forward to enter the building. Hopalong stopped him and +briefly outlined the situation, begging him to keep the men outside. The +monk met his return with a grateful smile and, stepping forward, opened +the chapel door, saying, "Follow me." + +The unpretentious chapel was small and nearly dark, for the usual +dimness was increased by the lowering clouds outside. The deep, narrow +window openings, fitted with stained glass, ran almost to the rough-hewn +rafters supporting the steep-pitched roof, upon which the heavy rain +beat again with a sound like that of distant drums. Gusts of rain +and the water from the roof beat against the south windows, while the +wailing wind played its mournful cadences about the eaves, and the +stanch timbers added their creaking notes to swell the dirge-like +chorus. + +At the farther end of the room two figures knelt and moved before the +white altar, the soft light of flickering candles playing fitfully upon +them and glinting from the altar ornaments, while before a rough coffin, +which rested upon two pedestals, stood a third, whose rich, sonorous +Latin filled the chapel with impressive sadness. "Give eternal rest +to them, O Lord,"--the words seeming to become a part of the room. The +ineffably sad, haunting melody of the mass whispered back from the room +between the assaults of the enraged wind, while from the altar came the +responses in a low, Gregorian chant, and through it all the clinking of +the censer chains added intermittent notes. Aloft streamed the vapor +of the incense, wavering with the air currents, now lost in the deep +twilight of the sanctuary, and now faintly revealed by the glow of the +candles, perfuming the air with its aromatic odor. + +As the last deep-toned words died away the celebrant moved slowly around +the coffin, swinging the censer over it and then, sprinkling the body +and making the sign of the cross above its head, solemnly withdrew. + +From the shadows along the side walls other figures silently emerged and +grouped around the coffin. Raising it they turned it slowly around and +carried it down the dim aisle in measured tread, moving silently as +ghosts. + +"He is with God, Who will punish according to his sins," said a low +voice, and Hopalong started, for he had forgotten the presence of the +guide. "God be with you, and may you die as he died--repentant and in +peace." + +Buck chafed impatiently before the chapel door leading to a small, +well-kept graveyard, wondering what it was that kept quiet for so long +a time his two most assertive men, when he had momentarily expected to +hear more or less turmoil and confusion. + +_C-r-e-a-k!_ He glanced up, gun in hand and raised as the door swung +slowly open. His hand dropped suddenly and he took a short step forward; +six black-robed figures shouldering a long box stepped slowly past +him, and his nostrils were assailed by the pungent odor of the incense. +Behind them came his fighting punchers, humble, awed, reverent, their +sombreros in their hands, and their heads bowed. + +"What in blazes!" exclaimed Buck, wonder and surprise struggling for the +mastery as the others cantered up. + +"He's cashed," Red replied, putting on his sombrero and nodding toward +the procession. + +Buck turned like a flash and spoke sharply: "Skinny! Lanky! Follow that +glory-outfit, an' see what's in that box!" + +Billy Williams grinned at Red. "Yo're shore pious, Red." + +"Shut up!" snapped Red, anger glinting in his eyes, and Billy subsided. + +Lanky and Skinny soon returned from accompanying the procession. + +"I had to look twice to be shore it was him. His face was plumb happy, +like a baby. But he's gone, all right," Lanky reported. + +"Deader'n hell," remarked Skinny, looking around curiously. "This here +is some shack, ain't it?" he finished. + +"All right--he knowed how he'd finish when he began. Now for that dear +Mr. Harlan," Buck replied, vaulting into the saddle. He turned and +looked at Hopalong, and his wonder grew. "Hey, _you_! Yes, _you_! Come +out of that an' put on yore lid! Straddle leather--we can't stay here +all night." + +Hopalong started, looked at his sombrero and silently obeyed. As they +rode down the trail and around a corner he turned in his saddle and +looked back; and then rode on, buried in thought. + +Billy, grinning, turned and playfully punched him in the ribs. "Getting +glory, Hoppy?" + +Hopalong raised his head and looked him steadily in the eyes; and Billy, +losing his curiosity and the grin at the same instant, looked ahead, +whistling softly. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +EDWARDS' ULTIMATUM + +Edwards slid off the counter in Jackson's store and glowered at the +pelting rain outside, perturbed and grouchy. The wounded man in the +corner stirred and looked at him without interest and forthwith renewed +his profane monologue, while the proprietor, finishing his task, leaned +back against the shelves and swore softly. It was a lovely atmosphere. + +"Seems to me they've been gone a long time," grumbled the wounded man. +"Reckon he led 'em a long chase--had six hours' start, the toad." He +paused and then as an afterthought said with conviction: "But they'll +get him--they allus do when they make up their minds to it." + +Edwards nodded moodily and Jackson replied with a monosyllable. + +"Wish I could 'a' gone with 'em," Johnny growled. "I like to square my +own accounts. It's allus that way. I get plugged an' my friends clean +the slate. There was that time Bye-an'-Bye went an' ambushed me--ah, +the devil! But I tell you one thing: when I get well I'm going down to +Harlan's an' clean house proper." + +"Yo're in hard luck again: that'll be done as soon as yore friends get +back," Jackson replied, carefully selecting a dried apricot from a +box on the counter and glancing at the marshal to see how he took the +remark. + +"That'll be done before then," Edwards said crisply, with the air of +a man who has just settled a doubt. "They won't be back much before +to-morrow if he headed for the country I think he did. I'm going down +to the Oasis an' tell that gang to clear out of this town. They've been +here too long now. I never had 'em dead to rights before, but I've got +it on 'em this time. I'd 'a' sent 'em packing yesterday only I sort +of hated to take a man's business away from him an' make him lose his +belongings. But I've wrastled it all out an' they've got to go." He +buttoned his coat about him and pulled his sombrero more firmly on +his head, starting for the door. "I'll be back soon," he said over his +shoulder as he grasped the handle. + +"You better wait till you get help--there's too many down there for one +man to watch an' handle," Jackson hastily remarked. "Here, I'll go with +you," he offered, looking for his hat. + +Edwards laughed shortly. "You stay here. I do my own work by myself when +I can--that's what I'm here for, an' I can do this, all right. If I took +any help they'd reckon I was scared," and the door slammed shut behind +him. + +"He's got sand a plenty," Jackson remarked. "He'd try to push back a +stampede by main strength if he reckoned it was his duty. It's his good +luck that he wasn't killed long ago--_I'd_ 'a' been." + +"They're a bunch of cowards," replied Johnny. "As long as you ain't +afraid of 'em, none of 'em wants to start anything. Bunch of sheep!" he +snorted. "Didn't Jerry shoot me through his pocket?" + +"Yes; an' yo're another lucky dog," Jackson responded, having in mind +that at first Johnny had been thought to be desperately wounded. "Why, +yore friends have got the worst of this game; they're worse off than you +are--out all day an' night in this cussed storm." + +While they talked Edwards made his way through the cold downpour to +Harlan's saloon, alone and unafraid, and greatly pleased by the order +he would give. At last he had proof enough to work on, to satisfy his +conscience, for the inevitable had come as the culmination of continued +and clever defiance of law and order. + +He deliberately approached the front door of the Oasis and, opening it, +stepped inside, his hands resting on his guns--he had packed two Colts +for the last twenty-four hours. His appearance caused a ripple of +excitement to run around the room. After what had taken place, a +visit from him could mean only one thing--trouble. And it was entirely +possible that he had others within call to help him out if necessary. + +Harlan knew that he would be the one held responsible and he ceased +wiping a glass and held the cloth suspended in one hand and the glass in +the other. "Well?" he snapped, angrily, his eyes smouldering with fixed +hatred. + +"Mebby you think it's well, but it's going to be a blamed sight better +before sundown to-morrow night," evenly replied the marshal. "I just +dropped in sort of free-like to tell you to pack up an' get out of town +before dark--load yore wagon an' vamoose; an' take yore friends with +you, too. If you don't--" he did not finish in words, for his tightening +lips made them unnecessary. + +"_What!_" yelled Harlan, red with anger. He placed his hands on the bar +and leaned over it as if to give emphasis to his words. "_Me_ pack up +an' git! _Me_ leave this shack! Who's going to pay me for it, hey? _Me_ +leave town! You drop out again an' go back to Kansas where you come +from--they're easier back there!" + +"Well, so far I ain't found nothing very craggy 'round here," retorted +Edwards, closely watching the muttering crowd by the bar. "Takes more +than a loud voice an' a pack of sneaking coyotes to send me looking +for something easier. An' let me tell you this: _You_ stay away from +Kansas--they hangs people like you back there. That's whatever. You pack +up an' git out of this town or I'll start a burying plot with you on +yore own land." + +The low, angry buzz of Harlan's friends and their savage, scowling faces +would have deterred a less determined man; but Edwards knew they were +afraid of him, and the men on whom he could call to back him up. And he +knew that there must always be a start, there must be one man to show +the way; and each of the men he faced was waiting for some one else to +lead. + +"You all slip over the horizon before dark to-night, an' it's dark early +these days," he continued. "_Don't get restless with yore hands!_" he +snapped ominously at the crowd. "I means what I say--you shake the mud +from this town off yore boots before dark--before that Bar-20 outfit +gets back," he finished meaningly. + +Questions, imprecations, and threats filled the room, and the crowd +began to spread out slowly. His guns came out like a flash and he +laughed with the elation that comes with impending battle. "The first +man to start it'll drop," he said evenly. "Who's going to be the +martyr?" + +"I _won't_ leave town!" shouted Harlan. "I'll stay here if I'm killed +for it!" + +"I admire yore loyalty to principle, but you've got damned little +sense," retorted the marshal. "You ain't no practical man. _Keep yore +hands where they are!_"--his vibrant voice turned the shifting crowd to +stone-like rigidity and he backed slowly toward the door, the poor +light gleaming dully from the polished blue steel of his Colts. +Rugged, lion-like, charged to the finger tips with reckless courage and +dare-devil self-confidence, his personality overflowed and dominated the +room, almost hypnotic in its effect. He was but one against many, but +he was the master, and they knew it; they had known it long enough +to accept it without question, and the training now stood him in good +stead. + +For a moment he stood in the open doorway, keenly scrutinizing them for +signs of danger, his unwavering guns charged with certain death and +his strong face made stronger by the shadows in its hollows. "Before +dark!"--and he was gone. + +He left behind him deep silence, which endured for several moments. + +"By the Lord, I _won't_!" cried Harlan, still staring at the door. + +The spell was broken and a babel of voices filled the room, threats +mingling with excuses, hot, vibrant, profane. These men were not cowards +all the way through, but only when face to face with the master. They +had flourished in a way by their wits alone on the same range with the +outfits of the C-80 and the Double-Arrow, for individually they were +"bad," and collectively they made a force of no mean strength. Edwards +had landed among them like a thunderbolt and had proved his prowess, and +they still held him in awesome respect. His reckless audacity and grim +singleness of purpose had saved him on more than one occasion, for +had he wavered once he would have been shot down without mercy. But +gradually his enforcement of hampering laws became more and more +intolerable, and their subordinated spirits were nearly on the point +of revolt. When he faced them they resumed their former positions in +relation to him--but once out of his sight they plotted to destroy +him. Here was the crisis: it was now or never. They could not evade his +ultimatum--it was obey or fight. + +Submission was not to be thought of, for to flee would be to lose caste, +and the story of such an act would follow them wherever they went, and +brand them as cowards. Here they had lived, and here they would stay if +possible, and to this end they discussed ways and means. + +"Harlan's right!" emphatically announced Laramie Joe. "We can't pull out +and have this foller us." + +"We should have started it with a rush when he was in here," remarked +Boston, regretfully. + +Harlan stopped his pacing and faced them, shoving out a bottle of +whiskey as an aid to his logic. + +"That chance is past, an' I don't know but what it is a good thing," he +began. "He was primed an' looking fer trouble, an' he'd shore got a few +of us afore he went under. What we want is strategy--that's the game. +You fellers have got as much brains as him, an' if we thrash this thing +out we can find a way to call his play--an' get him! No use of any of us +getting plugged 'less we have to. But whatever we do we've got to start +it right quick an' have it over before that Bar-20 gang comes back. +Harper, you an' Quinn go scouting--an' don't take no guns with you, +neither. Act like you was hitting the long trail out, an' work back here +on a circle. See how many of his friends are in town. While you are gone +the rest of us will hold a pow-wow an' take the kinks out of this game. +Chase along, an' don't waste no time." + +"Good!" cried Slivers Lowe emphatically. "There's blamed few fellers +in town now that have any use for him, for most of them are off on the +ranges. Bet we won't have more than six to fight, an' there's that many +of us here." + +The scouts departed at once and the remaining four drew close in +consultation. + +"One more drink around and then no more till this trouble is over," +Harlan said, passing the bottle. The drinks, in view of the coming +drought and the thirsty work ahead, were long and deep, and new courage +and vindictiveness crept through their veins. + +"Now here's the way it looks to me," Harlan continued, placing the +bottle, untasted by himself, on the floor behind him. "We've got to work +a surprise an' take Edwards an' his friends off their guard. That'll be +easy if we're careful, because they think we ain't looking for fight. +When we get them out of the way we can take Jackson's store an' use one +of the other shacks and wait for the Bar-20 to ride in. They'll canter +right in, like they allus do, an' when they get close enough we'll open +the game with a volley an' make every shot tell. 'T won't last long, +'cause every one of us will have his man named before they get here. +Then the few straddlers in town, seeing how easy we've gone an' handled +it'll join us. We've got four men to come in yet, an' by the time the +C-80 an' Double-Arrow hears about it we'll be fixed to drive 'em back +home. We ought to be over a dozen strong by dark." + +"That sounds good, all right," remarked Slivers, thoughtfully, "but can +we do it that easy?" + +"Course we can! We ain't fools, an' we all can shoot as well as them," +snapped Laramie Joe, the most courageous of the lot. Laramie had taken +only one drink, and that a small one, for he was wise enough to realize +that he needed his wits as keen as he could have them. + +"We can do it easy, if Edwards goes under first," hastily replied +Harlan. "An' me an' Laramie will see to that part of it. If we don't get +him, you all can hit the trail an' we won't be sore about it. That is, +unless you are made of the stuff that stands up an' fights 'stead of +running away. I reckon I ain't none mistaken in any of you. You'll all +be there when things get hot." + +"You can bet the shack _I_ won't do no trail-hitting," growled Boston, +glancing at Slivers, who squirmed a little under the hint. + +"Well, I'm glued to the crowd; you can't lose me, fellers," Slivers +remarked, re-crossing his legs uneasily. "Are we going to begin it from +here?" + +"We ought to spread out cautions and surround Jackson's, or wherever +Edwards is," Laramie Joe suggested. "That's my--" + +"Yo're right! Now you've hit it plumb on the head!" interrupted Harlan, +slapping Laramie heartily across the back. "What did I tell you about +our brains?" he cried, enthusiastically. He had been on the point of +suggesting that plan of operations when Laramie took the words out +of his mouth. "I'd never thought of that, Laramie," he lied, his face +beaming. "Why, we've got 'em licked to a finish right now!" + +"This _is_ a hummer of a game," laughed Slivers. "But how about the +Bar-20 crowd?" + +"I've told you that already," replied the proprietor. + +"You bet it's a hummer," cried Boston, reaching for the whiskey bottle +under cover of the excitement and enthusiasm. + +Harlan pushed it away with his foot and raised his clenched fist. "Do +you wonder I didn't think of that plan?" he demanded. "Ain't I been too +mad to think at all? Hain't I seen my friends treated like dogs, an' +made to swaller insults when I couldn't raise my hand to stop it? Didn't +I see Jerry Brown chased out of my place like a wild beast? If we are +what we've been called, then we'll sneak out of town with our tails +atween our laigs; but if we're men we'll stay right here an' cram the +insults down the throats of them that made 'em! If we're _men_ let's +prove it an' make them liars swaller our lead." + +"My sentiments an' allus was!" roared Slivers, slapping Harlan's +shoulder. + +"We're men, all right, an' we'll show 'em it, too!" + +At that instant the door opened and four guns covered it before it had +swung a foot. + +"Put 'em down--it's Quinn!" exclaimed the man in the doorway, flinching +a bit. "All right, Jed," he called over his shoulder to the man who +crowded him. After Quinn came Big Jed and Harper brought up the rear. +They had no more than shaken the water from their sombreros when the +back door let in Charley Rich and his two companions, Frank and Tom +Nolan. While greetings were being exchanged and the existing conditions +explained to the newcomers, Harper and Quinn led Harlan to one side and +reported, the proprietor smiling and nodding his head wisely. And while +he listened, Slivers surreptitiously corralled the whiskey bottle and +when the last man finished with it there was nothing in it but air. + +"Well, boys," exclaimed Harlan, "things are our way. Quinn, here, met +Joe Barr, of the C-80, who said Converse an' four other fellers, all +friends of Edwards, stopped at the ranch an' won't be back home till the +storm stops. Harper saw Fred Neil going back to his ranch, so all we've +got to figger on is the marshal, Barr, an' Jackson, an' they're all in +Jackson's store. Lacey might cut in, since he'd sell more liquor if I +went under, but he can't do very much if he does take a hand. Now +we'll get right at it." The whole thing was gone over thoroughly and in +detail, positions assigned and a signal agreed upon. Seeing that weapons +were in good condition after their long storage in the cellar, and that +cartridge belts were full, the ten men left the room one at a time or +in pairs, Harlan and Laramie Joe being the last. And both Harlan and +Laramie delayed long enough to take the precaution of placing horses +where they would be handy in case of need. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +HARLAN STRIKES + +Joe Barr laughingly replied to Johnny Nelson's growled remarks about the +condition of things in general and tried to soothe him, but Johnny was +unsoothable. + +"An' I've been telling him right along that he's got the best of it," +complained Jackson in a weary voice. "Got a measly hole through his +shoulder--good Lord! if it had gone a little lower!" he finished with a +show of exasperation. + +"An' ain't I been telling you all along that it ain't the measly hole +in my shoulder that's got me on the prod?" retorted Johnny, with more +earnestness than politeness. "But why couldn't I go with my friends +after Jerry an' get shot later if I had to get it at all? Look what I'm +missing, roped an' throwed in this cussed ten-by-ten shack while they're +having a little excitement." + +"Yo're missing some blamed nasty weather, Kid," replied the marshal. +"You ain't got no kick coming at all. Why, I got soaked clean through +just going down to the Oasis." + +"Well, I'm kicking, just the same," snapped Johnny. "An' furthermore, I +don't see nobody big enough to stop me, neither--did you all get that?" + +The rear door opened and Fred Neal looked in. "Hey, Barr; come out an' +gimme a hand in the corral. Busted my cinch all to pieces half a mile +out--an' how the devil it ever busted like that is--" the door slammed +shut and softened his monologue. + +"Would you listen to that!" snorted Barr in an injured tone. "Didn't I +go an' tell him near a month ago that his cussed cinch wouldn't hold no +better'n a piece of wet paper?" His complaint added materially to the +atmosphere of sullen discontent pervading the room. "An' now I gotter +go out in this rain an'--" the slam of the door surpassed anything yet +attempted in that line of endeavor. Jackson grabbed a can of corn as it +jarred off the shelf behind him and directed a pleasing phrase after the +peevish Barr. + +"Say, won't somebody please smile?" gravely asked Edwards. "I never saw +such a happy, cheerful bunch before." + +"I might smile if I wasn't so blamed hungry," retorted Johnny. "Doesn't +anybody ever eat in this town?" he asked in great sarcasm. "Mebby a good +feed won't do me no good, but I'm going to fill myself regardless. An' +after that, if the grub don't shock me to death, I'm shore going to trim +somebody at Ol' Sledge--for two bits a hand." + +"If I could play you enough hands at that price I could sell out an' +live high without working," grinned Jackson, preparing to give the +reckless invalid all he could eat. "That's purty high, Kid; but I just +feel real devilish, an' I'm coming in." + +"An' I'll go over to my shack, get some money, an' bust the pair of +you," laughed Edwards, again buttoning his coat and going towards +the door. "Holy Cats! A log must 'a' got jammed in the sluice-gate +up there," he muttered, scowling at the black sky. "It's coming down +harder'n ever, but here goes," and he stepped quickly into the storm. + +Jackson paused with a frying pan in his hands and looked through +the window after the departing marshal, and saw him stagger, stumble +forward, then jerk out his guns and begin firing. Hard firing now burst +out in front and Jackson, cursing angrily, dropped the pan and reached +for his rifle--to drop it also and sink down, struck by the bullet which +drilled through the window. Johnny let out a yell of rage, grabbed his +Colt, and ran to the door in time to see Edwards slowly raise up on one +elbow, fire his last shot, and fall back riddled by bullets. + +Jackson crawled to his rifle and then to the side window, where he +propped his back against a box and prepared to do his best. "It was +shore a surprise," he swore. "An' they went an' got Edwards before he +could do anything." + +"They did not!" retorted Johnny. "He--" the glass in the door vibrated +sharply and the speaker, stepping to one side out of sight, with a new +and superficial wound, opened fire on the building down the street. +Two men were lying on the ground across the street--these Edwards +had shot--and another was trying to drag himself to the shelter of a +building. A man sprinted from an old corral close by in a brave and +foolhardy attempt to save his friend, and Johnny swore because he had to +fire twice at the same mark. + +The rear door crashed open and shut as Barr, closely followed by Neal, +ran in. They had been caught in the corral but, thanks to Harlan's +whiskey, had managed to hold their own until they had a chance to make a +rush for the store. + +"Where's the marshal?" cried Barr, catching sight of Jackson. "Are you +plugged bad?" he asked, anxiously. + +"Well, I ain't plugged a whole lot _good_!" snapped Jackson. "An' +Edwards is dead. They shot him down without warning. We're going to get +ours, too--these walls don't stop them bullets. How many out there?" + +"Must be a dozen," hastily replied Neal, who had not remained idle. Both +he and Barr were working like mad men moving boxes and barrels against +the walls to make a breastwork capable of stopping the bullets which +came through the boards. + +"I reckon--I'm bleeding inside," Jackson muttered, wearily and without +hope. "Wonder how--long we--can hold out?" + +"We'll hold out till we're good an' dead!" replied Johnny, hotly. "They +ain't got us yet an' they'll pay for it before they do. If we can hold +'em off till Buck an' the rest come back we'll have the pleasure of +seeing 'em buried." + +"Oh, I'll get you next time!" assured Barr to an enemy, slipping a fresh +cartridge into the Sharps and peering intently at a slight rise on the +muddy plain. "You shoot like yo're drunk," he mumbled. + +"But what is it all about, anyhow?" asked Neal, finding time for an +immaterial question. "Who are they?--can't see nothing but blurs through +this rain!" + +"Yes; what's the game?" asked Barr, mildly surprised that he had not +thought of it before. + +"It's that Oasis gang," Johnny responded. He fired, and growled with +disappointment. "Harlan's at the head of it," he added. + +"Edwards--told Harlan to--get out of--town," Jackson began. + +"An' to take his gang with him," Johnny interposed quickly to save +Jackson from the strain. "They had till dark. Guess the rest. Oh, you +_coyote_!" he shouted, staggering back. There was a report farther down +the barricade and Neal called out, "I got him, Nelson; he's done. How +are you?" + +"Mad! Mad!" yelled Johnny, touching his twice-wounded shoulder and +dancing with rage and pain. "Right in the same place! Oh, wait! _Wait!_ +Hey, gimme a rifle--I can't do nothing with a Colt at this range; my +name ain't Hopalong," and he went slamming around the room in hot search +of what he wanted. + +"There ain't--no more--Johnny," feebly called Jackson, raising slightly +to ease himself. "You can have--my gun purty--soon. I won't be able--to +use it--much longer." + +"Why don't Buck an' Hoppy hurry up!" snarled Johnny. + +"Be a long time--mebby," mumbled Jackson, his trembling hands trying +to steady the rifle. "They're all--around us. _Ah_, missed!" he intoned +hoarsely, trying to pump the lever with unobeying hands. "I can't +last--much--" the words ceased abruptly and the clatter of the rifle on +the floor told the story. + +Johnny stumbled over to him and dragged him aside, covering the upturned +face with his own sombrero, and picked up the rifle. Rolling a barrel of +flour against the wall below the window he fixed himself as comfortably +as possible and threw a shell into the chamber. + +"Now, you coyotes; you pay _me_ for _that_!" he gritted, resting the gun +on the window sill and holding it so he could work it with one hand and +shoulder. + +"Wonder how them pups ever pumped up enough courage to cut loose like +this?" queried Neal from behind his flour barrel. + +"Whiskey," hazarded Barr. "Harlan must 'a' got 'em drunk. An' that's +three times I've missed that snake. Wish it would stop raining so I +could see better." + +"Why don't you wish they'd all drop dead? Wish good when you wish +at all: got as much chance of having it come true," responded Neal, +sarcastically. He smothered a curse and looked curiously at his left +arm, and from it to the new, yellow-splintered hole in the wall, which +was already turning dark from the water soaking into it. "Hey, Joe; we +need some more boxes!" he exclaimed, again looking at his arm. + +"Yes," came Johnny's voice. "Three of 'em--five of 'em, an' about six +feet long an' a foot deep. But if my outfit gets here in time we'll want +more'n a dozen." + +"Say! Lacey's firing now!" suddenly cried Barr. "He's shooting out +of his windy. That'll stop 'em from rushing us! Good boy, Lacey!" he +shouted, but Lacey did not hear him in the uproar. + +"An' he's worse off than we are, being alone," commented Neal. "Hey! One +of us better make a break for help--my ranch's the nearest. What d'ye +say?" + +"It's suicide; they'll get you before you get ten feet," Barr replied +with conviction. + +"No; they won't--the corral hides the back door, an' all the firing +is on this side. I can sneak along the back wall an' by keeping the +buildings atween me an' them, get a long ways off before they know +anything about it. Then it's a dash--an' they can't catch me. But can +you fellers hold out if I do?" + +"Two can hold out as good as three--go ahead," Johnny replied. "Leave me +some of yore Colt cartridges, though. You can't use 'em all before you +get home." + +"Don't stop fer that; there's a shelfful of all kinds behind the +counter," Barr interposed. + +"Well, so long an' good luck," and the rear door closed, and softly this +time. + +"Two hours is some wait under the present circumstances," Barr muttered, +shifting his position behind his barricade. "He can't do it in less, +nohow." + +Johnny ducked and looked foolish. "Missed me by a foot," he explained. +"He can't do it in two--not there an' back," he replied. "The trail is +mud over the fetlocks. Give him three at the least." + +"They ain't shooting as much as they was before." + +"Waiting till they gets sober, I reckon," Johnny replied. + +"If we don't hear no ruction in a few minutes we'll know he got away all +right," Barr soliloquized. "An' he's got a fine cayuse for mud, too." + +"Hey, why can't you do the same thing if he makes it?" Johnny suddenly +asked. "I can hold her alone, all right." + +"Yo're a cheerful liar, you are," laughed Barr. "But can _you_ ride?" + +"Reckon so, but I ain't a-going to." + +"Why, we _both_ can go--it's a cinch!" Barr cried. "Come on!" + +"Lord!--an' I never even thought of that! Reckon I was too mad," Johnny +replied. "But I sort of hates to leave Jackson an' Edwards," he added, +sullenly. + +"But they're gone! You can't do them no good by staying." + +"Yes; I know. An' how about Lacey chipping in on our fight?" demanded +Johnny. "I ain't a-going to leave him to take it all. You go, Barr; it +wasn't yore fight, nohow. You didn't even know what you was fighting +for!" + +"Huh! When anybody shoots at me it's my fight, all right," replied Barr, +seating himself on the floor behind the breastwork. "I forgot all about +Lacey," he apologized. At that instant a tomato can went _spang!_ and +fell off the shelf. "An' it's too late, anyhow; they ain't a-going to +let nobody else get away on that side." + +"An' they're tuning up again, too," Johnny replied, preparing for +trouble. "Look out for a rush, Barr." + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE BAR-20 RETURNS. + +Hopalong Cassidy stopped swearing at the weather and looked up and along +the trail in front of him, seeing a hard-riding man approach. He +turned his head and spoke to Buck Peters, who rode close behind him. +"Somebody's shore in a hurry--why, it's Fred Neal." + +It was. Mr. Neal was making his arms move and was also shouting +something at the top of his voice. The noise of the rain and of the +horses' hoofs splashing in the mud and water at first made his words +unintelligible, but it was not long before Hopalong heard something +which made him sit up even straighter. In a moment Neal was near enough +to be heard distinctly and the outfit shook itself out of its weariness +and physical misery and followed its leader at reckless speed. As they +rode, bunched close together, Neal briefly and graphically outlined the +relative positions of the combatants, and while Buck's more cautious +mind was debating the best way to proceed against the enemy, Hopalong +cried out the plan to be followed. There would be no strategy--Johnny, +wounded and desperate, was fighting for his life. The simplest way was +the best--a dash regardless of consequences to those making it, for time +was a big factor to the two men in Jackson's store. + +"Ride right at 'em!" Hopalong cried. "I know that bunch. They'll be too +scared to shoot straight. Paralyze 'em! Three or four are gone now--an' +the whole crowd wasn't worth one of the men they went out to get. The +quicker it's over the better." + +"Right you are," came from the rear. + +"Ride up the arroyo as close as we can get, an' then over the edge an' +straight at 'em," Buck ordered. "Their shooting an' the rain will cover +what noise we make on the soft ground. An' boys, _no quarter_!" + +"Reckon _not_!" gritted Red, savagely. "Not with Edwards an' Jackson +dead, an' the Kid fighting for his life!" + +"They're still at it!" cried Lanky Smith, as the faint and intermittent +sound of firing was heard; the driving wind was blowing from the town, +and this, also, would deaden the noise of their approach. + +"Thank the Lord! That means that there's somebody left to fight 'em," +exclaimed Red. "Hope it's the Kid," he muttered. + +"They can't rush the store till they get Lacey, an' they can't rush him +till they get the store," shouted Neal over his shoulder. "They'd be in +a cross fire if they tried either--an' that's what licks 'em." + +"They'll be in a cross fire purty soon," promised Pete, grimly. + +Hopalong and Red reached the edge of the arroyo first and plunged over +the bank into the yellow storm-water swirling along the bottom like a +miniature flood. After them came Buck, Neal, and the others, the water +shooting up in sheets as each successive horse plunged in. Out again +on the farther side they strung out into single file along the narrow +foot-hold between water and bank and raced towards the sharp bend some +hundreds of yards ahead, the point in the arroyo's course nearest the +town. The dripping horses scrambled up the slippery incline and then, +under the goading of spurs and quirts, leaped forward as fast as they +could go across the level, soggy plain. + +A quarter of a mile ahead of them lay the scattered shacks of the town, +and as they drew nearer to it the riders could see the flashes of guns +and the smoke-fog lying close to the ground. Fire spat from Jackson's +store and a cloud of smoke still lingered around a window in Lacey's +saloon. Then a yell reached their ears, a yell of rage, consternation +and warning. Figures scurried to seek cover and the firing from +Jackson's and Lacey's grew more rapid. + +A mounted man emerged from a corral and tore away, others following his +example, and the outfit separated to take up the chase individually. +Harlan, wounded hard, was trying to run to where he had left his horse, +and after him fled Slivers Lowe. Hopalong was gaining on them when he +saw Slivers raise his arm and fire deliberately into the back of the +proprietor of the Oasis, leap over the falling body, vault into the +saddle of Harlan's horse and gallop for safety. Hopalong's shots went +wide and the last view any one had of Slivers in that part of the +country was when he dropped into an arroyo to follow it for safety. +Laramie Joe fled before Red Connors and Red's rage was so great that it +spoiled his accuracy, and he had the sorrow of seeing the pursued grow +faint in the mist and fog. Pursuit was tried until the pursuers realized +that their mounts were too worn out to stand a show against the fresh +animals ridden by the survivors of the Oasis crowd. + +Red circled and joined Hopalong. "Blasted coyotes," he growled. "Killed +Jackson an' Edwards, an' wanted the Kid! He's shore showed 'em what +fighting is, all right. But I wonder what got into 'em all at once to +give 'em nerve enough to start things?" + +"Edwards paid his way, all right," replied Hopalong. "If I do as well +when my time comes I won't do no kicking." + +"Yore time ain't coming that way," responded Red, grinning. "You'll die +a natural death in bed, unless you gets to cussing me." + +"Shore there ain't no more, Buck?" Hopalong called. + +"Yes. There was only five, I reckon, an' they was purty well shot up +when we took a hand. You know, Johnny was in it all the time," replied +the foreman, smiling. "This town's had the cleaning up it's needed for +some time," he added. + +They were at Jackson's store now, and hurriedly dismounted and ran in +to see Johnny. They found him lying across some boxes, which brought him +almost to the level of a window sill. He was too weak to stand, while +near him in similar condition lay Barr, too weak from loss of blood to +do more than look his welcome. + +"How are you, Kid?" cried Buck anxiously, bending over him, while others +looked to Barr's injuries. + +"Tired, Buck, awful tired; an' all shot up," Johnny slowly replied. +"When I saw you fellers--streak past this windy--I sort of went +flat--something seemed to break inside me," he said, faintly and with an +effort, and the foreman ordered him not to talk. Deft fingers, schooled +by practice in rough and ready surgery, were busy over him and in half +an hour he lay on Jackson's cot, covered with bandages. + +"Why, hullo, Lacey!" exclaimed Hopalong, leaping forward to shake hands +with the man Red and Billy had gone to help. "Purty well scratched up, +but lively yet, hey?" + +"I'm able to hobble over here an' shake han's with these +scrappers--they're shore wonders," Lacey replied. "Fought like a whole +regiment! Hullo, Johnny!" and his hand-clasp told much. + +"Yore cross fire did it, Lacey; that was the whole thing," Johnny +smiled. "Yo're all right!" + +Red turned and looked out of the window toward the Oasis and then +glanced at Buck. "Reckon we better burn Harlan's place--it's all that's +left of that gang now," he suggested. + +"Why, yes; I reckon so," replied the foreman. "That's as--" + +"No, we won't!" Hopalong interposed quickly. "That stands till Johnny +sets it off. It's the Kid's celebration--he was shot in it." + +Johnny smiled. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +BARB WIRE + +After the flurry at Perry's Bend the Bar-20 settled down to the calm +routine work and sent several drive herds to their destination without +any unusual incidents. Buck thought that the last herd had been driven +when, late in the summer, he received an order that he made haste to +fill. The outfit was told to get busy and soon rounded up the necessary +number of three-year-olds. Then came the road branding, the final step +except inspection, and this was done not far from the ranch house, where +the facilities were best for speedy work. + +Entirely recovered from all ill effects of his afternoon in Jackson's +store up in Perry's bend, Johnny Nelson waited with Red Connors on the +platform of the branding chute and growled petulantly at the sun, the +dust, but most of all at the choking, smarting odor of burned hair which +filled their throats and caused them to rub the backs of grimy hands +across their eyes. Chute-branding robbed them of the excitement, the +leaven of fun and frolic, which they always took from open or corral +branding--and the work of a day in the corral or open was condensed into +an hour or two by the chute. This was one cow wide, narrow at the bottom +and flared out as it went up, so the animal could not turn, and when +filled was, to use Johnny's graphic phrase, "like a chain of cows in a +ditch." Eight of the wondering and crowded animals, guided into the pen +by men who knew their work to the smallest detail and lost no time in +its performance, filed into the pen after those branded had filed out. +As the first to enter reached the farther end a stout bar dropped into +place, just missing the animal's nose; and as the last cow discovered +that it could go no farther and made up its mind to back out, it was +stopped by another bar, which fell behind it. The iron heaters tossed +a hot iron each to Red and Johnny and the eight were marked in short +order, making about two hundred and fifty they had branded in three +hours. This number compared very favorably with that of the second +chute where Lanky Smith and Frenchy McAlister waved cold irons and +sarcastically asked their iron men if the sun was supposed to provide +the heat; whereat the down-trodden heaters provided heat with great +generosity in their caustic retorts. + +"Oh, Susanna, don't you cry for me," sang Billy Williams, one of the +feeders. "But why in Jericho don't you fellers get a move on you? You +ain't no good on the platform--you ought to be mixing biscuits for +Cookie. Frenchy and Lanky are the boys to turn 'em out," he offered, +gratis. + +Red's weary air bespoke a vast and settled contempt for such inanities +and his iron descended against the side of the victim below him--he +would not deign to reply. Not so with Johnny, who could not refrain from +hot retort. + +"Don't be a fool _all_ the time," snapped Johnny. "Mind yore own +business, you shorthorn. Big-mouthed old woman, that's what--" his tone +dropped and the words sank into vague mutterings which a strangling +cough cut short. "Blasted idiot," he whispered, tears coming into his +eyes at the effort. Burning hair is bad for throat and temper alike. + +Red deftly knocked his companion's iron up and spoke sharply. "You mind +yourn better--that makes the third you've tried to brand twice. Why +don't you look what yo're doing? Hot iron! Hot iron! What're you fellers +doing?" he shouted down at the heaters. "This ain't no time to go +to sleep. How d'ye expect us to do any work when you ain't doing any +yoreselves!" Red's temper was also on the ragged edge. + +"You've got one in yore other hand, you sheep!" snorted one of the iron +heaters with restless pugnacity. "Go tearing into us when you--" he +growled the rest and kicked viciously at the fire. + +"Lovely bunch," grinned Billy who, followed by Pete Wilson, mounted the +platform to relieve the branders. "Chase yoreselves--me an' Pete are +shore going to show you cranky bugs how to do a hundred an hour. Ain't +we, Pete? An' look here, you," he remarked to the heaters, "don't you +fellers keep _us_ waiting for hot irons!" + +"That's right! Make a fool out of yoreself first thing!" snapped one of +the pair on the ground. + +"Billy, I never loved you as much as I do this minute," grinned Johnny +wearily. "Wish you'd 'a' come along to show us how to do it an hour +ago." + +"I would, only--" + +"Quit chinning an' get busy," remarked Red, climbing down. "The chute's +full; an' it's all yourn." + +Billy caught the iron, gave it a preliminary flourish, and started to +work with a speed that would not endure for long. He branded five out of +the eight and jeered at his companion for being so slow. + +"Have yore fun now, Billy," Pete replied with placid good nature. +"Before we're through with this job you'll be lucky if you can do two of +the string, if you keep up that pace." + +"He'll be missing every other one," growled his heater with overflowing +malice. "That iron ain't cold, you Chinaman!" + +"Too cold for me--don't miss none," chuckled Billy sweetly. "Fill the +chute! Fill the chute! Don't keep us waiting!" he cried to the guiders, +hopping around with feigned eagerness and impatience. + +Hopalong Cassidy rode up and stopped as Red returned to take the place +of one of the iron heaters. "How they coming, Red?" he inquired. + +"Fast. You can sic that inspector on 'em the first thing to-morrow +morning, if he gets here on time. Bet he's off som'ers getting full of +redeye. Who're going with you on this drive?" + +"The inspector is all right--he's here now an' is going to spend the +night with us so as to be on hand the first thing to-morrow," replied +Hopalong, grinning at the hard-working pair on the platform. "Why, I +reckon I'll take you, Johnny, Lanky, Billy, Pete, an' Skinny, an' +we'll have two hoss-wranglers an' a cook, of course. We'll drive up +the right-hand trail through West Valley this time. It's longer, but +there'll be more water that way at this time of the year. Besides, I +don't want no more foot-sore cattle to nurse along. Even the West Valley +trail will be dry enough before we strike Bennett's Creek." + +"Yes; we'll have to drive 'em purty hard till we reach the creek," +replied Red, thoughtfully. "Say; we're going to have three thousand of +the finest three-year-old steers ever sent north out of these parts. An' +we ought to do it in a month an' deliver 'em fat an' frisky. We can feed +'em good for the last week." + +"I just sent some of the boys out to drive in the cayuses," Hopalong +remarked, "an' when they get here you fellers match for choice an' pick +yore remuda. No use taking too few. About eight apiece'll do us nice. I +shore like a good cavvieyeh." + +"Hullo, Hoppy!" came from the platform as Billy grinned his welcome +through the dust on his face. "Want a job?" + +"Hullo yoreself," growled Pete. "Stick yore iron on that fourth steer +before he gets out, an' talk less with yore mouth." + +"Pete's still rabid," called Billy, performing the duty Pete suggested. + +"That may be the polite name for it," snorted one of the iron heaters, +testing an iron, "but that ain't what I'd say. Might as well cover the +subject thoroughly while yo're on it." + +"Yes, verily," endorsed his companion. + +"Here comes the last of 'em," smiled Pete, watching several cattle being +driven towards the chute. "We'll have to brand 'em on the move, Billy; +there ain't enough to fill the chute." + +"All right; hot iron, you!" + +Early the next morning the inspector looked them over and made his +count, the herd was started north and at nightfall had covered twelve +miles. For the next week everything went smoothly, but after that, water +began to be scarce and the herd was pushed harder, and became harder to +handle. + +On the night of the twelfth day out four men sat around the fire in +West Valley at a point a dozen miles south of Bennett's Creek, and ate +heartily. The night was black--not a star could be seen and the south +wind hardly stirred the trampled and burned grass. They were thoroughly +tired out and their tempers were not in the sweetest state imaginable, +for the heat during the last four days had been almost unbearable even +to them and they had had their hands full with the cranky herd. They ate +silently, hungrily--there would be time enough for the few words they +had to say when the pipes were going for a short smoke before turning +in. + +"I feel like hell," growled Red, reaching for another cup of coffee, but +there was no reply; he had voiced the feelings of all. + +Hopalong listened intently and looked up, staring into the darkness, and +soon a horseman was seen approaching the fire. Hopalong nodded welcome +and waved his hand towards the food, and the stranger, dismounting, +picketed his horse and joined the circle. When the pipes were lighted he +sighed with satisfaction and looked around the group. "Driving north, I +see." + +"Yes; an' blamed glad to get off this dry range," Hopalong replied. +"The herd's getting cranky an' hard to hold--but when we pass the creek +everything'll be all right again. An' ain't it hot! When you hear us +kick about the heat it means something." + +"I'm going yore way," remarked the stranger. "I came down this trail +about two weeks ago. Reckon I was the last to ride through before the +fence went up. Damned outrage, says I, an' I told 'em so, too. They +couldn't see it that way an' we had a little disagreement about it. They +said as how they was going to patrol it." + +"Fence! What fence?" exclaimed Red. + +"Where's there any fence?" demanded Hopalong sharply. + +"Twenty mile north of the creek," replied the stranger, carefully +packing his pipe. + +"What? Twenty miles north of the creek?" cried Hopalong. "What creek?" + +"Bennett's. The 4X has strung three strands of barb wire from Coyote +Pass to the North Arm. Thirty mile long, without a gate, so they says." + +"But it don't close this trail!" cried Hopalong in blank astonishment. + +"It shore does. They say they owns that range an' can fence it in all +they wants. I told 'em different, but naturally they didn't listen to +me. An' they'll fight about it, too." + +"But they _can't_ shut off this trail!" exclaimed Billy, with angry +emphasis. "They don't own it no more'n we do!" + +"I know all about that--you heard me tell you what they said." + +"But how can we get past it?" demanded Hopalong. + +"Around it, over the hills. You'll lose about three days doing it, too." + +"I can't take no sand-range herd over them rocks, an' I ain't going to +drive 'round no North Arm or Coyote Pass if I could," Hopalong replied +with quiet emphasis. "There's poison springs on the east an' nothing but +rocks on the west. We go straight through." + +"I'm afraid that you'll have to fight if you do," remarked the stranger. + +"Then we'll fight!" cried Johnny, leaning forward. "Blasted coyotes! +What right have they got to block a drive trail that's as old as +cattle-raising in these parts! That trail was here before I was born, +it's allus been open, an' it's going to stay open! You watch us go +through!" + +"Yo're dead right, Kid; we'll cut that fence an' stick to this trail, +an' fight if we has to," endorsed Red. "The Bar-20 ain't crawling out of +no hole that it can walk out of. They're bluffing; that's all." + +"I don't think they are; an' there's twelve men in that outfit," +suggested the stranger, offhand. + +"We ain't got time to count odds; we never do down our way when we know +we're right. An' we're right enough in this game," retorted Hopalong, +quickly. "For the last twelve days we've had good luck, barring the few +on this dry range; an' now we're in for the other kind. By the Lord, +I wish we was here without the cows to take care of--we'd show 'em +something about blocking drive trails that ain't in their little book!" + +"Blast it all! Wire fences coming down this way now," mused Johnny, +sullenly. He hated them by training as much as he hated horse-thieves +and sheep; and his companions had been brought up in the same school. +Barb wire, the death-knell to the old-time punching, the bar to riding +at will, a steel insult to fire the blood--it had come at last. + +"We've shore got to cut it, Red,--" began Hopalong, but the cook had to +rid himself of some of his indignation and interrupted with heat. + +"Shore we have!" came explosively from the tail board of the chuck +wagon. "Got to lay it agin my li'l axe an' swat it with my big ol' +monkey wrench! An' won't them posts save me a lot of trouble hunting +chips an' firewood!" + +"We've shore got to cut it, Red," Hopalong repeated slowly. "You an' +Johnny an' me'll ride ahead after we cross the creek to-morrow an' do +it. I don't hanker after no fight with all these cows on my han's, but +we've got to risk one." + +"Shore!" cried Johnny, hotly. "I can't get over the gall of them fellers +closing up the West Valley drive trail. Why, I never heard tell of such +a thing afore!" + +"We're short-handed; we ought to have more'n we have to guard the +herd if there's a fight. If it stampedes--oh, well, that'll work out +to-morrow. The creek's only about twelve miles away an' we'll start at +daylight, so tumble in," Hopalong said as he arose. "Red, I'm going out +to take my shift--I'll send Pete in. Stranger," he added, turning, "I'm +much obliged to you for the warning. They might 'a' caught us with our +hands tied." + +"Oh, that's all right," hastily replied the stranger, who was in hearty +accord with the plans, such as they were. "My name's Hawkins, an' I +don't like range fences no more'n you do. I used to hunt buffalo all +over this part of the country before they was all killed off, an' I +allus rode where I pleased. I'm purty old, but I can still see an' +shoot; an' I'm going to stick right along with you fellers an' see it +through. Every man counts in this game." + +"Well, that's blamed white of you," Hopalong replied, greatly pleased by +the other's offer. "But I can't let you do it. I don't want to drag you +into no trouble, an'--" + +"You ain't dragging me none; I'm doing it myself. I'm about as mad as +you are over it. I ain't good for much no more, an' if I shuffles off +fighting barb wire I'll be doing my duty. First it was nesters, then +railroads an' more nesters, then sheep, an' now it's wire--won't it +never stop? By the Lord, it's got to stop, or this country will go +to the devil an' won't be fit to live in. Besides, I've heard of your +fellers before--I'll tie to the Bar-20 any day." + +"Well, I reckon you must if you must; yo're welcome enough," laughed +Hopalong, and he strode off to his picketed horse, leaving the others to +discuss the fence, with the assistance of the cook, until Pete rode in. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE FENCE + +When Hopalong rode in at midnight to arouse the others and send them out +to relieve Skinny and his two companions, the cattle were quieter than +he had expected to leave them, and he could see no change of weather +threatening. He was asleep when the others turned in, or he would have +been further assured in that direction. + +Out on the plain where the herd was being held, Red and the three other +guards had been optimistic until half of their shift was over and it was +only then that they began to worry. The knowledge that running water was +only twelve miles away had the opposite effect than the one expected, +for instead of making them cheerful, it caused them to be beset with +worry and fear. Water was all right, and they could not have got along +without it for another day; but it was, in this case, filled with the +possibility of grave danger. + +Johnny was thinking hard about it as he rode around the now restless +herd, and then pulled up suddenly, peered into the darkness and went +on again. "Damn that disreputable li'l rounder! Why the devil can't +he behave, 'stead of stirring things up when they're ticklish?" he +muttered, but he had to grin despite himself. A lumbering form had +blundered past him from the direction of the camp and was swallowed up +by the night as it sought the herd, annoying and arousing the thirsty +and irritable cattle along its trail, throwing challenges right and left +and stirring up trouble as it passed. The fact that the challenges were +bluffs made no difference to the pawing steers, for they were anxious to +have things out with the rounder. + +This frisky disturber of bovine peace was a yearling that had +slipped into the herd before it left the ranch and had kept quiet and +respectable and out of sight in the middle of the mass for the first +few days and nights. But keeping quiet and respectable had been an awful +strain, and his mischievous deviltry grew constantly harder to hold in +check. Finally he could stand the repression no longer, and when he gave +way to his accumulated energy it had the snap and ginger of a tightly +stretched rubber band recoiling on itself. On the fourth night out he +had thrown off his mask and announced his presence in his true light +by butting a sleepy steer out of its bed, which bed he straightway +proceeded to appropriate for himself. This was folly, for the ground was +not cold and he had no excuse for stealing a body-warmed place to lie +down; it was pure cussedness, and retribution followed hard upon the +act. In about half a minute he had discovered the great difference +between bullying poor, miserable, defenceless dogies and trying to bully +a healthy, fully developed, and pugnacious steer. After assimilating +the preliminary punishment of what promised to be the most thorough and +workmanlike thrashing he had ever known, the indignant and frightened +bummer wheeled and fled incontinently with the aroused steer in angry +pursuit. The best way out was the most puzzling to the vengeful steer, +so the bummer cavorted recklessly through the herd, turning and twisting +and doubling, stepping on any steer that happened to be lying down in +his path, butting others, and leavening things with great success. Under +other conditions he would have relished the effect of his efforts, +for the herd had arisen as one animal and seemed to be debating the +advisability of stampeding; but he was in no mood to relish anything and +thought only of getting away. Finally escaping from his pursuer, that +had paused to fight with a belligerent brother, he rambled off into the +darkness to figure it all out and to maintain a sullen and chastened +demeanor for the rest of the night. This was the first time a brick had +been under the hat. + +But the spirits of youth recover quickly--his recovered so quickly that +he was banished from the herd the very next night, which banishment, not +being at all to his liking, was enforced only by rigid watchfulness and +hard riding; and he was roundly cursed from dark to dawn by the +worried men, most of whom disliked the bumming youngster less than they +pretended. He was only a cub, a wild youth having his fling, and there +was something irresistibly likable and comical in his awkward antics and +eternal persistence, even though he was a pest. Johnny saw more in him +than his companions could find, and had quite a little sport with him: +he made fine practice for roping, for he was about as elusive as a +grasshopper and uncertain as a flea. Johnny was in the same general +class and he could sympathize with the irrepressible nuisance in its +efforts to stir up a little life and excitement in so dull a crowd; +Johnny hoped to be as successful in his mischievous deviltry when he +reached the town at the end of the drive. + +But to-night it was dark, and the bummer gained his coveted goal with +ridiculous ease, after which he started right in to work off the high +pressure of the energy he had accumulated during the last two nights. +He had desisted in his efforts to gain the herd early in the evening and +had rambled off and rested during the first part of the night, and the +herders breathed softly lest they should stir him to renewed trials. But +now he had succeeded, and although only Johnny had seen him lumber past, +the other three guards were aware of it immediately by the results and +swore in their throats, for the cattle were now on their feet, snorting +and moving about restlessly, and the rattling of horns grew slowly +louder. + +"Ain't he having a devil of a good time!" grinned Johnny. But it was not +long before he realized the possibilities of the bummer's efforts and +he lost his grin. "If we get through the night without trouble I'll see +that you are picketed if it takes me all day to get you," he muttered. +"Fun is fun, but it's getting a little too serious for comfort." + +Sometime after the middle of the second shift the herd, already +irritable, nervous, and cranky because of the thirst they were enduring, +and worked up to the fever pitch by the devilish manoeuvres of the +exuberant and hard-working bummer, wanted only the flimsiest kind of +an excuse to stampede, and they might go without an excuse. A flash +of lightning, a crash of thunder, a wind-blown paper, a flapping wagon +cover, the sudden and unheralded approach of a careless rider, the +cracking and flare of a match, or the scent of a wolf or coyote--or +water, would send an avalanche of three thousand crazed steers crashing +its irresistible way over a pitch-black plain. + +Red had warned Pete and Billy, and now he rode to find Johnny and send +him to camp for the others. As he got halfway around the circle he heard +Johnny singing a mournful lay, and soon a black bulk loomed up in the +dark ahead of him. "That you, Kid?" he asked. "That you, Johnny?" he +repeated, a little louder. + +The song stopped abruptly. "Shore," replied Johnny. "We're going to +have trouble aplenty to-night. Glad daylight ain't so very far off. That +cussed li'l rake of a bummer got by me an' into the herd. He's shore +raising Ned to-night, the li'l monkey: it's getting serious, Red." + +"I'll shoot that yearling at daylight, damn him!" retorted Red. "I +should 'a' done it a week ago. He's picked the worst time for his cussed +devilment! You ride right in an' get the boys, an' get 'em out here +quick. The whole herd's on its toes waiting for the signal; an' the wink +of an eye'll send 'em off. God only knows what'll happen between now +and daylight! If the wind should change an' blow down from the north, +they'll be off as shore as shooting. One whiff of Bennett's Creek is all +that's needed, Kid; an'--" + +"Oh, pshaw!" interposed Johnny. "There ain't no wind at all now. It's +been quiet for an hour." + +"Yes; an' that's one of the things that's worrying me. It means a +change, shore." + +"Not always; we'll come out of this all right," assured Johnny, but he +spoke without his usual confidence. "There ain't no use--" he paused +as he felt the air stir, and he was conscious of Red's heavy breathing. +There was a peculiar hush in the air that he did not like, a closeness +that sent his heart up in his throat, and as he was about to continue +a sudden gust snapped his neck-kerchief out straight. He felt that +refreshing coolness which so often precedes a storm and as he weighed it +in his mind a low rumble of thunder rolled in the north and sent a chill +down his back. + +"Good God! Get the boys!" cried Red, wheeling. "It's _changed_! An' +Pete an' Billy out there in front of--_there they go_!" he shouted as a +sudden tremor shook the earth and a roaring sound filled the air. He was +instantly lost to ear and eye, swallowed by the oppressive darkness as +he spurred and quirted into a great, choking cloud of dust which swept +down from the north, unseen in the night. The deep thunder of hoofs and +the faint and occasional flash of a six-shooter told him the direction, +and he hurled his mount after the uproar with no thought of the death +which lurked in every hole and rock and gully on the uneven and unseen +plain beneath him. His mouth and nose were lined with dust, his throat +choked with it, and he opened his burning eyes only at intervals, and +then only to a slit, to catch a fleeting glance of--nothing. He realized +vaguely that he was riding north, because the cattle would head for +water, but that was all, save that he was animated by a desperate +eagerness to gain the firing line, to join Pete and Billy, the two +men who rode before that crazed mass of horns and hoofs and who were +pleading and swearing and yelling in vain only a few feet ahead +of annihilation--if they were still alive. A stumble, a moment's +indecision, and the avalanche would roll over them as if they were +straws and trample them flat beneath the pounding hoofs, a modern +Juggernaut. If he, or they, managed to escape with life, it would make +a good tale for the bunk house some night; if they were killed it was in +doing their duty--it was all in a day's work. + +Johnny shouted after him and then wheeled and raced towards the camp, +emptying his Colt in the air as a warning. He saw figures scurrying +across the lighted place, and before he had gained it his friends raced +past him and gave him hard work catching up to them. And just behind +him rode the stranger, to do what he could for his new friends, and as +reckless of consequences as they. + +It seemed an age before they caught up to the stragglers, and when they +realized how true they had ridden in the dark they believed that at last +their luck was turning for the better, and pushed on with renewed hope. +Hopalong shouted to those nearest him that Bennett's Creek could not be +far away and hazarded the belief that the steers would slow up and stop +when they found the water they craved; but his words were lost to all +but himself. + +Suddenly the punchers were almost trapped and their escape made +miraculous, for without warning the herd swerved and turned sharply to +the right, crossing the path of the riders and forcing them to the east, +showing Hopalong their silhouettes against the streak of pale gray low +down in the eastern sky. When free from the sudden press of cattle they +slowed perceptibly, and Hopalong did likewise to avoid running them +down. At that instant the uproar took on a new note and increased +threefold. He could hear the shock of impact, whip-like reports, the +bellowing of cattle in pain, and he arose in his stirrups to peer ahead +for the reason, seeing, as he did so, the silhouettes of his friends +arise and then drop from his sight. Without additional warning his horse +pitched forward and crashed to the earth, sending him over its head. +Slight as was the warning it served to ease his fall, for instinct freed +his feet from the stirrups, and when he struck the ground it was feet +first, and although he fell flat at the next instant, the shock had been +broken. Even as it was, he was partly stunned, and groped as he arose +on his hands and knees. Arising painfully he took a short step forward, +tripped and fell again; and felt a sharp pain shoot through his hand as +it went first to break the fall. Perhaps it was ten seconds before he +knew what it was that had thrown him, and when he learned that he also +learned the reason for the whole calamity--in his torn and bleeding hand +he held a piece of barb wire. + +"Barb wire!" he muttered, amazed. "Barb wire! Why, what the--_Damn +that ranch_!" he shouted, sudden rage sweeping over him as the situation +flashed through his mind and banished all the mental effects of the +fall. "They've gone an' strung it south of the creek as well! Red! +Johnny! Lanky!" he shouted at the top of his voice, hoping to be heard +over the groaning of injured cattle and the general confusion. "Good +Lord! _are they killed_!" + +They were not, thanks to the forced slowing up, and to the pool of water +and mud which formed an arm of the creek, a back-water away from the +pull of the current. They had pitched into the mud and water up to their +waists, some head first, some feet first, and others as they would go +into a chair. Those who had been fortunate enough to strike feet first +pulled out the divers, and the others gained their feet as best they +might and with varying degrees of haste, but all mixed profanity and +thankfulness equally well; and were equally and effectually disguised. + +Hopalong, expecting the silence of death or at least the groaning of +injured and dying, was taken aback by the fluent stream of profanity +which greeted his ears. But all efforts in that line were eclipsed when +the drive foreman tersely explained about the wire, and the providential +mud bath was forgotten in the new idea. They forthwith clamored for war, +and the sooner it came the better they would like it. + +"Not now, boys; we've got work to do first," replied Hopalong, who, +nevertheless, was troubled grievously by the same itching trigger +finger. They subsided--as a steel spring subsides when held down by a +weight--and went off in search of their mounts. Daylight had won the +skirmish in the east and was now attacking in force, and revealed a +sight which, stilling the profanity for the moment, caused it to flow +again with renewed energy. The plain was a shambles near the creek, and +dead and dying steers showed where the fence had stood. The rest of the +herd had passed over these. The wounded cattle and three horses were +put out of their misery as the first duty. The horse that Hopalong had +ridden had a broken back; the other two, broken legs. When this work was +out of the way the bruised and shaken men gave their attention to the +scattered cattle on the other side of the creek, and when Hawkins rode +up after wasting time in hunting for the trail in the dark, he saw +four men with the herd, which was still scattered; four others near the +creek, of whom only Johnny was mounted, and a group of six strangers +riding towards them from the west and along the fence, or what was left +of that portion of it. + +"That's awful!" he cried, stopping his limping horse near Hopalong. "An' +here come the fools that done it." + +"Yes," replied Johnny, his voice breaking from rage, "but they won't go +back again! I don't care if I'm killed if I can get one or two of that +crowd--" + +"Shut up, Kid!" snapped Hopalong as the 4X outfit drew near. "I know +just how you feel about it; feel that way myself. But there ain't +a-going to be no fighting while I've got these cows on my han's. That +gang'll be here when we come back, all right." + +"Mebby one or two of 'em won't," remarked Hawkins, as he looked again +over the carnage along the fence. "I never did much pot-shooting, 'cept +agin Injuns; but I dunno--" He did not finish, for the strangers were +almost at his elbow. + +Cranky Joe led the 4X contingent and he did the talking for it +without waste of time. "Who the hell busted that fence?" he demanded, +belligerently, looking around savagely. Johnny's hand twitched at the +words and the way they were spoken. + +"I did; did you think somebody leaned agin it?" replied Hopalong, very +calmly,--so calmly that it was about one step short of an explosion. + +"Well, why didn't you go around?" + +"Three thousand stampeding cattle don't go 'round wire fences in the +dark." + +"Well, that's not our fault. Reckon you better dig down an' settle up +for the damages, an' half a cent a head for water; an' then go 'round. +You can't stampede through the other fence." + +"That so?" asked Hopalong. + +"Reckon it is." + +"Yo're real shore it is?" + +"Well there's only six of us here, but there's six more that we can get +blamed quick if we need 'em. It's so, all right." + +"Well, coming down to figures, there's eight here, with two +hoss-wranglers an' a cook to come," retorted Hopalong, kicking the +belligerent Johnny on the shins. "We're just about mad enough to tackle +anything: ever feel that way?" + +"Oh, no use getting all het up," rejoined Cranky Joe. "We ain't a-going +to fight 'less we has to. Better pay up." + +"Send yore bills to the ranch--if they're O. K., Buck'll pay 'em." + +"Nix; I take it when I can get it." + +"I ain't got no money with me that I can spare." + +"Then you can leave enough cows to buy back again." + +"I'm not going to pay you one damned cent, an' the only cows I'll leave +are the dead ones--an' if I could take them with me I'd do it. An' I'm +not going around the fence, neither." + +"Oh, yes; you are. An' yo're going to pay," snapped Cranky Joe. + +"Take it out of the price of two hundred dead cows an' gimme what's +left," Hopalong retorted. "It'll cost you nine of them twelve men to pry +it out'n me." + +"You won't pay?" demanded the other, coldly. + +"Not a plugged peso." + +"Well, as I said before, I don't want to fight nobody 'less I has to," +replied Cranky Joe. "I'll give you a chance to change yore mind. +We'll be out here after it to-morrow, cash or cows. That'll give you +twenty-four hours to rest yore herd an' get ready to drive. Then you +pay, an' go back, 'round the fence." + +"All right; to-morrow suits me," responded Hopalong, who was boiling +with rage and felt constrained to hold it back. If it wasn't for the +cows--! + +Red and three companions swept up and stopped in a swirl of dust and +asked questions until Hopalong shut them up. Their arrival and the +manner of their speech riled Cranky Joe, who turned around and loosed +one more remark; and he never knew how near to death he was at that +moment. + +"You fellers must own the earth, the way you act," he said to Red and +his three companions. + +"We ain't fencing it in to prove it," rejoined Hopalong, his hand on +Red's arm. + +Cranky Joe wheeled to rejoin his friends. "To-morrow," he said, +significantly. + +Hopalong and his men watched the six ride away, too enraged to speak for +a moment. Then the drive foreman mastered himself and turned to Hawkins. +"Where's their ranch house?" he demanded, sharply. "There must be some +way out of this, an' we've got to find it; an' before to-morrow." + +"West; three hours' ride along the fence. I could find 'em the darkest +night what ever happened; I was out there once," Hawkins replied. + +"Describe 'em as exact as you can," demanded Hopalong, and when Hawkins +had done so the Bar-20 drive foreman slapped his thigh and laughed +nastily. "One house with one door an' only two windows--are you shore? +Good! Where's the corrals? Good again! So they'll take pay for their +blasted fence, eh? Cash or cows, hey! Don't want no fight 'less it's +necessary, but they're going to make us pay for the fence that killed +two hundred head, an' blamed nigh got us, too. An' half a cent a head +for drinking water! I've paid that more'n once--some of the poor devils +squatting on the range ain't got nothing to sell but water, but I don't +buy none out of Bennett's Creek! Pete, you mounted fellers round up a +little--bunch the herd a little closer, an' drive straight along the +trail towards that other fence. We'll all help you as soon as the +wranglers bring us up something to ride. Push 'em hard, limp or no limp, +till dark. They'll be too tired to go crow-hopping 'round any in the +dark to-night. An' say! When you see that bummer, if he wasn't got by +the fence, drop him clean. So they've got twelve men, hey! Huh!" + +"What you going to do?" asked Red, beginning to cool down, and very +curious. + +"Yes; tell us," urged Johnny. + +"Why, I'm going to cut that fence, an' cut it all to hell. Then I'm +going to push the herd through it as far out of danger as I can. When +they're all right Cookie an' the hoss-wranglers will have to hold 'em +during the night while we do the rest." + +"What's the rest?" demanded Johnny. + +"Oh, I'll tell you that later; it can wait," replied Hopalong. +"Meanwhile, you get out there with Pete an' help get the herd in shape. +We'll be with you soon--here comes the wranglers an' the cavvieyeh. +'Bout time, too." + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +MR. BOGGS IS DISGUSTED + +The herd gained twelve miles by dark and would pass through the northern +fence by noon of the next day, for Cook's axe and monkey wrench had been +put to good use. For quite a distance there was no fence: about a mile +of barb wire had been pulled loose and was tangled up into several large +piles, while rings of burned grass and ashes surrounded what was left +of the posts. The cook had embraced this opportunity to lay in a good +supply of firewood and was the happiest man in the outfit. + +At ten o'clock that night eight figures loped westward along the +southern fence and three hours later dismounted near the first corral +of the 4X ranch. They put their horses in a depression on the plain and +then hastened to seek cover, being careful to make no noise. + +At dawn the door of the bunk house opened quickly and as quickly slammed +shut again, three bullets in it being the reason. An uproar ensued and +guns spat from the two windows in the general direction of the +unseen besiegers, who did not bother about replying; they had given +notification of their presence and until it was necessary to shoot there +was no earthly use of wasting ammunition. Besides, the drive outfit +had cooled down rapidly when it found that its herd was in no immediate +danger and was not anxious to kill any one unless there was need. The +situation was conducive to humor rather than anger. But every time the +door moved it collected more lead, and it finally remained shut. + +The noise in the bunk house continued and finally a sombrero was waved +frantically at the south window and a moment later Nat Boggs, foreman +of the incarcerated 4X outfit, stuck his head out very cautiously and +yelled questions which bore directly on the situation and were to the +point. He appeared to be excited and unduly heated, if one might judge +from his words and voice. There was no reply, which still further added +to his heat and excitement. Becoming bolder and a little angrier +he allowed his impetuous nature to get the upper hand and forthwith +attempted the feat of getting through that same window; but a sharp +_pat!_ sounded on a board not a foot from him, and he reconsidered +hastily. His sombrero again waved to insist on a truce, and collected +two holes, causing him much mental anguish and threatening the loss of +his worthy soul. He danced up and down with great agility and no grace +and made remarks, thereby leading a full-voiced chorus. + +"Ain't that a hell of a note?" he demanded plaintively as he paused for +breath. "Stick _yore_ hat out, Cranky, an' see what _you_ can do," he +suggested, irritably. + +Cranky Joe regarded him with pity and reproach, and moved back towards +the other end of the room, muttering softly to himself. "I know it ain't +much of a bonnet, but he needn't rub it in," he growled, peevishly. + +"Try again; mebby they didn't see you," suggested Jim Larkin, who had a +reputation for never making a joke. He escaped with his life and +checked himself at the side of Cranky Joe, with whom he conferred on the +harshness of the world towards unfortunates. + +The rest of the morning was spent in snipe-shooting at random, trusting +to luck to hit some one, and trusting in vain. At noon Cranky Joe could +stand the strain no longer and opened the door just a little to relive +the monotony. He succeeded, being blessed with a smashed shoulder, and +immediately became a general nuisance, adding greatly to the prevailing +atmosphere. Boggs called him a few kinds of fools and hastened to nail +the door shut; he hit his thumb and his heart became filled with venom. + +"_Now_ look at what they went an' done!" he yelled, running around in a +circle. "Damned outrage!" + +"Huh!" snorted Cranky Joe with maddening superiority. "That ain't +nothing--just look at me!" + +Boggs looked, very fixedly, and showed signs of apoplexy, and Cranky Joe +returned to his end of the room to resume his soliloquy. + +"Why don't you come out an' take them cows!" inquired an unkind voice +from without. "Ain't changed yore mind, have you?" + +"We'll give you a drink for half a cent a head--that's the regular price +for watering cows," called another. + +The faint ripple of mirth which ran around the plain was lost in +opinions loudly expressed within the room; and Boggs, tears of rage +in his eyes, flung himself down on a chair and invented new terms for +describing human beings. + +John Terry was observing. He had been fluttering around the north +window, constantly getting bolder, and had not been disturbed. When he +withdrew his sombrero and found that it was intact he smiled to himself +and leaned his elbows on the sill, looking carefully around the plain. +The discovery that there was no cover on the north side cheered him +greatly and he called to Boggs, outlining a plan of action. + +Boggs listened intently and then smiled for the first time since dawn. +"Bully for you, Terry!" he enthused. "Wait till dark--we'll fool 'em." + +A bullet chipped the 'dobe at Terry's side and he ducked as he leaped +back. "From an angle--what did I tell you?" he laughed. "We'll drop +out here an' sneak behind the house after dark. They'll be watching the +door--an' they won't be able to see us, anyhow." + +Boggs sucked his thumb tenderly and grinned. "After which--," he elated. + +"After which--," gravely repeated Terry, the others echoing it with +unrestrained joy. + +"Then, mebby, I can get a drink," chuckled Larkin, brightening under the +thought. + +"The moon comes up at ten," warned a voice. "It'll be full to-night--an' +there ain't many clouds in sight." + +"_Ol' King Cole was a merry ol' soul_," hummed McQuade, lightly. + +"An'--a--merry--ol'--soul--was--he!--was--he!" thundered the chorus, +deep-toned and strong. "_He had a wife for every toe, an' some toes +counted three!_" + +"Listen!" cried Meade, holding up his hand. + +"_An' every wife had sixteen dogs, an' every dog a flea!_" shouted a +voice from the besiegers, followed by a roar of laughter. + +The hilarity continued until dark, only stopping when John Terry slipped +out of the window, dropped to all-fours and stuck his head around the +corner of the rear wall. He saw many stars and was silently handed to +Pete Wilson. + +"What was that noise?" exclaimed Boggs in a low tone. "Are you all +right, Terry?" he asked, anxiously. + +Three knocks on the wall replied to his question and then McQuade went +out, and three more knocks were heard. + +"Wonder why they make that funny noise," muttered Boggs. + +"Bumped inter something, I reckon," replied Jim Larkin. "Get out of my +way--I'm next." + +Boggs listened intently and then pushed Duke Lane back. "Don't like +that--sounds like a crack on the head. Hey, Jim! _Say_ something!" he +called softly. The three knocks were repeated, but Boggs was suspicious +and he shook his head decisively. "To 'ell with the knocking--_say_ +something!" + +"Still got them twelve men?" asked a strange voice, pleasantly. + +"_An' every dog a flea_," hummed another around the corner. + +"Hell!" shouted Boggs. "To the door, fellers! To the door--quick!" + +A whistle shrilled from behind the house and a leaden tattoo began +on the door. "Other window!" whispered O'Neill. The foreman got there +before him and, shoving his Colt out first to clear the way, yelled with +rage and pain as a pole hit his wrist and knocked the weapon out of his +hand. He was still commenting when Duke Lane pried open the door and, +dropping quickly on his stomach, wriggled out, followed closely by +Charley Beal and Tim. At that instant the tattoo drummed with greater +vigor and such a hail of lead poured in through the opening that the +door was promptly closed, leaving the three men outside to shift for +themselves with the darkness their only cover. + +Duke and his companions whispered together as they lay flat and agreed +upon a plan of action. Going around the ends of the house was suicide +and no better than waiting for the rising moon to show them to the +enemy; but there was no reason why the roof could not be utilized. Tim +and Charley boosted Duke up, then Tim followed, and the pair on the roof +pulled Charley to their side. Flat roofs were great institutions they +decided as they crawled cautiously towards the other side. This roof was +of hard, sun-baked adobe, over two feet thick, and they did not care if +their friends shot up on a gamble. + +"Fine place, all right," thought Charley, grinning broadly. Then he +turned an agonized face to Tim, his chest rising. "_Hitch! Hitch!_" +he choked, fighting with all his will to master it. "_Hitch-chew! +Hitch-chew! Hitch-chew!_" he sneezed, loudly. There was a scramble below +and a ripple of mirth floated up to them. + +"_Hitch-chew_?" jeered a voice. "What do we want to hit you for?" + +"Look us over, children," invited another. + +"Wait until the moon comes up," chuckled the third. "Be like knocking +the nigger baby down for Red an' the others. Ladies and gents: We'll now +have a little sketch entitled 'Shooting snipe by moonlight.'" + +"Jack-snipe, too," laughed Pete. "Will somebody please hold the bag?" + +The silence on the roof was profound and the three on the ground tried +again. + +"Let me call yore attention to the trained coyotes, ladies an' gents," +remarked Johnny in a deep, solemn voice. "Coyotes are not birds; they do +not roost on roofs as a general thing; but they are some intelligent an' +can be trained to do lots of foolish tricks. These ani-mules were--" + +"Step this way, people; on-ly ten cents, two nickels," interrupted Pete. +"They bark like dogs, an' howl like hell." + +"Shut up!" snapped Tim, angrily. + +"After the moon comes up," said Hopalong, "when you fellers get tired +dodging, you can chuck us yore guns an' come down. An' don't forget that +this side of the house is much the safest," he warned. + +"Go to hell!" snarled Duke, bitterly. + +"Won't; they're laying for me down there." + +Johnny crawled to the north end of the wall and, looking cautiously +around the corner, funnelled his hands: "On the roof, Red! On the roof!" + +"Yes, dear," was the reply, followed by gun-shots. + +"Hey! Move over!" snapped Tim, working towards the edge furthest from +the cheerful Red, whose bullets were not as accurate in the dark as they +promised to become in a few minutes when the moon should come up. + +"Want to shove me off?" snarled Charley, angrily. "For heaven's sake, +Duke, do you want the whole earth?" he demanded of his second companion. + +"You just bet yore shirt I do! An' I want a hole in it, too!" + +"Ain't you got no sense?" + +"Would I be up here if I had?" + +"It's going to be hot as blazes up here when the sun gets high," +cheerfully prophesied Tim: "an' dry, too," he added for a finishing +touch. + +"We'll be lucky if we're live enough to worry about the sun's +heat--_say_, that was a _close_ one!" exclaimed Duke, frantically trying +to flatten a little more. "Ah, thought so--there's that blamed moon!" + +"Wish I'd gone out the window instead," growled Charley, worming behind +Duke, to the latter's prompt displeasure. + +"You fellers better come down, one at a time," came from below. "Send +yore guns down first, too. Red's a blamed good shot." + +"Hope he croaks," muttered Duke. "_That's_ closer yet!" + +Tim's hand raised and a flash of fire singed Charley's hair. "Got to do +something, anyhow," he explained, lowering the Colt and peering across +the plain. + +"You damned near succeeded!" shouted Charley, grabbing at his head. +"Why, they're three hundred, an' you trying for 'em with a--_oh!_" he +moaned, writhing. + +"Locoed fool!" swore Duke, "showing 'em where we are! They're doing good +enough as it is! You ought--got _you_, too!" + +"_I'm_ going down--that blamed fool out there ain't caring what he +hits," mumbled Charley, clenching his hands from pain. He slid over the +edge and Pete grabbed him. + +"Next," suggested Pete, expectantly. + +Tim tossed his Colt over the edge. "Here's another," he swore, following +the weapon. He was grabbed and bound in a trice. + +"When may we expect you, Mr. Duke?" asked Johnny, looking up. + +"Presently, friend, presently. I want to--_wow_!" he finished, and +lost no time in his descent, which was meteoric. "That feller'll _kill_ +somebody if he ain't careful!" he complained as Pete tied his hands +behind his back. + +"You wait till daylight an' see," cheerily replied Pete as the three +were led off to join their friends in the corral. + +There was no further action until the sun arose and then Hopalong +hailed the house and demanded a parley, and soon he and Boggs met midway +between the shack and the line. + +"What d'you want?" asked Boggs, sullenly. + +"Want you to stop this farce so I can go on with my drive." + +"Well, I ain't holding you!" exploded the 4X foreman. + +"Oh, yes; but you are. I can't let you an' yore men out to hang on our +flanks an' worry us; an' I don't want to hold you in that shack till you +all die of thirst, or come out to be all shot up. Besides, I can't fool +around here for a week; I got business to look after." + +"Don't you worry about us dying with thirst; that ain't worrying us +none." + +"I heard different," replied Hopalong, smiling. "Them fellers in the +corral drank a quart apiece. See here, Boggs; you can't win, an' you +know it. Yo're not bucking me, but the whole range, the whole country. +It's a fight between conditions--the fence idea agin the open range +idea, an' open trails. The fence will lose. You closed a drive trail +that's 'most as old as cow-raising. Will the punchers of this part of +the country stand for it? Suppose you lick us,--which you won't--can +you lick all the rest of us, the JD, Wallace's, Double-Arrow, C-80, +Cross-O-Cross, an' the others! That's just what it amounts to, an' you +better stop right now, before somebody gets killed. You know what that +means in this section. Yo're six to our eight, you ain't got a drink in +that shack, an' you dasn't try to get one. You can't do a thing agin us, +an' you know it." + +Boggs rested his hands on his hips and considered, Hopalong waiting +for him to reply. He knew that the Bar-20 man was right but he hated to +admit it, he hated to say he was whipped. + +"Are any of them six hurt?" he finally asked. + +"Only scratches an' sore heads," responded Hopalong, smiling. "We ain't +tried to kill anybody, yet. I'm putting that up to you." + +Boggs made no reply and Hopalong continued: "I got six of yore twelve +men prisoners, an' all yore cayuses are in my han's. I'll shoot every +animal before I'll leave 'em for you to use against me, an' I'll take +enough of yore cows to make up for what I lost by that fence. You've got +to pay for them dead cows, anyhow. If I do let you out you'll have to +road-brand me two hundred, or pay cash. My herd ain't worrying me--it's +moving all the time. It's through that other fence by now. An' if I have +to keep my outfit here to pen you in or shoot you off I can send to the +JD for a gang to push the herd. Don't make no mistake: yo're getting off +easy. Suppose one of my men had been killed at the fence--what then?" + +"Well, what do you want me to do?" + +"Stop this foolishness an' take down them fences for a mile each side +of the trail. If Buck has to come up here the whole thing'll go down. +Road-brand me two hundred of yore three-year-olds. Now as soon as you +agree, an' say that the fight's over, it will be. You can't win out; an' +what's the use of having yore men killed off?" + +"I hate to quit," replied the other, gloomily. + +"I know how that is; but yo're wrong on this question, dead wrong. You +don't own this range or the trail. You ain't got no right to close that +old drive trail. Honest, now; have you?" + +"You say them six ain't hurt?" + +"No more'n I said." + +"An' if I give in will you treat my men right?" + +"Shore." + +"When will you leave." + +"Just as soon as I get them two hundred three-year-olds." + +"Well, I hate a quitter; but I can't do nothing, nohow," mused the 4X +foreman. He cleared his throat and turned to look at the house. "All +right; when you get them cows you get out of here, an' don't never come +back!" + +Hopalong flung his arm with a shout to his men and the other kicked +savagely at an inoffensive stick and slouched back to his bunk house, a +beaten man. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +TEX EWALT HUNTS TROUBLE + +Not more than a few weeks after the Bar-20 drive outfit returned to the +ranch a solitary horseman pushed on towards the trail they had followed, +bound for Buckskin and the Bar-20 range. His name was Tex Ewalt and he +cordially hated all of the Bar-20 outfit and Hopalong in particular. He +had nursed a grudge for several years and now, as he rode south to rid +himself of it and to pay a long-standing debt, it grew stronger until he +thrilled with anticipation and the sauce of danger. This grudge had been +acquired when he and Slim Travennes had enjoyed a duel with Hopalong +Cassidy up in Santa Fe, and had been worsted; it had increased when he +learned of Slim's death at Cactus Springs at the hands of Hopalong; and, +some time later, hearing that two friends of his, "Slippery" Trendley +and "Deacon" Rankin, with their gang, had "gone out" in the Panhandle +with the same man and his friends responsible for it, Tex hastened to +Muddy Wells to even the score and clean his slate. Even now his face +burned when he remembered his experiences on that never-to-be-forgotten +occasion. He had been played with, ridiculed, and shamed, until he fled +from the town as a place accursed, hating everything and everybody. It +galled him to think that he had allowed Buck Peters' momentary sympathy +to turn him from his purpose, even though he was convinced that the +foreman's action had saved his life. And now Tex was returning, not to +Muddy Wells, but to the range where the Bar-20 outfit held sway. + +Several years of clean living had improved Tex, morally and physically. +The liquor he had once been in the habit of consuming had been reduced +to a negligible quantity; he spent the money on cartridges instead, +and his pistol work showed the results of careful and dogged practice, +particularly in the quickness of the draw. Punching cows on a remote +northern range had repaid him in health far more than his old game of +living on his wits and other people's lack of them, as proved by his +clear eye and the pink showing through the tan above his beard; while +his somber, steady gaze, due to long-held fixity of purpose, indicated +the resourcefulness of a perfectly reliable set of nerves. His low-hung +holster tied securely to his trousers leg to assure smoothness in +drawing, the restrained swing of his right hand, never far from the +well-worn scabbard which sheathed a triggerless Colt's "Frontier"--these +showed the confident and ready gun-man, the man who seldom missed. +"Frontiers" left the factory with triggers attached, but the absence of +that part did not always incapacitate a weapon. Some men found that the +regular method was too slow, and painstakingly cultivated the art of +thumbing the hammer. "Thumbing" was believed to save the split second +so valuable to a man in argument with his peers. Tex was riding with the +set purpose of picking a fair fight with the best six-shooter expert it +had ever been his misfortune to meet, and he needed that split second. +He knew that he needed it and the knowledge thrilled him with a peculiar +elation; he had changed greatly in the past year and now he wanted an +"even break" where once he would have called all his wits into play to +avoid it. He had found himself and now he acknowledged no superior in +anything. + +On his way south he met and talked with men who had known him, the old +Tex, in the days when he had made his living precariously. They did not +recognize him behind his beard, and he was content to let the oversight +pass. But from these few he learned what he wished to know, and he was +glad that Hopalong Cassidy was where he had always been, and that his +gun-work had improved rather than depreciated with the passing of time. +He wished to prove himself master of The Master, and to be hailed as +such by those who had jeered and laughed at his ignominy several years +before. So he rode on day after day, smiling and content, neither +under-rating nor over-rating his enemy's ability with one weapon, but +trying to think of him as he really was. He knew that if there was any +difference between Hopalong Cassidy and himself that it must be very +slight--perhaps so slight as to result fatally to both; but if that were +so then it would have to work out as it saw fit--he at least would have +accomplished what many, many others had failed in. + + + +In the little town of Buckskin, known hardly more than locally, and +never thought of by outsiders except as the place where the Bar-20 +spent their spare time and money, and neutral ground for the surrounding +ranches, was Cowan's saloon, in the dozen years of its existence the +scene of good stories, boisterous fun, and quick deaths. Put together +roughly, of crude materials, sticking up in inartistic prominence on the +dusty edge of a dustier street; warped, bleached by the sun, and patched +with boards ripped from packing cases and with the flattened sides of +tin cans; low of ceiling, the floor one huge brown discoloration of +spring, creaking boards, knotted and split and worn into hollows, the +unpretentious building offered its hospitality to all who might be +tempted by the scrawled, sprawled lettering of its sign. The walls were +smoke-blackened, pitted with numerous small and clear-cut holes, and +decorated with initials carelessly cut by men who had come and gone. + +Such was Cowan's, the best patronized place in many hot and dusty miles +and the Mecca of the cowboys from the surrounding ranches. Often at +night these riders of the range gathered in the humble building and told +tales of exceeding interest; and on these occasions one might see a +row of ponies standing before the building, heads down and quiet. It is +strange how alike cow-ponies look in the dim light of the stars. On the +south side of the saloon, weak, yellow lamp light filtered through the +dirt on the window panes and fell in distorted patches on the plain, +blotched in places by the shadows of the wooden substitutes for glass. + +It was a moonlight night late in the fall, after the last beef round-up +was over and the last drive outfit home again, that two cow-ponies stood +in front of Cowan's while their owners lolled against the bar and talked +over the latest sensation--the fencing in of the West Valley range, +and the way Hopalong Cassidy and his trail outfit had opened up the old +drive trail across it. The news was a month old, but it was the last +event of any importance and was still good to laugh over. + +"Boys," remarked the proprietor, "I want you to meet Mr. Elkins. He came +down that trail last week, an' he didn't see no fence across it." The +man at the table arose slowly. "Mr. Elkins, this is Sandy Lucas, an' +Wood Wright, of the C-80. Mr. Elkins here has been a-looking over the +country, sizing up what the beef prospects will be for next year; an' +he knows all about wire fences. Here's how," he smiled, treating on the +house. + +Mr. Elkins touched the glass to his bearded lips and set it down +untasted while he joked over the sharp rebuff so lately administered to +wire fences in that part of the country. While he was an ex-cow-puncher +he believed that he was above allowing prejudice to sway his judgment, +and it was his opinion, after careful thought, that barb wire was +harmful to the best interests of the range. He had ridden over a great +part of the cattle country in the last few yeas, and after reviewing +the existing conditions as he understood them, his verdict must go as +stated, and emphatically. He launched gracefully into a slowly +delivered and lengthy discourse upon the subject, which proved to be +so entertaining that his companions were content to listen and nod with +comprehension. They had never met any one who was so well qualified +to discuss the pros and cons of the barb-wire fence question, and they +learned many things which they had never heard before. This was very +gratifying to Mr. Elkins, who drew largely upon hearsay, his own vivid +imagination, and a healthy logic. He was very glad to talk to men who +had the welfare of the range at heart, and he hoped soon to meet the +man who had taken the initiative in giving barb wire its first serious +setback on that rich and magnificent southern range. + +"You shore ought to meet Cassidy--he's a fine man," remarked Lucas with +enthusiasm. "You'll not find any better, no matter where you look. But +you ain't touched yore liquor," he finished with surprise. + +"You'll have to excuse me, gentlemen," replied Mr. Elkins, smiling +deprecatingly. "When a man likes it as much as I do it ain't very easy +to foller instructions an' let it alone. Sometimes I almost break loose +an' indulge, regardless of whether it kills me or not. I reckon it'll +get me yet." He struck the bar a resounding blow with his clenched hand. +"But I ain't going to cave in till I has to!" + +"That's purty tough," sympathized Wood Wright, reflectively. "I ain't +so very much taken with it, but I know I would be if I knowed I couldn't +have any." + +"Yes, that's human nature, all right," laughed Lucas. "That reminds me +of a little thing that happened to me once--" + +"Listen!" exclaimed Cowan, holding up his hand for silence. "I reckon +that's the Bar-20 now, or some of it--sounds like them when they're +feeling frisky. There's allus something happening when them fellers are +around." + +The proprietor was right, as proved a moment later when Johnny Nelson, +continuing his argument, pushed open the door and entered the room. "I +didn't neither; an' you know it!" he flung over his shoulder. + +"Then who did?" demanded Hopalong, chuckling. "Why, hullo, boys," he +said, nodding to his friends at the bar. "Nobody else would do a fool +thing like that; nobody but you, Kid," he added, turning to Johnny. + +"I don't care a hang what you think; I say I didn't an'--" + +"He shore did, all right; I seen him just afterward," laughed Billy +Williams, pressing close upon Hopalong's heels. "Howdy, Lucas; an' +there's that ol' coyote, Wood Wright. How's everybody feeling?" + +"Where's the rest of you fellers?" inquired Cowan. + +"Stayed home to-night," replied Hopalong. + +"Got any loose money, you two?" asked Billy, grinning at Lucas and +Wright. + +"I reckon we have--an' our credit's good if we ain't. We're good for a +dollar or two, ain't we, Cowan?" replied Lucas. + +"Two dollars an' four bits," corrected Cowan. "I'll raise it to three +dollars even when you pay me that 'leven cents you owe me." + +"'Leven cents? What 'leven cents?" + +"Postage stamps an' envelope for that love letter you writ." + +"Go to blazes; that wasn't no love letter!" snorted Lucas, indignantly. +"That was my quarterly report. I never did write no love letters, +nohow." + +"We'll trim you fellers to-night, if you've got the nerve to play us," +grinned Johnny, expectantly. + +"Yes; an' we've got that, too. Give us the cards, Cowan," requested Wood +Wright, turning. "They won't give us no peace till we take all their +money away from 'em." + +"Open game," prompted Cowan, glancing meaningly at Elkins, who stood by +idly looking on, and without showing much interest in the scene. + +"Shore! Everybody can come in what wants to," replied Lucas, heartily, +leading the others to the table. "I allus did like a six-handed game +best--all the cards are out an' there's some excitement in it." + +When the deal began Elkins was seated across the table from Hopalong, +facing him for the first time since that day over in Muddy Wells, and +studying him closely. He found no changes, for the few years had left +no trace of their passing on the Bar-20 puncher. The sensation of facing +the man he had come south expressly to kill did not interfere with +Elkins' card-playing ability for he played a good game; and as if the +Fates were with him it was Hopalong's night off as far as poker was +concerned, for his customary good luck was not in evidence. That +instinctive feeling which singles out two duellists in a card game +was soon experienced by the others, who were careful, as became good +players, to avoid being caught between them; in consequence, when the +game broke up, Elkins had most of Hopalong's money. At one period of his +life Elkins had lived on poker for five years, and lived well. But he +gained more than money in this game, for he had made friends with the +players and placed the first wire of his trap. Of those in the room +Hopalong alone treated him with reserve, and this was cleverly swung so +that it appeared to be caused by a temporary grouch due to the sting of +defeat. As the Bar-20 man was known to be given to moods at times this +was accepted as the true explanation and gave promise of hotly contested +games for revenge later on. The banter which the defeated puncher had to +endure stirred him and strengthened the reserve, although he was careful +not to show it. + +When the last man rode off, Elkins and the proprietor sought their bunks +without delay, the former to lie awake a long time, thinking deeply. +He was vexed at himself for failing to work out an acceptable plan +of action, one that would show him to be in the right. He would gain +nothing more than glory, and pay too dearly for it, if he killed +Hopalong and was in turn killed by the dead man's friends--and +he believed that he had become acquainted with the quality of the +friendship which bound the units of the Bar-20 outfit into a smooth, +firm whole. They were like brothers, like one man. Cassidy must do the +forcing as far as appearances went, and be clearly in the wrong before +the matter could be settled. + +The next week was a busy one for Elkins, every day finding him in the +saddle and riding over some one of the surrounding ranches with one or +more of its punchers for company. In this way he became acquainted with +the men who might be called on to act as his jury when the showdown +came, and he proceeded to make friends of them in a manner that promised +success. And some of his suggestions for the improvement of certain +conditions on the range, while they might not work out right in the +long run, compelled thought and showed his interest. His remarks on the +condition and numbers of cattle were the same in substance in all cases +and showed that he knew what he was talking about, for the punchers were +all very optimistic about the next year's showing in cattle. + +"If you fellers don't break all records for drive herds of quality next +year I don't know nothing about cows; an' I shore don't know nothing +else," he told the foreman of the Bar-20, as they rode homeward after an +inspection of that ranch. "There'll be more dust hanging over the +drive trails leading from this section next year when spring drops +the barriers than ever before. You needn't fear for the market, +neither--prices will stand. The north an' central ranges ain't doing +what they ought to this year--it'll be up to you fellers down south, +here, to make that up; an' you can do it." This was not a guess, but the +result of thought and study based on the observations he had made on his +ride south, and from what he had learned from others along the way. +It paralleled Buck's own private opinion, especially in regard to +the southern range; and the vague suspicions in the foreman's mind +disappeared for good and all. + +Needless to say Elkins was a welcome visitor at the ranch houses and was +regarded as a good fellow. At the Bar-20 he found only two men who +would not thaw to him, and he was possessed of too much tact to try +any persuasive measures. One was Hopalong, whose original cold reserve +seemed to be growing steadily, the Bar-20 puncher finding in Elkins +a personality that charged the atmosphere with hostility and quietly +rubbed him the wrong way. Whenever he was in the presence of the +newcomer he felt the tugging of an irritating and insistent antagonism +and he did not always fully conceal it. John Bartlett, Lucas, and one +or two of the more observing had noticed it and they began to prophesy +future trouble between the two. The other man who disliked Elkins was +Red Connors; but what was more natural? Red, being Hopalong's closest +companion, would be very apt to share his friend's antipathy. On the +other hand, as if to prove Hopalong's dislike to be unwarranted, Johnny +Nelson swung far to the other extreme and was frankly enthusiastic in +his liking for the cattle scout. And Johnny did not pour oil on the +waters when he laughingly twitted Hopalong for allowing "a licking +at cards to make him sore." This was the idea that Elkins was quietly +striving to have generally accepted. + +The affair thus hung fire, Elkins chafing at the delay and cautiously +working for an opening, which at last presented itself, to be promptly +seized. By a sort of mutual, unspoken agreement, the men in Cowan's that +night passed up the cards and sat swapping stories. Cowan, swearing at a +smoking lamp, looked up with a grin and burned his fingers as a roar of +laughter marked the point of a droll reminiscence told by Bartlett. + +"That's a good story, Bartlett," Elkins remarked, slowing refilling +his pipe. "Reminds me of the lame Greaser, Hippy Joe, an' the canned +oysters. They was both bad, an' neither of 'em knew it till they came +together. It was like this. . . ." The malicious side glance went unseen +by all but Hopalong, who stiffened with the raging suspicion of being +twitted on his own deformity. The humor of the tale failed to appeal +to him, and when his full senses returned Lucas was in the midst of +the story of the deadly game of tag played in a ten-acre lot of dense +underbrush by two of his old-time friends. It was a tale of gripping +interest and his auditors were leaning forward in their eagerness not to +miss a word. "An' Pierce won," finished Lucas; "some shot up, but able +to get about. He was all right in a couple of weeks. But he was bound to +win; he could shoot all around Sam Hopkins." + +"But the best shot won't allus win in that game," commented Elkins. +"That's one of the minor factors." + +"Yes, sir! It's _luck_ that counts there," endorsed Bartlett, quickly. +"Luck, nine times out of ten." + +"Best shot ought to win," declared Skinny Thompson. "It ain't all luck, +nohow. Where'd I be against Hoppy, there?" + +"Won't neither!" cried Johnny, excitedly. "The man who sees the other +first wins out. That's wood-craft, an' brains." + +"Aw! What do you know about it, anyhow?" demanded Lucas. "If he can't +shoot so good what chance has he got--if he misses the first try, what +then?" + +"What chance has he got! First chance, miss or no miss. If he can't see +the other first, where the devil does his good shooting come in?" + +"Huh!" snorted Wood Wright, belligerently. "Any fool can _see_, but he +can't _shoot_! An' it's as much luck as wood-craft, too, an' don't you +forget it!" + +"The first shot don't win, Johnny; not in a game like that, with all the +dodging an' ducking," remarked Red. "You can't put one where you want it +when a feller's slipping around in the brush. It's the most that counts, +an' the best shot gets in the most. I wouldn't want to have to stand up +against Hoppy an' a short gun, not in that game; no, sir!" and Red shook +his head with decision. + +The argument waxed hot. With the exception of Hopalong, who sat silently +watchful, every one spoke his opinion and repeated it without regard to +the others. It appeared that in this game, the man with the strongest +lungs would eventually win out, and each man tried to show his +superiority in that line. Finally, above the uproar, Cowan's bellow was +herd, and he kept it up until some notice was taken of it. "Shut up! +_Shut up_! For God's sake, _quit_! Never saw such a bunch of tinder--let +somebody drop a cold, burned-out match in this gang, an' hell's to pay. +Here, _all_ of you, play cards an' forget about cross-tag in the scrub. +You'll be arguing about playing marbles in the dark purty soon!" + +"All right," muttered Johnny, "but just the same, the man who--" + +"Never mind about the man who! Did you hear _me_?" yelled Cowan, swiftly +reaching for a bucket of water. "_This_ is a game where _I_ gets the +most in, an' don't forget it!" + +"Come on; play cards," growled Lucas, who did not relish having his +decision questioned on his own story. Undoubtedly somewhere in the wide, +wide world there was such a thing as common courtesy, but none of it had +ever strayed onto that range. + +The chairs scraped on the rough floor as the men pulled up to a table. +"I don't care a hang," came Elkins' final comment as he shuffled the +cards with careful attention. "I'm not any fancy Colt expert, but I'm +damned if I won't take a chance in that game with any man as totes a +gun. Leastawise, of _course_, I wouldn't take no such advantage of a +lame man." + +The effect would have been ludicrous but for its deadly significance. +Cowan, stooping to go under the bar, remained in that hunched-up +attitude, his every faculty concentrated in his ears; the match on its +way to the cigarette between Red's lips was held until it burned his +fingers, when it was dropped from mere reflex action, the hand still +stiffly aloft; Lucas, half in and half out of his chair, seemed to have +got just where he intended, making no effort to seat himself. Skinny +Thompson, his hand on his gun, seemed paralyzed; his mouth was open +to frame a reply that never was uttered and he stared through narrowed +eyelids at the blunderer. The sole movement in the room was the slow +rising of Hopalong and the markedly innocent shuffling of the cards by +Elkins, who appeared to be entirely ignorant of the weight and effect of +his words. He dropped the pack for the cut and then looked up and around +as if surprised by the silence and the expressions he saw. + +Hopalong stood facing him, leaning over with both hands on the table. +His voice, when he spoke, rumbled up from his chest in a low growl. "You +won't _have_ no advantage, Elkins. Take it from me, you've had yore last +fling. I'm glad you made it plain, this time, so it's something I can +take hold of." He straightened slowly and walked to the door, and an +audible sigh sounded through the room as it was realized that trouble +was not immediately imminent. At the door he paused and turned back +around, looking back over his shoulder. "At noon to-morrow I'm going to +hoof it north through the brush between the river an' the river trail, +starting at the old ford a mile down the river." He waited expectantly. + +"Me too--only the other way," was the instant rejoinder. "Have it yore +own way." + +Hopalong nodded and the closing door shut him out into the night. +Without a word the Bar-20 men arose and followed him, the only hesitant +being Johnny, who was torn between loyalty and new-found friendship; but +with a sorrowful shake of the head, he turned away and passed out, not +far behind the others. + +"Clannish, ain't they?" remarked Elkins, gravely. + +Those remaining were regarding him sternly, questioningly, Cowan with +a deep frown darkening his face. "You hadn't ought to 'a' said that, +Elkins." The reproof was almost an accusation. + +Elkins looked steadily at the speaker. "You hadn't ought to 'a' let me +say it," he replied. "How did I know he was so touchy?" His gaze left +Cowan and lingered in turn on each of the others. "Some of you ought to +'a' told me. I wouldn't 'a' said it only for what I said just before, +an' I didn't want him to think I was challenging him to no duel in +the brush. So I says so, an' then he goes an' takes it up that I _am_ +challenging him. I ain't got no call to fight with nobody. Ain't I tried +to keep out of trouble with him ever since I've been here? Ain't I kept +out of the poker games on his account? Ain't I?" The grave, even tones +were dispassionate, without a trace of animus and serenely sure of +justice. + +The faces around him cleared gradually and heads began to nod in +comprehending consent. + +"Yes, I reckon you have," agreed Cowan, slowly, but the frown was not +entirely gone. "Yes, I reckon--mebby--you have." + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE MASTER + +It was noon by the sun when Hopalong and Red shook hands south of the +old ford and the former turned to enter the brush. Hopalong was cool +and ominously calm while his companion was the opposite. Red was frankly +suspicious of the whole affair and nursed the private opinion that Mr. +Elkins would lay in ambush and shoot his enemy down like a dog. And Red +had promised himself a dozen times that he would study the signs around +the scene of action if Hopalong should not come back, and take a keen +delight, if warranted, in shooting Mr. Elkins full of holes with no +regard for an even break. He was thinking the matter over as his friend +breasted the first line of brush and could not refrain from giving a +slight warning. "Get him, Hoppy," he called, earnestly; "get him good. +Let _him_ do some of the moving about. I'll be here waiting for you." + +Hopalong smiled in reply and sprang forward, the leaves and branches +quickly shutting him from Red's sight. He had worked out his plan of +action the night before when he was alone and the world was still, and +as soon as he had it to his satisfaction he had dropped off to sleep as +easily as a child--it took more than gun-play to disturb his nerves. +He glanced about him to make sure of his bearings and then struck on a +curving line for the river. The first hundred yards were covered with +speed and then he began to move more slowly and with greater regard for +caution, keeping close to the earth and showing a marked preference for +low ground. Sky-lines were all right in times of peace, but under the +present conditions they promised to become unhealthy. His eyes and ears +told him nothing for a quarter of an hour, and then he suddenly stopped +short and crouched as he saw the plain trail of a man crossing his own +direction at a right angle. From the bottom of one of the heel prints +a crushed leaf was slowly rising back towards its original position, +telling him how new the trail was; and as if this were not enough for +his trained mind he heard a twig snap sharply as he glanced along the +line of prints. It sounded very close, and he dropped instantly to one +knee and thought quickly. Why had the other left so plain a trail, why +had he reached up and broken twigs that projected above his head as he +passed? Why had he kicked aside a small stone, leaving a patch of moist, +bleached grass to tell where it had lain? Elkins had stumbled here, but +there were no toe marks to tell of it. Hopalong would not track, for he +was no assassin; but he knew that he would do if he were, and careless. +The answer leaped to his suspicious mind like a flash, and he did not +care to waste any time in trying to determine whether or not Elkins was +capable of such a trick. He acted on the presumption that the trail +had been made plain for a good reason, and that not far ahead at some +suitable place,--and there were any number of such within a hundred +yards,--the maker of the plain trail lay in wait. Smiling savagely +he worked backward and turning, struck off in a circle. He had no +compunctions whatever now about shooting the other player of the game. +It was not long before he came upon the same trail again and he started +another circle. A bullet _zipped_ past his ear and cut a twig not two +inches from his head. He fired at the smoke as he dropped, and then +wriggled rapidly backward, keeping as flat to the earth as he could. +Elkins had taken up his position in a thicket which stood in the centre +of a level patch of sand in the old bed of the river,--the bed it had +used five years before and forsaken at the time of the big flood when it +cut itself a new channel and made the U-bend which now surrounded this +piece of land on three sides. Even now, during the rainy season, +the thicket which sheltered Mr. Elkins was frequently an island in a +sluggish, shallow overflow. + +"Hole up, blast you!" jeered Hopalong, hugging the ground. The second +bullet from Mr. Elkins' gun cut another twig, this one just over his +head, and he laughed insolently. "I ain't ascared to do the moving, +even if you are. Judging from the way you keep out o' sight the canned +oysters are in the can again. _I_ never did no ambushing, you coyote." + +"You can't make remarks like that an' get away with 'em--I've knowed you +too long," retorted Elkins, shifting quickly, and none too soon. "You +went an' got Slim afore he was wide awake. I know _you_, all right." + +Hopalong's surprise was but momentary, and his mind raced back over the +years. Who was this man Elkins, that he knew Slim Travennes? "Yo're a +liar, Elkins, an' so was the man who told you that!" + +"Call me Ewalt," jeered the other, nastily. "Nobody'll hear it, an' +you'll not live to tell it. Ewalt, Tex Ewalt; call me that." + +"So you've come back after all this time to make me get you, have you? +Well, I ain't a-going to shoot no buttons off you _this_ time. I allus +reckoned you learned something at Muddy Wells--but you'll learn it +here," Hopalong rejoined, sliding into a depression, and working with +great caution towards the dry river bed, where fallen trees and hillocks +of sand provided good cover in plenty. Everything was clear now and +despite the seriousness of the situation he could not repress a smile +as he remembered vividly that day at the carnival when Tex Ewalt came to +town with the determination to kill him and show him up as an imitation. +His grievance against Elkins was petty when compared to that against +Ewalt, and he began to force the issue. As he peered over a stranded +log he caught sight of his enemy disappearing into another part of the +thicket, and two of his three shots went home. Elkins groaned with pain +and fear as he realized that his right knee-cap was broken and would +make him slow in his movements. He was lamed for life, even if he did +come out of the duel alive; lamed in the same way that Hopalong was--the +affliction he had made cruel sport of had come to him. But he had plenty +of courage and he returned the fire with remarkable quickness, his two +shots sounding almost as one. + +Hopalong wiped the blood from his cheek and wormed his way to a +new place; when half way there he called out again, "How's yore +health--Tex?" in mock sympathy. + +Elkins lied manfully and when he looked to get in another shot his enemy +was on the farther bank, moving up to get behind him. He did not know +Hopalong's new position until he raised his head to glance down over the +dried river bed, and was informed by a bullet that nicked his ear. As +he ducked, another grazed his head, the third going wild. He hazarded a +return shot, and heard Hopalong's laugh ring out again. + +"Like the story Lucas told, the best shot is going to win out this time, +too," the Bar-20 man remarked, grimly. "You thought a game like this +would give you some chance against a better shot, didn't you? You are a +fool." + +"It ain't over yet, not by a damned sight!" came the retort. + +"An' you thought you had a little the best of it if you stayed still an' +let me do the moving, didn't you? You'll learn something before I get +through with you: but it'll be too late to do you any good," Hopalong +called, crouched below a hillock of sand so the other could not take +advantage of the words and single him out for a shot. + +"You can't learn me nothing, you assassin; I've got my eyes open, this +time." He knew that he had had them open before, and that Hopalong was +in no way an assassin; but if he could enrage his enemy and sting him +into some reflex carelessness he might have the last laugh. + +Elkins' retort was wasted, for the sudden and unusual, although a +familiar sound, had caught Hopalong's ear and he was giving all his +attention to it. While he weighed it, his incredulity holding back +the decision his common sense was striving to give him, the noise grew +louder rapidly and common sense won out in a cry of warning an instant +before a five-foot wall of brown water burst upon his sight, sweeping +swiftly down the old, dry river bed; and behind it towered another and +greater wall. Tree trunks were dancing end over end in it as if they +were straws. + +"Cloud-burst!" he yelled. "Run, Tex! Run for yore life! Cloud-burst up +the valley! Run, you fool; _Run_!" + +Tex's sarcastic retort was cut short as he instinctively glanced north, +and his agonized curse lashed Hopalong forward. "Can't run--knee cap's +busted! Can't swim, can't do--ah, hell--!" + +Hopalong saw him torn from his shelter and whisked down the raging +torrent like an arrow from a bow. The Bar-20 puncher leaped from the +bank, shot under the yellow flood and arose, gasping and choking many +yards downstream, fighting madly to get the muddy water out of his +throat and eyes. As he struck out with all his strength down the +current, he caught sight of Tex being torn from a jutting tree limb, and +he shouted encouragement and swam all the harder, if such a thing +were possible. Tex's course was checked for a moment by a boiling +back-current and as he again felt the pull of the rushing stream +Hopalong's hand gripped his collar and the fight for safety began. +Whirled against logs and stumps, drawn down by the weight of his clothes +and the frantic efforts of Tex to grasp him--fighting the water and +the man he was trying to save at the same time, his head under water +as often as it was out of it, and Tex's vise-like fingers threatening +him--he headed for the west shore against powerful cross-currents that +made his efforts seem useless. He seemed to get the worst of every +break. Once, when caught by a friendly current, they were swung under +an overhanging branch, but as Hopalong's hand shot up to grasp it +a submerged bush caught his feet and pulled him under, and Tex's +steel-like arms around his throat almost suffocated him before he +managed to beat the other into insensibility and break the hold. + +"I'll let you go!" he threatened; but his hand grasped the other's +collar all the tighter and his fighting jaw was set with greater +determination than ever. + +They shot out into the main stream, where the U-bend channel joined the +short-cut, and it looked miles wide to the exhausted puncher. He was +fighting only on his will now. He would not give up, though he scarce +could lift an arm, and his lungs seemed on fire. He did not know whether +Tex was dead or alive, but he would get the body ashore with him, or +go down trying. He bumped into a log and instinctively grasped it. It +turned, and when he came up again it was bobbing five feet ahead of him. +Ages seemed to pass before he flung his numb arm over it and floated +with it. He was not alone in the flood; a coyote was pushing steadily +across his path towards the nearer bank, and on a gliding tree trunk +crouched a frightened cougar, its ears flattened and its sharp claws +dug solidly through the bark. Here and there were cattle and a snake +wriggled smoothly past him, apparently as much at home in the water as +out of it. The log turned again and he just managed to catch hold of it +as he came up for the second time. + +Things were growing black before his eyes and strange, weird ideas and +images floated through his brain. When he regained some part of his +senses he saw ahead of him a long, curling crest of yellow water and +foam, and he knew, vaguely, that it was pouring over a bar. The next +instant his feet struck bottom and he fought his way blindly and slowly, +with the stubborn determination of his kind, towards the brush-covered +point twenty feet away. + +When he opened his eyes and looked around he became conscious of +excruciating pains and he closed them again to rest. His outflung hand +struck something that made him look around again, and he saw Tex Ewalt, +face down at his side. He released his grasp on the other's collar and +slowly the whole thing came to him, and then the necessity for action, +unless he wished to lose what he had fought so hard to save. + +Anything short of the iron man Tex had become would have been dead +before this or have been finished by the mauling he now got from +Hopalong. But Tex groaned, gurgled a curse, and finally opened his eyes +upon his rescuer, who sank back with a grunt of satisfaction. Slowly his +intelligence returned as he looked steadily into Hopalong's eyes, and +with it came the realization of a strange truth: he did not hate this +man at all. Months of right living, days and nights of honest labor +shoulder to shoulder with men who respected him for his ability and +accepted him as one of themselves, had made a new man of him, although +the legacy of hatred from the old Tex had disguised him from himself +until now; but the new Tex, battered, shot-up, nearly drowned, looked at +his old enemy and saw him for the man he really was. He smiled faintly +and reached out his hand. + +"Cassidy, yo're the boss," he said. "Shake." + +They shook. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bar-20 Days, by Clarence E. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Bar-20 Days + +Author: Clarence E. Mulford + +Release Date: January, 2004 [EBook #4922] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on March 31, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, BAR-20 DAYS *** + + + + +Etext prepared by Dagny, dagnypg@yahoo.com + and John Bickers, jbickers@ihug.co.nz + + + + BAR-20 DAYS + + BY + + CLARENCE E. MULFORD + + + + AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO "M. D." + + + + + + BAR-20 DAYS + + + + CHAPTER I + + ON A STRANGE RANGE + +Two tired but happy punchers rode into the coast town and dismounted +in front of the best hotel. Putting up their horses as quickly as +possible they made arrangements for sleeping quarters and then +hastened out to attend to business. Buck had been kind to delegate +this mission to them and they would feel free to enjoy what pleasures +the town might afford. While at that time the city was not what it is +now, nevertheless it was capable of satisfying what demands might be +made upon it by two very active and zealous cow-punchers. Their first +experience began as they left the hotel. + +"Hey, you cow-wrastlers!" said a not unpleasant voice, and they turned +suspiciously as it continued: "You've shore got to hang up them guns +with the hotel clerk while you cavorts around on this range. This is +/fence/ country." + +They regarded the speaker's smiling face and twinkling eyes and +laughed. "Well, yo're the foreman if you owns that badge," grinned +Hopalong, cheerfully. "We don't need no guns, nohow, in this town, we +don't. Plumb forgot we was toting them. But mebby you can tell us +where lawyer Jeremiah T. Jones grazes in daylight?" + +"Right over yonder, second floor," replied the marshal. "An' come to +think of it, mebby you better leave most of yore cash with the guns-- +somebody'll take it away from you if you don't. It'd be an awful +temptation, an' flesh is weak." + +"Huh!" laughed Johnny, moving back into the hotel to leave his gun, +closely followed by Hopalong. "Anybody that can turn that little trick +on me an' Hoppy will shore earn every red cent; why, we've been to +Kansas City!" + +As they emerged again Johnny slapped his pocket, from which sounded a +musical jingling. "If them weak people try anything on us, we may come +between them and /their/ money!" he boasted. + +"From the bottom of my heart I pity you," called the marshal, watching +them depart, a broad smile illuminating his face. "In about twenty- +four hours they'll put up a holler for me to go git it back for 'em," +he muttered. "An' I almost believe I'll do it, too. I ain't never seen +none of that breed what ever left a town without empty pockets an' +aching heads--an' the smarter they think they are the easier they +fall." A fleeting expression of discontent clouded the smile, for the +lure of the open range is hard to resist when once a man has ridden +free under its sky and watched its stars. "An' I wish I was one of 'em +again," he muttered, sauntering on. + +Jeremiah T. Jones, Esq., was busy when his door opened, but he leaned +back in his chair and smiled pleasantly at their bow-legged entry, +waving them towards two chairs. Hopalong hung his sombrero on a letter +press and tipped his chair back against the wall; Johnny hung grimly +to his hat, sat stiffly upright until he noticed his companion's pose, +and then, deciding that everything was all right, and that Hopalong +was better up in etiquette than himself, pitched his sombrero +dexterously over the water pitcher and also leaned against the wall. +Nobody could lose him when it came to doing the right thing. + +"Well, gentlemen, you look tired and thirsty. This is considered good +for all human ailments of whatsoever nature, degree, or wheresoever +located, in part or entirety, /ab initio/," Mr. Jones remarked, +filling glasses. There was no argument and when the glasses were +empty, he continued: "Now what can I do for you? From the Bar-20? Ah, +yes; I was expecting you. We'll get right at it," and they did. Half +an hour later they emerged on the street, free to take in the town, or +to have the town take them in,--which was usually the case. + +"What was that he said for us to keep away from?" asked Johnny with +keen interest. + +"Sh! Not so loud," chuckled Hopalong, winking prodigiously. + +Johnny pulled tentatively at his upper lip but before he could reply +his companion had accosted a stranger. + +"Friend, we're pilgrims in a strange land, an' we dont know the +trails. Can you tell us where the docks are?" + +"Certainly; glad to. You'll find them at the end of this street," and +he smilingly waved them towards the section of the town which Jeremiah +T. Jones had specifically and earnestly warned them to avoid. + +"Wonder if you're as thirsty as me?" solicitously inquired Hopalong of +his companion. + +"I was just wondering the same," replied Johnny. "Say," he confided in +a lower voice, "blamed if I don't feel sort of lost without that Colt. +Every time I lifts my right laig she goes too high--don't feel +natural, nohow." + +"Same here; I'm allus feeling to see if I lost it," Hopalong +responded. "There ain't no rubbing, no weight, nor nothing." + +"Wish I had something to put in its place, blamed if I don't." + +"Why, now yo're talking--mebby we can buy something," grinned +Hopalong, happily. "Here's a hardware store--come on in." + +The clerk looked up and laid aside his novel. "Good-morning, +gentlemen; what can I do for you? We've just got in some fine new +rifles," he suggested. + +The customers exchanged looks and it was Hopalong who first found his +voice. "Nope, don't want no rifles," he replied, glancing around. "To +tell the truth, I don't know just what we do want, but we want +something, all right--got to have it. It's a funny thing, come to +think of it; I can't never pass a hardware store without going in an' +buying something. I've been told my father was the same way, so I must +inherit it. It's the same with my pardner, here, only he gets his +weakness from his whole family, and it's different from mine. He can't +pass a saloon without going in an' buying something." + +"Yo're a cheerful liar, an' you know it," retorted Johnny. "You know +the reason why I goes in saloons so much--you'd never leave 'em if I +didn't drag you out. He inherits that weakness from his grandfather, +twice removed," he confided to the astonished clerk, whose expression +didn't know what to express. + +"Let's see: a saw?" soliloquized Hopalong. "Nope; got lots of 'em, an' +they're all genuine Colts," he mused thoughtfully. "Axe? Nails? +Augurs? Corkscrews? Can we use a corkscrew, Johnny? Ah, thought I'd +wake you up. Now, what was it Cookie said for us to bring him? Bacon? +Got any bacon? Too bad--oh, don't apologize; it's all right. Cold +chisels--that's the thing if you ain't got no bacon. Let me see a +three-pound cold chisel about as big as that,"--extending a huge and +crooked forefinger,--"an' with a big bulge at one end. Straight in the +middle, circling off into a three-cornered wavy edge on the other +side. What? Look here! You can't tell us nothing about saloons that we +don't know. I want a three-pound cold chisel, any kind, so it's cold." + +Johnny nudged him. "How about them wedges?" + +"Twenty-five cents a pound," explained the clerk, groping for his +bearings. + +"They might do," Hopalong muttered, forcing the article mentioned into +his holster. "Why, they're quite hocus-pocus. You take the brother to +mine, Johnny." + +"Feels good, but I dunno," his companion muttered. "Little wide at the +sharp end. Hey, got any loose shot?" he suddenly asked, whereat +Hopalong beamed and the clerk gasped. It didn't seem to matter whether +they bought bacon, cold chisels, wedges, or shot; yet they looked +sober. + +"Yes, sir; what size?" + +"Three pounds of shot, I said!" Johnny rumbled in his throat. "Never +mind what size." + +"We never care about size when we buy shot," Hopalong smiled. "But, +Johnny, wouldn't them little screws be better?" he asked, pointing +eagerly. + +"Mebby; reckon we better get 'em mixed--half of each," Johnny gravely +replied. "Anyhow, there ain't much difference." + +The clerk had been behind that counter for four years, and executing +and filling orders had become a habit with him; else he would have +given them six pounds of cold chisels and corkscrews, mixed. His mouth +was still open when he weighed out the screws. + +"Mix 'em! Mix 'em!" roared Hopalong, and the stunned clerk complied, +and charged them for the whole purchase at the rate set down for +screws. + +Hopalong started to pour his purchase into the holster which, being +open at the bottom, gayly passed the first instalment through to the +floor. He stopped and looked appealingly at Johnny, and Johnny, in +pain from holding back screams of laughter, looked at him indignantly. +Then a guileless smile crept over Hopalong's face and he stopped the +opening with a wad of wrapping paper and disposed of the shot and +screws, Johnny following his laudable example. After haggling a moment +over the bill they paid it and walked out, to the apparent joy of the +clerk. + +"Don't laugh, Kid; you'll spoil it all," warned Hopalong, as he noted +signs of distress on his companion's face. "Now, then; what was it we +said about thirst? Come on; I see one already." + +Having entered the saloon and ordered, Hopalong beamed upon the +bartender and shoved his glass back again. "One more, kind stranger; +it's good stuff." + +"Yes, feels like a shore-enough gun," remarked Johnny, combining two +thoughts in one expression, which is brevity. + +The bartender looked at him quickly and then stood quite still and +listened, a puzzled expression on his face. + +/Tic--tickety-tick--tic-tic/, came strange sounds from the other side +of the bar. Hopalong was intently studying a chromo on the wall and +Johnny gazed vacantly out of the window. + +"What's that? What in the deuce is that?" quickly demanded the man +with the apron, swiftly reaching for his bung-starter. + +/Tickety-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic/, the noise went on, and Hopalong, slowly +rolling his eyes, looked at the floor. A screw rebounded and struck +his foot, while shot were rolling recklessly. + +"Them's making the noise," Johnny explained after critical survey. + +"Hang it! I knowed we ought to 'a' got them wedges!" Hopalong +exclaimed, petulantly, closing the bottom of the sheath. "Why, I won't +have no gun left soon 'less I holds it in." The complaint was +plaintive. + +"Must be filtering through the stopper," Johnny remarked. "But don't +it sound nice, especially when it hits that brass cuspidor!" + +The bartender, grasping the mallet even more firmly, arose on his toes +and peered over the bar, not quite sure of what he might discover. He +had read of infernal machines although he had never seen one. "What +the blazes!" he exclaimed in almost a whisper; and then his face went +hard. "You get out of here, quick! You've had too much already! I've +seen drunks, but-- G'wan! Get out!" + +"But we ain't begun yet," Hopalong interposed hastily. "You see--" + +"Never mind what I see! I'd hate to see what you'll be seeing before +long. God help you when you finish!" rather impolitely interrupted the +bartender. He waved the mallet and made for the end of the counter +with no hesitancy and lots of purpose in his stride. "G'wan, now! Get +out!" + +"Come on, Johnny; I'd shoot him only we didn't put no powder with the +shot," Hopalong remarked sadly, leading the way out of the saloon and +towards the hardware store. + +"You better get out!" shouted the man with the mallet, waving the +weapon defiantly. "An' don't you never come back again, neither," he +warned. + +"Hey, it leaked," Hopalong said pleasantly as he closed the door of +the hardware store behind him, whereupon the clerk jumped and reached +for the sawed-off shotgun behind the counter. Sawed-off shotguns are +great institutions for arguing at short range, almost as effective as +dynamite in clearing away obstacles. + +"Don't you come no nearer!" he cried, white of face. "You git out, or +I'll let /this/ leak, an' give you /all/ shot, an' more than you can +carry!" + +"Easy! Easy there, pardner; we want them wedges," Hopalong replied, +somewhat hurriedly. "The others ain't no good; I choked on the very +first screw. Why, I wouldn't hurt you for the world," Hopalong assured +him, gazing interestedly down the twin tunnels. + +Johnny leaned over a nail keg and loosed the shot and screws into it, +smiling with childlike simplicity as he listened to the +tintinnabulation of the metal shower among the nails. "It /does/ drop +when you let go of it," he observed. + +"Didn't I tell you it would? I allus said so," replied Hopalong, +looking back to the clerk and the shotgun. "Didn't I, stranger?" + +The clerk's reply was a guttural rumbling, ninety per cent profanity, +and Hopalong, nodding wisely, picked up two wedges. "Johnny, here's +yore gun. If this man will stop talking to hisself and drop that lead- +sprayer long enough to take our good money, we'll wear em." + +He tossed a gold coin on the table, and the clerk, still holding +tightly to the shotgun, tossed the coin into the cash box and +cautiously slid the change across the counter. Hopalong picked up the +money and, emptying his holster into the nail keg, followed his +companion to the street, in turn followed slowly by the suspicious +clerk. The door slammed shut behind them, the bolt shot home, and the +clerk sat down on a box and cogitated. + +Hopalong hooked his arm through Johnny's and started down the street. +"I wonder what that feller thinks about us, anyhow. I'm glad Buck sent +Red over to El Paso instead of us. Won't he be mad when we tell him +all the fun we've had?" he asked, grinning broadly. + +They were to meet Red at Dent's store on the way back and ride home +together. + + + +They were strangely clad for their surroundings, the chaps glaringly +out of place in the Seaman's Port, and winks were exchanged by the +regular /habitues/ when the two punchers entered the room and called +for drinks. They were very tired and a little under the weather, for +they had made the most of their time and spent almost all of their +money; but any one counting on robbing them would have found them +sober enough to look out for themselves. Night had found them ready to +go to the hotel, but on the way they felt that they must have one more +bracer, and finish their exploration of Jeremiah T. Jones' tabooed +section. The town had begun to grow wearisome and they were vastly +relieved when they realized that the rising sun would see them in the +saddle and homeward bound, headed for God's country, which was the +only place for cow-punchers after all. + +"Long way from the home port, ain't you, mates?" queried a tar of +Hopalong. Another seaman went to the bar to hold a short, whispered +consultation with the bartender, who at first frowned and then finally +nodded assent. + +"Too far from home, if that's what yo're driving at," Hopalong +replied. "Blast these hard trails--my feet are shore on the prod. Ever +meet my side pardner? Johnny, here's a friend of mine, a salt-water +puncher, an' he's welcome to the job, too." + +Johnny turned his head ponderously and nodded. "Pleased to meet you, +stranger. An' what'll you all have?" + +"Old Holland, mate," replied the other, joining them. + +"All up!" invited Hopalong, waving them forward. "Might as well do +things right or not at all. Them's my sentiments, which I holds as +proper. Plain rye, general, if you means me," he replied to the +bartender's look of inquiry. + +He drained the glass and then made a grimace. "Tastes a little off-- +reckon it's my mouth; nothing tastes right in this cussed town. Now, +up on our--" He stopped and caught at the bar. "Holy smoke! That's +shore alcohol!" + +Johnny was relaxing and vainly trying to command his will power. +"Something's wrong; what's the matter?" he muttered sleepily. + +"Guess you meant beer; you ain't used to drinking whiskey," grinned +the bartender, derisively, and watching him closely. + +"I can--drink as much whiskey as--" and, muttering, Johnny slipped to +the floor. + +"That wasn't whiskey!" cried Hopalong, sleepily. "that liquor was +/fixed/!" he shouted, sudden anger bracing him. "An' I'm going to fix +/you/, too!" he added, reaching for his gun, and drawing forth a +wedge. His sailor friend leaped at him, to go down like a log, and +Hopalong, seething with rage, wheeled and threw the weapon at the man +behind the bar, who also went down. The wedge, glancing from his +skull, swept a row of bottles and glasses from the shelf and, +caroming, went through the window. + +In an instant Hopalong was the vortex of a mass of struggling men and, +handicapped as he was, fought valiantly, his rage for the time +neutralizing the effects of the drug. But at last, too sleepy to stand +or think, he, too, went down. + +"By the Lord, that man's a fighter!" enthusiastically remarked the +leader, gently touching his swollen eye. "George must 'a' put an awful +dose in that grog." + +"Lucky for us he didn't have no gun--the wedge was bad enough," +groaned a man on the floor, slowly sitting up. "Whoever swapped him +that wedge for his gun did us a good turn, all right." + +A companion tentatively readjusted his lip. "I don't envy Wilkins his +job breaking in that man when he gets awake." + +"Don't waste no time, mates," came the order. "Up with 'em an' aboard. +We've done our share; let the mate do his, an' be hanged. Hullo, +Portsmouth; coming around, eh?" he asked the man who had first felt +the wedge. "I was scared you was done for that time." + +"No more shanghaiing hair pants for me, no more!" thickly replied +Portsmouth. "Oh, my head, it's bust open!" + +"Never mind about the bartender--let him alone; we can't waste no time +with him now!" commanded the leader sharply. "Get these fellers on +board before we're caught with 'em. We want our money after that." + +"All clear!" came a low call from the lookout at the door, and soon a +shadowy mass surged across the street and along a wharf. There was a +short pause as a boat emerged out of the gloom, some whispered orders, +and then the squeaking of oars grew steadily fainter in the direction +of a ship which lay indistinct in the darkness. + + + + CHAPTER II + + THE REBOUND + +A man moaned and stirred restlessly in a bunk, muttering incoherently. +A stampeded herd was thundering over him, the grinding hoofs beating +him slowly to death. He saw one mad steer stop and lower its head to +gore him and just as the sharp horns touched his skin, he awakened. +Slowly opening his bloodshot eyes he squinted about him, sick, weak, +racking with pain where heavy shoes had struck him in the melee, his +head reverberating with roars which seemed almost to split it open. +Slowly he regained his full senses and began to make out his +surroundings. He was in a bunk which moved up and down, from side to +side, and was never still. There was a small, round window near his +feet--thank heaven it was open, for he was almost suffocated by the +foul air and the heat. Where was he? What had happened? Was there a +salty odor in the air, or was he still dreaming? Painfully raising +himself on one elbow he looked around and caught sight of a man in the +bunk across. It was Johnny Nelson! Then, bit by bit, the whole thing +came to him and he cursed heartily as he reviewed it and reached the +only possible conclusion. He was at sea! He, Hopalong Cassidy, the +best fighting unit of a good fighting outfit, shanghaied and at sea! +Drugged, beaten, and stolen to labor on a ship. + +Johnny was muttering and moaning and Hopalong slowly climbed out of +the narrow bunk, unsteadily crossed the moving floor, and shook him. +"Reckon he's in a stampede, too!" he growled. "They shore raised h--l +with us. Oh, what a beating we got! But we'll pass it along with +trimmings." + +Johnny's eyes opened and he looked around in confusion. "Wha', +Hopalong!" + +"Yes; it's me, the prize idiot of a blamed good pair of 'em. How'd you +feel?" + +"Sleepy an' sick. My eyes ache an' my head's splitting. Where's Buck +an' the rest?" + +Hopalong sat down on the edge of the bunk and sore luridly, +eloquently, beautifully, with a fervor and polish which left nothing +to be desired in that line, and caused his companion to gaze at him in +astonishment. + +"I had a mighty bad dream, but you must 'a' had one a whole lot worse, +to listen to you," Johnny remarked. "Gee, you're going some! What's +the matter with you. You sick, too?" + +Thereupon Hopalong unfolded the tale of woe and when Johnny had +grasped its import and knew that his dream had been a stern reality, +he straightway loosed his vocabulary and earned a draw. "Well, I'm +going back again," he finished, with great decision, arising to make +good his assertion. + +"Swim or walk?" asked Hopalong nonchalantly. + +"Huh! Oh, Lord!" + +"Well, I ain't going to either swim or walk," Hopalong soliloquized. +"I'm just going to stay right here in this one-by-nothing cellar an' +spoil the health an' good looks of any pirate that comes down that +ladder to get me out." He looked around, interested in life once more, +and his trained eye grasped the strategic worth of their position. +"Only one at a time, an' down that ladder," he mused, thoughtfully. +"Why, Johnny, we owns this range as long as we wants to. They can't +get us out. But, say, if only we had our guns!" he sighed, +regretfully. + +"You're right as far as you go; but you don't go to the eating part. +We'll starve, an' we ain't got no water. I can drink about a bucketful +right now," moodily replied his companion. + +"Well, yo're right; but mebby we can find food an' water." + +"Don't see no signs of none. Hey!" Johnny exclaimed, smiling faintly +in his misery. "Let's get busy an' burn the cussed thing up! Got any +matches?" + +"First you want to drown yoreself swimming, an' now you want to roast +the pair of us to death," Hopalong retorted, eyeing the rear wall of +the room. "Wonder what's on the other side of that partition?" + +Johnny looked. "Why, water; an' lots of it, too." + +"Naw; the water is on the other sides." + +"Then how do I know?--sh! I hear somebody coming on the roof." + +"Tumble back in yore bunk--quick!" Hopalong hurriedly whispered. "Be +asleep--if he comes down here it'll be our deal." + +The steps overhead stopped at the companionway and a shadow appeared +across the small patch of sunlight on the floor of the forecastle. +"Tumble up here, you blasted loafers!" roared a deep voice. + +No reply came from the forecastle--the silence was unbroken. + +"If I have to come down there I'll--" the first mate made promises in +no uncertain tones and in very impolite language. He listened for a +moment, and having very good ears and hearing nothing, made more +promises and came down the ladder quickly and nimbly. + +"/I'll/ bring you to," he muttered, reaching a brawny hand for +Hopalong's nose, and missing. But he made contact with his own face, +which stopped a short-arm blow from the owner of the aforesaid nose, a +jolt full of enthusiasm and purpose. Beautiful and dazzling flashes of +fire filled the air and just then something landed behind his ear and +prolonged the pyrotechnic display. When the skyrockets went up he lost +interest in the proceedings and dropped to the floor like a bag of +meal. + +Hopalong cut another piece from the rope in his hand and watched his +companion's busy fingers. "Tie him good, Johnny; he's the only ace +we've drawn in this game so far, an' we mustn't lose him." + +Johnny tied an extra knot for luck and leaned forward, his eyes +riveted on the bump under the victim's coat. His darting hand brought +into sight that which pleased him greatly. "Oh, joy! Here, Hoppy; you +take it." + +Hopalong turned the weapon over in his hand, spun the cylinder and +gloated, the clicking sweet music to his ears. "Plumb full, too! I +never reckoned I'd ever be so tickled over a snub-nosed gun like this +--but I feel like singing!" + +"An' I feel like dying," grunted Johnny, grabbing at his stomach. "If +the blamed shack would only stand still!" he groaned, gazing at the +floor with strong disgust. "I don't reckon I've ever been so blamed +sick in all my--" the sentence was unfinished, for the open porthole +caught his eye and he leaped forward to use it for a collar. + +Hopalong gazed at him in astonishment and sudden pity took possession +of him as his pallid companion left the porthole and faced him. + +"You ought to have something to eat, Kid--I'm purty hungry myself-- +what the blazes!" he exclaimed, for Johnny's protesting wail was +finished outside the port. Then a light broke upon him and he wondered +how soon it would be his turn to pay tribute to Neptune. + +"Mr. Wilkins!" shouted a voice from the deck, and Hopalong moved back +a step. "Mr. Wilkins!" After a short silence the voice soliloquized: +"Guess he changed his mind about it; I'll get 'em up for him," and +feet came into view. When halfway down the ladder the second mate +turned his head and looked blankly down a gun barrel while a quiet but +angry voice urged him further: "Keep a-coming, keep a-coming!" The +second mate complained, but complied. + +"Stick 'em up higher--now, Johnny, wobble around behind the nice man +an' take /his/ gun--you shut yore yap! I'm bossing this trick, not +you. Got it, Kid? There's the rope--that's right. Nobody'd think you +sick to see you work. Well, that's a good draw; but it's only a pair +of aces against a full, at that. Wonder who'll be the next. Hope it's +the foreman." + +Johnny, keeping up by sheer grit, pointed to the rear wall. "What +about that?" + +For reply his companion walked over to it, put his shoulder to it and +pushed. He stepped back and hurled his weight against it, but it was +firm despite its squeaking protest. Then he examined it foot by foot +and found a large knot, which he drove in by a blow of the gun. +Bending, he squinted through the opening for a full minute and then +reported: + +"Purty black in there at this end, but up at the other there's a light +from a hole in the roof, an' I could see boxes an' things like that. I +reckon it's the main cellar." + +"If we could get out at the other end with that gun you've got we +could raise blazes for a while," suggested Johnny. "Anyhow, mebby they +can come at us that way when they find out what we've gone an' done." + +"Yo're right," Hopalong replied, looking around. Seeing an iron bar he +procured it and, pushing it through the knot hole in the partition, +pulled. The board, splitting and cracking under the attack, finally +broke from its fastenings with a sharp report, and Hopalong, pulling +it aside, stepped out of sight of his companion. Johnny was grinning +at the success of his plan when he was interrupted. + +"Ahoy, down there!" yelled a stentorian voice from above. "Mr. +Wilkins! What the devil are you doing so long?" and after a very short +wait other feet came into sight. Just then the second mate, having +managed to slip off the gag, shouted warning: + +"Look out, Captain! They've got us and our guns! One of them has--" +but Johnny's knee thudded into his chest and ended the sentence as a +bullet sent a splinter flying from under the captain's foot. + +"Hang these guns!" Johnny swore, and quickly turned to secure the gag +in the mouth of the offending second mate. "You make any more yaps +like that an' I'll wing you for keeps with yore own gun!" he snapped. +"We're caught in yore trap an' we'll fight to a finish. You'll be the +first to go under if you gets any smart." + +"Ahoy, men!" roared the captain in a towering rage, dancing +frantically about on the deck and shouting for the crew to join him. +He filled the air with picturesque profanity and stamped and yelled in +passion at such rank mutiny. + +"Hand grenades! Hand grenades!" he cried. Then he remembered that his +two mates were also below and would share in the mutineers' fate, and +his rage increased at his galling helplessness. When he had calmed +sufficiently to think clearly he realized that it was certain death +for any one to attempt going down the ladder, and that his must be a +waiting game. He glanced at his crew, thirteen good men, all armed +with windlass bars and belaying pins, and gave them orders. Two were +to watch the hatch and break the first head to appear, while the +others returned to work. Hunger and thirst would do the rest. And what +joy would be his when they were forced to surrender! + +Hopalong groped his way slowly towards the patch of light, barking his +shins, stumbling and falling over the barrels and crates and finally, +losing his footing at a critical moment, tumbled down upon a box +marked "Cotton." There was a splintering crash and the very faint +clink of metal. Dazed and bruised, he sat up and felt of himself--and +found that he had lost his gun in the fall. + +"Now, where in blazes did it fly to?" he muttered angrily, peering +about anxiously. His eyes suddenly opened their widest and he stared +in surprise at a field gun which covered him; and then he saw parts of +two more. + +"Good Lord! Is this a gunboat?" he cried. "Are we up against +bluejackets an' Uncle Sam?" He glanced quickly back the way he had +come when he heard Johnny's shot, but he could see nothing. He figured +that Johnny had sense enough to call for help if he needed it, and put +that possibility out of his mind. "Naw, this ain't no gunboat--the +Government don't steal men; it enlists 'em. But it's a funny pile of +junk, all the same. Where in blazes is that toy gun? /Well/, I'll be +hanged!" and he plunged toward the "Cotton" box he had burst in his +descent, and worked at it frantically. + +"Winchesters! Winchesters!" he cried, dragging out two of them. +"Whoop! Now for the cartridges--there shore must be some to go with +these guns!" He saw a keg marked "Nails," and managed to open it after +great labor--and found it full of army Colts. Forcing down the desire +to turn a handspring, he slipped one of the six-shooters in his empty +holster and patted it lovingly. "Old friend, I'm shore glad to see +you, all right. You've been used, but that don't make no difference." +Searching further, he opened a full box of /machetes/, and soon after +found cartridges of many kinds and calibres. It took him but a few +minutes to make his selection and cram his pockets with them. Then he +filled two Colts and two Winchesters--and executed a short jig to work +off the dangerous pressure of his exuberance. + +"But what an unholy lot of weapons," he soliloquized on his way back +to Johnny. "An' they're all second-hand. Cannons, too--an' +/machetes/!" he exclaimed, suddenly understanding. "Jumping +Jerusalem!--a filibustering expedition bound for Cuba, or one of them +wildcat republics down south! Oh, ho, my friends; I see where you have +bit off more'n you can chew." In his haste to impart the joyous news +to his companion, he barked his shins shamefully. + +"'Way down south in the land o' cotton, cinnamon seed an''--whoa, +blast you!" and Hopalong stuck his head through the opening in the +partition and grinned. "Heard you shoot, Kid; I reckoned you might +need me--an' these!" he finished, looking fondly upon the weapons as +he shoved them into the forecastle. + +Johnny groaned and held his stomach, but his eyes lighted up when he +saw the guns, and he eagerly took one of each kind, a faint smile +wreathing his lips. "Now we'll show these water snakes what kind of +men they stole," he threatened. + +Up on the deck the choleric captain still stamped and swore, and his +crew, with well-concealed mirth, went about their various duties as if +they were accustomed to have shanghaied men act this way. They +sympathized with the unfortunate pair, realizing how they themselves +would feel if shanghaied to break broncos. + +Hogan, A. B., stated the feelings of his companions very well in his +remarks to the men who worked alongside: "In me hear-rt I'm dommed +glad av it, Yensen. I hope they bate the old man at his own game. 'T +is a shame in these days for honest men to be took in that unlawful +way. I've heard me father tell of the press gangs on the other side, +an' 't is small business." + +Yensen looked up to reply, chanced to glance aft, and dropped his +calking iron in his astonishment. "Yumping Yimminy! Luk at dat +fallar!" + +Hogan looked. "The deuce! That's a man after me own heat-rt! Kape yore +pagan mouth shut! If ye take a hand agin 'em I'll swab up the deck wid +yez. G'wan wor-rking like a sane man, ye ijit!" + +"Ay ent ban fight wit dat fallar! Luk at the gun!" + +A man had climbed out of the after hatch and was walking rapidly +towards them, a rifle in his hands, while at his thigh swung a Colt. +He watched the two seamen closely and caught sight of Hogan's +twinkling blue eyes, and a smile quivered about his mouth. Hogan shut +and opened one eye and went on working. + +As soon as Hopalong caught sight of the captain, the rifle went up and +he announced his presence without loss of time. "Throw up yore hands, +you pole-cat! I'm running this ranch from now on!" + +The captain wheeled with a jerk and his mouth opened, and then clicked +shut as he started forward, his rage acting galvanically. But he +stopped quickly enough when he looked down the barrel of the +Winchester and glared at the cool man behind it. + +"What the blank are you doing?" he yelled. + +"Well, I ain't kidnapping cow-punchers to steal my boat," replied +Hopalong. "An' you fellers stand still or I'll drop you cold!" he +ordered to the assembled and restless crew. "Johnny!" he shouted, and +his companion popped up through the hatch like a jack-in-the-box. +"Good boy, Johnny. Tie this coyote foreman like you did the others," +he ordered. While Johnny obeyed, Hopalong looked around the circle, +and his eyes rested on Hogan's face, studying it, and found something +there which warmed his heart. "Friend, do you know the back trail? Can +you find that runt of a town we left?" + +"Aye, aye." + +"Shore, you; who'd you think I was talking to? Can you find the way +back, the way we came?" + +"Shure an' I can that, if I'm made to." + +"You'll swing for mutiny if you do, you bilge-wallering pirate!" +roared the trussed captain. "Take that gun away from him, d'ye hear!" +he yelled at the crew. "I'm captain of this ship, an' I'll hang every +last one of you if you don't obey orders! This is mutiny!" + +"You won't do no hanging with that load of weapons below!" retorted +Hopalong. "Uncle Sam is looking for filibusters--this here gun is +'cotton,'" he said, grinning. He turned to the crew. "But you fellers +are due to get shot if you sees her through," he added. + +"I'm captain of this ship--" began the helpless autocrat. + +"You shore look like it, all right," Hopalong replied, smiling. "If +yo're the captain you order her turned around and headed over the back +trail, or I'll drop you overboard off yore own ship!" Then fierce +anger at the thought of the indignities and injuries he and his +companion had suffered swept over him and prompted a one-minute speech +which left no doubt as to what he would do if his demand was not +complied with. Johnny, now free to watch the crew, added a word or two +of endorsement, and he acted a little as if he rather hoped it would +not be complied with: he itched for an excuse. + +The captain did some quick thinking; the true situation could not be +disguised, and with a final oath of rage he gave in. "'Bout ship, +Hogan; nor' by nor'west," he growled, and the seaman started away to +execute the command, but was quickly stopped by Hopalong. + +"Hogan, is that right?" he demanded. "No funny business, or we'll +clean up the whole bunch, an' blamed quick, too!" + +"That's the course, sor. That's the way back to town. I can navigate, +an' me orders are plain. Ye're Irish, by the way av ye, and 't is back +to town ye go, sor!" He turned to the crew: "Stand by, me boys." And +in a short time the course was nor' by nor'west. + +The return journey was uneventful and at nightfall the ship lay at +anchor off the low Texas coast, and a boat loaded with men grounded on +the sandy beach. Four of them arose and leaped out into the mild surf +and dragged the boat as high up on the sand as it would go. Then the +two cow-punchers followed and one of them gave a low-spoken order to +the Irishman at his side. + +"Yes, sor," replied Hogan, and hastened to help the captain out onto +the sand and to cut the ropes which bound him. "Do ye want the mates, +too, sor?" he asked, glancing at the trussed men in the boat. + +"No; the foreman's enough," Hopalong responded, handing his weapons to +Johnny and turning to face the captain, who was looking into Johnny's +gun as he rubbed his arms to restore perfect circulation. + +"Now, you flat-faced coyote, yo're going to get the beating of yore +life, an' I'm going to give it to you!" Hopalong cried, warily +advancing upon the man whom he held to be responsible for the miseries +of the past twenty-four hours. "You didn't give me a square deal, but +I'm man enough to give you one! When you drug an' steal any more cow- +punchers--" action stopped his words. + +It was a great fight. A filibustering sea captain is no more peaceful +than a wild boar and about as dangerous; and while this one was not at +his best, neither was Hopalong. The latter luckily had acquired some +knowledge of the rudiments of the game and had the vigor of youth to +oppose to the captain's experience and his infuriated but well-timed +rushes. The seamen, for the honor of their calling and perhaps with a +mind to the future, cheered on the captain and danced up and down in +their delight and excitement. They had a lot of respect for the +prowess of their master, and for the man who could stand up against +him in a fair and square fist fight. To give assistance to either in a +fair fight was not to be thought of, and Johnny's gun was sufficient +after-excuse for non-interference. + +The /sop! sop!/ of the punishing blows as they got home and the steady +circling of Hopalong in avoiding the dangerous attacks, went on minute +after minute. Slowly the captain's strength was giving out, and he +resorted to trickery as his last chance. Retreating, he half raised +his arms and lowered them as if weary, ready as a cat to strike with +all his weight if the other gave an opening. It ought to have worked-- +it had worked before--but Hopalong was there to win, and without the +momentary hesitation of the suspicious fighter he followed the retreat +and his hard hand flashed in over the captain's guard a fraction of a +second sooner than that surprised gentleman anticipated. The ferocious +frown gave way to placid peace and the captain reclined at the feet of +the battered victor, who stood waiting for him to get up and fight. +The captain lay without a sign of movement and as Hopalong wondered, +Hogan was the first to speak. + +"Fer the love av hiven, let him be! Ye needn't wait--he's done; I know +by the sound av it!" he exclaimed, stepping forward. "'T was a purty +blow, an' 't was a gr-rand foight ye put up, sor! A gr-rand foight, +but any more av that is murder! 'T is an Irishman's game, sor, an' ye +did yersilf proud. But now let him be--no man, least av all a +Dootchman, iver tuk more than that an' lived!" + +Hopalong looked at him and slowly replied between swollen lips, "Yo're +right, Hogan; we're square now, I reckon." + +"That's right, sor," Hogan replied, and turned to his companions. "Put +him in the boat; an' mind ye handle him gintly--we'll be sailing under +him soon. Now, sor, if it's yer pleasure, I'll be after saying good- +bye to ye, sor; an' to ye, too," he said, shaking hands with both +punches. "Fer a sick la-ad ye're a wonder, ye are that," he smiled at +Johnny, "but ye want to kape away from the water fronts. Good-bye to +ye both, an' a pleasant journey home. The town is tin miles to me +right, over beyant them hills." + +"Good-bye, Hogan," mumbled Hopalong gratefully. "Yo're square all the +way through; an' if you ever get out of a job or in any kind of +trouble that I can help you out of, come up to the Bar-20 an' you +won't have to ask twice. Good luck!" And the two sore and aching +punchers, wiser in the ways of the world, plodded doggedly towards the +town, ten miles away. + +The next morning found them in the saddle, bound for Dent's hotel and +store near the San Miguel Canyon. When they arrived at their +destination and Johnny found there was some hours to wait for Red, his +restlessness sent him roaming about the country, not so much "seeking +what he might devour" as hoping something might seek to devour him. He +was so sore over his recent kidnapping that he longed to find a salve. +He faithfully promised Hopalong that he would return at noon. + + + + CHAPTER III + + DICK MARTIN STARTS SOMETHING + +Dick Martin slowly turned, leaned his back against the bar, and +languidly regarded a group of Mexicans at the other end of the room. +Singly, or in combinations of two or more, each was imparting all he +knew, or thought he knew about the ghost of San Miguel Canyon. Their +fellow-countryman, new to the locality, seemed properly impressed. +That it was the ghost of Carlos Martinez, murdered nearly one hundred +years before at the big bend in the canyon, was conceded by all; but +there was a dispute as to why it showed itself only on Friday nights, +and why it was never seen by any but a Mexican. Never had a Gringo +seen it. The Mexican stranger was appealed to: Did this not prove that +the murder had been committed by a Mexican? The stranger affected to +consider the question. + +Martin surveyed them with outward impassiveness and inward contempt. A +realist, a cynic, and an absolute genius with a Colt .45, he was well +known along the border for his dare-devil exploits and reckless +courage. The brainiest men in the Secret Service, Lewis, Thomas, +Sayre, and even old Jim Lane, the local chief, whose fingers at El +Paso felt every vibration along the Rio Grande, were not as well known +--except to those who had seen the inside of Government penitentiaries +--and they were quite satisfied to be so eclipsed. But the Service +knew of the ghost, as it knew everything pertaining to the border, and +gave it no serious thought; if it took interest in all the ghosts and +superstitions peculiar to the Mexican temperament it would have no +time for serious work. Martin once, in a spirit of savage denial, had +wasted the better part of several successive Friday nights in the San +Miguel, but to no avail. When told that the ghost showed itself only +to Mexicans he had shrugged his shoulders eloquently and laughed, also +eloquently. + +"A Greaser," he replied, "is one-half fear and superstition, an' the +other half imagination. There ain't no ghosts, but I know the +/Greasers/ have seen 'em, all right. A Greaser can see anything scary +if he makes up his mind to. If /I/ ever see one an' he keeps on being +one after I shoot, I'll either believe in ghosts, or quit drinking." +His eyes twinkled as he added: "An' of the two, I think I'd /prefer/ +to see ghosts!" + +He was flushed and restless with deviltry. His fifth glass always made +him so; and to-night there was an added stimulus. He believed the +strange Mexican to be Juan Alvarez, who was so clever that the +Government had never been able to convict him. Alvarez was fearless to +recklessness and Martin, eager to test him, addressed the group with +the blunt terseness for which he was famed, and hated. + +"Greasers are cowards," he asserted quietly, and with a smile which +invited excitement. He took a keen delight in analyzing the +expressions on the faces of those hit. It was one of his favorite +pastimes when feeling coltish. + +The group was shocked into silence, quickly followed by great unrest +and hot, muttered words. Martin did not move a muscle, the smile was +set, but between the half-closed eyelids crouched Combat, on its toes. +The Mexicans knew it was there without looking for it--the tone of his +voice, the caressing purr of his words, and his unnatural languor were +signs well known to them. Not a criminal sneaking back from voluntary +banishment in Mexico who had seen those signs ever forgot them, if he +lived. Martin watched the group cat-like, keenly scrutinizing each +face, reading the changing emotions in every shifting expression; he +had this art down so well that he could tell when a man was debating +the pull of a gun, and beat him on the draw by a fraction of a second. + +"De senor ees meestak," came the reply, as quiet and caressing as the +words which provoked it. The strange Mexican was standing proudly and +looking into the squinting eyes with only a grayness of face and a +tigerish litheness to tell what he felt. + +"None go through the canyon after dark on Fridays," purred Martin. + +"/I/ go tro' de canyon nex' Friday night. Eef I do, then you mak +apology to me?" + +"I'll limit my remark to all but one Greaser." + +The Mexican stepped forward. "I tak' thees gloove an' leave eet at de +Beeg Ben', for you to fin' in daylight," he said, tapping one of +Martin's gauntlets which lay on the bar. "You geev' me eet befo' I +go?" + +"Yes; at nine o'clock to-morrow night," Martin replied, hiding his +elation. He was sure that he knew the man now. + +The Mexican, cool and smiling, bowed and left the room, his companions +hastening after him. + +"Well, I'll bet twenty-five dollars he flunks!" breathed the +bartender, straightening up. + +Martin turned languidly and smiled at him. "I'll take that, Charley," +he replied. + + + +Johnny Nelson was always late, and on this occasion he was later than +usual. He was to have joined Hopalong and Red, if Red had arrived, at +Dent's at noon the day before, and now it was after nine o'clock at +night as he rode through San Felippe without pausing and struck east +for the canyon. The dropping trail down the canyon was serious enough +in broad daylight, but at night to attempt its passage was foolhardy, +unless one knew every turn and slant by heart, which Johnny did not. +He was thirty-three hours late now, and he was determined to make up +what he could in the next three. + +When Johnny left Hopalong at Dent's he had given his word to be back +on time and not to keep his companions waiting, for Red might be on +time and he would chafe if he were delayed. But, alas for Johnny's +good intentions, his course took him through a small Mexican hamlet in +which lived a senorita of remarkable beauty and rebellious eyes; and +Johnny tarried in the town most of the day, riding up and down the +streets, practising the nice things he would say if he met her. She +watched him from the heavily draped window, and sighed as she wondered +if her dashing Americano would storm the house and carry her off like +the knights of old. Finally he had to turn away with heavy and +reluctant heart, promising himself that he would return when no +petulant and sarcastic companions were waiting for him. Then--ah! what +dreams youth knows. + +Half an hour ahead of him on another trail rode Juan, smiling with +satisfaction. He had come to San Felippe to get a look at the canyon +on Friday nights, and Martin had given him an excuse entirely +unexpected. For this he was truly grateful, even while he knew that +the American had tried to pick a quarrel with him and thus rid the +border of a man entirely too clever for the good of customs receipts; +and failing in that, had hoped the treacherous canyon trail would gain +that end in another manner. Old Jim Lane's fingers touched wires not +one whit more sensitive than those which had sent Juan Alvarez to look +over the San Miguel--and Lane's wires had been slow this time. When +Juan had left the saloon the night before and had seen Manuel slip +away from the group and ride off into the north, he had known that the +ghost would show itself the following night. + +But Juan was to be disappointed. He was still some distance from the +canyon when a snarling bulk landed on the haunches of his horse. He +jerked loose his gun and fired twice and then knew nothing. When he +opened his eyes he lay quietly, trying to figure it out with a head +throbbing with pain from his fall. The cougar must have been desperate +for food to attack a man. He moved his foot and struck something soft +and heavy. His shots had been lucky, but they had not saved him his +horse and a sprained arm and leg. There would be no gauntlet found at +the Big Bend at daylight. + +When Johnny Nelson reached the twin boulders marking the beginning of +the sloping run where the trail pitched down, he grinned happily at +sight of the moon rising over the low hills and then grabbed at his +holster, while every hair in his head stood up curiously. A wild, +haunting, feminine scream arose to a quavering soprano and sobbed away +into silence. No words can adequately describe the unearthly wail in +that cry and it took a full half-minute for Johnny to become himself +again and to understand what it was. Once more it arose, nearer, and +Johnny peered into the shadows along a rough backbone of rock, his +Colt balanced in his half-raised hand. + +"You come 'round me an' you'll get hurt," he muttered, straining his +eyes to peer into the blackness of the shadows. "Come on out, Soft- +foot; the moon's yore finish. You an' me will have it out right here +an' now--I don't want no cougar trailing me through that ink-black +canyon on a two-foot ledge--" he thought he saw a shadow glide across +a dim patch of moonlight, but when his smoke rifted he knew he had +missed. "Damn it! You've got a mate 'round here somewhere," he +complained. "Well, I'll have to chance it, anyhow. Come on, bronc! +Yo're shaking like a leaf--get out of this!" + +When he began to descend into the canyon he allowed his horse to pick +its own way without any guidance from him, and gave all of his +attention to the trail behind him. The horse could get along better by +itself in the dark, and it was more than possible that one or two +lithe cougars might be slinking behind him on velvet paws. The horse +scraped along gingerly, feeling its way step by step, and sending +stones rattling and clattering down the precipice at his left to +tinkle into the stream at the bottom. + +"Gee, but I wish I'd not wasted so much time," muttered the rider +uneasily. "This here canyon-cougar combination is the worst /I/ ever +butted up against. I'll never be late again, not never; not for all +the girls in the world. Easy, bronc," he cautioned, as he felt the +animal slip and quiver. "Won't this trail ever start going up again?" +he growled petulantly, taking his eyes off the black back trail, where +no amount of scrutiny showed him anything, and turned in the saddle to +peer ahead--and a yell of surprise and fear burst from him, while +chills ran up and down his spine. An unearthly, piercing shriek +suddenly rang out and filled the canyon with ear-splitting uproar and +a glowing, sheeted half-figure of a man floated and danced twenty feet +from him and over the chasm. He jerked his gun and fired, but only +once, for his mount had its own ideas about some things and this +particular one easily headed the list. The startled rider grabbed +reins and pommel, his blood congealed with fear of the precipice less +than a foot from his side, and he gave all his attention to the horse. +But scared as he was he heard, or thought that he heard, a peculiar +sound when he fired, and he would have sworn that he hit the mark--the +striking of the bullet was not drowned in the uproar and he would +never forget the sound of that impact. He rounded Big Bend as if he +were coming up to the judge's stand, and when he struck the upslant of +the emerging trail he had made a record. Cold sweat beaded his +forehead and he was trembling from head to foot when he again rode +into the moonlight on the level plain, where he tried to break another +record. + + + + CHAPTER IV + + JOHNNY ARRIVES + +Meanwhile Hopalong and Red quarrelled petulantly and damned the erring +Johnny with enthusiastic abandon, while Dent smiled at them and joked; +but his efforts at levity made little impression on the irate pair. +Red, true to his word, had turned up at the time set, in fact, he was +half an hour ahead of time, for which miracle he endeavored to take +great and disproportionate credit. Dent was secretly glad about the +delay, for he found his place lonesome. He thoroughly enjoyed the +company of the two gentlemen from the Bar-20, whose actions seemed to +be governed by whims and who appeared to lack all regard for +consequences; and they squabbled so refreshingly, and spent their +money cheerfully. Now, if they would only wind up the day by fighting! +Such a finish would be joy indeed. And speaking of fights, Dent was +certain that Mr. Cassidy had been in one recently, for his face bore +marks that could only be acquired in that way. + +After supper the two guests had relapsed into a silence which endured +only as long as the pleasing fulness. Then the squabbling began again, +growing worse until they fell silent from lack of adequate expression. +Finally Red once again spoke of their absent friend. + +"We oughtn't get peevish, Hoppy--he's only thirty-six hours late," +suggested Red. "An' he might be a week," he added thoughtfully, as his +mind ran back over a long list of Johnny's misdeeds. + +"Yes, he might. An' won't he have a fine cock-an'-bull tale to explain +it," growled Hopalong, reminiscently. "His excuses are the worst part +of it generally." + +"Eh, does he--make excuses?" asked Dent, mildly surprised. + +"He does to /us/," retorted Red savagely. "He's worse than a woman; +take him all in all an' you've got the toughest proposition that ever +wore pants. But he's a good feller, at that." + +"Well, you've got a lot of nerve, you have!" retorted Hopalong. "You +don't want to say anything about the Kid--if there's anybody that can +beat him in being late an' acting the fool generally, it's you. An' +what's more, you know it!" + +Red wheeled to reply, but was interrupted by a sudden uproar outside, +fluent swearing coming towards the house. The door opened with a bang, +admitting a white-faced, big-eyed man with one leg jammed through the +box he had landed on in dismounting. + +"Gimme a drink, quick!" he shouted wildly, dragging the box over to +the bar with a cheerful disregard for chairs and other temporary +obstructions. "Gimme a drink!" he reiterated. + +"Give you six hops in the neck!" yelled Red, missing and almost +sitting down because of the enthusiasm he had put into his effort. +Johnny side-stepped and ducked, and as he straightened up to ask for +whys and wherefores, Red's eyes opened wide and he paused in his +further intentions to stare at the apparition. + +"Sick?" queried Hopalong, who was frightened. + +"Gimme that drink!" demanded Johnny feverishly, and when he had it he +leaned against the bar and mopped his face with a trembling hand. + +"What's the matter with you, anyhow?" asked Red, with deep anxiety. + +"Yes; for God's sake, what's happened to you?" demanded Hopalong. + +Johnny breathed deeply and threw back his shoulders as if to shake off +a weight. "Fellers, I had a cougar soft-footing after me in that dark +canyon, my cayuse ran away on a two-foot ledge up the wall,/--an'--I-- +saw--a--ghost/!" + +There was a respectful silence. Johnny, waiting a reasonable length of +time for replies and exclamations, flushed a bit and repeated his +frank and candid statement, adding a few adjectives to it. "/A real, +screeching, flying ghost/! An' I'm going /home/, an' I'm going to +/stay/ there. I ain't never coming back no more, not for anything. +Damn this border country, /anyhow/!" + +The silence continued, whereupon Johnny grew properly indignant. "You +act like I told you it was going to rain! Why don't you say something? +Didn't you hear what I said, you fools!" he asked pugnaciously. "Are +you in the habit of having a thing like that told you? Why don't you +show some interest, you dod-blasted, thick-skulled wooden-heads?" + +Red looked at Hopalong, Hopalong looked at Red, and then they both +looked at Dent, whose eyes were fixed in a stare on Johnny. + +"Huh!" snorted Hopalong, warily arising. "Was that all?" he asked, +nodding at Red, who also arose and began to move cautiously toward +their erring friend. "Didn't you see no more'n one ghost? Anybody that +can see one ghost, an' no more, is wrong somewhere. Now, stop, an' +think; didn't you see /two/?" He was advancing carefully while he +talked, and Red was now behind the man who saw one ghost. + +"Why, you--" there was a sudden flurry and Johnny's words were cut +short in the melee. + +"Good, Red! Ouch!" shouted Hopalong. "Look out! Got any rope, Dent? +Well, hurry up: there ain't no telling what he'll do if he's loose. +The mescal they sells down in this country ain't liquor--it's poison," +he panted. "An' he can't even stand whiskey!" + +Finding the rope was easier than finding a place to put it, and the +unequal battle raged across the room and into the next, where it +sounded as if the house were falling down. Johnny's voice was shrill +and full of vexation and his words were extremely impolite and lacked +censoring. His feet appeared to be numerous and growing rapidly, +judging from the amount of territory they covered and defended, and +Red joyfully kicked Hopalong in the melee, which in this instance also +stands for stomach; Red always took great pains to do more than his +share in a scrimmage. Dent hovered on the flanks, his hands full of +rope, and begged with great earnestness to be allowed to apply it to +parts of Johnny's thrashing anatomy. But as the flanks continued to +change with bewildering swiftness he begged in vain, and began to make +suggestions and give advice pleasing to the three combatants. Dent +knew just how it should be done, and was generous with the knowledge +until Johnny zealously planted five knuckles on his one good eye, when +the engagement became general. + +The table skidded through the door on one leg and caromed off the bar +at a graceful angle, collecting three chairs and one sand-box cuspidor +on the way. The box on Johnny's leg had long since departed, as +Hopalong's shin could testify. One chair dissolved unity and +distributed itself lavishly over the room, while the bed shrunk +silently and folded itself on top of Dent, who bucked it up and down +with burning zeal and finally had sense enough to crawl from under it. +He immediately celebrated his liberation by getting a strangle hold on +two legs, one of which happened to be the personal property of +Hopalong Cassidy; and the battle raged on a lower plane. Red raised +one hand as he carefully traced a neck to its own proper head and then +his steel fingers opened and swooped down and shut off the dialect. +Hopalong pushed Dent off him and managed to catch Johnny's flaying arm +on the third attempt, while Dent made tentative sorties against +Johnny's spurred boots. + +"Phew! Can he fight like that when he's sober?" reverently asked Dent, +seeing how close his fingers could come to his gaudy eye without +touching it. "I won't be able to see at all in an hour," he added, +gloomily. + +Hopalong, seated on Johnny's chest, soberly made reply as he tenderly +flirted with a raw shin. "It's the mescal. I'm going to slip some of +that stuff into Pete's cayuse some of these days," he promised, happy +with a new idea. Pete Wilson had no sense of humor. + +"That ghost was plumb lucky," grunted Red, "an' so was the sea- +captain," he finished as an afterthought, limping off toward the bar, +slowly and painfully followed by his disfigured companions. "One +drink; then to bed." + +After Red had departed, Hopalong and Dent smoked a while and then, +knocking the ashes out of his pipe, Hopalong arose. "An' yet, Dent, +there are people that believe in ghosts," he remarked, with a vast and +settled contempt. + +Dent gave critical scrutiny to the scratched bar for a moment. "Well, +the Greasers all say there /is/ a ghost in the San Miguel, though I +never saw it. But some of them have seen it, an' no Greasers ride that +trail no more." + +"Huh!" snorted Hopalong. "Some Greasers must have filled the Kid up on +ghosts while he was filling hisself up on mescal. Ghosts? R-a-t-s!" + +"It shows itself only to Greasers, an' then only on Friday nights," +explained Dent, thoughtfully. This was Friday night. Others had seen +that ghost, but they were all Mexicans; now that a "white" man of +Johnny's undisputed calibre had been so honored Dent's skepticism +wavered and he had something to think about for days to come. True, +Johnny was not a Greaser; but even ghosts might make mistakes once in +a while. + +Hopalong laughed, dismissing the subject from his mind as being +beneath further comment. "Well, we won't argue--I'm too tired. An' I'm +sorry you got that eye, Dent." + +"Oh, that's all right," hastily assured the store-keeper, smiling +faintly. "I was just spoiling for a fight, an' now I've had it. Feels +sort of good. Yes, first thing in the morning--breakfast'll be ready +soon as you are. Good-night." + +But the proprietor couldn't sleep. Finally he arose and tiptoed into +the room where Johnny lay wrapped in the sleep of the exhausted. After +cautious and critical inspection, which was made hard because of his +damaged eye, he tiptoed back to his bunk, shaking his head slowly. "He +wasn't drunk," he muttered. "He saw that ghost all right; an' I'll bet +everything I've got on it!" + + + +At daybreak three quarrelling punchers rode homeward and after a +monotonous journey arrived at the bunk house and reported. It took +them two nights adequately to describe their experiences to an envious +audience. The morning after the telling of the ghost story things +began to happen. Red starting it by erecting a sign. + + + NOTISE--NO GHOSTS ALOWED + + +An exuberant handful of the outfit watched him drive the last nail and +step back to admire his work, and the running fire of comment covered +all degrees of humor, and promised much hilarity in the future at the +expense of the only man on the Bar-20 who had seen a ghost. + +In a week Johnny and his acute vision had become a bye-word in that +part of the country and his friends had made it a practice to stop him +and gravely discuss spirit manifestations of all kinds. He had +thrashed Wood Wright and been thrashed by Sandy Lucas in two beautiful +and memorable fights and was only waiting to recover from the last +affair before having the matter out with Rich Finn. These facts were +beginning to have the effect he strove for; though Cowan still sold a +new concoction of gin, brandy, and whiskey which he called "Flying +Ghost," and which he proudly guaranteed would show more ghosts per +drink than any liquor south of the Rio Grande--and some of his patrons +were eager to back up his claims with real money. + +This was the condition of affairs when Hopalong Cassidy strolled into +Cowan's and forgot his thirst in the story being told by a strange +Mexican. It was Johnny's ghost, without a doubt, and when he had +carelessly asked a few questions he was convinced that Johnny had +really seen something. On the way home he cogitated upon it and two +points challenged his intelligence with renewed insistence: the ghost +showed itself only on Friday, and then only to "Greasers." His +suspicious mind would not rest until he had reviewed the question from +all sides, and his opinion was that there was something more than +spiritual about the ghost of the San Miguel--and a cold, practical +reason for it. + +When he rode into the corral at the ranch he saw that another sign had +been put on the corral wall. He had destroyed the first, speaking his +mind in full at the time. He swept his gloved hand upward with a rush, +tore the flimsy board from its fastenings, broke it to pieces across +his saddle, and tossed the fragments from him. He was angry, for he +had warned the outfit that they were carrying the joke too far, that +Johnny was giving way to hysterical rage more frequently, and might +easily do something that they all would regret. And he felt sorry for +the Kid; he knew what Johnny's feelings were and he made up his mind +to start a few fights himself if the persecution did not cease. When +he stepped into the bunk house and faced his friends they listened to +a three-minute speech that made them squirm, and as he finished +talking the deep voice of the foreman endorsed the promises he had +just heard made, for Buck had entered the gallery without being +noticed. The joke had come to an end. + +When Johnny rode in that evening he was surprised to find Hopalong +waiting for him a short distance from the corral and he replied to his +friend's gesture by riding over to him. "What's up now?" he asked. + +"Come along with me. I want to talk to you for a few minutes," and +Hopalong led the way toward the open, followed by Johnny, who was more +or less suspicious. Finally Hopalong stopped, turned, and looked his +companion squarely in the eyes. "Kid, I'm in dead earnest. This ain't +no fool joke--now you tell me what that ghost looked like, how he +acted, an' all about it. I mean what I say, because now I know that +you saw /something/. If it wasn't a ghost it was made to look like +one, anyhow. Now go ahead." + +"I've told you a dozen times already," retorted Johnny, his face +flushing. "I've begged you to believe me an' told you that I wasn't +fooling. How do I know you ain't now? I'm not going to tell--" + +"Hold on; yes, you are. Yo're going to tell it slow, an' just like you +saw it," Hopalong interrupted hastily. "I know I've doubted it, but +who wouldn't! Wait a minute--I've done a heap of thinking in the past +few days an' I know that you saw a ghost. Now, everybody knows that +there ain't no such thing as ghosts; then what was it you saw? There's +a game on, Kid, an' it's a dandy; an' you an' me are going to bust it +up an' get the laugh on the whole blasted crowd, from Buck to Cowan." + +Johnny's suspicions left him with a rush, for his old Hoppy was one +man in a thousand, and when he spoke like that, with such sharp +decision, Johnny knew what it meant. Hopalong listened intently and +when the short account was finished he put out his hand and smiled. + +"We're the fools, Kid; not you. There's something crooked going on in +that canyon, an' I know it! But keep mum about what we think." + +Johnny lost his grouch so suddenly and beamed upon his friends with +such a superior air that they began to worry about what was in the +wind. The suspense wore on them, for with Hopalong's assistance, +Johnny might spring some game on them all that would more than pay up +for the fun they had enjoyed at his expense; and the longer the +suspense lasted the worse it became. They never lost sight of him +while he was around and Hopalong had to endure the same surveillance; +and it was no uncommon thing to see small groups of the anxious men +engaged in deep discussion. When they found that Buck must have been +told and noticed his smile was as fixed as Hopalong's or Johnny's, +they were certain that trouble of some nature was in store for them. + +Several weeks later Buck Peters drew rein and waited for a stranger to +join him. + +"Howdy. Is yore name Peters?" asked the newcomer, sizing him up in one +trained glance. + +"Well, who are you, an' what do you want?" + +"I want to see Peters, Buck Peters. That yore name?" + +"Yes; what of it?" + +"My name's Fox. Old Jim Lane gave me a message for you," and the +stranger spoke earnestly to some length. "There; that's the situation. +We've got to have shrewd men that they don't know an' won't suspect. +Lane wants to pay a couple of yore men their wages for a month or two. +He said he was shore he could count on you to help him out." + +"He's right; he can. I don't forget favors. I've got a couple of men +that--there's one of 'em now. Hey, Hoppy! Whoop-e, Hoppy!" + +Mr. Cassidy arrived quickly, listened eagerly, named Red and Johnny to +accompany him, overruled his companions by insisting that if Johnny +didn't go the whole thing was off, carried his point, and galloped off +to find the lucky two, his eyes gleaming with anticipation and joy. +Fox laughed, thanked the foreman, and rode on his way north; and that +night three cow-punchers rode south, all strangely elated. And the +friends who watched them go heaved signs of relief, for the reprisals +evidently were to be postponed for a while. + + + + CHAPTER V + + THE GHOST OF THE SAN MIGUEL + +Juan Alvarez had not been in San Felippe since Dick Martin left, which +meant for over a month. Martin was down the river looking for a man +who did not wish to be found; and some said that Martin cared nothing +about international boundaries when he wanted any one real bad. And +there was that geologist who wore blue glasses and was always +puttering around in the canyon and hammering chips of rock off the +steep walls; he must have slipped one noon, because his body was found +on a flat boulder at the edge of the stream. Manuel had found it and +wanted to be paid for his trouble in bringing it to town--but Manuel +was a fool. Who, indeed, would pay good money for a dead Gringo, +especially after he was dead? And there were three cow-punchers +holding a herd of 6-X cattle up north, an hour or so from the town. +They wanted to buy steers from Senor Rodriguez, but said that he was a +robber and threatened to cut his ears off. Cannot a man name his own +price? These cow-punchers liked to get drunk and gallop through San +Felippe, shooting like crazy men. They got drunk one Friday night and +went shouting and singing to the Big Bend in the canyon to see the +flying ghost, and they called it names and fired off their pistols and +sang loudly; and for a week they insulted all the Mexicans in town by +calling them liars and cowards. Was it the fault of any one that the +ghost would show itself only to Mexicans? Oh, these Gringos--might the +good God punish them for their sins! + +Thus the peons complained to the padre while they kept one eye open +for the advent of the rowdy cow-punchers, who always wanted to drink, +and then to fight with some one, either with fists or pistols. Why +should any one fight with them, especially with such things as fists? + +"Let them fight among themselves. What have you to do with heretics?" +reproved the good padre, who ostracized himself from the pleasant +parts of the wide world that he might make easier the life and +struggles of his ignorant flock. "God is not hasty--He will punish in +His own way when it best suits Him. And perhaps you will profit much +if you are more regular to mass instead of wasting the cool hours of +the morning in bed. Think well of what I have said, my children." + +But the cow-punchers were not punished and they swore they would not +leave the vicinity until they had all the steers they wanted, and at +their own price. And one night their herd stampeded and was checked +only in time to save it from going over the canyon's edge. And for +some reason Sanchez kept out of the padre's way and did not go to +confess when he should, for the padre spoke plainly and set hard +obligations for penance. + +The cow-punchers swore that it had been done by some Mexican and said +that they would come to town some day soon and kill three Mexicans +unless the guilty one was found and brought to them. Then the padre +mounted his donkey and went out to them to argue and they finally told +him they would wait for two weeks. But the padre was too smart for +them--he sent a messenger to find Senor Dick Martin, and in one week +Senor Martin came to town. There was no fight. The Gringo rowdies were +cowards at heart and Martin could not shoot them down in cold blood, +and he could not arrest them, because he was not a policeman or even a +sheriff, but only a revenue officer, which was a most foolish law. But +he watched them all the time and wanted them to fight--there was no +more shooting or drunkenness in town. Nobody wanted to fight Senor +Martin, for he was a great man. He even went so far as to talk with +them about it and wave his arms, but they were as frightened at him as +little children might be. + +So the Mexicans gossiped and exulted, some of the bolder of them even +swaggering out to the Gringo camp; but Martin drove them back again, +saying he would not allow them to bully men who could not retaliate, +which was right and fair. Then, afraid to go away and leave the mad +cow-punchers so close to town, he ordered them to drive their herd +farther east, nearer to Dent's store, and never to return to San +Felippe unless they needed the padre; and they obeyed him after a long +talk. After seeing them settled in their new camp, which was on Monday +morning, Martin returned to San Felippe and told the padre where he +could be found and then rode away again. San Felippe celebrated for a +whole day and two Mexican babies were christened after Senor Dick +Martin, which was honor all around. + +Friday, when Manuel went over to spy upon the cow-punchers in their +new camp, he found them so drunk that they could not stand, and before +he crept away at dusk two of them were sleeping like gorged snakes and +the third was firing off his revolver at random, which diversion had +not a little to do with Manuel's departure. + +When Manuel crept away he headed straight for a crevice near the wall +of the canyon at the Big Bend and, reaching it, looked all around and +then dropped into it. Not long thereafter another Mexican appeared, +this one from San Felippe, and also disappeared into the crevice. As +darkness fell Manuel reappeared with something under his jacket and a +moment later a light gleamed at the base of a slender sapling which +grew on the edge of the canyon wall and leaned out over the abyss. It +was cleverly placed, for only at one spot on the Mexican side of the +distant Rio Grande could it be seen--the high canyon walls farther +down screened it from any one who might be riding on the north bank of +the river. In a moment there came an answering twinkle and Manuel, +covering the lantern with a blanket, was swallowed up in the darkness +of the crevice. + +Without a trace of emotion, Dick Martin, from his place of +concealment, caught the answering gleam, and he watched Manuel +disappear. "Cassidy was right in every point; Lewis or Sayre couldn't +'a' done this better. I hope he won't be late," he muttered, and +settled himself more comfortably to wait for the cue for action, +smiling as the moon poked its rim over the low hills to his right. +"This means promotion for me, or I've very much mistaken," he +chuckled. + +Hopalong was not late and as soon as it was dark he and his companions +stole into the canyon on foot. They felt their way down the east end +of the trail, not far from Dent's, toward the Big Bend, which they +gained without a mishap. Johnny was sent up to a place they had +noticed and marked in their memories at the time they had rioted down +to defy the ghost. He was to stop any one trying to escape up the San +Felippe end of the canyon trail, and his confidence in his ability to +do this was exuberant. Hopalong and Red slowly and laboriously worked +their way down the perilous path leading to the bottom, forded the +stream, and crept up the other side, where they found cover not far +from a wide crack in the canyon wall. Upon the occasion of their +hilarious visit to the Big Bend they had observed that a faint trail +led to the crack and had cogitated deeply upon this fact. + +Three hours passed before the watchers in and above the canyon were +rewarded by anything further; and then a light flickered far down the +canyon and close to the edge of the stream. Immediately strange noises +were heard and suddenly the ghost swung out of the opening in the rock +wall near Hopalong and Red and danced above their heads, while the +shrieking which had so frightened Johnny and his horse filled the +canyon with uproar and sent Martin wriggling nearer to the crevice +which he had watched so closely. The noise soon ceased, but the ghost +danced on, and the sound of men stumbling along the rocky ledge +bordering the stream became more and more audible. Four were in the +party and they all carried bulky loads on their backs and grunted with +pleasure and relief as they entered the entrance in the wall. When the +last man had disappeared and the noise of their passing had died out, +Johnny's rope sailed up and out, and the ghost swayed violently and +then began to sag in an unaccountable manner towards the trail as the +owner of the rope hitched its free end around a spur of rock and made +it fast. Then he feverishly scrambled down the steep path to join his +friends. + +Hopalong and Red, wriggling on their stomachs towards the crack in the +wall, paused in amazement and stared across the canyon; and then the +former chuckled and whispered something in his companion's ear. "That +was why he lugged his rope along! He's just idiot enough to want a +souveneer an' plaything at the risk of losing the game. Come on!-- +they'll tumble to what's up an' get away if we don't hustle." + +When the two punchers cautiously and noiselessly entered the crack and +felt their way along its rock walls they heard fluent swearing in +Spanish by the man who worked the ghost, and who could not understand +its sudden ambition to take root. It was made painfully clear to him a +moment later when a pair of brawny hands reached out of the darkness +behind him and encircled his throat a hand's width below his gleaming +cigarette. Another pair used cords with deftness and despatch and he +was left by himself to browse upon the gag when all his senses +returned. + +Hopalong, with Red inconsiderately stepping on his heels, felt his way +along the wall of the crevice, alert and silent, his Colt nestling +comfortably in his right hand, while the left was pushed out ahead +feeling for trouble. As they worked farther away from the canyon +distant voices could be heard and they forthwith proceeded even more +cautiously. When Hopalong came to the second bend in the narrow +passage he peered around it and stopped so abruptly that Red's nose +almost spread itself over the back of his head. Red's indignation was +all the harder to bear because it must bloom unheard. + +In a huge, irregular room, whose roof could not be discerned in the +dim light of the few candles, five men were resting in various +attitudes of ease as they discussed the events of the night and tried +to compute their profits. They were secure, for Manuel, having by this +time put away the ghost and megaphone, was on duty at the mouth of the +crevice, and he was as sensitive to danger as a hound. + +"The risk is not much and the profits are large," remarked Pedro, in +Spanish. "We must burn a candle for the repose of the soul of Carlos +Martinez. It is he that made our plans safe. And a candle is not much +when we--" + +"Hands up!" said a quiet voice, followed by grim commands. The +Mexicans jumped as if stung by a scorpion, and could just discern two +of the rowdy gringo cow-punchers in the heavy shadows of the opposite +wall, but the candle light glinted in rings on the muzzles of their +six-shooters. Had Manuel betrayed them? But they had little time or +inclination for cogitation regarding Manuel. + +"Easy there!" shouted Red, and Pedro's hand stopped when half way to +his chest. Pedro was a gambler by nature, but the odds were too heavy +and he sullenly obeyed the command. + +"Stick 'em up! Stick 'em up! Higher yet, an' hold 'em there," purred a +soft voice from the other end of the room, where Dick Martin smiled +pleasantly upon them and wondered if there was anything on earth +harder to pound good common sense into than a "Greaser's" head. His +gun was blue, but it was, nevertheless, the most prominent part of his +make-up, even if the light was poor. + +One of the Mexicans reached involuntarily for his gun, for he was a +gun-man by training; while his companions felt for their knives, +deadly weapons in a melee. Martin, crying, "Watch 'em, Cassidy!" side- +stepped and lunged forward with the speed and skill of a boxer, and +his hard left hand landed on the point of Juan Alvarez' jaw with a +force and precision not to be withstood. But to make more certain that +the Mexican would not take part in any possible demonstration of +resistance, Martin's right circled up in a short half-hook and stopped +against Juan's short ribs. Martin weighed one hundred and eighty +pounds and packed no fat on his well-knit frame. + +At this moment a two-legged cyclone burst upon the scene in the person +of Johnny Nelson, whose rage had been worked up almost to the weeping +point because he had lost so much time hunting for the crevice where +it was not. Seeing Juan fall, and the glint of knives, he started in +to clean things up, yelling, "I'm a ghost! I'm a ghost! Take 'em +alive! Take 'em alive!" + +Hopalong and Red felt that they were in his way, and taking care of +one Mexican between them, while Martin knocked out another, they +watched the exits,--for anything was possible in such a chaotic mix- +up,--and gave Johnny plenty of room. The latter paused, triumphant, +looked around to see if he had missed any, and then advanced upon his +friends and shoved his jaw up close to Hopalong's face. "Tried to lose +me, didn't you! Wouldn't wait for me! For seven cents an' a toothbrush +I'd give you what's left!" + +Red grabbed him by trousers and collar and heaved him into the +passageway. "Go out an' play with yore souveneer or we'll step on +you!" + +Johnny sat up, rubbed certain portions of his anatomy, and grinned. +"Oh, I've got it, all right! I'm shore going to take that ghost home +an' make some of them fools /eat/ it!" + +Martin smiled as he finished tying the last prisoner. "That's right, +Nelson; you've got it on 'em this time. Make 'em chew it." + + + + CHAPTER VI + + HOPALONG LOSES A HORSE + +For a month after their return from the San Miguel, Hopalong and his +companions worked with renewed zest, and told and retold the other +members of the outfit of their unusual experiences near the Mexican +border. Word had come up to them that Martin had secured the +conviction of the smugglers and was in line for immediate advancement. +No one on the range had the heart to meet Johnny Nelson, for Johnny +carried with him a piece of the ghost, and became pugnacious if his +once-jeering friends and acquaintances refused to nibble on it. Cowan +still sold his remarkable drink, but he had yielded to Johnny's +persuasive methods and now called it "Nelson's Pet." + +One bright day the outfit started rounding up a small herd of three- +year-olds, which Buck had sold, and by the end of the week the herd +was complete and ready for the drive. This took two weeks and when +Hopalong led his drive outfit through Hoyt's Corners on its homeward +journey he felt the pull of the town of Grant, some miles distant, and +it was too strong to be resisted. Flinging a word of explanation to +the nearest puncher, he turned to lope away, when Red's voice checked +him. Red wanted to delay his home-coming for a day or two and attend +to a purely personal matter at a ranch lying to the west. Hopalong, +knowing the reason for Red's wish, grinned and told him to go, and not +to propose until he had thought the matter over very carefully. Red's +reply was characteristic, and after arranging a rendezvous and naming +the time, the two separated and rode toward their destinations, while +the rest of the outfit kept on towards their ranch. + +"A man owes something to /all/ his friends," Hopalong mused. In this +case he owed a return game of draw poker to certain of Grant's leading +citizens, and he liked to pay his obligations when opportunity +offered. + +It was mid-afternoon when he topped a rise and saw below him the +handful of shacks making up the town. A look of pleased interest +flickered across his face as he noticed a patched and dirty tent +pitched close up to the nearest shack. "Show!" he exclaimed. "Now, +ain't that luck! I'll shore take it in. If it's a circus, mebby it has +a trick mule to ride--I'll never forget that one up in Kansas City," +he grinned. But almost instantly a doubt arose and tempered the grin. +"Huh! Mebby it's the branding chute of some gospel sharp." As he drew +near he focussed his eyes on the canvas and found that his fears were +justified. + +"All Are Welcome," he spelled out slowly. "Shore they are!" he +muttered. "I never nowhere saw such hard-working, all-embracing +rustlers as them fellers. They'll stick their iron on anything from a +wobbly calf or dying dogie to a staggering-with-age mosshead, an' +shout 'tally one' with the same joy. Well, not for mine, /this/ trip. +I'm going to graze loose an' buck-jump all I wants. Anyhow, if I did +let him brand me I'd only backslide in a week," and Hopalong pressed +his pony to a more rapid gait as two men emerged from the tent. +"There's the sky-pilot now," he muttered--"an' there's Dave!" he +shouted, waving his arm. "Oh, Dave! Dave!" + +Dave Wilkes looked up, and his grin of delight threatened to engulf +his ears. "Hullo, Cassidy! Glad to see you! Keep right on for the +store--I'll be with you in a minute." When David told his companion +the visitor's name the evangelist held up his hand eloquently and +spoke. + +"I know all about him!" he exclaimed sorrowfully. "If I can lead him +out of his wickedness I will rest content though I save no more souls +this fortnight. Is it all true?" + +"Huh! What true?" + +"All that I have heard about him." + +"Well, I dunno what you've heard," replied Dave, with grave caution, +"but I reckon it might be if it didn't cover lying, stealing, +cowardice, an' such coyote traits. He's shore a holy terror with a +short gun, all right, but lemme tell you something mebby you /ain't/ +heard: There ain't a square man in this part of the country that won't +feel some honored an' proud to be called a friend of Hopalong Cassidy. +Them's the sentiments rampaging hereabouts. I ain't denying that he's +gone an' killed off a lot of men first an' last--but the only trouble +there is that he didn't get 'em soon enough. They all had lived too +blamed long when they went an' stacked up agin him an' that lightning +short gun of hissn. But, say, if yo're calculating to tackle him at +yore game, lead him gentle--don't push none. He comes to life real +sudden when he's shoved. So long; see you later, mebby." + +The revivalist looked after him and mused, "I hope I was informed +wrong, but this much I have to be thankful for: The wickedness of most +of these men, these over-grown children, is manly, stalwart, and open; +few of them are vicious or contemptible. Their one great curse is +drink." + +When Hopalong entered the store he was vociferously welcomed by two +men, and the proprietor joining them, the circle was complete. When +the conversation threatened to repeat itself cards were brought and +the next two hours passed very rapidly. They were expensive hours to +the Bar-20 puncher, who finally arose with an apologetic grin and +slapped his thigh significantly. + +"Well, you've got it all; I'm busted wide open, except for a measly +dollar, an' I shore hopes you don't want that," he laughed. "You play +a whole lot better than you did the last time I was here. I've got to +move along. I'm going east an' see Wallace an' from there I've got to +meet Red an' ride home with him. But you come an' see us when you can +--it's /me/ that wants revenge this time." + +"Huh; you'll be wanting it worse than ever if we do," smiled Dave. + +"Say, Hoppy," advised Tom Lawrence, "better drop in an' hear the sky- +pilot's palaver before you go. It'll do you a whole lot of good, an' +it can't do you no harm, anyhow." + +"You going?" asked Hopalong suspiciously. + +"Can't--got too much work to do," quickly responded Tom, his brother +Art nodding happy confirmation. + +"Huh; I reckoned so!" snorted Hopalong sarcastically, as he shook +hands all around. "You all know where to find us--drop in an' see us +when you get down our way," he invited. + +"Sorry you can't stay longer, Cassidy," remarked Dave, as his friend +mounted. "But come up again soon--an' be shore to tell all the boys we +was asking for 'em," he called. + +Considering the speed with which Hopalong started for Wallace's, he +might have been expecting a relay of "quarter" horses to keep it +going, but he pulled up short at the tent. Such inconsistency is +trying to the temper of the best-mannered horse, and this particular +animal was not in the least good-mannered, wherefore its rider was +obliged to soothe its resentment in his own peculiar way, listening +meanwhile to the loud and impassioned voice of the evangelist +haranguing his small audience. + +"I wonder," said Hopalong, glancing through the door, "if them friends +of mine reckon I'm any ascared to go in that tent? Huh, I'll just show +'em anyhow!" whereupon he dismounted, flung the reins over his horse's +head, and strode through the doorway. + +The nearest seat, a bench made by placing a bottom board of the +evangelist's wagon across two up-ended boxes, was close enough to the +exhorter and he dropped into it and glanced carelessly at his nearest +neighbor. The carelessness went out of his bearing as his eyes +fastened themselves in a stare on the man's neck-kerchief. Hopalong +was hardened to awful sights and at his best was not an artistic soul, +but the villainous riot of fiery crimson, gaudy yellow, and pugnacious +and domineering green which flaunted defiance and insolence from the +stranger's neck caused his breath to hang over one count and then come +double strong at the next exhalation. "Gee whiz!" he whispered. + +The stranger slowly turned his head and looked coldly upon the +impudent disturber of his reverent reflections. "Meaning?" he +questioned, with an upward slant in his voice. The neck-kerchief +seemed to grow suddenly malignant and about to spring. "Meaning?" +repeated the other with great insolence, while his eyes looked a +challenge. + +While Hopalong's eyes left the scrambled color-insult and tried to +banish the horrible after-image, his mind groped for the rules of +etiquette governing free fist fights in gospel tents, and while he +hesitated as to whether he should dent the classic profile of the +color-bearer or just twist his nose as a sign of displeasure, the +voice of the evangelist arose to a roar and thundered out. Hopalong +ducked instinctively. + +"--Stop! Stop before it is too late, before death takes you in the +wallow of your sins! Repent and gain salvation--" + +Hopalong felt relieved, but his face retained its expression of +childlike innocence even after he realized that he was not being +personally addressed; and he glanced around. It took him ninety-seven +seconds to see everything there was to be seen, and his eyes were +drawn irresistibly back to the stranger's kerchief. "Awful! Awful +thing for a drinking man to wear, or run up against unexpectedly!" he +muttered, blinking. "Worse than snakes," he added thoughtfully. + +"Look ahere, you--" began the owner of the offensive decoration, if it +might be called such, but the evangelist drowned his voice in another +flight of eloquence. + +"--/Peace/! /Peace/ is the message of the Lord to His children," +roared the voice from the upturned soap box, and when the speaker +turned and looked in the direction of the two men-with-a-difference he +found them sitting up very straight and apparently drinking in his +words with great relish; whereupon he felt that he was making +gratifying progress toward the salvation of their spotted souls. He +was very glad, indeed, that he had been so grievously misinformed +about the personal attributes of one Hopalong Cassidy,--glad and +thankful. + +"Death cometh as a thief in the night," the voice went on. "Think of +the friends who have gone before; who were well one minute and gone +the next! And it must come to all of us, to all of us, to me and to +you--" + +The man with the afflicted neck started rocking the bench. + +"Something is coming to somebody purty soon," murmured Hopalong. He +began to sidle over towards his neighbor, his near hand doubled up +into a huge knot of protuberant knuckles and white-streaked fingers; +but as he was about to deliver his hint that he was greatly displeased +at the antics of the bench, a sob came to his ears. Turning his head +swiftly, he caught sight of the stranger's face, and sorrow was marked +so strongly upon it that the sight made Hopalong gape. His hand opened +slowly and he cautiously sidled back again, disgruntled, puzzled, and +vexed at himself for having strayed into a game where he was so +hopelessly at sea. He thought it all over carefully and then gave it +up as being too deep for him to solve. But he determined one thing: He +was not going to leave before the other man did, anyhow. + +"An' if I catch that howling kerchief outside," he muttered, smacking +his lips with satisfaction at what was in store for it. His visit to +Wallace was not very important, anyway, and it could wait on more +important events. + +"There sits a sinner!" thundered out the exhorter, and Hopalong looked +stealthily around for a sight of a villain. "God only has the right to +punish. 'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord, and whosoever takes the +law into his own hands, whosoever takes human life, defies the +Creator. There sits a man who has killed his fellow-men, his brothers! +Are you not a sinner, /Cassidy/?" + +Cassidy jumped clear of the bench as he jerked his head around and +stared over the suddenly outstretched arm and pointing finger of the +speaker and into his accusing eyes. + +"Answer me! Are you not a sinner?" + +Hopalong stood up, confused, bewildered, and then his suspended +thoughts stirred and formed. "Guilty, I reckon, an' in the first +degree. But they didn't get no more'n what was coming to 'em, no +more'n they earned. An' that's straight!" + +"How do you know they didn't? How do you know they earned it? How do +you /know/?" demanded the evangelist, who was delighted with the +chance to argue with a sinner. He had great faith in "personal +contact," and his was the assurance of training, of the man well +rehearsed and fully prepared. And he knew that if he should be pinned +into a corner by logic and asked for /his/ proofs, that he could +squirm out easily and take the offensive again by appealing to faith, +the last word in sophistry, and a greater and more powerful weapon +than intelligence. /This/ was his game, and it was fixed; he could not +lose if he could arouse enough interest in a man to hold him to the +end of the argument. He continued to drive, to crowd. "What right have +you to think so? What right have you to judge them? Have you divine +insight? Are you inspired? 'Judge not lest ye be judged,' saith the +Lord, and you /dare/ to fly in the face of that great command!" + +"You've got me picking the pea in /this/ game, all right," responded +Hopalong, dropping back on the bench. "But lemme tell you one thing; +Command or no command, devine or not devine, I know when a man has +lived too long, an' when he's going to try to get me. An' all the +gospel sharps south of heaven can't stop me from handing a thief what +he's earned. Go on with the show, but count me out." + +While the evangelist warmed to the attack, vaguely realizing that he +had made a mistake in not heeding Dave Wilkes' tip, Hopalong became +conscious of a sense of relief stealing over him and he looked around +wonderingly for the cause. The man with the kerchief had "folded his +tents" and departed; and Hopalong, heaving a sigh of satisfaction, +settled himself more comfortably and gave real attention to the +discourse, although he did not reply to the warm and eloquent man on +the soap box. Suddenly he sat up with a start as he remembered that he +had a long and hard ride before him if he wished to see Wallace, and +arising, strode towards the exit, his chest up and his chin thrust +out. The only reply he made to the excited and personal remarks of the +revivalist was to stop at the door and drop his last dollar into the +yeast box before passing out. + +For a moment he stood still and pondered, his head too full of what he +had heard to notice that anything out of the ordinary had happened. +Although the evangelist had adopted the wrong method he had gained +more than he knew and Hopalong had something to take home with him and +wrestle out for himself in spare moments; that is, he would have had +but for one thing: As he slowly looked around for his horse he came to +himself with a sharp jerk, and hot profanity routed the germ of +religion incubating in his soul. His horse was missing! Here was a +pretty mess, he thought savagely; and then his expression of anger and +perplexity gave way to a flickering grin as the probable solution came +to his mind. + +"By the Lord, I never saw such a bunch to play jokes," he laughed. +"Won't they never grow up? They was watching me when I went inside an' +sneaked up and rustled my cayuse. Well, I'll get back again without +much trouble, all right. They ought to know me better by this time." + +"Hey, stranger!" he called to a man who was riding past, "have you +seen anything of a skinny roan cayuse fifteen han's high, white +stocking on the near foreleg, an' a bandage on the off fetlock, Bar-20 +being the brand?" + +The stranger, knowing the grinning inquisitor by sight, suspected that +a joke was being played: he also knew Dave Wilkes and that gentleman's +friends. He chuckled and determined to help it along a little. "Shore +did, pardner; saw a man leading him real cautious. Was he yourn?" + +"Oh, no; not at all. He belonged to my great-great-grandfather, who +left him to my second cousin. You see, I borrowed it," he grinned, +making his way leisurely towards the general store, kept by his friend +Dave, the joker. "Funny how everybody likes a joke," he muttered, +opening the door of the store. "Hey, Dave," he called. + +Mr. Wilkes wheeled suddenly and stared. "Why, I thought you was half- +way to Wallace's by now!" he exclaimed. "Did you come back to lose +that lone dollar?" + +"Oh, I lost that too. But yo're a real smart cuss, now ain't you?" +queried Hopalong, his eyes twinkling and his face wreathed with good +humor. "An' how innocent you act, too. Thought you could scare me, +didn't you? Thought I'd go tearing 'round this fool town like a house +afire, hey? Well, I reckon you can guess again. Now, I'm owning up +that the joke's on me, so you hand over my cayuse, an' I'll make up +for lost time." + +Dave Wilkes' face expressed several things, but surprise was dominant. +"Why, I ain't even seen yore ol' cayuse, you chump! Last time I saw it +you was on him, going like the devil. Did somebody pull you off it an' +take it away from you?" he demanded with great sarcasm. "Is somebody +abusing you?" + +Hopalong bit into a generous handful of dried apricots, chewed +complacently for a moment, and replied: "'At's aw right; I want my +cayuse." Swallowing hastily, he continued: "I want it, an' I've come +to the right place for it, too. Hand it over, David." + +"Dod blast it, I tell you I ain't got it!" retorted Dave, beginning to +suspect that something was radically wrong. "I ain't seen it, an' I +don't know nothing about it." + +Hopalong wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Well, then, Tom or Art +does, all right." + +"No, they don't, neither; I watched 'em leave an' they rode straight +out of town, an' went the other way, same as they allus do." Dave was +getting irritated. "Look here, you; are you joking or drunk, or both, +or is that animule of yourn really missing?" + +"Huh!" snorted Hopalong, trying some new prunes. "'Ese prunes er purty +good," he mumbled, in grave congratulation. "I don' get prunes like +'ese very of'n." + +"I reckon you don't! They ought to be good! Cost me thirty cents a +half-pound," Dave retorted with asperity, anxiously shifting his feet. +It didn't take much of a loss to wipe out a day's profits with him. + +"An' I don't reckon you paid none too much for 'em, at that," Mr. +Cassidy responded, nodding his head in comprehension. "Ain't no worms +in 'em, is there?" + +"Shore there is!" exploded Dave. "Plumb full of 'em!" + +"You don't say! Hardly know whether to take a chance with the worms or +try the apricots. Ain't no worms in them, anyhow. But when am I going +to get my cayuse? I've got a long way to go, an' delay is costly--how +much did you say these yaller fellers cost?" he asked significantly, +trying another handful of apricots. + +"On the dead level, cross my heart an' hope to die, but I ain't seen +yore cayuse since you left here," earnestly replied Dave. "If you +don't know where it is, then somebody went an' lifted it. It looks +like it's up to you to do some hunting, 'stead of cultivating a belly- +ache at /my/ expense. /I/ ain't trying to keep you, God knows!" + +Hopalong glanced out of the window as he considered, and saw, entering +the saloon, the same puncher who had confessed to seeing his horse. +"Hey Dave; wait a minute!" and he dashed out of the store and made +good time towards the liquid refreshment parlor. Dave promptly nailed +the covers on the boxes of prunes and apricots and leaned innocently +against the cracker box to await results, thinking hard all the while. +It looked like a plain case of horse-stealing to him. + +"Stranger," cried Hopalong, bouncing into the bar-room, "where did you +see that cayuse of mine?" + +"The ancient relic of yore family was aheading towards Hoyt's +Corners," the stranger replied, grinning broadly. "It's a long walk. +Have something before you starts?" + +"Damn the walk! Who was riding him?" + +"Nobody at all." + +"What do you mean?" + +"He wasn't being rid when I saw him." + +"Hang it, man; that cayuse was stole from me!" + +"Somewhat in the nature of a calamity, now ain't it?" smiled the +stranger, enjoying his contributions to the success of the joke. + +"You bet yore life it is!" shouted Hopalong, growing red and then +pale. "You tell me who was leading him, understand?" + +"Well, I couldn't see his face, honest I couldn't," replied the +stranger. "Every time I tried it I was shore blinded by the most awful +an' horrible neck-kerchief I've ever had the hard luck to lay my eyes +on. Of all the drunks I ever met, them there colors was-- Hey! Wait a +minute!" he shouted at Hopalong's back. + +"Dave, gimme yore cayuse an' a rifle--quick!" cried Hopalong from the +middle of the street as he ran towards the store. "Hypocrite son-of-a- +hoss-thief went an' run mine off. Might 'a' knowed nobody but a thief +could wear such a kerchief!" + +"I'm with you!" shouted Dave, leading the way on the run towards the +corral in the rear of his store. + +"No, you ain't with me, neither!" replied Hopalong, deftly saddling. +"This ain't no plain hoss-thief case--it's a private grudge. See you +later, mebby," and he was pacing a cloud of dust towards the outskirts +of the town. + +Dave looked after him. "Well, that feller has shore got a big start on +you, but he can't keep ahead of that Doll of mine for very long. She +can out-run anything in these parts. 'Sides, Cassidy's cayuse looked +sort of done up, while mine's as fresh as a bird. That thief will get +what's coming to him, all right." + + + + CHAPTER VII + + MR. CASSIDY COGITATES + +While Hopalong tried to find his horse, Ben Ferris pushed forward, +circling steadily to the east and away from the direction of Hoyt's +corners, which was as much a menace to his health and happiness as the +town of Grant, twenty miles to his rear. If he could have been certain +that no danger was nearer to him than these two towns, he would have +felt vastly relieved, even if his horse was not fresh. During the last +hour he had not urged it as hard as he had in the beginning of his +flight and it had dropped to a walk for minutes at a stretch. This was +not because he felt that he had plenty of time, but for the reason +that he understood horses and could not afford to exhaust his mount so +early in the chase. He glanced back from time to time as if fearing +what might be on his trail, and well he might fear. According to all +the traditions and customs of the range, both of which he knew well, +somewhere between him and Grant was a posse of hard-riding cow- +punchers, all anxious and eager for a glance at him over their sights. +In his mind's eye he could see them, silent, grim, tenacious, reeling +off the miles on that distance-eating lope. He had stolen a horse, and +that meant death if they caught him. He loosened his gaudy kerchief +and gulped in fear, not of what pursued, but of what was miles before +him. His own saddle, strapped behind the one he sat in, bumped against +him with each reach of the horse and had already made his back sore-- +but he must endure it for a time. Never in all his life had minutes +been so precious. + +Another hour passed and the horse seemed to be doing well, much better +than he had hoped--he would rest it for a few minutes at the next +water while he drank his fill and changed the bumping saddle. As he +rounded a turn and entered a heavily grassed valley he saw a stream +close at hand and, leaping off, fixed the saddle first. As he knelt to +drink he caught a movement and jumped up to catch his mount. Time +after time he almost touched it, but it evaded him and kept up the +game, cropping a mouthful of grass during each respite. + +"All right!" he muttered as he let it eat. "I'll get my drink while +you eat an' then I'll get you!" + +He knelt by the stream again and drank long and deep. As he paused for +breath something made him leap up and to one side, reaching for his +Colt at the same instant. His fingers found only leather and he swore +fiercely as he remembered--he had sold the Colt for food and kept the +rifle for defence. As he faced the rear a horseman rounded the turn +and the fugitive, wheeling, dashed for the stolen horse forty yards +away, where his rifle lay in its saddle sheath. But an angry command +and the sharp hum of a bullet fired in front of him checked his flight +and he stopped short and swore. + +"I reckon the jig's up," remarked Mr. Cassidy, balancing the up-raised +Colt with nicety and indifference. + +"Yea; I reckon so," sullenly replied the other, tears running into his +eyes. + +"Well, I'm damned!" snorted Hopalong with cutting contempt. "Crying +like a li'l baby! Got nerve enough to steal my cayuse, an' then go an' +beller like a lost calf when I catch you. Yo're a fine specimen of a +hoss-thief, I don't think!" + +"Yo're a liar!" retorted the other, clenching his fists and growing +red. + +Mr. Cassidy's mouth opened and then clicked shut as his Colt swung +down. But he did not shoot; something inside of him held his trigger +finger and he swore instead. The idea of a man stealing his horse, +being caught red-handed and unarmed, and still possessed of sufficient +courage to call his captor a name never tolerated or overlooked in +that country! And the idea that he, Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20, +could not shoot such a thief! "Damn that sky pilot! He's shore gone +an' made me loco," he muttered, savagely, and then addressed his +prisoner. "Oh, you ain't crying? Wind got in yore eyes, I reckon, an' +sort of made 'em leak a little--that it? Or mebby them unholy green +roses an' yaller grass on that blasted fool neck-kerchief of yourn are +too much for /your/ eyes, too!" + +"Look ahere!" snapped the man on the ground, stepping forward, one +fist upraised. "I came nigh onto licking you this noon in that gospel +sharp's tent for making fun of that scarf, an' I'll do it yet if you +get any smart about it! You mind yore own business an' close yore fool +eyes if you don't like my clothes!" + +"Say! You ain't no cry-baby after all. Hanged if I even think yo're a +real genuine hoss-thief!" enthused Mr. Cassidy. "You act like a twin +brother; but what the devil ever made you steal that cayuse, anyhow?" + +"An' that's none of yore business, neither; but I'll tell you, just +the same," replied the thief. "I had to have it; that's why. I'll +fight you rough-an'-tumble to see if I keep it, or if you take the +cayuse an' shoot me besides: is it a go?" + +Hopalong stared at him and then a grin struggled for life, got it, and +spread slowly over his tanned countenance. "Yore gall is refreshing! +Damned if it ain't worse than the scarf. Here, you tell me what made +you take a chance like stealing a cayuse this noon--I'm getting to +like you, bad as you are, hanged if I ain't!" + +"Oh, what's the use?" demanded the other, tears again coming into his +eyes. "You'll think I'm lying an' trying to crawl out--an' I won't do +neither." + +"/I/ didn't say /you/ was a liar," replied Hopalong. "It was the other +way about. Reckon you can try me, anyhow; can't you?" + +"Yes; I s'pose so," responded the other, slowly, and in a milder tone +of voice. "An' when I called you that I was mad and desperate. I was +hasty--you see, my wife's dying, or dead, over in Winchester. I was +riding hard to get to her before it was too late when my cayuse +stepped into a hole just the other side of Grant--you know what +happened. I shot the animal, stripped off my saddle an' hoofed it to +town, an' dropped into that gospel dealer's layout to see if he could +make me feel any better--which he could not. I just couldn't stand his +palaver about death an' slipped out. I was going to lay for you an' +lick you for the way you acted about this scarf--had to do something +or go loco. But when I got outside there was yore cayuse, all saddled +an' ready to go. I just up an' threw my saddle on it, followed suit +with myself an' was ten miles out of town before I realized just what +I'd done. But the realizing part of it didn't make no difference to me +--I'd 'a' done it just the same if I had stopped to think it over. +That's flat, an' straight. I've got to get to that li'l woman as quick +as I can, an' I'd steal all the cayuses in the whole damned country if +they'd do me any good. That's all of it--take it or leave it. I put it +up to you. That's yore cayuse, but you ain't going to get it without +fighting me for it! If you shoot me down without giving me a chance, +all right! I'll cut a throat for that wore-out bronc!" + +Hopalong was buried in thought and came to himself just in time to +cover the other and stop him not six feet away. "Just a minute, before +you make me shoot you! I want to think about it." + +"Damn that gun!" swore the fugitive, nervously shifting his feet and +preparing to spring. "We'd 'a' been fighting by this time if it wasn't +for that!" + +"You stand still or I'll blow you apart," retorted Hopalong, grimly. +"A man's got a right to think, ain't he? An' if I had somebody here to +mind these guns so you couldn't sneak 'em on me I'd fight you so +blamed quick that you'd be licked before you knew you was at it. But +we ain't going to fight--/stand still/! You ain't got no show at all +when yo're dead!" + +"Then you gimme that cayuse--my God, man! Do you know the hell I've +been through for the last two days? Got the word up at Daly's Crossing +an' ain't slept since. I'll go loco if the strain lasts much longer! +She asking for me, begging to see me: an' me, like a damned idiot, +wasting time out here talking to another. Ride with me, behind me-- +it's only forty miles more--tie me to the saddle an' blow me to pieces +if you find I'm lying--do anything you wants; but let me get to +Winchester before dark!" + +Hopalong was watching him closely and at the end of the other's +outburst threw back his head. "I reckon I'm a plain fool, a jackass; +but I don't care. I'll rope that cayuse for you. You come along to +save time," Hopalong ordered, spurring forward. His borrowed rope +sailed out, tightened, and in a moment he was working at the saddle. +"Here, you; I'm going to swamp mounts with you--this one is fresher +an' faster." He had his own saddle off and the other on in record +time, and stepped back. "There; don't stand there like a fool--wake up +an' hustle! I might change my mind--that's the way to move! Gimme that +neck-kerchief for a souveneer, an' get out. Send that cayuse back to +Dave Wilkes, at Grant--it's hissn. Don't thank me; just gimme that +scarf an' ride like the devil." + +The other, already mounted, tore the kerchief from his throat and +handed it quickly to his benefactor. "If you ever want a man to take +you out of hell, send to Winchester for Ben Ferris--that's me. So +long!" + +Mr. Cassidy sat on his saddle where he had dropped it after making the +exchange and looked after the galloping horseman, and when a distant +rise had shut him from sight, turned his eyes on the scarf in his hand +and cogitated. Finally, with a long-drawn sigh he arose, and, placing +the scarf on the ground, caught and saddled his horse. Riding gloomily +back to where the riot of color fluttered on the grass he drew his +Colt and sent six bullets through it with a great amount of +satisfaction. Not content with the damage he had inflicted, he leaned +over and swooped it up. Riding further he also swooped up a stone and +tied the kerchief around it, and then stood up in his stirrups and +drew back his arm with critical judgment. He sat quietly for a time +after the gaudy missile had disappeared into the stream and then, +wheeling, cantered away. But he did not return to the town of Grant-- +he lacked the nerve to face Dave Wilkes and tell his childish and +improbable story. He would ride on and meet Red as they had agreed; a +letter would do for Mr. Wilkes, and after he had broken the shock in +that manner he could pay him a personal visit sometime soon. Dave +would never believe the story and when it was told Hopalong wanted to +have the value of the horse in his trousers pocket. Of course, Ben +Ferris /might/ have told the truth and he might return the horse +according to directions. Hopalong emerged from his reverie long enough +to appeal to his mount: + +"Bronc, I've been thinking: am I or am I not a jackass?" + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + RED BRINGS TROUBLE + +After a night spent on the plain and a cigarette for his breakfast, +Hopalong, grouchy and hungry, rode slowly to the place appointed for +his meeting with Red, but Mr. Connors was over two hours late. It was +now mid-forenoon and Hopalong occupied his time for a while by riding +out fancy designs on the sand; but he soon tired of this makeshift +diversion and grew petulant. Red's tardiness was all the worse because +the erring party to the agreement had turned in his saddle at Hoyt's +Corners and loosed a flippant and entirely uncalled-for remark about +his friend's ideas regarding appointments. + +"Well, that red-headed Romeo is shore late this time," Hopalong +muttered. "Why don't he find a girl closer to home, anyhow? Thank the +Lord I ain't got no use for shell games of any kind. Here I am, +without anything to eat an' no prospects of anything, sitting up on +this locoed layout like a sore thumb, an' can't move without hitting +myself! An' it'll be late to-day before I can get any grub, too. Oh, +well," he sighed, "I ain't in love, so things might be a whole lot +worse with me. An' he ain't in love, neither, only he won't listen to +reason. He gets mad an' calls me a sage hen an' says I'm stuck on +myself because some fool told me I had brains." + +He laughed as he pictured the object of his friend's affections. "Huh; +anybody that got one good, square look at her wouldn't ever accuse him +of having brains. But he'll forget her in a month. That was the life +of his last hobbling fit an' it was the worst he ever had." + +Grinning at his friend's peculiarly human characteristics he leaned +back in the saddle and felt for tobacco and papers. As he finished +pouring the chopped alfalfa into the paper he glanced up and saw a +mounted man top the sky-line of the distant hills and shoot down the +slope at full speed. + +"I knowed it: started three hours late an' now he's trying to make it +up in the last mile," Hopalong muttered, dexterously spreading the +tobacco along the groove and quickly rolling the cigarette. Lighting +it he looked up again and saw that the horseman was wildly waving a +sombrero. + +"Huh! Wigwagging for forgiveness," laughed the man who waited. "Old +son-of-a-gun, I'd wait a week if I had some grub, an' he knows it. +Couldn't get mad at him if I tried." + +Mr. Connors' antics now became frantic and he shouted something at the +top of his voice. His friend spurred his mount. "Come on, bronc; wake +up. His girl said 'yes' an' now he wants me to get him out of his +trouble." Whereupon he jogged forward. "What's that?" he shouted, +sitting up very straight. "What's that?" + +Red energetically swept the sombrero behind him and pointed to the +rear. "War-whoops! W-a-r w-h-o-o-p-s! Injuns, you chump!" Mr. Connors +appeared to be mildly exasperated. + +"Yes?" sarcastically rejoined Mr. Cassidy in his throat, and then +shouted in reply: "Love an' liquor don't mix very well in you. Wake +up! Come out of it!" + +"That's straight--I mean it!" cried Mr. Connors, close enough now to +save the remainder of his lungs. "It's a bunch of young bucks on their +first war-trail, I reckon. 'T ain't Geronimo, all right; I wouldn't be +here now if it was. Three of 'em chased me an' the two that are left +are coming hot-foot somewhere the other side of them hills. They act +sort of mad, too." + +"Mebby they ain't acting at all," cheerily replied his companion. "An' +then that's the way you got that graze?" pointing to a bloody furrow +on Mr. Connors' cheek. "But just the same it looks like the trail left +by a woman's finger nail." + +"Finger nail nothing," retorted Mr. Connors, flushing a little. "But, +for God's sake, are you going to sit here like a wart on a dead dog +an' wait for 'em?" he demanded with a rising inflection. "Do you +reckon yo're running a dance, or a party, or something like that?" + +"How many?" placidly inquired Mr. Cassidy, gazing intently towards the +high sky-line of the distant hills. + +"Two--an' I won't tell you again, neither!" snapped the owner of the +furrowed cheek. "The others are 'way behind now--but we're standing +/still/!" + +"Why didn't you say there was others?" reproved Hopalong. "Naturally I +didn't see no use of getting all het up just because two sprouted +papooses feel like crowding us a bit; it wouldn't be none of /our/ +funeral, would it?" and the indignant Mr. Cassidy hurriedly dismounted +and hid his horse in a nearby chaparral and returned to his companion +at a run. + +"Red, gimme yore Winchester an' then hustle on for a ways, have an +accident, fall off yore cayuse, an' act scared to death, if you know +how. It's that little trick Buck told us about, an' it shore ought to +work fine here. We'll see if two infant feather-dusters can lick the +Bar-20. Get a-going!" + +They traded rifles, Hopalong taking the repeater in place of the +single-shot gun he carried, and Red departed as bidden, his face +gradually breaking into an enthusiastic grin as he ruminated upon the +plan. "Level-headed old cuss; he's a wonder when it comes to planning +or fighting. An' lucky,--well, I reckon!" + +Hopalong ran forward for a short distance and slid down the steep bank +of a narrow arroyo and waited, the repeater thrust out through the +dense fringe of grass and shrubs which bordered the edge. When settled +to his complete satisfaction and certain that he was effectually +screened from the sight of any one in front of him, he arose on his +toes and looked around for his companion, and laughed. Mr. Connors was +bending very dejectedly apparently over his prostrate horse, but in +reality was swearing heartily at the ignorant quadruped because it +strove with might and main to get its master's foot off its head so it +could arise. The man in the arroyo turned again and watched the hills +and it was not long before he saw two Indians burst into view over the +crest and gallop towards his friend. They were not to be blamed +because they did not know the pursued had joined a friend, for the +second trail was yet some distance in front of them. + +"Pair of budding warriors, all right; an' awful important. Somebody +must 'a' told /them/ they had brains," Mr. Cassidy muttered. "They're +just at the age when they knows it all an' have to go 'round raising +hell all the time. Wonder when they jumped the reservation." + +The Indians, seeing Mr. Connors arguing with his prostrate horse, and +taking it for granted that he was not stopping for pleasure or to view +the scenery, let out a yell and dashed ahead at grater speed, at the +same time separating so as to encircle him and attack him front and +rear at the same time. They had a great amount of respect for cowboys. + +This manoeuvre was entirely unexpected and clashed violently with Mr. +Cassidy's plan of procedure, so two irate punchers swore heartily at +their rank stupidity in not counting on it. Of course everybody that +knew anything at all about such warfare knew that they would do just +such a thing, which made it all the more bitter. But Red had +cultivated the habit of thinking quickly and he saw at once that the +remedy lay with him; he astonished the exultant savages by straddling +his disgruntled horse as it scrambled to its feet and galloping away +from them, bearing slightly to the south, because he wished to lure +his pursuers to ride closer to his anxious and eager friend. + +This action was a success, for the yelling warriors, slowing +perceptibly because of their natural astonishment at the resurrection +and speed of an animal regarded as dead or useless, spurred on again, +drawing closer together, and along the chord of the arc made by Mr. +Connors' trail. Evidently the fool white man was either crazy or had +original and startling ideas about the way to rest a horse when hard +pressed, which pleased them much, since he had lost so much time. The +pleasures of the war-trail would be vastly greater if all white men +had similar ideas. + +Hopalong, the light of fighting burning strong in his eyes, watched +them sweep nearer and nearer, splendid examples of their type and +seeming to be a part of their mounts. Then two shots rang out in quick +succession and a cloud of pungent smoke arose lazily from the edge of +the arroyo as the warriors fell from their mounts not sixty yards from +the hidden marksman. + +Mr. Connors' rifle spat fire once to make assurance doubly sure and he +hastily rejoined his friend as that person climbed out of the arroyo. + +"Huh! They must have been half-breeds!" snorted Red in great disgust, +watching his friend shed sand from his clothes. "I allus opined that +'Paches was too blamed slick to bite on a game like that." + +"Well, they are purty 'lusive animals, 'Paches; but there are +exceptions," replied Hopalong, smiling at the success of their scheme. +"Them two ain't 'Paches--they're the exceptions. But let me tell you +that's a good game, just the same. It is as long as they don't see the +second trail in time. Didn't Buck and Skinny get two that way?" + +"Yes, I reckon so. But what'll we do now? What's the next play?" asked +Red, hurriedly, his eyes searching the sky-line of the hills. "The +rest of the coyotes will be here purty soon, an' they'll be madder +than ever now. An' you better gimme back that gun, too." + +"Take yore old gun--who wants the blamed thing, anyhow?" Hopalong +demanded, throwing the weapon at his friend as he ran to bring up the +hidden horse. When he returned he grinned pleasantly. "Why, we'll go +on like we was greased for calamity, that's what we'll do. Did you +reckon we was going to play leap-frog around here an' wait for the +rest of them paint-shops, like a blamed fool pair of idiots?" + +"I didn't know what /you/ might do, remembering how you acted when I +met you," retorted Red, shifting his cartridge belt so the empty loops +were behind and out of the way. "But I shore knowed what we ought to +do, all right." + +"Well, mebby you also know how many's headed this way; do you?" + +"You've got me stumped there; but there's a round dozen, anyway," Red +replied. "You see, the three that chased me were out scouting ahead of +the main bunch; an' I didn't have no time to take no blasted census." + +"Then we've got to hit the home trail, an' hit it hard. Wind up that +four-laigged excuse of yourn, an' take my dust," Hopalong responded, +leading the way. "If we can get home there'll be a lot of disgusted +braves hitting the high spots on the back trail trying to find a way +out. Buck an' the rest of the boys will be a whole lot pleased, too. +We can muster thirty men in two hours if we gets to Buckskin, an' +that's twenty more than we'll need." + +"Tell you one thing, Hoppy; we can get as far as Powers' old ranch +house, an' that's shore," replied Red, thoughtfully. + +"Yes!" exploded his companion in scorn and pity. "That old sieve of a +shack ain't good enough for /me/ to die in, no matter what you think +about it. Why, it's as full of holes as a stiff hat in a melee. Yo're +on the wrong trail; think again." + +Mr. Cassidy objected not because he believed that Powers' old ranch +house was unworthy of serious consideration as a place of refuge and +defence, but for the reason that he wished to reach Buckskin so his +friends might all get in on the treat. Times were very dull on the +ranch, and this was an occasion far too precious to let slip by. +Besides, he then would have the pleasure of leading his friends +against the enemy and battling on even terms. If he sought shelter he +and Red would have to fight on the defensive, which was a game he +hated cordially because it put him in a relatively subordinate +position and thereby hurt his pride. + +"Let me tell you that it's a whole lot better than thin air with a +hard-working circle around us--an' you know what that means," retorted +Mr. Connors. "But if you don't want to take a chance in the shack, why +mebby we can make Wallace's, or the Cross-O-Cross. That is, if we +don't get turned out of our way." + +"We don't head for no Cross-O-Cross or Wallace's," rejoined his friend +with emphasis, "an' we won't waste no time in Powers' shack, neither; +we'll push right through as hard as we can go for Buckskin. Let them +fellers find their own hunting--our outfit comes first. An' besides +that'll mean a detour in a country fine for ambushes. We'd never get +through." + +"Well, have it yore own way, then!" snapped Red. "You allus was a +hard-headed old mule, anyhow." In his heart Red knew that Hopalong was +right about Wallace's and the Cross-O-Cross. + +Some time after the two punchers had quitted the scene of their trap, +several Apaches loped up, read the story of the tragedy at a glance, +and galloped on in pursuit. They had left the reservation a fortnight +before under the able leadership of that veteran of many war-trails-- +Black Bear. Their leader, chafing at inaction and sick of the monotony +of reservation life, had yielded to the entreaties of a score of +restless young men and slipped away at their head, eager for the joys +of raiding and plundering. But instead of stealing horses and +murdering isolated whites as they had expected, they met with heavy +repulses and were now without the mind of their leader. They had fled +from one defeat to another and twice had barely eluded the cavalry +which pursued them. Now two more of their dwindling force were dead +and another had been found but an hour before. Rage and ferocity +seethed in each savage heart and they determined to get the puncher +they had chased, and that other whose trail they now saw for the first +time. They would place at least one victory against the string of +their defeats, and at any cost. Whips rose and fell and the war-party +shot forward in a compact group, two scouts thrown ahead to feel the +way. + +Red and Hopalong rode on rejoicing, for there were three less Apaches +loose in the Southwest for the inhabitants to swear about and fear, +and there was an excellent chance of more to follow. The Southwest had +no toleration for the Government's policy of dealing with Indians and +derived a great amount of satisfaction every time an Apache was +killed. It still clung to the time-honored belief that the only good +Indian was a dead one. Mr. Cassidy voiced his elation and then rubbed +an empty stomach in vain regret,--when a bullet shrilled past his +head, so unexpectedly as to cause him to duck instinctively and then +glance apologetically at his red-haired friend; and both spurred their +mounts to greater speed. Next Mr. Connors grabbed frantically at his +perforated sombrero and grew petulant and loquacious. + +"Both them shots was lucky, Hoppy; the feller that fired at me did it +on the dead run; but that won't help us none if one of 'em connects +with us. You gimme that Sharps--got to show 'em that they're taking +big chances crowding us this way." He took the heavy rifle and turned +in the saddle. "It's an even thousand, if it's a yard. He don't look +very big, can't hardly tell him from his cayuse; an' the wind's puffy. +Why don't you dirty or rust this gun? The sun glitters all along the +barrel. Well, here goes." + +"Missed by a mile," reproved Hopalong, who would have been stunned by +such a thing as a hit under the circumstances, even if his good- +shooting friend had made it. + +"Yes! Missed the coyote I aimed for, but I got the cayuse of his off +pardner; see it?" + +"Talk about luck!" + +"That's all right: it takes blamed good shooting to miss that close in +this case. Look! It's slowed 'em up a bit, an' that's about all I +hoped to do. Bet they think I'm a real, shore-'nuff medicine-man. Now +gimme another cartridge." + +"I will not; no use wasting lead at this range. We'll need all the +cartridges we got before we get out of this hole. You can't do nothing +without stopping--an' that takes time." + +"Then I'll stop! The blazes with the time! Gimme another, d'ye hear?" + +Mr. Cassidy heard, complied, and stopped beside his companion, who was +very intent upon the matter at hand. It took some figuring to make a +hit when the range was so great and the sun so blinding and the wind +so capricious. He lowered the rifle and peered through the smoke at +the confusion he had caused by dropping the nearest warrior. He was +said to be the best rifle shot in the Southwest, which means a great +deal, and his enemies did not deny it. But since the Sharps shot a +special cartridge and was reliable up to the limit of its sight gauge, +a matter of eighteen hundred yards, he did not regard the hit as +anything worthy of especial mention. Not so his friend, who grinned +joyously and loosed his admiration. + +"Yo're a shore wonder with that gun, Red! Why don't you lose that +repeater an' get a gun like mine? Lord, if I could use a rifle like +you, I wouldn't have that gun of yourn for a gift. Just look at what +you did with it! Please get one like it." + +"I'm plumb satisfied with the repeater," replied Red. "I don't miss +very often at eight hundred with it, an' that's long enough range for +most anybody. An' if I do miss, I can send another that won't, an' +right on the tail of the first, too." + +"Ah, the devil! You make me disgusted with yore fool talk about that +carbine!" snapped his companion, and the subject was dropped. + +The merits of their respective rifles had always been a bone of +contention between them and one well chewed, at that. Red was very +well satisfied with his Winchester, and he was a good judge. + +"You did stop 'em a little," asserted Mr. Cassidy some time later when +he looked back. "You stopped 'em coming straight, but they're +spreading out to work up around us. Now, if we had good cayuses +instead of these wooden wonders, we could run away from 'em dead easy, +draw their best mounted warriors to the front an' then close with 'em. +Good thing their cayuses are well tired out, for as it is we've got to +make a stand purty soon. Gee! They don't like you, Red; they're +calling you names in the sign language. Just look at 'em cuss you!" + +"How much water have you got?" inquired his friend with anxiety. + +"Canteen plumb full. How're you fixed?" + +"I got the same, less one drink. That gives us enough for a couple of +days with some to spare, if we're careful," Mr. Connors replied. New +Mexican canteens are built on generous lines and are known as life- +preservers. + +"Look at that glory-hunter go!" exclaimed Red, watching a brave who +was riding half a mile to their right and rapidly coming abreast of +them. "Wonder how he got over there without us seeing him." + +"Here; stop him!" suggested Hopalong, holding out his Sharps. "We +can't let him get ahead of us and lay in ambush--that's what he's +playing to do." + +"My gun's good, and better, for me, at this range; but you know, I +can't hit a jack-rabbit going over rough country as fast as that +feller is," replied his companion, standing up in his stirrups and +firing. + +"Huh! Never touched him! But he's edging off a-plenty. See him cuss +you. What's he calling you, anyhow?" + +"Aw, shut up! How the devil do /I/ know? I don't talk with my arms." + +"Are you superstitious, Red?" + +"No! Shut up!" + +"Well, I am. See that feller over there? If he gets in front of us +it's a shore sign that somebody's going to get hurt. He'll have plenty +of time to get cover an' pick us off as we come up." + +"Don't you worry--his cayuse is deader'n ours. They must 'a' been +pushing on purty hard the last few days. See it stumble?--what'd I +tell you!" + +"Yes; but they're gaining on us slow but shore. We've got to make a +stand purty soon--how much further do you reckon that infernal shack +is, anyhow?" Hopalong asked sharply. + +"'T ain't fur off--see it any minute now." + +"Here," remarked Hopalong, holding out his rifle, "stencil yore mark +on his hide; catch him just as he strikes the top of that little +rise." + +"Ain't got time--that shack can't be much further." + +And it wasn't, for as they galloped over a rise they saw, half a mile +ahead of them, an adobe building in poor state of preservation. It was +Powers' old ranch house, and as they neared it, they saw that there +was no doubt about the holes. + +"Told you it was a sieve," grunted Hopalong, swinging in on the tail +of his companion. "Not worth a hang for anything," he added bitterly. + +"It'll answer, all right," retorted Red grimly. + + + + CHAPTER IX + + MR. HOLDEN DROPS IN + +Mr. Cassidy dismounted and viewed the building with open disgust, +walking around it to see what held it up, and when he finally realized +that it was self-supporting his astonishment was profound. Undoubtedly +there were shacks in the United States in worse condition, but he +hoped their number was small. Of course he knew that the building was +small. Of course he knew that the building would make a very good +place of defence, but for the sake of argument he called to his +companion and urged that they be satisfied with what defence they +could extemporize in the open. Mr. Connors hotly and hastily dissented +as he led the horses into the building, and straightway the subject +was arbitrated with much feeling and snappy eloquence. Finally +Hopalong thought that Red was a chump, and said so out loud, whereat +Red said unpleasant things about his good friend's pedigree, +attributes, intelligence, et al., even going so far as to +prognosticate his friend's place of eternal abode. The remarks were +fast getting to be somewhat personal in tenor when a whine in the air +swept up the scale to a vicious shriek as it passed between them, +dropped rapidly to a whine again and quickly died out in the distance, +a flat report coming to their ears a few seconds later. Invisible bees +seemed to be winging through the air, the angry and venomous droning +becoming more pronounced each passing moment, and the irregular +cracking of rifles grew louder rapidly. An angry /s-p-a-t!/ told of +where a stone behind them had launched the ricochet which hurled +skyward with a wheezing scream. A handful of 'dobe dust sprang from +the corner of the building and sifted down upon them, causing Red to +cough. + +"That ricochet was a Sharps!" exclaimed Hopalong, and they lost no +time in getting into the building, where the discussion was renewed as +they prepared for the final struggle. Red grunted his cheerful +approval, for now he was out of the blazing sun and where he could +better appreciate the musical tones of the flying bullets; but his +companion, slamming shut the door and propping it with a fallen roof- +beam, grumbled and finally gave rein to his rancor by sneering at the +Winchester. + +"It shore gets me that after all I have said about that gun you will +tote it around with you and force yoreself into a suicide's grave," +quoth Mr. Cassidy, with exuberant pugnacity. "I ain't in no way +objecting to the suicide part of it, but I can't see that it's at all +fair to drag /me/ onto the edge of everlasting eternity with you. If +you ain't got no regard for yore own life you shore ought to think a +little about yore friend's. Now you'll waste all yore cartridges an' +then come snooping around me to borrow my gun. Why don't you lose the +damned thing?" + +"What I pack ain't none of yore business, which same I'll uphold," +retorted Mr. Connors, at last able to make himself heard. "You get +over on yore own side an' use yore Colt; I've wondered a whole lot +where you ever got the sense to use a Colt--/I/ wouldn't be a heap +surprised to see you toting a pearl-handled .22, like the kids use. +Now you 'tend to yore grave-yard aspirants, an' lemme do the same with +mine." + +"The Lord knows I've stood a whole lot from you because you just can't +help being foolish, but I've got plumb weary and sick of it. It stops +right here or you won't get no 'Paches," snorted Hopalong, peering +intently through a hole in the shack. The more they squabbled the +better they liked it,--controversies had become so common that they +were merely a habit; and they served to take the grimness out of +desperate situations. + +"Aw, you can't lick one side of me," averred Red loftily. "You never +did stop anybody that was anything," he jeered as he fired from his +window. "Why, you couldn't even hit the bottom of the Grand Canyon if +you leaned over the edge." + +"You could, if you leaned too far, you red-headed wart of a half- +breed," snapped Hopalong. "But how about the Joneses, Tarantula +Charley, Slim Travennes, an' all the rest? How about them, hey?" + +"Huh! You couldn't 'a' got any of 'em if they had been sober," and Mr. +Connors shook so with mirth that the Indian at whom he had fired got +away with a whole skin and cheerfully derided the marksman. "That +'Pache shore reckons it was you shooting at him, I missed him so far. +Now, you shut up--I want to get some so we can go home. I don't want +to stay out here all night an' the next day as well," Red grumbled, +his words dying slowly in his throat as he voiced other thoughts. + +Hopalong caught sight of an Apache who moved cautiously through a +chaparral lying about nine hundred yards away. As long as the distant +enemy lay quietly he could not be discerned, but he was not content +with assured safety and took a chance. Hopalong raised his rifle to +his shoulder as the Indian fired and the latter's bullet, striking the +edge of the hole through which Mr. Cassidy peered, kicked up a +generous handful of dust, some of which found lodgment in that +individual's eyes. + +"Oh! Oh! Oh! Wow!" yelled the unfortunate, dancing blindly around the +room in rage and pain, and dropping his rifle to grab at his eyes. +"Oh! Oh! Oh!" + +His companion wheeled like a flash and grabbed him as he stumbled +past. "Are you plugged bad, Hoppy? Where did they get you? Are you hit +bad?" and Red's heart was in his voice. + +"No, I ain't plugged bad!" mimicked Hopalong. "I ain't plugged at +all!" he blazed, kicking enthusiastically at his solicitous friend. +"Get me some water, you jackass! Don't stand there like a fool! I +ain't going to fall down. Don't you know my eyes are full of 'dobe?" + +Red, avoiding another kick, hastily complied, and as hastily left Mr. +Cassidy to wash out the dirt while he returned to his post by the +window. "Anybody'd think you was full of red-eye, the way you act," +muttered Red peevishly. + +Hopalong, rubbing his eyes of the dirt, went back to the hole in the +wall and looked out. "Hey, Red! Come over here an' spill that brave's +conceit. I can't keep my eyes open long enough to aim, an' it's a nice +shot, too. It'd serve him right if you got him!" + +Mr. Connors obeyed the summons and peered out cautiously. "I can't see +him, nohow; where is the coyote?" + +"Over there in that little chaparral; see him now? /There!/ See him +moving. Do you mean to tell me--" + +"Yep; I see him, all right. You watch," was the reply. "He's just over +nine hundred--where's yore Sharps?" He took the weapon, glanced at the +Buffington sight, which he found to be set right, and aimed carefully. + +Hopalong blinked through another hole as his friend fired and saw the +Indian flop down and crawl aimlessly about on hands and knees. "What's +he doing now, Red?" + +"Playing marbles, you chump; an' here goes for his agate," replied the +man with the Sharps, firing again. "There! Gee!" he exclaimed, as a +bullet hummed in through the window he had quitted for the moment, and +thudded into the wall, making the dry adobe fly. It had missed him by +only a few inches and he now crept along the floor to the rear of the +room and shoved his rifle out among the branches of a stunted mesquite +which grew before a fissure in the wall. "You keep away from that +windy for a minute, Hoppy," he warned as he waited. + +A terror-stricken lizard flashed out of the fissure and along the wall +where the roof had fallen in and flitted into a hole, while a fly +buzzed loudly and hovered persistently around Red's head, to the rage +of that individual. "Ah, ha!" he grunted, lowering the rifle and +peering through the smoke. A yell reached his ears and he forthwith +returned to his window, whistling softly. + +Evidently Mr. Cassidy's eyes were better and his temper sweeter, for +he hummed "Dixie" and then jumped to "Yankee Doodle," mixing the two +airs with careless impartiality, which was a sign that he was thinking +deeply. "Wonder what ever became of Powers, Red. Peculiar feller, he +was." + +"In jail, I reckon, if drink hasn't killed him." + +"Yes; I reckon so," and Mr. Cassidy continued his medley, which +prompted his friend quickly to announce his unqualified disapproval. + +"You can make more of a mess of them two songs than anybody I ever +heard murder 'em! /Shut up!/"--and the concert stopped, the vocalist +venting his feelings at an Indian, and killing the horse instead. + +"Did you get him?" queried Red. + +"Nope; but I got his cayuse," Hopalong replied, shoving a fresh +cartridge into the foul, greasy breech of the Sharps. "An' here's +where I get him--got to square up for my eyes some way," he muttered, +firing. "Missed! Now what do you think of that!" he exclaimed. + +"Better take my Winchester," suggested Red, in a matter-of-fact way, +but he chuckled softly and listened for the reply. + +"Aw, you go to the devil!" snapped Mr. Cassidy, firing again. "Whoop! +Got him that time!" + +"Where?" asked his companion, with strong suspicion. + +"None of yore business!" + +"Aw, darn it! Who spilled the water?" yelled Red, staring blankly at +the overturned canteen. + +"Pshaw! Reckon I did, Red," apologized his friend ruefully. "Now of +all the cussed luck!" + +"Oh, well; we've got another, an' you had to wash out yore eyes. Lucky +we each had one--/Holy smoke!/ It's most all gone! The top is loose!" + +Heartfelt profanity filled the room and the two disgusted punchers +went sullenly back to their posts. It was a calamity of no small +magnitude, for, while food could be dispensed with for a long time if +necessary, going without water was another question. It was as +necessary as cartridges. + +Then Hopalong laughed at the ludicrous side of the whole affair, +thereby revealing one of the characteristics which endeared him to his +friends. No matter how desperate a situation might be, he could always +find in it something at which to laugh. He laughed going into danger +and coming out of it, with a joke or a pleasantry always trembling on +the end of his tongue. + +"Red, did it ever strike you how cussed thirsty a feller gets just as +soon as he knows he can't have no drink? But it don't make much +difference, nohow. We'll get out of this little scrape just as we've +allus got out of trouble. There's some mad war-whoops outside that are +worse off than we are, because they are at the wrong end of yore gun. +I feel sort of sorry for 'em." + +"Yo're shore a happy idiot," grinned Red. "Hey! Listen!" + +Galloping was heard and Hopalong, running to the door, looked out +through a crack as sudden firing broke out around the rear of the +shack, and fell to pulling away the props, crying, "It's a puncher, +Red; he's riding this way! Come on an' help him in!" + +"He's a blamed fool to ride this way! I'm with you!" replied Red, +running to his side. + +Half a mile from the house, coming across the open space as fast as he +could urge his horse, rode a cowboy, and not far behind him raced +about a dozen Apaches, yelling and firing. + +Red picked up his companion's rifle, and steadying it against the jamb +of the door, fired, dropping one of the foremost of the pursuers. +Quickly reloading again, he fired and missed. The third shot struck +another horse, and then taking up his own gun he began to fire +rapidly, as rapidly as he could work the lever and yet make his shots +tell. Hopalong drew his Colt and ran back to watch the rear of the +house, and it was well that he did so, for an Apache in that +direction, believing that the trapped punchers were so busily engaged +with the new developments as to forget for the moment, sprinted +towards the back window; and he had gotten within twenty paces of the +goal when Hopalong's Colt cracked a protest. Seeing that the warrior +was no longer a combatant, Mr. Cassidy ran back to the door just as +the stranger fell from his horse and crawled past Red. The door +slammed shut, the props fell against it, and the two friends turned to +the work of driving back the second band, which, however, had given up +all hope of rushing the house in the face of Red's telling fire, and +had sought cover instead. + +The stranger dragged himself to the canteens and drank what little +water remained, and then turned to watch the two men moving from place +to place, firing coolly and methodically. He thought he recognized one +of them from the descriptions he had heard, but he was not sure. + +"My name's Holden," he whispered hoarsely, but the cracking of the +rifles drowned his voice. During a lull he tried again. "My name's +Holden," he repeated weakly. "I'm from the Cross-O-Cross, an' can't +get back there again." + +"Mine's Cassidy, an' that's Connors, of the Bar-20. Are you hurt very +bad?" + +"No; not very bad," lied Holden, trying to smile. "Gee, but I'm glad I +fell in with you two fellers," he exclaimed. He was but little more +than a boy, and to him Hopalong Cassidy and Red Connors were names +with which to conjure. "But I'm plumb sorry I went an' brought you +more trouble," he added regretfully. + +"Oh, pshaw! We had it before you came--you needn't do no worrying +about that, Holden; besides, I reckon you couldn't help it," Hopalong +grinned facetiously. "But tell us how you came to mix up with that +bunch," he continued. + +Holden shuddered and hesitated a moment, his companions alertly +shifting from crack to crack, window to window, their rifles cracking +at intervals. They appeared to him to act as if they had done nothing +else all their lives but fight Indians from that shack, and he braced +up a little at their example of coolness. + +"It's an awful story, awful!" he began. "I was riding towards Hoyt's +Corners an' when I got about half way there I topped a rise an' saw a +nester's house about half a mile away. It wasn't there the last time I +rode that way, an' it looked so peaceful an' home-like that I stopped +an' looked at it a few minutes. I was just going to start again when +that war-party rode out of a barranca close to the house an' went +straight for it at top speed. It seemed like a dream, 'cause I thought +Apaches never got so far east. They don't, do they? I thought not-- +these must 'a' got turned out of their way an' had to hustle for +safety. Well, it was all over purty quick. I saw 'em drag out two +women an'--an'--purty soon a man. He was fighting like fury, but he +didn't last long. Then they set fire to the house an' threw the man's +body up on the roof. I couldn't seem to move till the flames shot up, +but then I must 'a' went sort of loco, because I emptied my gun at +'em, which was plumb foolish at that distance, for me. The next thing +I knowed was that half of 'em was coming my way as hard as they could +ride, an' I lit out instanter; an' here I am. I can't get that sight +outen my head nohow--it'll drive me loco!" he screamed, sobbing like a +child from the horror of it all. + +His auditors still moved around the room, growing more and more +vindictive all the while and more zealously endeavoring to create a +still greater deficit in one Apache war-party. They knew what he had +looked upon, for they themselves had become familiar with the work of +Apaches in Arizona. They could picture it vividly in all its devilish +horror. Neither of them paid any apparent attention to their +companion, for they could not spare the time, and, also, they believed +it best to let him fight out his own battles unassisted. + +Holden sobbed and muttered as the minutes dragged along, at times +acting so strangely as to draw a covert side-glance from one or both +of the Bar-20 punchers. Then Mr. Connors saw his boon companion +suddenly lean out of a window and immediately become the target for +the hard-working enemy. He swore angrily at the criminal recklessness +of it. "Hey, you! Come in out of that! Ain't you got no brains at all, +you blasted idiot! Don't you know that we need every gun?" + +"Yes; that's right. I sort of forgot," grinned the reckless one, +obeying with alacrity and looking sheepish. "But you know there's two +thundering big tarantulas out there fighting like blazes. You ought to +see 'em jump! It's a sort of a leap-frog fight, Red." + +"Fool!" snorted Mr. Connors belligerently. "/You'd/ 'a' jumped if one +of them slugs had 'a' got you! Yo're the damnedest fool that ever +walked on two laigs, you blasted sage-hen!" Mr. Connors was beginning +to lose his temper and talk in his throat. + +"Well, they didn't get me, did they? What you yelling about, anyhow?" +growled Hopalong, trying to brazen it out. + +"An' /you/ talking about suicide to me!" snapped Mr. Connors, +determined to rub it in and have the last word. + +Mr. Holden stared, open-mouthed, at the man who could enjoy a +miserable spider fight under such distressing circumstances, and his +shaken nerves became steadier as he gave thought to the fact that he +was a companion of the two men about whose exploits he had heard so +much. Evidently the stories had not been exaggerated. What must they +think of him for giving way as he had? He rose to his feet in time to +see a horse blunder into the open on Red's side of the house, and +after it blundered its owner, who immediately lost all need of earthly +conveyances. Holden laughed from the joy of being with a man who could +shoot like that, and he took up his rifle and turned to a crack in the +wall, filled with the determination to let his companions know that he +was built of the right kind of timber after all, wounded as he was. + +Red's only comment, as he pumped a fresh cartridge into the barrel, +was, "He must 'a' thought he saw a spider fight, too." + +"Hey, Red," called Hopalong. "The big one is dead." + +"What big one?" + +"Why, don't you remember? That big tarantula I was watching. One was +bigger than the other, but the little feller shore waded into him +an'--" + +"Go to the devil!" shouted Red, who had to grin, despite his anger. + +"Presently, presently," replied Hopalong, laughing. + +So the day passed, and when darkness came upon them all of the +defenders were wounded, Holden desperately so. + +"Red, one of us has got to try to make the ranch," Hopalong suddenly +announced, and his friend knew he was right. Since Holden had appeared +upon the scene they had known that they could not try a dash; one of +them had to stay. + +"We'll toss for it; heads, I go," Red suggested, flipping a coin. + +"Tails!" cried Hopalong. "It's only thirty miles to Buckskin, an' if I +can get away from here I'm good to make it by eleven to-night. I'll +stop at Cowan's an' have him send word to Lucas an' Bartlett, so +there'll be enough in case any of our boys are out on the range in +some line house. We can pick 'em up on the way back, so there won't be +no time lost. If I get through you can expect excitement on the +outside of this sieve by daylight. You an' Holden can hold her till +then, because they never attack at night. It's the only way out of +this for us--we ain't got cartridges or water enough to last another +day." + +Red, knowing that Hopalong was taking a desperate chance in working +through the cordon of Indians which surrounded them, and that the +house was safe when compared to running such a gantlet, offered to go +through the danger line with him. For several minutes a wordy war +raged and finally Red accepted a compromise; he was to help, but not +to work through the line. + +"But what's the use of all this argument?" feebly demanded Holden. +"Why don't you both go? I ain't a-going to live nohow, so there ain't +no use of anybody staying here with me, to die with me. Put a bullet +through me so them devils can't play with me like they do with others, +an' then get away while you've got a chance. Two men can get through +as easy as one." He sank back, exhausted by the effort. + +"No more of that!" cried Red, trying to be stern. "I'm going to stay +with you an' see things through. I'd be a fine sort of a coyote to +sneak off an' leave you for them fiends. An', besides, I can't get +away; my cayuse is hit too hard an' yourn is dead," he lied +cheerfully. "An' yo're going to get well, all right. I've seen fellers +hit harder than you are pull through." + +Hopalong walked over to the prostrate man and shook hands with him. +"I'm awful glad I met you, Holden. Yo're pure grit all the way +through, an' I like to tie to that kind of a man. Don't you worry +about nothing; Red can handle this proposition, an' we'll have you in +Buckskin by to-morrow night; you'll be riding again in two weeks. So +long." + +He turned to Red and shook hands silently, led his horse out of the +building and mounted, glad that the moon had not yet come up, for in +the darkness he had a chance. + +"Good luck, Hoppy!" cried Red, running to the door. "Good luck!" + +"You bet--an' lots of it, too," groaned Holden, but he was gone. Then +Red wheeled. "Holden, keep yore eyes an' ears open. I'm going out to +see that he gets off. He may run into a--" and he, too, was gone. + +Holden watched the doors and windows, striving to resist the weak, +giddy feeling in his head, and ten minutes later he heard a shot and +then several more in quick succession. Shortly afterward Red called +out, and almost immediately the Bar-20 puncher crawled in through a +window. + +"Well?" anxiously cried the man on the floor. "Did he make it?" + +"I reckon so. He got away from the first crowd, anyhow. I wasn't very +far behind him, an' by the time they woke up to what was going on he +was through an' riding like blazes. I heard him call 'em half-breeds a +moment later an' it sounded far off. They hit me,--fired at my flash, +like I drilled one of them. But it ain't much, anyhow. How are you +feeling now?" + +"Fine!" lied the other. "That Cassidy is shore a wonder--he's all +right, an' so are you. I'll never see him again, but I shore hope he +gets through!" + +"Don't be foolish. Here, you finish the water in yore canteen--I +picked it up outside by yore cayuse. Then go to sleep," ordered Red. +"I'll do all the watching that's necessary." + +"I will if you'll call me when you get sleepy." + +"Why, shore I will. But don't you want the rest of the water? I ain't +a bit thirsty--I had all I could hold just before you came," Red +remarked as his companion pushed the canteen against him in the dark. +He was choking with thirst. "Well, then; all right," and Red pretended +to drink. "Now, then, you go to sleep; a good snooze will do you a +world of good--it's just what you need." + + + + CHAPTER X + + BUCK TAKES A HAND + +Cowan's saloon, club, and place of general assembly for the town of +Buckskin and the nearby ranches, held a merry crowd, for it was pay- +day on the range and laughter and liquor ran a close race. Buck +Peters, his hands full of cigars, passed through the happy-go-lucky, +do-as-you-please crowd and invited everybody to smoke, which nobody +refused to do. Wood Wright, of the C-80, tuned his fiddle anew and +swung into a rousing quick-step. Partners were chosen, the "women" +wearing handkerchiefs on their arms to indicate the fact, and the room +shook and quivered as the scraping of heavy boots filled the air with +a cloud of dust. "Allaman left!" cried the prompter, and then the +dance stopped as if by magic. The door had crashed open and a blood- +stained man staggered in and towards the bar, crying, "Buck! Red's +hemmed in by 'Paches!" + +"Good God!" roared the foreman of the Bar-20, leaping forward, the +cigars falling to the floor to be crushed and ground into powder by +careless feet. He grasped his puncher and steadied him while Cowan +slid an extra generous glassful of brandy across the bar for the +wounded man. The room was in an uproar, men grabbing rifles and +running out to get their horses, for it was plain to be seen that +there was hard work to be done, and quickly. Questions, threats, +curses filled the air, those who remained inside to get the story +listening intently to the jerky narrative; those outside, caring less +for the facts of an action past than for the action to come, shouted +impatiently for a start to be made, even threatening to go on and +tackle the proposition by themselves if there were not more haste. +Hopalong told in a graphic, terse manner all that was necessary, while +Buck and Cowan hurriedly bandaged his wounds. + +"Come on! Come on!" shouted the mounted crowd outside, angry, and +impatient for a start, the prancing of horses and the clinking of +metal adding to the noise. "Get a move on! /Will/ you hurry up!" + +"Listen, Hoppy!" pleaded Buck, in a furore. "Shut up, you outside!" he +yelled. "You say they know that you got away, Hoppy?" he asked. "All +right--/Lanky!/" he shouted. "/Lanky!/" + +"All right, Buck!" and Lanky Smith roughly pushed his way through the +crowd to his foreman's side. "Here I am." + +"Take Skinny and Pete with you, an' a lead horse apiece. Strike +straight for Powers' old ranch house. Them Injuns'll have pickets out +looking for Hoppy's friends. You three get the pickets nearest the old +trail through that arroyo to the southeast, an' then wait for us. +We'll come along the high bank on the left. Don't make no noise doing +it, neither, if you can help it. Understand? Good! Now ride like the +devil!" + +Lanky grabbed Pete and Skinny on his way out and disappeared into the +corral; and very soon thereafter hoof-beats thudded softly in the +sandy street and pounded into the darkness of the north, soon lost to +the ear. An uproar of advice and good wishes crashed after them, for +the game had begun. + +"It's Powers' old shack, boys!" shouted a man in the door to the +restless force outside, which immediately became more restless. "Hey! +Don't go yet!" he begged. "Wait for me an' the rest. Don't be a lot of +idiots!" + +Excited and impatient voices replied from the darkness, vexed, +grouchy, and querulous. "Then get a move on--/whoa!/--it'll be light +before we get there if you don't hustle!" roared one voice above the +confusion. "You know what /that/ means!" + +"Come on! Come on! For God's sake, are you tied to the bar?" + +"Yo're a lot of old grandmothers! Come on!" + +Hopalong appeared in the door. "I'll show you the way, boys!" he +shouted. "Cowan, put my saddle on yore cayuse--/pronto/!" + +"Good for you, Hoppy!" came from the street. "We'll wait!" + +"You stay here; yo're hurt too much!" cried Buck to his puncher, as he +grabbed up a box of cartridges from a shelf behind the bar. "Ain't you +got no sense? There's enough of us to take care of this without you!" + +Hopalong wheeled and looked his foreman squarely in the eyes. "Red's +out there, waiting for me--I'm going! I'd be a fine sort of a coyote +to leave him in that hell hole an' not go back, wouldn't I!" he said, +with quiet determination. + +"Good for you, Cassidy!" cried a man who hastened out to mount. + +"Well, then, come on," replied Buck. "There's blamed few like you," he +muttered, following Hopalong outside. + +"Here's the cayuse, Cassidy," cried Cowan, turning the animal over to +him. "/Wait/, Buck!" and he leaped into the building and ran out +again, shoving a bottle of brandy and a package of food into the +impatient foreman's hand. "Mebby Red or Hoppy'll need it--so long, an' +good luck!" and he was alone in a choking cloud of dust, peering +through the darkness along the river trail after a black mass that was +swallowed up almost instantly. Then, as he watched, the moon pushed +its rim up over the hills and he laughed joyously as he realized what +its light would mean to the crowd. "There'll be great doings when +/that/ gang cuts loose," he muttered with savage elation. "Wish I was +with 'em. Damn Injuns, anyhow!" + +Far ahead of the main fighting force rode the three special-duty men, +reeling off the miles at top speed and constantly distancing their +friends, for they changed mounts at need, thanks to the lead horses +provided by Mr. Peters' cool-headed foresight. It was a race against +dawn, and every effort was made to win--the life of Red Connors hung +in the balance and a minute might turn the scale. + + + +In Powers' old ranch house the night dragged along slowly to the grim +watcher, and the man huddled in the corner stirred uneasily and +babbled, ofttimes crying out in horror at the vivid dreams of his +disordered mind. Pacing ceaselessly from window to window, crack to +crack, when the moon came up, Mr. Connors scanned the bare, level +plain with anxious eyes, searching out the few covers and looking for +dark spots on the dull gray sand. They never attacked at night, but +still--. Through the void came the quavering call of a coyote, and he +listened for the reply, which soon came from the black chaparral +across the clearing. He knew where two of them were hiding, anyhow. +Holden was muttering and tried to answer the calls, and Red looked at +him for the hundredth time that night. He glanced out of the window +again and noticed that there was a glow in the eastern sky, and +shortly afterwards dawn swiftly developed. + +Pouring the last few drops of the precious water between the wounded +man's parched and swollen lips, he tossed the empty canteen from him +and stood erect. + +"Pore devil," he muttered, shaking his head sorrowfully, as he +realized that Holden's delirium was getting worse all the time. "If +you was all right we could give them wolves hell to dance to. Well, +you won't know nothing about it if we go under, an' that's some +consolation." He examined his rifle and saw that the Colt at his thigh +was fully loaded and in good working order. "An' they'll pay us for +their victory, by God! They'll pay for it!" He stepped closer to the +window, throwing the rifle into the hollow of his arm. "It's about +time for the rush; about time for the game--" + +There was movement by that small chaparral to the south! To the east +something stirred into bounding life and action; a coyote called twice +--and then they came, on foot and silently as fleeting shadows, +leaning forward to bring into play every ounce of energy in the slim, +red legs. Smoke filled the room with its acrid sting. The crashing of +the Winchester, worked with wonderful speed and deadly accuracy by the +best rifle shot in the Southwest, brought the prostrate man to his +feet in an instinctive response to the call to action, the necessity +of defence. He grasped his Colt and stumbled blindly to a window to +help the man who had stayed with him. + +On Red's side of the house one warrior threw up his arms and fell +forward, sprawling with arms and legs extended; another pitched to one +side and rolled over twice before he lay still; the legs of the third +collapsed and threw him headlong, bunched up in a grotesque pile of +lifeless flesh; the fourth leaped high into the air and turned a +somersault before he struck the sand, badly wounded, and out of the +fight. Holden, steadying himself against the wall, leaned in a window +on the other side of the shack and emptied his Colt in a dazed manner +--doing his very best. Then the man with the rifle staggered back with +a muttered curse, his right arm useless, and dropped the weapon to +draw his Colt with the other hand. + +Holden shrieked once and sank down, wagging his head slowly from side +to side, blood oozing from his mouth and nostrils; and his companion, +goaded into a frenzy of blood-lust and insane rage at the sight, threw +himself against the door and out into the open, to die under the clear +sky, to go like the man he was if he must die. "Damn you! It'll cost +you more yet!" he screamed, wheeling to place his back against the +wall. + +The triumphant yells of the exultant savages were cut short and turned +to howls of dismay by a fusillade which thundered from the south where +a crowd of hard-riding, hard-shooting cow-punchers tore out of the +thicket like an avalanche and swept over the open sand, yelling and +cursing, and then separated to go in hot pursuit of the sprinting +Apaches. Some stood up in their stirrups and fired down at a slant, +making a short, chopping motion with their heavy Colts; others leaned +forward, far over the necks of their horses, and shot with stationary +guns; while yet others, with reins dangling free, worked the levers of +blue Winchesters so rapidly that the flashes seemed to merge into a +continuous flame. + +"Thank God! Thank God--an' Hoppy!" groaned the man at the door of the +shack, staggering forward to meet the two men who had lost no time in +pursuit of the enemy, but had ridden straight to him. + +"I was scared stiff you was done fer!" cried Hopalong, leaping off his +horse and shaking hands with his friend, whose hand-clasp was not as +strong as usual. "How's Holden?" he demanded, anxiously. + +"He passed. It was a close--" began Red, weakly, but his foreman +interposed. + +"Shut up, an' drink this!" ordered Buck, kindly but sternly. "We'll do +the talking for a while; you can tell us all about it later on. Why, +/hullo/!" he cried as Lanky Smith and his two happy companions rode +up. "Reckon you must 'a' got them pickets." + +"Shore we did! Stalked 'em on our bellies, didn't we, Skinny?" +modestly replied Mr. Smith, the roping expert of the Bar-20. "Ropes +an' clubbed guns did the rest. Anyhow, there was only two anywhere +near the trail." + +"We didn't see you," responded the foreman, tying the knot of a +bandage on Mr. Connors' arm. "An' we looked sharp, too." + +"Reckon we was hunting for more; we sort of forgot what you said about +waiting for you," Mr. Smith replied, grinning broadly. + +"An' you've got a good memory now," smiled Mr. Peters. + +"We didn't find no more, though," offered Mr. Pete Wilson, with grave +regret. "An' we looked good, too. But we got Red, an' that's the whole +game. Red, you old son-of-a-gun, you can lick yore weight in powder!" + +"It's too bad about Holden," muttered Red, sullenly. + + + + CHAPTER XI + + HOPALONG NURSES A GROUCH + +After the excitement incident to the affair at Powers' shack had died +down and the Bar-20 outfit worked over its range in the old, placid +way, there began to be heard low mutterings, and an air of peevish +discontent began to be manifested in various childish ways. And it was +all caused by the fact that Hopalong Cassidy had a grouch, and a big +one. It was two months old and growing worse daily, and the signs +threatened contagion. His foreman, tired and sick of the snarling, +fidgety, petulant atmosphere that Hopalong had created on the ranch, +and driven to desperation, eagerly sought some chance to get rid of +the "sore-thumb" temporarily and give him an opportunity to shed his +generous mantle of the blues. And at last it came. + +No one knew the cause for Hoppy's unusual state of mind, although +there were many conjectures, and they covered the field rather +thoroughly; but they did not strike on the cause. Even Red Connors, +now well over all ill effects of the wounds acquired in the old ranch +house, was forced to guess; and when Red had to do that about anything +concerning Hopalong he was well warranted in believing the matter to +be very serious. + +Johnny Nelson made no secret of his opinion and derived from it a +great amount of satisfaction, which he admitted with a grin to his +foreman. + +"Buck," he said, "Hoppy told me he went broke playing poker over in +Grant with Dave Wilkes and them two Lawrence boys, an' that shore +explains it all. He's got pack sores from carrying his unholy licking. +It was due to come for him, an' Dave Wilkes is just the boy to deliver +it. That's the whole trouble, an' I know it, an' I'm damned glad they +trimmed him. But he ain't got no right of making /us/ miserable +because he lost a few measly dollars." + +"Yo're wrong, son; dead, dead wrong," Buck replied. "He takes his +beatings with a grin, an' money never did bother him. No poker game +that ever was played could leave a welt on him like the one we all +mourn, an' cuss. He's been doing something that he don't want us to +know--made a fool of hisself some way, most likely, an' feels so +ashamed that he's sore. I've knowed him too long an' well to believe +that gambling had anything to do with it. But this little trip he's +taking will fix him up all right, an' I couldn't 'a' picked a better +man--or one that I'd rather get rid of just now." + +"Well, lemme tell you it's blamed lucky for him that you picked him to +go," rejoined Johnny, who thought more of the woeful absentee than he +did of his own skin. "I was going to lick him, shore, if it went on +much longer. Me an' Red an' Billy was going to beat him up good till +he forgot his dead injuries an' took more interest in his friends." + +Buck laughed heartily. "Well, the three of you might 'a' done it if +you worked hard an' didn't get careless, but I have my doubts. Now +look here--you've been hanging around the bunk house too blamed much +lately. Henceforth an' hereafter you've got to earn your grub. Get out +on that west line an' hustle." + +"You know I've had a toothache!" snorted Johnny with a show of +indignation, his face as sober as that of a judge. + +"An' you'll have a stomach ache from lack of grub if you don't earn +yore right to eat purty soon," retorted Buck. "You ain't had a +toothache in yore whole life, an' you don't know what one is. G'wan, +now, or I'll give you a backache that'll ache!" + +"Huh! Devil of a way to treat a sick man!" Johnny retorted, but he +departed exultantly, whistling with much noise and no music. But he +was sorry for one thing: he sincerely regretted that he had not been +present when Hopalong met his Waterloo. It would have been pleasing to +look upon. + +While the outfit blessed the proposed lease of range that took him out +of their small circle for a time, Hopalong rode farther and farther +into the northwest, frequently lost in abstraction which, judging by +its effect upon him, must have been caused by something serious. He +had not heard from Dave Wilkes about that individual's good horse +which had been loaned to Ben Ferris, of Winchester. Did Dave think he +had been killed or was still pursuing the man whose neck-kerchief had +aroused such animosity in Hopalong's heart? Or had the horse actually +been returned? The animal was a good one, a successful contender in +all distances from one to five miles, and had earned its owner and +backers much money--and Hopalong had parted with it as easily as he +would have borrowed five dollars from Red. The story, as he had often +reflected since, was as old as lying--a broken-legged horse, a wife +dying forty miles away, and a horse all saddled which needed only to +be mounted and ridden. + +These thoughts kept him company for a day and when he dismounted +before Stevenson's "Hotel" in Hoyt's Corners he summed up his feelings +for the enlightenment of his horse. + +"Damn it, bronc! I'd give ten dollars right now to know if I was a +jackass or not," he growled. "But he was an awful slick talker if he +lied. An' I've got to go up an' face Dave Wilkes to find out about +it!" + +Mr. Cassidy was not known by sight to the citizens of Hoyt's Corners, +however well versed they might be in his numerous exploits of wisdom +and folly. Therefore the habitues of Stevenson's Hotel did not +recognize him in the gloomy and morose individual who dropped his +saddle on the floor with a crash and stamped over to the three-legged +table at dusk and surlily demanded shelter for the night. + +"Gimme a bed an' something to eat," he demanded, eyeing the three men +seated with their chairs tilted against the wall. "Do I get 'em?" he +asked, impatiently. + +"You do," replied a one-eyed man, lazily arising and approaching him. +"One dollar, now." + +"An' take the rocks outen that bed--I want to sleep." + +"A dollar per for every rock you find," grinned Stevenson, pleasantly. +"There ain't no rocks in /my/ beds," he added. + +"Some folks likes to be rocked to sleep," facetiously remarked one of +the pair by the wall, laughing contentedly at his own pun. He bore all +the ear-marks of being regarded as the wit of the locality--every +hamlet has one; I have seen some myself. + +"Hee, hee, hee! Yo're a droll feller, Charley," chuckled Old John +Ferris, rubbing his ear with unconcealed delight. "That's a good un." + +"One drink, now," growled Hopalong, mimicking the proprietor, and +glaring savagely at the "droll feller" and his companion. "An' mind +that it's a good one," he admonished the host. + +"It's better," smiled Stevenson, whereat Old John crossed his legs and +chuckled again. Stevenson winked. + +"Riding long?" he asked. + +"Since I started." + +"Going fur?" + +"Till I stop." + +"Where do you belong?" Stevenson's pique was urging him against the +ethics of the range, which forbade personal questions. + +Hopalong looked at him with a light in his eye that told the host he +had gone too far. "Under my sombrero!" he snapped. + +"Hee, hee, hee!" chortled Old John, rubbing his ear again and nudging +Charley. "He ain't no fool, hey?" + +"Why, I don't know, John; he won't tell," replied Charley. + +Hopalong wheeled and glared at him, and Charley, smiling uneasily, +made an appeal: "Ain't mad, are you?" + +"Not yet," and Hopalong turned to the bar again, took up his liquor +and tossed it off. Considering a moment he shoved the glass back +again, while Old John tongued his lips in anticipation of a treat. "It +is good--fill it again." + +The third was even better and by the time the fourth and fifth had +joined their predecessors Hopalong began to feel a little more +cheerful. But even the liquor and an exceptionally well-cooked supper +could not separate him from his persistent and set grouch. And of +liquor he had already taken more than his limit. He had always +boasted, with truth, that he had never been drunk, although there had +been two occasions when he was not far from it. That was one doubtful +luxury which he could not afford for the reason that there were men +who would have been glad to see him, if only for a few seconds, when +liquor had dulled his brain and slowed his speed of hand. He could +never tell when and where he might meet one of these. + +He dropped into a chair by a card table and, baffling all attempts to +engage him in conversation, reviewed his troubles in a mumbled +soliloquy, the liquor gradually making him careless. But of all the +jumbled words his companions' diligent ears heard they recognized and +retained only the bare term "Winchester"; and their conjectures were +limited only by their imaginations. + +Hopalong stirred and looked up, shaking off the hand which had aroused +him. "Better go to bed, stranger," the proprietor was saying. "You an' +me are the last two up. It's after twelve, an' you look tired and +sleepy." + +"Said his wife was sick," muttered the puncher. "Oh, what you saying?" + +"You'll find a bed better'n this table, stranger--it's after twelve +an' I want to close up an' get some sleep. I'm tired myself." + +"Oh, that all? Shore I'll go to bed--like to see anybody stop me! +Ain't no rocks in it, hey?" + +"Nary a rock," laughingly reassured the host, picking up Hopalong's +saddle and leading the way to a small room off the "office," his guest +stumbling after him and growling about the rocks that lived in +Winchester. When Stevenson had dropped the saddle by the window and +departed, Hopalong sat on the edge of the bed to close his eyes for +just a moment before tackling the labor of removing his clothes. A +crash and a jar awakened him and he found himself on the floor with +his back to the bed. He was hot and his head ached, and his back was +skinned a little--and how hot and stuffy and choking the room had +become! He thought he had blown out the light, but it still burned, +and three-quarters of the chimney was thickly covered with soot. He +was stifling and could not endure it any longer. After three attempts +he put out the light, stumbled against his saddle and, opening the +window, leaned out to breathe the pure air. As his lungs filled he +chuckled wisely and, picking up the saddle, managed to get it and +himself through the window and on the ground without serious mishap. +He would ride for an hour, give the room time to freshen and cool off, +and come back feeling much better. Not a star could be seen as he +groped his way unsteadily towards the rear of the building, where he +vaguely remembered having seen the corral as he rode up. + +"Huh! Said he lived in Winchester an' his name was Bill--no, Ben +Ferris," he muttered, stumbling towards a noise he knew was made by a +horse rubbing against the corral fence. Then his feet got tangled up +in the cinch of his saddle, which he had kicked before him, and after +great labor he arose, muttering savagely, and continued on his wobbly +way. "Goo' Lord, it's darker'n cats in--/oof/!" he grunted, recoiling +from forcible contact with the fence he sought. Growling words unholy +he felt his way along it and finally his arm slipped through an +opening and he bumped his head solidly against the top bar of the +gate. As he righted himself his hand struck the nose of a horse and +closed mechanically over it. Cow-ponies look alike in the dark and he +grinned jubilantly as he complimented himself upon finding his own so +unerringly. + +"Anything is easy, when you know how. Can't fool me, ol' cayuse," he +beamed, fumbling at the bars with his free hand and getting them down +with a fool's luck. "You can't do it--I got you firs', las', an' +always; an' I got you good. Yessir, I got you good. Quit that rearing, +you ol' fool! Stan' still, can't you?" The pony sidled as the saddle +hit its back and evoked profane abuse from the indignant puncher as he +risked his balance in picking it up to try again, this time +successfully. He began to fasten the girth, and then paused in wonder +and thought deeply, for the pin in the buckle would slide to no hole +but the first. "Huh! Getting fat, ain't you, piebald?" he demanded +with withering sarcasm. "You blow yoreself up any more'n I'll bust you +wide open!" heaving up with all his might on the free end of the +strap, one knee pushing against the animal's side. The "fat" +disappeared and Hopalong laughed. "Been learnin' new tricks, ain't +you? Got smart since you been travellin', hey?" He fumbled with the +bars again and got two of them back in place and then, throwing +himself across the saddle as the horse started forward as hard as it +could go, slipped off, but managed to save himself by hopping along +the ground. As soon as he had secured the grip he wished he mounted +with the ease of habit and felt for the reins. "G'wan now, an' easy-- +it's plumb dark an' my head's bustin'." + +When he saddled his mount at the corral he was not aware that two of +the three remaining horses had taken advantage of their opportunity +and had walked out and made off in the darkness before he replaced the +bars, and he was too drunk to care if he had known it. + +The night air felt so good that it moved him to song, but it was not +long before the words faltered more and more and soon ceased +altogether and a subdued snore rasped from him. He awakened from time +to time, but only for a moment, for he was tired and sleepy. + +His mount very quickly learned that something was wrong and that it +was being given its head. As long as it could go where it pleased it +could do nothing better than head for home, and it quickened its pace +towards Winchester. Some time after daylight it pricked up its ears +and broke into a canter, which soon developed signs of irritation in +its rider. Finally Hopalong opened his heavy eyes and looked around +for his bearings. Not knowing where he was and too tired and miserable +to give much thought to a matter of such slight importance, he glanced +around for a place to finish his sleep. A tree some distance ahead of +him looked inviting and towards it he rode. Habit made him picket the +horse before he lay down and as he fell asleep he had vague +recollections of handling a strange picket rope some time recently. +The horse slowly turned and stared at the already snoring figure, +glanced over the landscape, back the to queerest man it had ever met, +and then fell to grazing in quiet content. A slinking coyote topped a +rise a short distance away and stopped instantly, regarding the +sleeping man with grave curiosity and strong suspicion. Deciding that +there was nothing good to eat in that vicinity and that the man was +carrying out a fell plot for the death of coyotes, it backed away out +of sight and loped on to other hunting grounds. + + + + CHAPTER XII + + A FRIEND IN NEED + +Stevenson, having started the fire for breakfast, took a pail and +departed towards the spring; but he got no farther than the corral +gate, where he dropped the pail and stared. There was only one horse +in the enclosure where the night before there had been four. He wasted +no time in surmises, but wheeled and dashed back towards the hotel, +and his vigorous shouts brought Old John to the door, sleepy and +peevish. Old John's mouth dropped open as he beheld his habitually +indolent host marking off long distances on the sand with each falling +foot. + +"What's got inter you?" demanded Old John. + +"Our broncs are gone! Our broncs are gone!" yelled Stevenson, shoving +Old John roughly to one side as he dashed through the doorway and on +into the room he had assigned to the sullen and bibulous stranger. "I +knowed it! I knowed it!" he wailed, popping out again as if on +springs. "He's gone, an' he's took our broncs with him, the measly, +low-down dog! I knowed he wasn't no good! I could see it in his eye; +an' he wasn't drunk, not by a darn sight. Go out an' see for yoreself +if they ain't gone!" he snapped in reply to Old John's look. "Go on +out, while I throw some cold grub on the table--won't have no time +this morning to do no cooking. He's got five hours' start on us, an' +it'll take some right smart riding to get him before dark; but we'll +do it, an' hang him, too!" + +"What's all this here rumpus?" demanded a sleepy voice from upstairs. +"Who's hanged?" and Charley entered the room, very much interested. +His interest increased remarkably when the calamity was made known and +he lost no time in joining Old John in the corral to verify the news. + +Old John waved his hands over the scene and carefully explained what +he had read in the tracks, to his companion's great irritation, for +Charley's keen eyes and good training had already told him all there +was to learn; and his reading did not exactly agree with that of his +companion. + +"Charley, he's gone and took our cayuses; an' that's the very way he +came--'round the corner of the hotel. He got all tangled up an' fell +over there, an' here he bumped inter the palisade, an' dropped his +saddle. When he opened the bars he took my roan gelding because it was +the best an' fastest, an' then he let out the others to mix us up on +the tracks. See how he went? Had to hop four times on one foot afore +he could get inter the saddle. An' that proves he was sober, for no +drunk could hop four times like that without falling down an' being +drug to death. An' he left his own critter behind because he knowed it +wasn't no good. It's all as plain as the nose on your face, Charley," +and Old John proudly rubbed his ear. "Hee, hee, hee! You can't fool +Old John, even if he is getting old. No, sir, b' gum." + +Charley had just returned from inside the corral, where he had looked +at the brand on the far side of the one horse left, and he waited +impatiently for his companion to cease talking. He took quick +advantage of the first pause Old John made and spoke crisply. + +"I don't care what corner he came 'round, or what he bumped inter; an' +any fool can see that. An' if he left that cayuse behind because he +thought it wasn't no good, he /was/ drunk. That's a Bar-20 cayuse, an' +no hoss-thief ever worked for that ranch. He left it behind because he +stole it; that's why. An' he didn't let them others out because he +wanted to mix us up, neither. How'd he know if we couldn't tell the +tracks of our own animals? He did that to make us lose time; that's +what he did it for. An' he couldn't tell what bronc he took last +night--it was too dark. He must 'a' struck a match an' seen where that +Bar-20 cayuse was an' then took the first one nearest that wasn't it. +An' now you tell me how the devil he knowed yourn was the fastest, +which it ain't," he finished, sarcastically, gloating over a chance to +rub it into the man he had always regarded as a windy old nuisance. + +"Well, mebby what you said is--" + +"Mebby nothing!" snapped Charley. "If he wanted to mix the tracks +would he 'a' hopped like that so we couldn't help telling what cayuse +he rode? He knowed we'd pick his trail quick, an' he knowed that every +minute counted; that's why he hopped--why, yore roan was going like +the wind afore he got in the saddle. If you don't believe it, look at +them toe-prints!" + +"H'm; reckon yo're right, Charley. My eyes ain't nigh as good as they +once was. But I heard him say something 'bout Winchester," replied Old +John, glad to change the subject. "Bet he's going over there, too. He +won't get through that town on no critter wearing my brand. Everybody +knows that roan, an'--" + +"Quit guessing!" snapped Charley, beginning to lose some of the +tattered remnant of his respect for old age. "He's a whole lot likely +to head for a town on a stolen cayuse, now ain't he! But we don't care +where he's heading; we'll foller the trail." + +"Grub pile!" shouted Stevenson, and the two made haste to obey. + +"Charley, gimme a chaw of yore tobacker," and Old John, biting off a +generous chunk, quietly slipped it into his pocket, there to lay until +after he had eaten his breakfast. + +All talk was tabled while the three men gulped down a cold and +uninviting meal. Ten minutes later they had finished and separated to +find horses and spread the news; in fifteen more they had them and +were riding along the plain trail at top speed, with three other men +close at their heels. Three hundred yards from the corral they pounded +out of an arroyo, and Charley, who was leading, stood up in his +stirrups and looked keenly ahead. Another trail joined the one they +were following and ran with and on top of it. This, he reasoned, had +been made by one of the strays and would turn away soon. He kept his +eyes looking well ahead and soon saw that he was right in his surmise, +and without checking the speed of his horse in the slightest degree he +went ahead on the trail of the smaller hoof-prints. In a moment Old +John spurred forward and gained his side and began to argue hot- +headedly. + +"Hey! Charley!" he cried. "Why are you follering this track?" he +demanded. + +"Because it's his; that's why." + +"Well, here, wait a minute!" and Old John was getting red from +excitement. "How do you know it is? Mebby he took the other!" + +"He started out on the cayuse that made these little tracks," retorted +Charley, "an' I don't see no reason to think he swapped animules. +Don't you know the prints of yore own cayuse?" + +"Lawd, no!" answered Old John. "Why, I don't hardly ride the same +cayuse the second day, straight hand-running. I tell you we ought to +foller that other trail. He's just cute enough to play some trick on +us." + +"Well, you better do that for us," Charley replied, hoping against +hope that the old man would chase off on the other and give his +companions a rest. + +"He ain't got sand enough to tackle a thing like that single-handed," +laughed Jed White, winking to the others. + +Old John wheeled. "Ain't, hey! I am going to do that same thing an' +prove that you are a pack of fools. I'm too old to be fooled by a +common trick like that. An' I don't need no help--I'll ketch him all +by myself, an' hang him, too!" And he wheeled to follow the other +trail, angry and outraged. "Young fools," he muttered. "Why, I was +fighting all around these parts afore any of 'em knowed the difference +between day an' night!" + +"Hard-headed old fool," remarked Charley, frowning, as he led the way +again. + +"He's gittin' old an' childish," excused Stevenson. "They say warn't +nobody in these parts could hold a candle to him in his prime." + + + +Hopalong muttered and stirred and opened his eyes to gaze blankly into +those of one of the men who were tugging at his hands, and as he +stared he started his stupefied brain sluggishly to work in an +endeavor to explain the unusual experience. There were five men around +him and the two who hauled at his hands stepped back and kicked him. A +look of pained indignation slowly spread over his countenance as he +realized beyond doubt that they were really kicking him, and with +sturdy vigor. He considered a moment and then decided that such +treatment was most unwarranted and outrageous and, furthermore, that +he must defend himself and chastise the perpetrators. + +"Hey!" he snorted, "what do you reckon yo're doing, anyhow? If you +want to do any kicking, why kick each other, an' I'll help you! But +I'll lick the whole bunch of you if you don't quite mauling me. Ain't +you got no manners? Don't you know anything? Come 'round waking a +feller up an' man-handling--" + +"Get up!" snapped Stevenson, angrily. + +"Why, ain't I seen you before? Somewhere? Sometime?" queried Hopalong, +his brow wrinkling from intense concentration of thought. "I ain't +dreaming; I've seen a one-eyed coyote som'ers, lately, ain't I?" he +appealed, anxiously, to the others. + +"Get up!" ordered Charley, shortly. + +"An' I've seen you, too. Funny, all right." + +"You've seen me, all right," retorted Stevenson. "Get up, damn you! +Get up!" + +"Why, I can't--my han's are tied!" exclaimed Hopalong in great wonder, +pausing in his exertions to cogitate deeply upon this most remarkable +phenomenon. "Tied up! Now what the devil do you think--" + +"Use yore feet, you thief!" rejoined Stevenson roughly, stepping +forward and delivering another kick. "Use yore feet!" he reiterated. + +"Thief! Me a thief! Shore I'll use my feet, you yaller dog!" yelled +the prostrate man, and his boot heel sank into the stomach of the +offending Mr. Stevenson with sickening force and laudable precision. +He drew it back slowly, as if debating shoving it farther. "Call me a +thief, hey! Come poking 'round kicking honest punchers an' calling 'em +names! Anybody want the other boot?" he inquired with grave +solicitation. + +Stevenson sat down forcibly and rocked to and fro, doubled up and +gasping for breath, and Hopalong squinted at him and grinned with +happiness. "Hear him sing! Reg'lar ol' brass band. Sounds like a cow +pulling its hoofs outen the mud. Called me a thief, he did, just now. +An' I won't let nobody kick me an' call me names. He's a liar, just a +plain, squaw's dog liar, he--" + +Two men grabbed him and raised him up, holding him tightly, and they +were not over careful to handle him gently, which he naturally +resented. Charley stepped in front of him to go to the aid of +Stevenson and caught the other boot in his groin, dropping as if he +had been shot. The man on the prisoner's left emitted a yell and +loosed his hold to sympathize with a bruised shinbone, and his +companion promptly knocked the bound and still intoxicated man down. +Bill Thomas swore and eyed the prostrate figure with resentment and +regret. "Hate to hit a man who can fight like that when he's loaded +an' tied. I'm glad, all the same, that he ain't sober an' loose." + +"An' you ain't going to hit him no more!" snapped Jed White, reddening +with anger. "I'm ready to hang him, 'cause that's what he deserves, +an' what we're here for, but I'm damned if I'll stand for any more +mauling. I don't blame him for fighting, an' they didn't have no right +to kick him in the beginning." + +"Didn't kick him in the beginning," grinned Bill. "Kicked him in the +ending. Anyhow," he continued seriously, "I didn't hit him hard-- +didn't have to. Just let him go an' shoved him quick." + +"I'm just naturally going to clean house," muttered the prisoner, +sitting up and glaring around. "Untie my han's an' gimme a gun or a +club or anything, an' watch yoreselves get licked. Called me a thief! +What are you fellers, then?--sticking me up an' busting me for a few +measly dollars. Why didn't you take my money an' lemme sleep, 'stead +of waking me up an' kicking me? I wouldn't 'a' cared then." + +"Come on, now; get up. We ain't through with you yet, not by a whole +lot," growled Bill, helping him to his feet and steadying him. "I'm +plumb glad you kicked 'em; it was coming to 'em." + +"No, you ain't; you can't fool me," gravely assured Hopalong. "Yo're +lying, an' you know it. What you going to do now? Ain't I got money +enough? Wish I had an even break with you fellers! Wish my outfit was +here!" + +Stevenson, on his feet again, walked painfully up and shook his fist +at the captive, from the side. "You'll find out what we want of you, +you damned hoss-thief!" he cried. "We're going to tie you to that +there limb so yore feet'll swing above the grass, that's what we're +going to do." + +Bill and Jed had their hands full for a moment and as they finally +mastered the puncher, Charley came up with a rope. "Hurry up--no use +dragging it out this way. I want to get back to the ranch some time +before next week." + +"Why /I/ ain't no hoss-thief, you liar!" Hopalong yelled. "My name's +Hopalong Cassidy of the Bar-20, an' when I tell my friends about what +you've gone an' done they'll make you hard to find! You gimme any kind +of a chance an' I'll do it all by myself, sick as I am, you yaller +dogs!" + +"Is that yore cayuse?" demanded Charley, pointing. + +Hopalong squinted towards the animal indicated. "Which one?" + +"There's only one there, you fool!" + +"That so?" replied Hopalong, surprised. "Well, I never seen it afore. +My cayuse is--is--where the devil /is/ it?" he asked, looking around +anxiously. + +"How'd you get that one, then, if it ain't yours?" + +"Never had it--'t ain't mine, nohow," replied Hopalong, with strong +conviction. "Mine was a /hoss/." + +"You stole that cayuse last night outen Stevenson's corral," continued +Charley, merely as a matter of form. Charley believed that a man had +the right to be heard before he died--it wouldn't change the result +and so could not do any harm. + +"Did I? Why--" his forehead became furrowed again, but the events of +the night before were vague in his memory and he only stumbled in his +soliloquy. "But /I/ wouldn't swap my cayuse for that spavined, saddle- +galled, ring-boned bone-yard! Why, it interferes, an' it's got the +heaves something awful!" he finished triumphantly, as if an appeal to +common sense would clinch things. But he made no headway against them, +for the rope went around his neck almost before he had finished +talking and a flurry of excitement ensued. When the dust settled he +was on his back again and the rope was being tossed over the limb. + +The crowd had been too busily occupied to notice anything away from +the scene of their strife and were greatly surprised when they heard a +hail and saw a stranger sliding to a stand not twenty feet from them. +"What's this?" demanded the newcomer, angrily. + +Charley's gun glinted as it swung up and the stranger swore again. +"What you doing?" he shouted. "Take that gun off'n me or I'll blow you +apart!" + +"Mind yore business an' sit still!" Charley snapped. "You ain't in no +position to blow anything apart. We've got a hoss-thief an' we're +shore going to hang him regardless." + +"An' if there's any trouble about it we can hang two as well as we can +one," suggested Stevenson, placidly. "You sit tight an' mind yore own +affairs, stranger," he warned. + +Hopalong turned his head slowly. "He's a liar, stranger; just a plain, +squaw's dog of a liar. An' I'll be much obliged if you'll lick hell +outen 'em an' let--/why, hullo, hoss-thief/!" he shouted, at once +recognizing the other. It was the man he had met in the gospel tent, +the man he had chased for a horse-thief and then swapped mounts with. +"Stole any more cayuses?" he asked, grinning, believing that +everything was all right now. "Did you take that cayuse back to +Grant?" he finished. + +"Han's up!" roared Stevenson, also covering the stranger. "So yo're +another one of 'em, hey? We're in luck to-day. Watch him, boys, till I +get his gun. If he moves, drop him quick." + +"You damned fool!" cried Ferris, white with rage. "He ain't no thief, +an' neither am I! My name's Ben Ferris an' I live in Winchester. Why, +that man you've got is Hopalong Cassidy--Cassidy, of the Bar-20!" + +"Sit still--you can talk later, mebby," replied Stevenson, warily +approaching him. "Watch him, boys!" + +"Hold on!" shouted Ferris, murder in his eyes. "Don't you try that on +me! I'll get one of you before I go; I'll shore get one! You can +listen a minute, an' I can't get away." + +"All right; talk quick." + +Ferris pleaded as hard as he knew how and called attention to the +condition of the prisoner. "If he did take the wrong cayuse he was too +blind drunk to know it! Can't you /see/ he was!" he cried. + +"Yep; through yet?" asked Stevenson, quietly. + +"No! I ain't started yet!" Ferris yelled. "He did me a good turn once, +one that I can't never repay, an' I'm going to stop this murder or go +with him. If I go I'll take one of you with me, an' my friends an' +outfit'll get the rest." + +"Wait till Old John gets here," suggested Jed to Charley. "He ought to +know this feller." + +"For the Lord's sake!" snorted Charley. "He won't show up for a week. +Did you hear that, fellers?" he laughed, turning to the others. + +"Stranger," began Stevenson, moving slowly ahead again. "You give us +yore guns an' sit quiet till we gets this feller out of the way. We'll +wait till Old John Ferris comes before doing anything with you. He +ought to know you." + +"He knows me all right; an' he'd like to see me hung," replied the +stranger. "I won't give up my guns, an' you won't lynch Hopalong +Cassidy while I can pull a trigger. That's flat!" He began to talk +feverishly to gain time and his eyes lighted suddenly. Seeing that Jed +White was wavering, Stevenson ordered them to go on with the work they +had come to perform, and he watched Ferris as a cat watches a mouse, +knowing that he would be the first man hit if the stranger got a +chance to shoot. But Ferris stood up very slowly in his stirrups so as +not to alarm the five with any quick movement, and shouted at the top +of his voice, grabbing off his sombrero and waving it frantically. A +faint cheer reached his ears and made the lynchers turn quickly and +look behind them. Nine men were tearing towards them at a dead gallop +and had already begun to forsake their bunched-up formation in favor +of an extended line. They were due to arrive in a very few minutes and +caused Mr. Ferris' heart to overflow with joy. + +"Me an' my outfit," he said, laughing softly and waving his hand +towards the newcomers, "started out this morning to round up a bunch +of cows, an' we got jackasses instead. Now lynch him, damn you!" + +The nine swept up in skirmish order, guns out and ready for anything +in the nature of trouble that might zephyr up. "What's the matter, +Ben?" asked Tom Murphy ominously. As under-foreman of the ranch he +regarded himself as spokesman. And at that instant catching sight of +the rope, he swore savagely under his breath. + +"Nothing, Tom; nothing now," responded Mr. Ferris. "They was going to +hang my friend there, Mr. Hopalong Cassidy, of the Bar-20. He's the +feller that lent me his cayuse to get home on when Molly was sick. I'm +going to take him back to the ranch when he gets sober an' introduce +him to some very good friends of hissn that he ain't never seen. Ain't +I, Cassidy?" he demanded with a laugh. + +But Mr. Cassidy made no reply. He was sound asleep, as he had been +since the advent of his very good and capable friend, Mr. Ben Ferris, +of Winchester. + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + MR. TOWNSEND, MARSHAL + +Mr. Cassidy went to the ranch and lived like a lord until shame drove +him away. He had no business to live on cake and pie and wonderful +dishes that Mrs. Ferris and her sister literally forced on him, and +let Buck's mission wait on his convenience. So he tore himself away +and made up for lost time as he continued his journey on his own +horse, for which Tom Murphy and three men had faced down the scowling +population of Hoyt's Corners. The rest of his journey was without +incident until, on his return home along another route, he rode into +Rawhide and heard about the marshal, Mr. Townsend. + +This individual was unanimously regarded as an affliction upon society +and there had been objections to his continued existence, which had +been overruled by the object himself. Then word had gone forth that a +substantial reward and the undying gratitude of a considerable number +of people awaited the man who would rid the community of the pest who +seemed to be ubiquitous. Several had come in response to the call, one +had returned in a wagon, and the others were now looked upon as +martyrs, and as examples of asinine foolhardiness. Then it had been +decided to elect a marshal, or perhaps two or three, to preserve the +peace of the town; but this was a flat failure. In the first place, +Mr. Townsend had dispersed the meeting with no date set for a new one; +in the second, no man wanted the office; and as a finish to the +comedy, Mr. Townsend cheerfully announced that hereafter and +henceforth he was the marshal, self-appointed and self-sustained. +Those who did not like it could easily move to other localities. + +With this touch of office-holding came ambition, and of stern stuff. +The marshal asked himself why he could not be more officers than one +and found no reason. Thereupon he announced that he was marshal, town +council, mayor, justice, and pound-keeper. He did not go to the +trouble of incorporating himself as the Town of Rawhide, because he +knew nothing of such immaterial things; but he was the town, and that +sufficed. + +He had been grievously troubled about finances in the past, and he +firmly believed that genius such as his should be above such petty +annoyances as being "broke." That was why he constituted himself the +keeper of the public pound, which contented him for a short time, but +later, feeling that he needed more money than the pound was giving +him, he decided that the spirit of the times demanded public +improvements, and therefore, as the executive head of the town, he +levied taxes and improved the town by improving his wardrobe and the +manner of his living. Each saloon must pay into the town treasury the +sum of one hundred dollars per year, which entitled it to police +protection and assured it that no new competitors would be allowed to +do business in Rawhide. + +Needless to say he was not furiously popular, and the crowds +congregated where he was not. His tyranny was based upon his uncanny +faculty of anticipating the other man's draw. The citizens were not +unaccustomed to seeing swift death result to the slower man from +misplaced confidence in his speed of hand--that was in the game--an +even break; but to oppose an individual who /always/ knew what you +were going to do before you knew it yourself--this was very +discouraging. Therefore, he flourished and waxed fat. + +Of late, however, he had been very low in finances and could expect no +taxes to be paid for three months. Even the pound had yielded him +nothing for over a week, the old patrons of Rawhide's stores and +saloons preferring to ride twenty miles farther in another direction +than to redeem impounded horses. Perhaps his prices had been too high, +he thought; so he assembled the town council, the mayor, the marshal, +and the keeper of the public pound to consult upon the matter. He +decided that the prices were too high and at once posted a new notice +announcing the cut. It was hard to fall from a dollar to "two bits," +but the treasury was low--the times were panicky. + +As soon as he had changed the notice he strolled up to the Paradise to +inform the bartender that impounding fines had been cut to bargain +prices and to ask him to make the fact generally known through his +patrons. As he came within sight of the building he jumped with +pleasure, for a horse was standing dejectedly before the door. Joy of +joys, trade was picking up--a stranger had come to town! Hastening +back to the corral, he added a cipher to the posted figure, added a +decimal point, and changed the cents sign to that of a dollar. Two +dollars and fifty cents was now the price prescribed by law. Returning +hastily to the Paradise, he led the animal away, impounded it, and +then sat down in front of the corral gate with his Winchester across +his knees. Two dollars and fifty cents! Prosperity had indeed +returned! + +"Where the CG ranch is I dunno, but I do know where one of their +cayuses is," he mused, glancing between two of the corral posts at the +sleepy animal. "If I has to auction it off to pay for its keep and the +fine, the saddle will bring a good, round sum. I allus knowed that a +dollar wasn't enough, nohow." + +Nat Fisher, punching cows for the CG and tired of his job, leaned +comfortably back in his chair in the Paradise and swapped lies with +the all-wise bartender. After a while he realized that he was +hopelessly outclassed at this diversion and he dug down into his +pocket and brought to light some loose silver and regarded it +thoughtfully. It was all the money he had and was beginning to grow +interesting. + +"Say, was you ever broke?" he asked suddenly, a trace of sadness in +his voice. + +The bartender glanced at him quickly, but remained judiciously silent, +smelling the preamble of an attempt to "touch." + +"Well, I have been, am now, an' allus will be, more or less," +continued Fisher, in soliloquy, not waiting for an answer to his +question. "Money an' me don't ride the same range, not any. Here I am +fifty miles away from my ranch, with four dollars and ninety-five +cents between me an' starvation an' thirst, an' me not going home for +three days yet. I was going to quit the CG this month, but now I gotta +go on working for it till another pay-day. I don't even own a cayuse. +Now, just to show you what kind of a prickly pear I am, I'll cut the +cards with you to see who owns this," he suggested, smiling brightly +at his companion. + +The bartender laughed, treated on the house, and shuffled out from +behind the bar with a pack of greasy playing cards. "All at once, or a +dollar a shot?" he asked, shuffling deftly. + +"Any way it suits you," responded Fisher, nonchalantly. He knew how a +sport should talk; and once he had cut the cards to see who should own +his full month's pay. He hoped he would be more successful this time. + +"Don't make no difference to me," rejoined the bartender. + +"All right; all at once, an' have it over with. It's a kid's game, at +that." + +"High wins, of course?" + +"High wins." + +The bartender pushed the cards across the table for his companion to +cut. Nat did so, and turned up a deuce. "Oh, don't bother," he said, +sliding the four dollars and ninety-five cents across the table. + +"Wait," grinned the bartender, who was a stickler for rules. He +reached over and turned up a card, and then laughed. "Matched, by +George!" + +"Try again," grinned Fisher, his face clearing with hope. + +The bartender shuffled, and Fisher turned a five, which proved to be +just one point shy when his companion had shown his card. + +"Now," remarked Fisher, watching his money disappear into the +bartender's pocket, "I'll put up my gun agin ten of yore dollars if +yo're game. How about it?" + +"Done--that's a good weapon." + +"None better. Ah, a jack!" + +"I say queen--nope, /king/!" exulted the dispenser of liquids. "Say, +mebby you can get a job around here when you quit the CG," he +suggested. + +"That's a good idea," replied Fisher. "But let's finish this while +we're at it. I got a good saddle outside on my cayuse--go look it over +an' tell me how much you'll put up agin it. If you win it an' can't +use it, you can sell it. It's first class." + +The bartender walked to the door, looked carefully around for a +moment, his eyes fastening upon a trail in the sandy street. Then he +laughed. "There ain't no saddle out here," he reported, well knowing +where it could be found. + +"What! Has that ornery piebald--well, what do you think of that!" +exclaimed Fisher, looking up and down the street. "This is the first +time that ever happened to me. Why, some coyote stole it! Look at the +tracks!" + +"No; it ain't stolen," the bartender responded. He considered a moment +and then made a suggestion. "Mebby the marshal can tell you where it +is--he knows everything like that. Nobody can take a cayuse out of +this town while the marshal is up an' well." + +"Lucky town, all right," chirped Fisher. "An' where is the marshal?" + +"You'll find him down the back way a couple of hundred yards; can't +miss him. He allus hangs out there when there are cayuses in town." + +"Good for him! I'll chase right down an' see him; an' when I get that +piebald----!" + +The bartender watched him go around the corner and shook his head +sadly. "Yes; hell of a lucky town," he snorted bitterly, listening for +the riot to begin. + +The marshal still sat against the corral gate and stroked the +Winchester in beatific contemplation. He had a fine job and he was +happy. Suddenly leaning forward to look up the road, he smiled +derisively and shifted the gun. A cow-puncher was coming his way +rapidly, and on foot. + +"Are you the marshal of this flea of a town?" politely inquired the +newcomer. + +"I am the same," replied the man with the rifle. "Anything I kin do +for you?" + +"Yes; have you seen a piebald cayuse straying around loose-like, or +anybody leading one--CG being the brand?" + +"I did; it was straying." + +"An' which way did it go?" + +"Into the town pound." + +"What! Pond! What'n blazes is it doing with a pond? Couldn't it drink +without getting in? Where's the pond?" + +"Right here. It's eating its fool head off. I said pound, not pond. +P-o-u-n-d; which means that it's pawned, in hock, for destroying the +vegetation of Rawhide, an' disturbing the public peace." + +"Good joke on the piebald, all right; it was never locked up before," +laughed Fisher, trying to read a sign that faced away from him at a +slight angle. "Get it out for me an' I'll disturb /its/ peace. Sorry +it put you to all that trouble," he sympathized. + +"Two dollars an' four bits, an' a dollar initiation fee--it wasn't +never in the pound before. That makes three an' a half. Got the money +with you?" + +"What!" yelled Fisher, emerging from his trance. "What!" he yelled +again. + +"I ain't none deaf," placidly replied the marshal. "Got the money, the +three an' a half?" + +"If you think yo're going to skin me outen three-fifty, one-fifty, or +one measly cent, you need some medicine, an' I'll give it to you in +pill form! You'd make a bum-looking angel, so get up an' hand over +that cayuse, /an' do it damned quick/!" + +"Three-fifty, an' two bits extry for feed. It'll cost you 'bout a +dollar a day for feed. At the end of the week I'll sell that cayuse at +auction to pay its bills if you don't cough up. Got the money?" + +"I've got a lead slug for you if I can borrow my gun for five +minutes!" retorted Fisher, seething double from anger. + +"Five dollars more for contempt of court," pleasantly responded Mr. +Townsend. "As Justice of the Peace of this community I must allow no +disrespect, no contempt of the sovereign law of this town to go +unpunished. That makes it eight-seventy-five." + +"An' to think I lost my gun!" shouted Fisher, dancing with rage. "I'll +get that cayuse out an' I won't pay a cent, not a damned cent! An' +I'll get you at the same time!" + +"Now you dust around for fifteen dollars even an' stop yore contempt +of court an' threats or I'll drill you just for luck!" rejoined Mr. +Townsend, angrily. "If you keep on working yore mouth like that there +won't be nothing coming to you when I sell that cayuse of yourn. Turn +around an' strike out or I'll put you with yore ancestors!" + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + THE STRANGER'S PLAN + +Fisher, wild with rage, returned to the Paradise and profanely +unfolded the tale of his burning wrongs to the bartender and demanded +the loan of his gun, which the bartender promptly refused. The present +owner of the gun liked Fisher very much for being such a sport and +sympathized with him deeply, but he did not want to have such a +pleasing acquaintance killed. + +"Now, see here: you cool down an' I'll lend you fifteen dollars on +that saddle of yourn. You go up an' get that cayuse out before the +price goes up any higher--you don't know that man like I do," remarked +the man behind the bar earnestly. "That feller Townsend can shoot the +eyes out of a small dog at ten miles, purty nigh. Do you savvy my +drift?" + +"I won't pay him a cussed cent, an' when he goes to sell that piebald +at auction, I'll be on hand with a gun; I'll get one somewhere, all +right, even if I have to steal it. Then I'll shoot out /his/ eyes at +ten paces. Why, he's a two-laigged hold-up! That man would--" he +stopped as a stranger entered the room. "Hey, stranger! Don't you +leave that cayuse of yourn outside all alone or that coyote of a +marshal will steal it, shore. He's the biggest thief I ever knowed. +He'll lift yore animal quick as a wink!" Fisher warned, excitedly. + +The stranger looked at him in surprise and then smiled. "Is it usual +for a marshal to steal cayuses? Somewhat out of line, ain't it?" he +asked Fisher, glancing at the bartender for light. + +"I don't care what's the rule--that marshal just stole my cayuse; an' +he'll take yourn, too, if you ain't careful," Fisher replied. + +"Well," drawled the stranger, smiling still more, "I reckon I ain't +going to stay out there an' watch it, an' I can't bring it in here. +But I reckon it'll be all right. You see, I carry 'big medicine' agin +hoss-thieves," he replied, tapping his holster and smiling as he +remembered the time, not long past, when he himself had been accused +of being one. "I'll take a chance if he will--what'll you all have?" + +"Little whiskey," replied Fisher, uneasily, worrying because he could +not stand for a return treat. "But, say; you keep yore eye on that +animal, just the same," he added, and then hurriedly gave his reasons. +"An' the worst part of the whole thing is that I ain't got no gun, an' +can't seem to borrow none, neither," he added, wistfully eyeing the +stranger's Colt. "I gambled mine away to the bartender here an' he +won't lemme borrow it for five minutes!" + +"Why, I never heard tell of such a thing before!" exclaimed the +stranger, hardly believing his ears, and aghast at the thought that +such conditions could exist. "Friend," he said, addressing the +bartender, "how is it that this sort of thing can go on in this town?" +When the bartender had explained at some length, his interested +listener smote the bar with a heavy fist and voiced his outraged +feelings. "I'll shore be plumb happy to spread that coyote marshal all +over his cussed pound! Say, come with me; I'm going down there right +now an' get that cayuse, an' if the marshal opens his mouth to peep +I'll get him, too. I'm itching for a chance to tunnel a man like him. +Come on an' see the show!" + +"Not much!" retorted Fisher. "While I am some pleased to meet a white +man, an' have a deep an' abiding gratitude for yore noble offer, I +can't let you do it. He put it over on me, an' I'm the one that's got +to shoot him up. He's mine, my pudding; an' I'm hogging him all to +myself. That is one luxury I can indulge in even if I am broke; an' +I'm sorry, but I can't give you cards. Seeing, however, as you are so +friendly to the cause of liberty an' justice, suppose you lend me yore +gun for about three minutes by the watch. From what I've been told +about this town such an act will win for you the eternal love an' +gratitude of a down-trodden people; yore gun will blaze the way to +liberty an' light, freedom an' the right to own yore own property, an' +keep it. All I ask is that I be the undeserving medium." + +"A-men," sighed the bartender. "Deacon Jones will now pass down the +aisle an' collect the buttons an' tin money." + +"Stranger," continued Fisher, warming up, when he saw that his words +had not produced the desired result, "King James the Twelfth, on the +memorable an' blood-soaked field of Trafalgar, gave men their rights. +On that great day he signed the Magnet Charter, and proved himself as +great a liberator as the sainted Lincoln. You, on this most auspicious +occasion, hold in yore strong hand the destiny of this town--the women +an' children in this cursed community will rise up an' bless you +forever an' pass yore name down to their ancestors as a man of deeds +an' honor! Let us pause to consider this--" + +"Hold that pause!" interrupted the astounded bartender hurriedly, and +with shaking voice. "String it out till I get untangled! I ain't up +much on history, so I won't take no chance with that; but I want to +tell our eloquent guest that there ain't no women /or/ children in +this town. An' if there was, I sort of reckon their ancestors would be +born first. What do you think about it--" + +"Let us pause to consider the shameful an' burning /indignity/ +perpetrated upon us to-day!" continued Fisher, unheeding the +bartender's words. "I, a peaceful, law-abiding /citizen/ of this +/glorious/ Commonwealth, a free an' /equal/ member of a liberty-loving +nation, a nation whose standard is, /now/ and forever, 'Gimme liberty +or gimme det', a /nation that stands for all the conceivable benefits +that mankind may enjoy, a /nation/ that scintillates pyrotechnically +over the prostitution of power--" + +/Bang!/ went the bartender's fist on the counter. "Hey! Pause again! +Wait a minute! Go back to 'shameful an' burning,' and gimme a chance!" + +"--that stands for an even break, I, Nathaniel G. Fisher, have been +deprived of one of my inalienable rights, the right of locomotion to +distant an' other parts. /An'/ I say, right here an' now, that I won't +allow no spavined individual with thieving prehensils to--" + +"Has that pound-keeper got a rifle?" calmly interrupted the stranger, +without a pang of remorse. + +"He has. Thus has it allus been with tyrants--well armed, fortified by +habit an' tradition--" + +"Then you won't get my gun, savvy? We'll find another way to get that +cayuse as long as you feel that the marshal is yore hunting. Besides, +this man's gall deserves some respect; it is genius, an' to pump +genius full of cold lead is to act rash. Now, suppose you tell me when +this auction is due to come off." + +"Oh, not for a week; he wants to run up the board an' keep expenses. +Tyrants, such as him--" + +"Shore," interposed the bartender, "he'll make the expenses equal what +he gets for the cayuse, no matter what it comes to. An' he's the whole +town, an' the justice of the peace, besides. What he says goes." + +"Well, I'm the Governor of the State an' I've got the Supreme Court +right here in my holster, so I reckon I can reverse his official acts +an' fill his legal opinions full of holes," the stranger replied, +laughing heartily. "Bartender, will you help me play a little joke on +His Honore, the Town,--just a little harmless joke?" + +"Well, that all depends whether the joke is harmless on /me/. You see, +he can shoot like the devil--he allus knows when a man is going to +draw, an' gets his gun out first. I ain't got no respect for him, but +I take off my hat to his gunplay, all right." + +The stranger smiled. "Well, I can shoot a bit myself. But I shore wish +he'd hold that auction quick--I've got to go on home without losing +any more time. Fisher, suppose you go down to the pound and dare that +tumble-bug to hold the auction this afternoon. Tell him that you'll +shoot him full of holes if he goes pulling off any auction to-day, an' +dare him to try it. I want it to come off before night, an' I reckon +that'll hustle it along." + +"I'll do anything to get the edge on that thief," replied Fisher, +quickly, "but don't you reckon I'd better tote a gun, going down an' +bearding such a thief in his own den? You know I allus like to shoot +when I'm being shot at." + +"Well, I don't blame you; it's only a petty weakness," grinned the +stranger, hanging onto his Colt as if fearing that the other would +snatch it and run. "But you'll do better without any gun--me an' the +bartender don't want to have to go down there an' bring you back on a +plank." + +"All right, then," sighed Fisher, reluctantly, "but he'll jump the +price again. He'll fine me for contempt of court an' make me pay money +I ain't got for disturbing him. But I'm game--so long." + +When he had gained the street, the stranger turned to the bartender. +"Now, friend, you tell me if this man of gall, this Mr. Townsend, has +got many friends in town--anybody that'll be likely to pot shoot from +the back when things get warm. I can't watch both ends unless I know +what I'm up against." + +"/No!/ Every man in town hates him," answered the bartender, hastily, +and with emphasis. + +"Ah, that's good. Now, I wonder if you could see 'most everybody +that's in town now an' get 'em to promise to help me by letting me run +this all by myself. All I want them to do is not to say a word. It +ain't hard to keep still when you want to." + +"Why, I reckon I might see 'em--there ain't many here this time of +day," responded the bartender. "But what's yore game, anyhow?" he +asked, suddenly growing suspicious. + +"It's just a little scheme I figgered out," the stranger replied, and +then he confided in the bartender, who jigged a few fancy steps to +show his appreciation of the other's genius. His suspicions left him +at once, and he hastened out to tell the inhabitants of the town to +follow his instructions to the letter, and he knew they would obey, +and be glad, hilariously glad, to do so. While he was hurrying around +giving his instructions, the CG puncher returned to the hotel and +reported. + +"Well, it worked, all right," Fisher growled. "I told him what I'd do +to him if he tried to auction that cayuse off an' he retorted that if +I didn't shut up an' mind my own business, that he'd sell the horse +this noon, at twelve o'clock, in the public square, wherever that is. +I told him he was a coyote and dared him to do it. Told him I'd pump +him full of air ducts if he didn't wait till next week. Said I had the +promise of a gun an' that it'd give me great pleasure to use it on him +if he tried any auctioneering at my expense this noon. Then he fined +me five dollars more, swore that he'd show me what it meant to dare +the marshal of Rawhide an' insult the dignity of the court an' town +council, an' also that he'd shoot my liver all through my system if I +didn't leave him to his reflections. Now, look here, stranger; noon is +only two hours away an' I'm due to lose my outfit: what are /you/ +going to do to get me out of this mess?" he finished anxiously, hands +on hips. + +"You did real well, very fine, indeed," replied the stranger, smiling +with content. "An' don't you worry about that outfit--I'm going to get +it back for you an' a little bit more. So, as long as you don't lose +nothing, you ain't got no kick coming, have you? An' you ain't got no +interest in what I'm going to do. Just sit tight an' keep yore eyes +an' ears open at noon. Meantime, if you want something to do to keep +you busy, practise making speeches--you ought to be ashamed to be +punching cows an' working for a living when you could use yore talents +an' get a lot of graft besides. Any man who can say as much on nothing +as you can ought to be in the Senate representing some railroad +company or waterpower steal--you don't have to work there, just loaf +an' take easy money for cheating the people what put you there. Now, +don't get mad--I'm only stringing you: I wouldn't be mean enough to +call you a senator. To tell the truth, I think yo're too honest to +even think of such a thing. But go ahead an' practise--/I/ don't mind +it a bit." + +"Huh! I couldn't go to Congress," laughed Fisher. "I'd have to +practise by getting elected mayor of some town an' then go to the +Legislature for the finishing touches." + +"Mr. Townsend would beat you out," murmured the stranger, looking out +of the window and wishing for noon. He sauntered over to a chair, +placed it where he could see his horse, and took things easy. The +bartender returned with several men at his heels, and all were +grinning and joking. They took up their places against the bar and +indulged in frequent fits of chuckling, not letting their eyes stray +from the man in the chair and the open street through the door, where +the auction was to be held. They regarded the stranger in the light of +a would-be public benefactor, a martyr, who was to provide the town +with a little excitement before he followed his predecessors into the +grave. Perhaps he would /not/ be killed, perhaps he would shoot the +pound-keeper and general public nuisance--but ah, this was the stuff +of which dreams were made: the marshal would never be killed, he would +thrive and outlive his fellow-townsmen, and die in bed at a ripe old +age. + +One of the citizens, dangling his legs from the card table, again +looked closely at the man with the plan, and then turned to a +companion beside him. "I've seen that there feller som'ers, sometime," +he whispered. "I /know/ I have. But I'll be teetotally dod-blasted if +I can place him." + +"Well, Jim; I never saw him afore, an' I don't know who he is," +replied the other, refilling his pipe with elaborate care, "but if he +can kill Townsend to-day, I'll be so plumb joyous I won't know what to +do with m'self." + +"I'm afraid he won't, though," remarked another, lolling back against +the bar. "The marshal was born to hang--nobody can beat him on the +draw. But, anyhow, we're going to see some fun." + +The first speaker, still straining his memory for a clue to the +stranger's identity, pulled out a handful of silver and placed it on +the table. "I'll bet that he makes good," he offered, but there were +no takers. + +The stranger now lazily arose and stepped into the doorway, leaning +against the jamb and shaking his holster sharply to loosen the gun for +action. He glanced quickly behind him and spoke curtly: "Remember, now +--/I/ am to do all the talking at this auction; you fellers just look +on." + +A mumble of assent replied to him, and the townsmen craned their necks +to look out. A procession slowly wended its way up the street, led by +the marshal, astride a piebald horse bearing the crude brand of the +CG. Three men followed him and numerous dogs of several colors, sizes, +and ages roamed at will, in a listless, bored way, between the horse +and the men. The dust arose sluggishly and slowly dissipated in the +hot, shimmering air, and a fly buzzed with wearying persistence +against the dirty glass in the front window. + +The marshal, peering out from under the pulled-down brim of his +Stetson, looked critically at the sleepy horse standing near the open +door of the Paradise and sought its brand, but in vain, for it was +standing with the wrong side towards him. Then he glanced at the man +in the door, a puzzled expression stealing over his face. He had known +that man once, but time and events had wiped him nearly out of his +memory and he could not place him. He decided that the other horse +could wait until he had sold the one he was on, and, stopping before +the door of the Paradise, he raised his left arm, his right arm lying +close to his side, not far from the holster on his thigh. + +"Gentlemen an' feller-citizens," he began: "As marshal of this booming +city, I am about to offer for sale to the highest bidder this A Number +1 piebald, pursooant to the decree of the local court an' with the +sanction of the town council an' the mayor. This same sale is for to +pay the town for the board an' keep of this animal, an' to square the +fine in such cases made an' provided. It's sound in wind an' limb, +fourteen han's high, an' in all ways a beautiful piece of hoss-flesh. +Now, gentlemen, how much am I bid for this cayuse? Remember, before +you make me any offer, that this animal is broke to punching cows an' +is a first-class cayuse." + +The crowd in the Paradise had flocked out into the street and oozed +along the front of the building, while the stranger now leaned +carelessly against his own horse, critically looking over the one on +sale. Fisher, uneasy and worried, squirmed close at hand and glanced +covertly from his horse and saddle to the guns in the belts on the +members of the crowd. + +It was the stranger who broke the silence: "Two bits I bid--two bits," +he said, very quietly, whereat the crowd indulged in a faint snicker +and a few nudges. + +The marshal looked at him and then ignored him. "How much, gentlemen?" +he asked, facing the crowd again. + +"Two bits," repeated the stranger, as the crowd remained silent. + +"Two bits!" yelled the marshal, glaring at him angrily: "/Two bits!/ +Why, the /look/ in this cayuse's eyes is worth four! Look at the +spirit in them eyes, look at the intelligence! The saddle alone is +worth a clean forty dollars of any man's money. I am out here to sell +this animal to the highest bidder; the sale's begun, an' I want bids, +not jokes. Now, who'll start it off?" he demanded, glancing around; +but no one had anything to say except the terse stranger, who appeared +to be getting irritated. + +"You've got a starter--I've given you a bid. I bid two bits--t-w-o +b-i-t-s, twenty-five cents. Now go ahead with yore auction." + +The marshal thought he saw an attempt at humor, and since he was +feeling quite happy, and since he knew that good humor is conducive to +good bidding, he smiled, all the time, however, racking his memory for +the name of the humorist. So he accepted the bid: "All right, this +gentleman bids two bits. Two bits I am bid--two bits. Twenty-five +cents. Who'll make it twenty-five dollars? Two bits--who says twenty- +five dollars? Ah, did /you/ say twenty-five dollars?" he snapped, +leveling an accusing and threatening fore-finger at the man nearest +him, who squirmed restlessly and glanced at the stranger. "/Did you +say twenty-five dollars?/" he shouted. + +The stranger came to the rescue. "He did not. He hasn't opened his +mouth. But /I/ said twenty-five /cents/," quietly observed the +humorist. + +"Who'll gimme thirty? Who'll gimme thirty dollars? Did I hear thirty +dollars? Did I hear twenty-five dollars bid? Who said thirty dollars? +Did /you/ say twenty-five dollars?" + +"How could he when he was talking politics to the man behind him?" +asked the stranger. "I said two bits," he added complacently, as he +watched the auctioneer closely. + +"I want twenty-five dollars--an' you shut yore blasted mouth!" snapped +the marshal at the persistent twenty-five-cent man. He did not see the +fire smouldering in the squinting eyes so alertly watching him. +"Twenty-five dollars--not a cent less takes the cayuse. Why, +gentlemen, he's worth twenty in /cans/! Gimme twenty-five dollars, +somebody. /I/ bid twenty-five. I want thirty. I want thirty, +gentlemen; you must gimme thirty. /I/ bid twenty-five dollars--who's +going to make it thirty?" + +"Show us yore twenty-five an' she's yourn," remarked the stranger, +with exasperating assurance, while Fisher grew pale with excitement. +The stranger was standing clear of his horse now, and alert readiness +was stamped all over him. "You accepted my bid--show yore twenty-five +dollars or take my two bits." + +"You close that face of yourn!" exploded the marshal, angrily. "I +don't mind a little fun, but you've got altogether too damned much to +say. You've queered the bidding, an' now you shut up!" + +"I said two bits an' I mean just that. You show yore twenty-five or +gimme that cayuse on my bid," retorted the stranger. + +"By the pans of Julius Caesar!" shouted the marshal. "I'll put you to +sleep so you'll never wake up if I hears any more about you an' yore +two bits!" + +"Show me, Rednose," snapped the other, his gun out in a flash. "I want +that cayuse, an' I want it quick. You show me twenty-five dollars or +I'll take it out from under you on my bid, you yaller dog! /Stop it!/ +Shut up! That's suicide, that is. Others have tried it an' failed, an' +yo're no sleight-of-hand gun-man. This is the first time I ever paid a +hoss-thief in /silver/, or bought stolen goods, but everything has to +have a beginning. You get nervous with that hand of yourn an' I'll +cure you of it! Git off that piebald, an' quick!" + +The marshal felt stunned and groped for a way out, but the gun under +his nose was as steady as a rock. He sat there stupidly, not knowing +enough to obey orders. + +"Come, get off that cayuse," sharply commanded the stranger. "An' I'll +take yore Winchester as a fine for this high-handed business you've +been carrying on. You may be the local court an' all the town +officials, but I'm the Governor, an' here's my Supreme Court, as I was +saying to the boys a little while ago. Yo're overruled. Get off that +cayuse, an' don't waste no more time about it, neither!" + +The marshal glared into the muzzle of the weapon and felt a sinking in +the pit of his stomach. Never before had he failed to anticipate the +pull of a gun. As the stranger said, there must always be a beginning, +a first time. He was thinking quickly now; he was master of himself +again, but he realized that he was in a tight place unless he obeyed +the man with the drop. Not a man in town would help him; on the other +hand, they were all against him, and hugely enjoying his discomfiture. +With some men he could afford to take chances and jerk at his gun even +when at such a disadvantage, but-- + +"Stranger," he said slowly, "what's yore name?" + +The crowd listened eagerly. + +"My /friends/ call me Hopalong Cassidy; other people, other things-- +you gimme that cayuse an' that Winchester. Here! Hand the gun to +Fisher, so there won't be no lamentable accidents: I don't want to +shoot you, 'less I have to." + +"They're both yourn," sighed Mr. Townsend, remembering a certain day +over near Alameda, when he had seen Mr. Cassidy at gun-play. He +dismounted slowly and sorrowfully. "Do I--do I get my two bits?" he +asked. + +"You shore do--yore gall is worth it," said Mr. Cassidy, turning the +piebald over to its overjoyed owner, who was already arranging further +gambling with his friend, the bartender. + +Mr. Townsend pocketed the one bid, surveyed glumly the hilarious crowd +flocking in to the bar to drink to their joy in his defeat, and +wandered disconsolately back to the pound. He was never again seen in +that locality, or by any of the citizens of Rawhide, for between dark +and dawn he resumed his travels, bound for some locality far removed +from limping, red-headed drawbacks. + + + + CHAPTER XV + + JOHNNY LEARNS SOMETHING + +For several weeks after Hopalong got back to the ranch, full of +interesting stories and minus the grouch, things went on in a way +placid enough for the most peacefully inclined individual that ever +sat a saddle. And then trouble drifted down from the north and caused +a look of anxiety to spoil Buck Peters' pleasant expression, and began +to show on the faces of his men. When one finds the carcasses of two +cows on the same day, and both are skinned, there can be only one +conclusion. The killing and skinning of two cows out of herds that are +numbered by thousands need not, in themselves, bring lines of worry to +any foreman's brow; but there is the sting of being cheated, the +possibility of the losses going higher unless a sharp lesson be given +upon the folly of fooling with a very keen and active buzz-saw,--and +it was the determination of the outfit of the Bar-20 to teach that +lesson, and as quickly as circumstances would permit. + +It was common knowledge that there was a more or less organized band +of shiftless malcontents making its headquarters in and near Perry's +Bend, some distance up the river, and the deduction in this case was +easy. The Bar-20 cared very little about what went on at Perry's Bend +--that was a matter which concerned only the ranches near that town-- +as long as no vexatious happenings sifted too far south. But they had +so sifted, and Perry's Bend, or rather the undesirable class hanging +out there, was due to receive a shock before long. + +About a week after the finding of the first skinned cows, Pete Wilson +tornadoed up to the bunk house with a perforated arm. Pete was on +foot, having lost his horse at the first exchange of shots, which +accounts for the expression describing his arrival. Pete hated to +walk, he hated still more to get shot, and most of all he hated to +have to admit that his rifle-shooting was so far below par. He had +seen the thief at work and, too eager to work up close to the cattle +skinner before announcing his displeasure, had missed the first shot. +When he dragged himself out from under his deceased horse the scenery +was undisturbed save for a small cloud of dust hovering over a distant +rise to the north of him. After delivering a short and bitter +monologue he struck out for the ranch and arrived in a very hot and +wrathful condition. It was contagious, that condition, and before long +the entire outfit was in the saddle and pounding north, Pete overjoyed +because his wound was so slight as not to bar him from the chase. The +shock was on the way, and as events proved, was to be one long to +linger in the minds of the inhabitants of Perry's Bend and the +surrounding range. + + + +The patrons of the Oasis liked their tobacco strong. The pungent smoke +drifted in sluggish clouds along the low, black ceiling, following its +upward slant toward the east wall and away from the high bar at the +other end. This bar, rough and strong, ran from the north wall to +within a scant two feet of the south wall, the opening bridged by a +hinged board which served as an extension to the counter. Behind the +bar was a rear door, low and double, the upper part barred securely-- +the lower part was used most. In front of and near the bar was a large +round table, at which four men played cards silently, while two +smaller tables were located along the north wall. Besides dilapidated +chairs there were half a dozen low wooden boxes partly filled with +sand, and attention was directed to the existence and purpose of these +by a roughly lettered sign on the wall, reading: "Gents will look for +a box first," which the "gents" sometimes did. The majority of the +"gents" preferred to aim at various knotholes in the floor and bet on +the result, chancing the outpouring of the proprietor's wrath if they +missed. + +On the wall behind the bar was a smaller and neater request: "Leave +your guns with the bartender.--Edwards." This, although a month old, +still called forth caustic and profane remarks from the regular +frequenters of the saloon, for hitherto restraint in the matter of +carrying weapons had been unknown. They forthwith evaded the order in +a manner consistent with their characteristics--by carrying smaller +guns where they could not be seen. The majority had simply sawed off a +generous part of the long barrels of their Colts and Remingtons, which +did not improve their accuracy. + +Edwards, the new marshal of Perry's Bend, had come direct from Kansas +and his reputation as a fighter had preceded him. When he took up his +first day's work he was kept busy proving that he was the rightful +owner of it and that it had not been exaggerated in any manner or +degree. With the exception of one instance the proof had been +bloodless, for he reasoned that gun-play should give way, whenever +possible, to a crushing "right" or "left" to the point of the jaw or +the pit of the stomach. His proficiency in the manly art was polished +and thorough and bespoke earnest application. The last doubting Thomas +to be convinced came to five minutes after his diaphragm had been +rudely and suddenly raised several inches by a low right hook, and as +he groped for his bearings and got his wind back again he asked, very +feebly, where "Kansas" was; and the name stuck. + +When Harlan heard the nickname for the first time he stopped pulling +the cork out of a whiskey bottle long enough to remark, casually, "I +allus reckoned Kansas was purty close to hell," and said no more about +it. Harlan was the proprietor and bartender of the Oasis and catered +to the excessive and uncritical thirsts of the ruck of range society, +and he had objected vigorously to the placing of the second sign in +his place of business; but at the close of an incisive if inelegant +reply from the marshal, the sign went up, and stayed up. Edwards' +language and delivery were as convincing as his fists. + +The marshal did not like the Oasis; indeed, he went further and +cordially hated it. Harlan's saloon was a thorn in his side and he was +only waiting for a good excuse to wipe it off the local map. He was +the Law, and behind him were the range riders, who would be only too +glad to have the nest of rustlers wiped out and its gang of ne'er-do- +wells scattered to the four winds. Indeed, he had been given to +understand in a most polite and diplomatic way that if this were not +done lawfully they would try to do it themselves, and they had great +faith in their ability to handle the situation in a thorough and +workmanlike manner. This would not do in a law-abiding community, as +he called the town, and so he had replied that the work was his, and +that it would be performed as soon as he believed himself justified to +act. Harlan and his friends were fully conversant with the feeling +against them and had become a little more cautious, alertly watching +out for trouble. + +On the evening of the day which saw Pete Wilson's discomfiture most of +the habitues had assembled in the Oasis where, besides the card- +players already mentioned, eight men lounged against the bar. There +was some laughter, much subdued talking, and a little whispering. More +whispering went on under that roof than in all the other places in +town put together; for here rustling was planned, wayfaring strangers +were "trimmed" in "frame-ups" at cards, and a hunted man was certain +to find assistance. Harlan had once boasted that no fugitive had ever +been taken from his saloon, and he was behind the bar and standing on +the trap door which led to the six-by-six cellar when he made the +assertion. It was true, for only those in his confidence knew of the +place of refuge under the floor; it had been dug at night and the dirt +carefully disposed of. + +It had not been dark very long before talking ceased and card-playing +was suspended while all looked up as the front door crashed open and +two punchers entered, looking the crowd over with critical care. + +"Stay here, Johnny," Hopalong told his youthful companion, and then +walked forward, scrutinizing each scowling face in turn, while Johnny +stood with his back to the door, keenly alert, his right hand resting +lightly on his belt not far from the holster. + +Harlan's thick neck grew crimson and his eyes hard. "Looking fer +something?" he asked with bitter sarcasm, his hands under the bar. +Johnny grinned hopefully and a sudden tenseness took possession of him +as he watched for the first hostile move. + +"Yes," Hopalong replied coolly, appraising Harlan's attitude and look +in one swift glance, "but it ain't here, now. Johnny, get out," he +ordered, backing after his companion, and safely outside, the two +walked towards Jackson's store, Johnny complaining about the little +time spent in the Oasis. + +As they entered the store they saw Edwards, whose eye asked a +question. + +"No; he ain't in there yet," Hopalong replied. + +"Did you look all over? Behind the bar?" Edwards asked, slowly. "He +can't get out of town through that cordon you've got strung around it, +an' he ain't nowhere else. Leastwise, I couldn't find him." + +"Come on back!" excitedly exclaimed Johnny, turning towards the door. +"You didn't look behind the bar! Come on--bet you ten dollars that's +where he is!" + +"Mebby yo're right, Kid," replied Hopalong, and the marshal's nodding +head decided it. + +In the saloon there was strong language, and Jack Quinn, expert +skinner of other men's cows, looked inquiringly at the proprietor. +"What's up now, Harlan?" + +The proprietor laughed harshly but said nothing--taciturnity was his +one redeeming trait. "Did you say cigars?" he asked, pushing a box +across the bar to an impatient customer. Another beckoned to him and +he leaned over to hear the whispered request, a frown struggling to +show itself on his face. "Nix; you know my rule. No trust in here." + +But the man at the far end of the line was unlike the proprietor and +he prefaced his remarks with a curse. "/I/ know what's up! They want +Jerry Brown, that's what! An' I hopes they don't get him, the +bullies!" + +"What did he do? Why do they want him?" asked the man who had wanted +trust. + +"Skinning. He was careless or crazy, working so close to their ranch +houses. Nobody that had any sense would take a chance like that," +replied Boston, adept at sleight-of-hand with cards and very much in +demand when a frame-up was to be rung in on some unsuspecting +stranger. His one great fault in the eyes of his partners was that he +hated to divvy his winnings and at times had to be coerced into +sharing equally. + +"Aw, them big ranches make me mad," announced the first speaker. "Ten +years ago there was a lot of little ranchers, an' every one of 'em had +his own herd, an' plenty of free grass an' water for it. Where are the +little herds now? Where are the cows that /we/ used to own?" he cried, +hotly. "What happens to a maverick-hunter now-a-days? By God, if a man +helps hisself to a pore, sick dogie he's hunted down! It can't go on +much longer, an' that's shore." + +Cries of approbation arose on all sides, for his auditors ignored the +fact that their kind, by avarice and thievery, had forever killed the +occupation of maverick-hunting. That belonged to the old days, before +the demand for cows and their easy and cheap transportation had +boosted the prices and made them valuable. + +Slivers Lowe leaped up from his chair. "Yo're right, Harper! Dead +right! /I/ was a little cattle owner once, so was you, an' Jerry, an' +most of us!" Slivers found it convenient to forget that fully half of +his small herd had perished in the bitter and long winter of five +years before, and that the remainder had either flowed down his +parched throat or been lost across the big round table near the bar. +Not a few of his cows were banked in the east under Harlan's name. + +The rear door opened slightly and one of the loungers looked up and +nodded. "It's all right, Jerry. But get a move on!" + +"Here, /you/!" called Harlan, quickly bending over the trap door, +"/Lively!/" + +Jerry was half way to the proprietor when the front door swung open +and Hopalong, closely followed by the marshal, leaped into the room, +and immediately thereafter the back door banged open and admitted +Johnny. Jerry's right hand was in his side coat pocket and Johnny, +young and self-confident, and with a lot to learn, was certain that he +could beat the fugitive on the draw. + +"I reckon you won't blot no more brands!" he cried, triumphantly, +watching both Jerry and Harlan. + +The card-players had leaped to their feet and at a signal from Harlan +they surged forward to the bar and formed a barrier between Johnny and +his friends; and as they did so that puncher jerked at his gun, +twisting to half face the crowd. At that instant fire and smoke +spurted from Jerry's side coat pocket and the odor of burning cloth +arose. As Johnny fell, the rustler ducked low and sprang for the door. +A gun roared twice in the front of the room and Jerry staggered a +little and cursed as he gained the opening, but he plunged into the +darkness and threw himself into the saddle on the first horse he found +in the small corral. + +When the crowd massed, Hopalong leaped at it and strove to tear his +way to the opening at the end of the bar, while the marshal covered +Harlan and the others. Finding that he could not get through. Hopalong +sprang on the shoulder of the nearest man and succeeded in winging the +fugitive at the first shot, the other going wild. Then, frantic with +rage and anxiety, he beat his way through the crowd, hammering +mercilessly at heads with the butt of his Colt, and knelt at his +friend's side. + +Edwards, angered almost to the point of killing, ordered the crowd to +stand against the wall, and laughed viciously when he saw two men +senseless on the floor. "Hope he beat in yore heads!" he gritted, +savagely. "Harlan, put yore paws up in sight or I'll drill you clean! +Now climb over an' get in line--quick!" + +Johnny moaned and opened his eyes. "Did--did I--get him?" + +"No; but he gimleted you, all right," Hopalong replied. "You'll come +'round if you keep quiet." He arose, his face hard with the desire to +kill. "I'm coming back for /you/, Harlan, after I get yore friend! An' +all the rest of you pups, too!" + +"Get me out of here," whispered Johnny. + +"Shore enough, Kid; but keep quiet," replied Hopalong, picking him up +in his arms and moving carefully towards the door. "We'll get him, +Johnny; an' all the rest, too, when----" The voice died out in the +direction of Jackson's and the marshal, backing to the front door, +slipped out and to one side, running backward, his eyes on the saloon. + +"Yore day's about over, Harlan," he muttered. "There's going to be +some few funerals around here before many hours pass." + +When he reached the store he found the owner and two Double-Arrow +punchers taking care of Johnny. "Where's Hopalong?" he asked. + +"Gone to tell his foreman," replied Jackson. "Hey, youngster, you let +them bandages alone! Hear me?" + +"Hullo, Kansas," remarked John Bartlett, foreman of the Double-Arrow. +"I come nigh getting yore man; somebody rode past me like a streak in +the dark, so I just ups an' lets drive for luck, an' so did he. I +heard him cuss an' I emptied my gun after him." + +"The rest was a-passing the word along to ride in when I left the +line," remarked one of the other punchers. "How you feeling now, +Johnny?" + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + THE END OF THE TRAIL + +The rain slanted down in sheets and the broken plain, thoroughly +saturated, held the water in pools or sent it down the steep sides of +the arroyo, to feed the turbulent flood which swept along the bottom, +foam-flecked and covered with swiftly moving driftwood. Around a bend +in the arroyo, where the angry water flung itself against the ragged +bulwark of rock and flashed away in a gleaming line of foam, a +horseman appeared bending low in the saddle for better protection +against the storm. He rode along the edge of the stream on the farther +bank, opposite the steep bluff on the northern side, forcing his +wounded and jaded horse to keep fetlock deep in the water which +swirled and sucked about its legs. He was trying his hardest to hide +his trail. Lower down the hard, rocky ground extended to the water's +edge, and if he could delay his pursuers for an hour or so, he felt +that, even with his tired horse, he would have more than an even +chance. + +But they had gained more than he knew. Suddenly above him on the top +of the steep bluff across the torrent a man loomed up against the +clouds, peered intently into the arroyo, and then waved his sombrero +to an unseen companion. A puff of smoke flashed from his shoulder and +streaked away, the report of the shot lost in the gale. The fugitive's +horse reared and plunged into the deep water and with its rider was +swept rapidly towards the bend, the way they had come. + +"That makes the fourth time I've missed that coyote!" angrily +exclaimed Hopalong as Red Connors joined him. + +The other quickly raised his rifle and fired; and the horse, spilling +its rider out of the saddle, floated away tail first. The fugitive, +gripping his rifle, bobbed and whirled at the whim of the greedy water +as shots struck near him. Making a desperate effort, he staggered up +the bank and fell exhausted behind a boulder. + +"Well, the coyote is afoot, anyhow," said Red, with great +satisfaction. + +"Yes; but how are we going to get to him?" asked Hopalong. "We can't +get the cayuses down here, an' we can't swim /that/ water without +them. An' if we could, he'd pot us easy." + +"There's a way out of it somewhere," Red replied, disappearing over +the edge of the bluff to gamble with Fate. + +"Hey! Come back here, you chump!" cried Hopalong, running forward. +"He'll get you, shore!" + +"That's a chance I've got to take if I get him," was the reply. + +A puff of smoke sailed from behind the boulder on the other bank and +Hopalong, kneeling for steadier aim, fired and then followed his +friend. Red was downstream casting at a rock across the torrent but +the wind toyed with the heavy, water-soaked /reata/ as though it were +a string. As Hopalong reached his side a piece of driftwood ducked +under the water and an angry humming sound died away downstream. As +the report reached their ears a jet of water spurted up into Red's +face and he stepped back involuntarily. + +"He's so shaky," Hopalong remarked, looking back at the wreath of +smoke above the boulder. "I reckon I must have hit him harder than I +thought in Harlan's. Gee! He's wild as blazes!" he yelled as a bullet +hummed high above his head and struck sharply against the rock wall. + +"Yes," Red replied, coiling the rope. "I was trying to rope that rock +over there. If I could anchor to that, the current would push us over +quick. But it's too far with this wind blowing." + +"We can't do nothing here 'cept get plugged. He'll be getting steadier +as he rests from his fight with the water," Hopalong remarked, and +added quickly, "Say, remember that meadow back there a ways? We can +make her from there, all right." + +"Yo're right; that's what we've got to do. He's sending 'em nearer +every shot--Gee! I could 'most feel the wind of that one. An' blamed +if it ain't stopped raining. Come on." + +They clambered up the slippery, muddy bank to where they had left +their horses, and cantered back over their trail. Minute after minute +passed before the cautious skulker among the rocks across the stream +could believe in his good fortune. When he at last decided that he was +alone again he left his shelter and started away, with slowly +weakening stride, over cleanly washed rock where he left no trail. + +It was late in the afternoon before the two irate punchers appeared +upon the scene, and their comments, as they hunted slowly over the +hard ground, were numerous and bitter. Deciding that it was hopeless +in that vicinity, they began casting in great circles on the chance of +crossing the trail further back from the river. But they had little +faith in their success. As Red remarked, snorting like a horse in his +disgust, "I'll bet four dollars an' a match he's swum down the river +clean to hell just to have the laugh on us." Red had long since given +it up as a bad job, though continuing to search, when a shout from the +distant Hopalong sent him forward on a run. + +"Hey, Red!" cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of them. "Look there! Ain't +that a house?" + +"Naw; course not! It's a--it's a ship!" Red snorted sarcastically. +"What did you think it might be?" + +"G'wan!" retorted his companion. "It's a mission." + +"Ah, g'wan yoreself! What's a mission doing up here?" Red snapped. + +"What do you think they do? What do they do anywhere?" hotly rejoined +Hopalong, thinking about Johnny. "There! See the cross?" + +"Shore enough!" + +"An' there's tracks at last--mighty wobbly, but tracks just the same. +Them rocks couldn't go on forever. Red, I'll bet he's cashed in by +this time." + +"Cashed nothing! Them fellers don't." + +"Well, if he's in that joint we might as well go back home. We won't +get him, not nohow," declared Hopalong. + +"Huh! You wait an' see!" replied Red, pugnaciously. + +"Reckon you never run up agin a mission real hard," Hopalong +responded, his memory harking back to the time he had disagreed with a +convent, and they both meant about the same to him as far as winning +out was concerned. + +"Think I'm a fool kid?" snapped Red, aggressively. + +"Well, you ain't no /kid/." + +"You let /me/ do the talking; /I'll/ get him." + +"All right; an' I'll do the laughing," snickered Hopalong, at the +door. "Sic 'em, Red!" + +The other boldly stepped into a small vestibule, Hopalong close at his +heels. Red hitched his holster and walked heavily into a room at his +left. With the exception of a bench, a table, and a small altar, the +room was devoid of furnishings, and the effect of these was lost in +the dim light from the narrow windows. The peculiar, not unpleasant +odor of burning incense and the dim light awakened a latent reverence +and awe in Hopalong, and he sneaked off his sombrero, an inexplicable +feeling of guilt stealing over him. There were three doors in the +walls, deeply shrouded in the dusk of the room, and it was very hard +to watch all three at once. + +Red was peering into the dark corners, his hand on the butt of his +Colt, and hardly knew what he was looking for. "This joint must 'a' +looked plumb good to that coyote, all right. He had a hell of a lot of +luck, but he won't keep it for long, damn him!" he remarked. + +"Quit cussing!" tersely ordered Hopalong. "An' for God's sake, throw +out that damned cigarette! Ain't you got no manners?" + +Red listened intently and then grinned. "Hear that? They're playing +dominoes in there--come on!" + +"Aw, you chump! 'Dominee' means 'mother' in Latin, which is what they +speaks." + +"How do you know?" + +"Hanged if I can tell--I've heard it somewhere, that's all." + +"Well, I don't care what it means. This is a frame-up so that coyote +can get away. I'll bet they gave him a cayuse an' started him off +while we've been losing time in here. I'm going inside an' ask some +questions." + +Before he could put his plan into execution, Hopalong nudged him and +he turned to see his friend staring at one of the doors. There had +been no sound, but he would swear that a monk stood gravely regarding +them, and he rubbed his eyes. He stepped back suspiciously and then +started forward again. + +"Look here, stranger," he remarked, with quiet emphasis, "we're after +that cow-lifter, an' we mean to get him. Savvy?" + +The monk did not appear to hear him, so he tried another tack. "/Habla +Espanola?/" he asked, experimentally. + +"You have ridden far?" replied the monk in perfect English. + +"All the way from the Bend," Red replied, relieved. "We're after Jerry +Brown. He tried to kill Johnny, an' near made good. An' I reckon we've +treed him, judging from the tracks." + +"And if you capture him?" + +"He won't have no more use for no side pocket shooting." + +"I see; you will kill him." + +"Shore's it's wet outside." + +"I'm afraid you are doomed to disappointment." + +"Ya-as?" asked Red with a rising inflection. + +"You will not want him now," replied the monk. + +Red laughed sarcastically and Hopalong smiled. + +"There ain't a-going to be no argument about it. Trot him out," +ordered Red, grimly. + +The monk turned to Hopalong. "Do you, too, want him?" + +Hopalong nodded. + +"My friends, he is safe from your punishment." + +Red wheeled instantly and ran outside, returning in a few moments, +smiling triumphantly. "There are tracks coming in, but there ain't +none going away. He's here. If you don't lead us to him we'll shore +have to rummage around an' poke him out for ourselves: which is it?" + +"You are right--he is here, and he is not here." + +"We're waiting," Red replied, grinning. + +"When I tell you that you will not want him, do you still insist on +seeing him?" + +"We'll see him, an' we'll want him, too." + +As the rain poured down again the sound of approaching horses was +heard, and Hopalong ran to the door in time to see Buck Peters swing +off his mount and step forward to enter the building. Hopalong stopped +him and briefly outlined the situation, begging him to keep the men +outside. The monk met his return with a grateful smile and, stepping +forward, opened the chapel door, saying, "Follow me." + +The unpretentious chapel was small and nearly dark, for the usual +dimness was increased by the lowering clouds outside. The deep, narrow +window openings, fitted with stained glass, ran almost to the rough- +hewn rafters supporting the steep-pitched roof, upon which the heavy +rain beat again with a sound like that of distant drums. Gusts of rain +and the water from the roof beat against the south windows, while the +wailing wind played its mournful cadences about the eaves, and the +stanch timbers added their creaking notes to swell the dirge-like +chorus. + +At the farther end of the room two figures knelt and moved before the +white altar, the soft light of flickering candles playing fitfully +upon them and glinting from the altar ornaments, while before a rough +coffin, which rested upon two pedestals, stood a third, whose rich, +sonorous Latin filled the chapel with impressive sadness. "Give +eternal rest to them, O Lord,"--the words seeming to become a part of +the room. The ineffably sad, haunting melody of the mass whispered +back from the room between the assaults of the enraged wind, while +from the altar came the responses in a low, Gregorian chant, and +through it all the clinking of the censer chains added intermittent +notes. Aloft streamed the vapor of the incense, wavering with the air +currents, now lost in the deep twilight of the sanctuary, and now +faintly revealed by the glow of the candles, perfuming the air with +its aromatic odor. + +As the last deep-toned words died away the celebrant moved slowly +around the coffin, swinging the censer over it and then, sprinkling +the body and making the sign of the cross above its head, solemnly +withdrew. + +From the shadows along the side walls other figures silently emerged +and grouped around the coffin. Raising it they turned it slowly around +and carried it down the dim aisle in measured tread, moving silently +as ghosts. + +"He is with God, Who will punish according to his sins," said a low +voice, and Hopalong started, for he had forgotten the presence of the +guide. "God be with you, and may you die as he died--repentant and in +peace." + +Buck chafed impatiently before the chapel door leading to a small, +well-kept graveyard, wondering what it was that kept quiet for so long +a time his two most assertive men, when he had momentarily expected to +hear more or less turmoil and confusion. + +/C-r-e-a-k!/ He glanced up, gun in hand and raised as the door swung +slowly open. His hand dropped suddenly and he took a short step +forward; six black-robed figures shouldering a long box stepped slowly +past him, and his nostrils were assailed by the pungent odor of the +incense. Behind them came his fighting punchers, humble, awed, +reverent, their sombreros in their hands, and their heads bowed. + +"What in blazes!" exclaimed Buck, wonder and surprise struggling for +the mastery as the others cantered up. + +"He's cashed," Red replied, putting on his sombrero and nodding toward +the procession. + +Buck turned like a flash and spoke sharply: "Skinny! Lanky! Follow +that glory-outfit, an' see what's in that box!" + +Billy Williams grinned at Red. "Yo're shore pious, Red." + +"Shut up!" snapped Red, anger glinting in his eyes, and Billy +subsided. + +Lanky and Skinny soon returned from accompanying the procession. + +"I had to look twice to be shore it was him. His face was plumb happy, +like a baby. But he's gone, all right," Lanky reported. + +"Deader'n hell," remarked Skinny, looking around curiously. "This here +is some shack, ain't it?" he finished. + +"All right--he knowed how he'd finish when he began. Now for that dear +Mr. Harlan," Buck replied, vaulting into the saddle. He turned and +looked at Hopalong, and his wonder grew. "Hey, /you/! Yes, /you/! Come +out of that an' put on yore lid! Straddle leather--we can't stay here +all night." + +Hopalong started, looked at his sombrero and silently obeyed. As they +rode down the trail and around a corner he turned in his saddle and +looked back; and then rode on, buried in thought. + +Billy, grinning, turned and playfully punched him in the ribs. +"Getting glory, Hoppy?" + +Hopalong raised his head and looked him steadily in the eyes; and +Billy, losing his curiosity and the grin at the same instant, looked +ahead, whistling softly. + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + EDWARDS' ULTIMATUM + +Edwards slid off the counter in Jackson's store and glowered at the +pelting rain outside, perturbed and grouchy. The wounded man in the +corner stirred and looked at him without interest and forthwith +renewed his profane monologue, while the proprietor, finishing his +task, leaned back against the shelves and swore softly. It was a +lovely atmosphere. + +"Seems to me they've been gone a long time," grumbled the wounded man. +"Reckon he led 'em a long chase--had six hours' start, the toad." He +paused and then as an afterthought said with conviction: "But they'll +get him--they allus do when they make up their minds to it." + +Edwards nodded moodily and Jackson replied with a monosyllable. + +"Wish I could 'a' gone with 'em," Johnny growled. "I like to square my +own accounts. It's allus that way. I get plugged an' my friends clean +the slate. There was that time Bye-an'-Bye went an' ambushed me--ah, +the devil! But I tell you one thing: when I get well I'm going down to +Harlan's an' clean house proper." + +"Yo're in hard luck again: that'll be done as soon as yore friends get +back," Jackson replied, carefully selecting a dried apricot from a box +on the counter and glancing at the marshal to see how he took the +remark. + +"That'll be done before then," Edwards said crisply, with the air of a +man who has just settled a doubt. "They won't be back much before +to-morrow if he headed for the country I think he did. I'm going down +to the Oasis an' tell that gang to clear out of this town. They've +been here too long now. I never had 'em dead to rights before, but +I've got it on 'em this time. I'd 'a' sent 'em packing yesterday only +I sort of hated to take a man's business away from him an' make him +lose his belongings. But I've wrastled it all out an' they've got to +go." He buttoned his coat about him and pulled his sombrero more +firmly on his head, starting for the door. "I'll be back soon," he +said over his shoulder as he grasped the handle. + +"You better wait till you get help--there's too many down there for +one man to watch an' handle," Jackson hastily remarked. "Here, I'll go +with you," he offered, looking for his hat. + +Edwards laughed shortly. "You stay here. I do my own work by myself +when I can--that's what I'm here for, an' I can do this, all right. If +I took any help they'd reckon I was scared," and the door slammed shut +behind him. + +"He's got sand a plenty," Jackson remarked. "He'd try to push back a +stampede by main strength if he reckoned it was his duty. It's his +good luck that he wasn't killed long ago--/I'd/ 'a' been." + +"They're a bunch of cowards," replied Johnny. "As long as you ain't +afraid of 'em, none of 'em wants to start anything. Bunch of sheep!" +he snorted. "Didn't Jerry shoot me through his pocket?" + +"Yes; an' yo're another lucky dog," Jackson responded, having in mind +that at first Johnny had been thought to be desperately wounded. "Why, +yore friends have got the worst of this game; they're worse off than +you are--out all day an' night in this cussed storm." + +While they talked Edwards made his way through the cold downpour to +Harlan's saloon, alone and unafraid, and greatly pleased by the order +he would give. At last he had proof enough to work on, to satisfy his +conscience, for the inevitable had come as the culmination of +continued and clever defiance of law and order. + +He deliberately approached the front door of the Oasis and, opening +it, stepped inside, his hands resting on his guns--he had packed two +Colts for the last twenty-four hours. His appearance caused a ripple +of excitement to run around the room. After what had taken place, a +visit from him could mean only one thing--trouble. And it was entirely +possible that he had others within call to help him out if necessary. + +Harlan knew that he would be the one held responsible and he ceased +wiping a glass and held the cloth suspended in one hand and the glass +in the other. "Well?" he snapped, angrily, his eyes smouldering with +fixed hatred. + +"Mebby you think it's well, but it's going to be a blamed sight better +before sundown to-morrow night," evenly replied the marshal. "I just +dropped in sort of free-like to tell you to pack up an' get out of +town before dark--load yore wagon an' vamoose; an' take yore friends +with you, too. If you don't--" he did not finish in words, for his +tightening lips made them unnecessary. + +"/What!/" yelled Harlan, red with anger. He placed his hands on the +bar and leaned over it as if to give emphasis to his words. "/Me/ pack +up an' git! /Me/ leave this shack! Who's going to pay me for it, hey? +/Me/ leave town! You drop out again an' go back to Kansas where you +come from--they're easier back there!" + +"Well, so far I ain't found nothing very craggy 'round here," retorted +Edwards, closely watching the muttering crowd by the bar. "Takes more +than a loud voice an' a pack of sneaking coyotes to send me looking +for something easier. An' let me tell you this: /You/ stay away from +Kansas--they hangs people like you back there. That's whatever. You +pack up an' git out of this town or I'll start a burying plot with you +on yore own land." + +The low, angry buzz of Harlan's friends and their savage, scowling +faces would have deterred a less determined man; but Edwards knew they +were afraid of him, and the men on whom he could call to back him up. +And he knew that there must always be a start, there must be one man +to show the way; and each of the men he faced was waiting for some one +else to lead. + +"You all slip over the horizon before dark to-night, an' it's dark +early these days," he continued. "/Don't get restless with yore +hands!/" he snapped ominously at the crowd. "I means what I say--you +shake the mud from this town off yore boots before dark--before that +Bar-20 outfit gets back," he finished meaningly. + +Questions, imprecations, and threats filled the room, and the crowd +began to spread out slowly. His guns came out like a flash and he +laughed with the elation that comes with impending battle. "The first +man to start it'll drop," he said evenly. "Who's going to be the +martyr?" + +"I /won't/ leave town!" shouted Harlan. "I'll stay here if I'm killed +for it!" + +"I admire yore loyalty to principle, but you've got damned little +sense," retorted the marshal. "You ain't no practical man. /Keep yore +hands where they are!/"--his vibrant voice turned the shifting crowd +to stone-like rigidity and he backed slowly toward the door, the poor +light gleaming dully from the polished blue steel of his Colts. +Rugged, lion-like, charged to the finger tips with reckless courage +and dare-devil self-confidence, his personality overflowed and +dominated the room, almost hypnotic in its effect. He was but one +against many, but he was the master, and they knew it; they had known +it long enough to accept it without question, and the training now +stood him in good stead. + +For a moment he stood in the open doorway, keenly scrutinizing them +for signs of danger, his unwavering guns charged with certain death +and his strong face made stronger by the shadows in its hollows. +"Before dark!"--and he was gone. + +He left behind him deep silence, which endured for several moments. + +"By the Lord, I /won't/!" cried Harlan, still staring at the door. + +The spell was broken and a babel of voices filled the room, threats +mingling with excuses, hot, vibrant, profane. These men were not +cowards all the way through, but only when face to face with the +master. They had flourished in a way by their wits alone on the same +range with the outfits of the C-80 and the Double-Arrow, for +individually they were "bad," and collectively they made a force of no +mean strength. Edwards had landed among them like a thunderbolt and +had proved his prowess, and they still held him in awesome respect. +His reckless audacity and grim singleness of purpose had saved him on +more than one occasion, for had he wavered once he would have been +shot down without mercy. But gradually his enforcement of hampering +laws became more and more intolerable, and their subordinated spirits +were nearly on the point of revolt. When he faced them they resumed +their former positions in relation to him--but once out of his sight +they plotted to destroy him. Here was the crisis: it was now or never. +They could not evade his ultimatum--it was obey or fight. + +Submission was not to be thought of, for to flee would be to lose +caste, and the story of such an act would follow them wherever they +went, and brand them as cowards. Here they had lived, and here they +would stay if possible, and to this end they discussed ways and means. + +"Harlan's right!" emphatically announced Laramie Joe. "We can't pull +out and have this foller us." + +"We should have started it with a rush when he was in here," remarked +Boston, regretfully. + +Harlan stopped his pacing and faced them, shoving out a bottle of +whiskey as an aid to his logic. + +"That chance is past, an' I don't know but what it is a good thing," +he began. "He was primed an' looking fer trouble, an' he'd shore got a +few of us afore he went under. What we want is strategy--that's the +game. You fellers have got as much brains as him, an' if we thrash +this thing out we can find a way to call his play--an' get him! No use +of any of us getting plugged 'less we have to. But whatever we do +we've got to start it right quick an' have it over before that Bar-20 +gang comes back. Harper, you an' Quinn go scouting--an' don't take no +guns with you, neither. Act like you was hitting the long trail out, +an' work back here on a circle. See how many of his friends are in +town. While you are gone the rest of us will hold a pow-wow an' take +the kinks out of this game. Chase along, an' don't waste no time." + +"Good!" cried Slivers Lowe emphatically. "There's blamed few fellers +in town now that have any use for him, for most of them are off on the +ranges. Bet we won't have more than six to fight, an' there's that +many of us here." + +The scouts departed at once and the remaining four drew close in +consultation. + +"One more drink around and then no more till this trouble is over," +Harlan said, passing the bottle. The drinks, in view of the coming +drought and the thirsty work ahead, were long and deep, and new +courage and vindictiveness crept through their veins. + +"Now here's the way it looks to me," Harlan continued, placing the +bottle, untasted by himself, on the floor behind him. "We've got to +work a surprise an' take Edwards an' his friends off their guard. +That'll be easy if we're careful, because they think we ain't looking +for fight. When we get them out of the way we can take Jackson's store +an' use one of the other shacks and wait for the Bar-20 to ride in. +They'll canter right in, like they allus do, an' when they get close +enough we'll open the game with a volley an' make every shot tell. 'T +won't last long, 'cause every one of us will have his man named before +they get here. Then the few straddlers in town, seeing how easy we've +gone an' handled it'll join us. We've got four men to come in yet, an' +by the time the C-80 an' Double-Arrow hears about it we'll be fixed to +drive 'em back home. We ought to be over a dozen strong by dark." + +"That sounds good, all right," remarked Slivers, thoughtfully, "but +can we do it that easy?" + +"Course we can! We ain't fools, an' we all can shoot as well as them," +snapped Laramie Joe, the most courageous of the lot. Laramie had taken +only one drink, and that a small one, for he was wise enough to +realize that he needed his wits as keen as he could have them. + +"We can do it easy, if Edwards goes under first," hastily replied +Harlan. "An' me an' Laramie will see to that part of it. If we don't +get him, you all can hit the trail an' we won't be sore about it. That +is, unless you are made of the stuff that stands up an' fights 'stead +of running away. I reckon I ain't none mistaken in any of you. You'll +all be there when things get hot." + +"You can bet the shack /I/ won't do no trail-hitting," growled Boston, +glancing at Slivers, who squirmed a little under the hint. + +"Well, I'm glued to the crowd; you can't lose me, fellers," Slivers +remarked, re-crossing his legs uneasily. "Are we going to begin it +from here?" + +"We ought to spread out cautions and surround Jackson's, or wherever +Edwards is," Laramie Joe suggested. "That's my--" + +"Yo're right! Now you've hit it plumb on the head!" interrupted +Harlan, slapping Laramie heartily across the back. "What did I tell +you about our brains?" he cried, enthusiastically. He had been on the +point of suggesting that plan of operations when Laramie took the +words out of his mouth. "I'd never thought of that, Laramie," he lied, +his face beaming. "Why, we've got 'em licked to a finish right now!" + +"This /is/ a hummer of a game," laughed Slivers. "But how about the +Bar-20 crowd?" + +"I've told you that already," replied the proprietor. + +"You bet it's a hummer," cried Boston, reaching for the whiskey bottle +under cover of the excitement and enthusiasm. + +Harlan pushed it away with his foot and raised his clenched fist. "Do +you wonder I didn't think of that plan?" he demanded. "Ain't I been +too mad to think at all? Hain't I seen my friends treated like dogs, +an' made to swaller insults when I couldn't raise my hand to stop it? +Didn't I see Jerry Brown chased out of my place like a wild beast? If +we are what we've been called, then we'll sneak out of town with our +tails atween our laigs; but if we're men we'll stay right here an' +cram the insults down the throats of them that made 'em! If we're +/men/ let's prove it an' make them liars swaller our lead." + +"My sentiments an' allus was!" roared Slivers, slapping Harlan's +shoulder. + +"We're men, all right, an' we'll show 'em it, too!" + +At that instant the door opened and four guns covered it before it had +swung a foot. + +"Put 'em down--it's Quinn!" exclaimed the man in the doorway, +flinching a bit. "All right, Jed," he called over his shoulder to the +man who crowded him. After Quinn came Big Jed and Harper brought up +the rear. They had no more than shaken the water from their sombreros +when the back door let in Charley Rich and his two companions, Frank +and Tom Nolan. While greetings were being exchanged and the existing +conditions explained to the newcomers, Harper and Quinn led Harlan to +one side and reported, the proprietor smiling and nodding his head +wisely. And while he listened, Slivers surreptitiously corralled the +whiskey bottle and when the last man finished with it there was +nothing in it but air. + +"Well, boys," exclaimed Harlan, "things are our way. Quinn, here, met +Joe Barr, of the C-80, who said Converse an' four other fellers, all +friends of Edwards, stopped at the ranch an' won't be back home till +the storm stops. Harper saw Fred Neil going back to his ranch, so all +we've got to figger on is the marshal, Barr, an' Jackson, an' they're +all in Jackson's store. Lacey might cut in, since he'd sell more +liquor if I went under, but he can't do very much if he does take a +hand. Now we'll get right at it." The whole thing was gone over +thoroughly and in detail, positions assigned and a signal agreed upon. +Seeing that weapons were in good condition after their long storage in +the cellar, and that cartridge belts were full, the ten men left the +room one at a time or in pairs, Harlan and Laramie Joe being the last. +And both Harlan and Laramie delayed long enough to take the precaution +of placing horses where they would be handy in case of need. + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + HARLAN STRIKES + +Joe Barr laughingly replied to Johnny Nelson's growled remarks about +the condition of things in general and tried to soothe him, but Johnny +was unsoothable. + +"An' I've been telling him right along that he's got the best of it," +complained Jackson in a weary voice. "Got a measly hole through his +shoulder--good Lord! if it had gone a little lower!" he finished with +a show of exasperation. + +"An' ain't I been telling you all along that it ain't the measly hole +in my shoulder that's got me on the prod?" retorted Johnny, with more +earnestness than politeness. "But why couldn't I go with my friends +after Jerry an' get shot later if I had to get it at all? Look what +I'm missing, roped an' throwed in this cussed ten-by-ten shack while +they're having a little excitement." + +"Yo're missing some blamed nasty weather, Kid," replied the marshal. +"You ain't got no kick coming at all. Why, I got soaked clean through +just going down to the Oasis." + +"Well, I'm kicking, just the same," snapped Johnny. "An' furthermore, +I don't see nobody big enough to stop me, neither--did you all get +that?" + +The rear door opened and Fred Neal looked in. "Hey, Barr; come out an' +gimme a hand in the corral. Busted my cinch all to pieces half a mile +out--an' how the devil it ever busted like that is--" the door slammed +shut and softened his monologue. + +"Would you listen to that!" snorted Barr in an injured tone. "Didn't I +go an' tell him near a month ago that his cussed cinch wouldn't hold +no better'n a piece of wet paper?" His complaint added materially to +the atmosphere of sullen discontent pervading the room. "An' now I +gotter go out in this rain an'--" the slam of the door surpassed +anything yet attempted in that line of endeavor. Jackson grabbed a can +of corn as it jarred off the shelf behind him and directed a pleasing +phrase after the peevish Barr. + +"Say, won't somebody please smile?" gravely asked Edwards. "I never +saw such a happy, cheerful bunch before." + +"I might smile if I wasn't so blamed hungry," retorted Johnny. +"Doesn't anybody ever eat in this town?" he asked in great sarcasm. +"Mebby a good feed won't do me no good, but I'm going to fill myself +regardless. An' after that, if the grub don't shock me to death, I'm +shore going to trim somebody at Ol' Sledge--for two bits a hand." + +"If I could play you enough hands at that price I could sell out an' +live high without working," grinned Jackson, preparing to give the +reckless invalid all he could eat. "That's purty high, Kid; but I just +feel real devilish, an' I'm coming in." + +"An' I'll go over to my shack, get some money, an' bust the pair of +you," laughed Edwards, again buttoning his coat and going towards the +door. "Holy Cats! A log must 'a' got jammed in the sluice-gate up +there," he muttered, scowling at the black sky. "It's coming down +harder'n ever, but here goes," and he stepped quickly into the storm. + +Jackson paused with a frying pan in his hands and looked through the +window after the departing marshal, and saw him stagger, stumble +forward, then jerk out his guns and begin firing. Hard firing now +burst out in front and Jackson, cursing angrily, dropped the pan and +reached for his rifle--to drop it also and sink down, struck by the +bullet which drilled through the window. Johnny let out a yell of +rage, grabbed his Colt, and ran to the door in time to see Edwards +slowly raise up on one elbow, fire his last shot, and fall back +riddled by bullets. + +Jackson crawled to his rifle and then to the side window, where he +propped his back against a box and prepared to do his best. "It was +shore a surprise," he swore. "An' they went an' got Edwards before he +could do anything." + +"They did not!" retorted Johnny. "He--" the glass in the door vibrated +sharply and the speaker, stepping to one side out of sight, with a new +and superficial wound, opened fire on the building down the street. +Two men were lying on the ground across the street--these Edwards had +shot--and another was trying to drag himself to the shelter of a +building. A man sprinted from an old corral close by in a brave and +foolhardy attempt to save his friend, and Johnny swore because he had +to fire twice at the same mark. + +The rear door crashed open and shut as Barr, closely followed by Neal, +ran in. They had been caught in the corral but, thanks to Harlan's +whiskey, had managed to hold their own until they had a chance to make +a rush for the store. + +"Where's the marshal?" cried Barr, catching sight of Jackson. "Are you +plugged bad?" he asked, anxiously. + +"Well, I ain't plugged a whole lot /good/!" snapped Jackson. "An' +Edwards is dead. They shot him down without warning. We're going to +get ours, too--these walls don't stop them bullets. How many out +there?" + +"Must be a dozen," hastily replied Neal, who had not remained idle. +Both he and Barr were working like mad men moving boxes and barrels +against the walls to make a breastwork capable of stopping the bullets +which came through the boards. + +"I reckon--I'm bleeding inside," Jackson muttered, wearily and without +hope. "Wonder how--long we--can hold out?" + +"We'll hold out till we're good an' dead!" replied Johnny, hotly. +"They ain't got us yet an' they'll pay for it before they do. If we +can hold 'em off till Buck an' the rest come back we'll have the +pleasure of seeing 'em buried." + +"Oh, I'll get you next time!" assured Barr to an enemy, slipping a +fresh cartridge into the Sharps and peering intently at a slight rise +on the muddy plain. "You shoot like yo're drunk," he mumbled. + +"But what is it all about, anyhow?" asked Neal, finding time for an +immaterial question. "Who are they?--can't see nothing but blurs +through this rain!" + +"Yes; what's the game?" asked Barr, mildly surprised that he had not +thought of it before. + +"It's that Oasis gang," Johnny responded. He fired, and growled with +disappointment. "Harlan's at the head of it," he added. + +"Edwards--told Harlan to--get out of--town," Jackson began. + +"An' to take his gang with him," Johnny interposed quickly to save +Jackson from the strain. "They had till dark. Guess the rest. Oh, you +/coyote/!" he shouted, staggering back. There was a report farther +down the barricade and Neal called out, "I got him, Nelson; he's done. +How are you?" + +"Mad! Mad!" yelled Johnny, touching his twice-wounded shoulder and +dancing with rage and pain. "Right in the same place! Oh, wait! +/Wait!/ Hey, gimme a rifle--I can't do nothing with a Colt at this +range; my name ain't Hopalong," and he went slamming around the room +in hot search of what he wanted. + +"There ain't--no more--Johnny," feebly called Jackson, raising +slightly to ease himself. "You can have--my gun purty--soon. I won't +be able--to use it--much longer." + +"Why don't Buck an' Hoppy hurry up!" snarled Johnny. + +"Be a long time--mebby," mumbled Jackson, his trembling hands trying +to steady the rifle. "They're all--around us. /Ah/, missed!" he +intoned hoarsely, trying to pump the lever with unobeying hands. "I +can't last--much--" the words ceased abruptly and the clatter of the +rifle on the floor told the story. + +Johnny stumbled over to him and dragged him aside, covering the +upturned face with his own sombrero, and picked up the rifle. Rolling +a barrel of flour against the wall below the window he fixed himself +as comfortably as possible and threw a shell into the chamber. + +"Now, you coyotes; you pay /me/ for /that/!" he gritted, resting the +gun on the window sill and holding it so he could work it with one +hand and shoulder. + +"Wonder how them pups ever pumped up enough courage to cut loose like +this?" queried Neal from behind his flour barrel. + +"Whiskey," hazarded Barr. "Harlan must 'a' got 'em drunk. An' that's +three times I've missed that snake. Wish it would stop raining so I +could see better." + +"Why don't you wish they'd all drop dead? Wish good when you wish at +all: got as much chance of having it come true," responded Neal, +sarcastically. He smothered a curse and looked curiously at his left +arm, and from it to the new, yellow-splintered hole in the wall, which +was already turning dark from the water soaking into it. "Hey, Joe; we +need some more boxes!" he exclaimed, again looking at his arm. + +"Yes," came Johnny's voice. "Three of 'em--five of 'em, an' about six +feet long an' a foot deep. But if my outfit gets here in time we'll +want more'n a dozen." + +"Say! Lacey's firing now!" suddenly cried Barr. "He's shooting out of +his windy. That'll stop 'em from rushing us! Good boy, Lacey!" he +shouted, but Lacey did not hear him in the uproar. + +"An' he's worse off than we are, being alone," commented Neal. "Hey! +One of us better make a break for help--my ranch's the nearest. What +d'ye say?" + +"It's suicide; they'll get you before you get ten feet," Barr replied +with conviction. + +"No; they won't--the corral hides the back door, an' all the firing is +on this side. I can sneak along the back wall an' by keeping the +buildings atween me an' them, get a long ways off before they know +anything about it. Then it's a dash--an' they can't catch me. But can +you fellers hold out if I do?" + +"Two can hold out as good as three--go ahead," Johnny replied. "Leave +me some of yore Colt cartridges, though. You can't use 'em all before +you get home." + +"Don't stop fer that; there's a shelfful of all kinds behind the +counter," Barr interposed. + +"Well, so long an' good luck," and the rear door closed, and softly +this time. + +"Two hours is some wait under the present circumstances," Barr +muttered, shifting his position behind his barricade. "He can't do it +in less, nohow." + +Johnny ducked and looked foolish. "Missed me by a foot," he explained. +"He can't do it in two--not there an' back," he replied. "The trail is +mud over the fetlocks. Give him three at the least." + +"They ain't shooting as much as they was before." + +"Waiting till they gets sober, I reckon," Johnny replied. + +"If we don't hear no ruction in a few minutes we'll know he got away +all right," Barr soliloquized. "An' he's got a fine cayuse for mud, +too." + +"Hey, why can't you do the same thing if he makes it?" Johnny suddenly +asked. "I can hold her alone, all right." + +"Yo're a cheerful liar, you are," laughed Barr. "But can /you/ ride?" + +"Reckon so, but I ain't a-going to." + +"Why, we /both/ can go--it's a cinch!" Barr cried. "Come on!" + +"Lord!--an' I never even thought of that! Reckon I was too mad," +Johnny replied. "But I sort of hates to leave Jackson an' Edwards," he +added, sullenly. + +"But they're gone! You can't do them no good by staying." + +"Yes; I know. An' how about Lacey chipping in on our fight?" demanded +Johnny. "I ain't a-going to leave him to take it all. You go, Barr; it +wasn't yore fight, nohow. You didn't even know what you was fighting +for!" + +"Huh! When anybody shoots at me it's my fight, all right," replied +Barr, seating himself on the floor behind the breastwork. "I forgot +all about Lacey," he apologized. At that instant a tomato can went +/spang!/ and fell off the shelf. "An' it's too late, anyhow; they +ain't a-going to let nobody else get away on that side." + +"An' they're tuning up again, too," Johnny replied, preparing for +trouble. "Look out for a rush, Barr." + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + THE BAR-20 RETURNS. + +Hopalong Cassidy stopped swearing at the weather and looked up and +along the trail in front of him, seeing a hard-riding man approach. He +turned his head and spoke to Buck Peters, who rode close behind him. +"Somebody's shore in a hurry--why, it's Fred Neal." + +It was. Mr. Neal was making his arms move and was also shouting +something at the top of his voice. The noise of the rain and of the +horses' hoofs splashing in the mud and water at first made his words +unintelligible, but it was not long before Hopalong heard something +which made him sit up even straighter. In a moment Neal was near +enough to be heard distinctly and the outfit shook itself out of its +weariness and physical misery and followed its leader at reckless +speed. As they rode, bunched close together, Neal briefly and +graphically outlined the relative positions of the combatants, and +while Buck's more cautious mind was debating the best way to proceed +against the enemy, Hopalong cried out the plan to be followed. There +would be no strategy--Johnny, wounded and desperate, was fighting for +his life. The simplest way was the best--a dash regardless of +consequences to those making it, for time was a big factor to the two +men in Jackson's store. + +"Ride right at 'em!" Hopalong cried. "I know that bunch. They'll be +too scared to shoot straight. Paralyze 'em! Three or four are gone now +--an' the whole crowd wasn't worth one of the men they went out to +get. The quicker it's over the better." + +"Right you are," came from the rear. + +"Ride up the arroyo as close as we can get, an' then over the edge an' +straight at 'em," Buck ordered. "Their shooting an' the rain will +cover what noise we make on the soft ground. An' boys, /no quarter/!" + +"Reckon /not/!" gritted Red, savagely. "Not with Edwards an' Jackson +dead, an' the Kid fighting for his life!" + +"They're still at it!" cried Lanky Smith, as the faint and +intermittent sound of firing was heard; the driving wind was blowing +from the town, and this, also, would deaden the noise of their +approach. + +"Thank the Lord! That means that there's somebody left to fight 'em," +exclaimed Red. "Hope it's the Kid," he muttered. + +"They can't rush the store till they get Lacey, an' they can't rush +him till they get the store," shouted Neal over his shoulder. "They'd +be in a cross fire if they tried either--an' that's what licks 'em." + +"They'll be in a cross fire purty soon," promised Pete, grimly. + +Hopalong and Red reached the edge of the arroyo first and plunged over +the bank into the yellow storm-water swirling along the bottom like a +miniature flood. After them came Buck, Neal, and the others, the water +shooting up in sheets as each successive horse plunged in. Out again +on the farther side they strung out into single file along the narrow +foot-hold between water and bank and raced towards the sharp bend some +hundreds of yards ahead, the point in the arroyo's course nearest the +town. The dripping horses scrambled up the slippery incline and then, +under the goading of spurs and quirts, leaped forward as fast as they +could go across the level, soggy plain. + +A quarter of a mile ahead of them lay the scattered shacks of the +town, and as they drew nearer to it the riders could see the flashes +of guns and the smoke-fog lying close to the ground. Fire spat from +Jackson's store and a cloud of smoke still lingered around a window in +Lacey's saloon. Then a yell reached their ears, a yell of rage, +consternation and warning. Figures scurried to seek cover and the +firing from Jackson's and Lacey's grew more rapid. + +A mounted man emerged from a corral and tore away, others following +his example, and the outfit separated to take up the chase +individually. Harlan, wounded hard, was trying to run to where he had +left his horse, and after him fled Slivers Lowe. Hopalong was gaining +on them when he saw Slivers raise his arm and fire deliberately into +the back of the proprietor of the Oasis, leap over the falling body, +vault into the saddle of Harlan's horse and gallop for safety. +Hopalong's shots went wide and the last view any one had of Slivers in +that part of the country was when he dropped into an arroyo to follow +it for safety. Laramie Joe fled before Red Connors and Red's rage was +so great that it spoiled his accuracy, and he had the sorrow of seeing +the pursued grow faint in the mist and fog. Pursuit was tried until +the pursuers realized that their mounts were too worn out to stand a +show against the fresh animals ridden by the survivors of the Oasis +crowd. + +Red circled and joined Hopalong. "Blasted coyotes," he growled. +"Killed Jackson an' Edwards, an' wanted the Kid! He's shore showed 'em +what fighting is, all right. But I wonder what got into 'em all at +once to give 'em nerve enough to start things?" + +"Edwards paid his way, all right," replied Hopalong. "If I do as well +when my time comes I won't do no kicking." + +"Yore time ain't coming that way," responded Red, grinning. "You'll +die a natural death in bed, unless you gets to cussing me." + +"Shore there ain't no more, Buck?" Hopalong called. + +"Yes. There was only five, I reckon, an' they was purty well shot up +when we took a hand. You know, Johnny was in it all the time," replied +the foreman, smiling. "This town's had the cleaning up it's needed for +some time," he added. + +They were at Jackson's store now, and hurriedly dismounted and ran in +to see Johnny. They found him lying across some boxes, which brought +him almost to the level of a window sill. He was too weak to stand, +while near him in similar condition lay Barr, too weak from loss of +blood to do more than look his welcome. + +"How are you, Kid?" cried Buck anxiously, bending over him, while +others looked to Barr's injuries. + +"Tired, Buck, awful tired; an' all shot up," Johnny slowly replied. +"When I saw you fellers--streak past this windy--I sort of went flat-- +something seemed to break inside me," he said, faintly and with an +effort, and the foreman ordered him not to talk. Deft fingers, +schooled by practice in rough and ready surgery, were busy over him +and in half an hour he lay on Jackson's cot, covered with bandages. + +"Why, hullo, Lacey!" exclaimed Hopalong, leaping forward to shake +hands with the man Red and Billy had gone to help. "Purty well +scratched up, but lively yet, hey?" + +"I'm able to hobble over here an' shake han's with these scrappers-- +they're shore wonders," Lacey replied. "Fought like a whole regiment! +Hullo, Johnny!" and his hand-clasp told much. + +"Yore cross fire did it, Lacey; that was the whole thing," Johnny +smiled. "Yo're all right!" + +Red turned and looked out of the window toward the Oasis and then +glanced at Buck. "Reckon we better burn Harlan's place--it's all +that's left of that gang now," he suggested. + +"Why, yes; I reckon so," replied the foreman. "That's as--" + +"No, we won't!" Hopalong interposed quickly. "That stands till Johnny +sets it off. It's the Kid's celebration--he was shot in it." + +Johnny smiled. + + + + CHAPTER XX + + BARB WIRE + +After the flurry at Perry's Bend the Bar-20 settled down to the calm +routine work and sent several drive herds to their destination without +any unusual incidents. Buck thought that the last herd had been driven +when, late in the summer, he received an order that he made haste to +fill. The outfit was told to get busy and soon rounded up the +necessary number of three-year-olds. Then came the road branding, the +final step except inspection, and this was done not far from the ranch +house, where the facilities were best for speedy work. + +Entirely recovered from all ill effects of his afternoon in Jackson's +store up in Perry's bend, Johnny Nelson waited with Red Connors on the +platform of the branding chute and growled petulantly at the sun, the +dust, but most of all at the choking, smarting odor of burned hair +which filled their throats and caused them to rub the backs of grimy +hands across their eyes. Chute-branding robbed them of the excitement, +the leaven of fun and frolic, which they always took from open or +corral branding--and the work of a day in the corral or open was +condensed into an hour or two by the chute. This was one cow wide, +narrow at the bottom and flared out as it went up, so the animal could +not turn, and when filled was, to use Johnny's graphic phrase, "like a +chain of cows in a ditch." Eight of the wondering and crowded animals, +guided into the pen by men who knew their work to the smallest detail +and lost no time in its performance, filed into the pen after those +branded had filed out. As the first to enter reached the farther end a +stout bar dropped into place, just missing the animal's nose; and as +the last cow discovered that it could go no farther and made up its +mind to back out, it was stopped by another bar, which fell behind it. +The iron heaters tossed a hot iron each to Red and Johnny and the +eight were marked in short order, making about two hundred and fifty +they had branded in three hours. This number compared very favorably +with that of the second chute where Lanky Smith and Frenchy McAlister +waved cold irons and sarcastically asked their iron men if the sun was +supposed to provide the heat; whereat the down-trodden heaters +provided heat with great generosity in their caustic retorts. + +"Oh, Susanna, don't you cry for me," sang Billy Williams, one of the +feeders. "But why in Jericho don't you fellers get a move on you? You +ain't no good on the platform--you ought to be mixing biscuits for +Cookie. Frenchy and Lanky are the boys to turn 'em out," he offered, +gratis. + +Red's weary air bespoke a vast and settled contempt for such inanities +and his iron descended against the side of the victim below him--he +would not deign to reply. Not so with Johnny, who could not refrain +from hot retort. + +"Don't be a fool /all/ the time," snapped Johnny. "Mind yore own +business, you shorthorn. Big-mouthed old woman, that's what--" his +tone dropped and the words sank into vague mutterings which a +strangling cough cut short. "Blasted idiot," he whispered, tears +coming into his eyes at the effort. Burning hair is bad for throat and +temper alike. + +Red deftly knocked his companion's iron up and spoke sharply. "You +mind yourn better--that makes the third you've tried to brand twice. +Why don't you look what yo're doing? Hot iron! Hot iron! What're you +fellers doing?" he shouted down at the heaters. "This ain't no time to +go to sleep. How d'ye expect us to do any work when you ain't doing +any yoreselves!" Red's temper was also on the ragged edge. + +"You've got one in yore other hand, you sheep!" snorted one of the +iron heaters with restless pugnacity. "Go tearing into us when you--" +he growled the rest and kicked viciously at the fire. + +"Lovely bunch," grinned Billy who, followed by Pete Wilson, mounted +the platform to relieve the branders. "Chase yoreselves--me an' Pete +are shore going to show you cranky bugs how to do a hundred an hour. +Ain't we, Pete? An' look here, you," he remarked to the heaters, +"don't you fellers keep /us/ waiting for hot irons!" + +"That's right! Make a fool out of yoreself first thing!" snapped one +of the pair on the ground. + +"Billy, I never loved you as much as I do this minute," grinned Johnny +wearily. "Wish you'd 'a' come along to show us how to do it an hour +ago." + +"I would, only--" + +"Quit chinning an' get busy," remarked Red, climbing down. "The +chute's full; an' it's all yourn." + +Billy caught the iron, gave it a preliminary flourish, and started to +work with a speed that would not endure for long. He branded five out +of the eight and jeered at his companion for being so slow. + +"Have yore fun now, Billy," Pete replied with placid good nature. +"Before we're through with this job you'll be lucky if you can do two +of the string, if you keep up that pace." + +"He'll be missing every other one," growled his heater with +overflowing malice. "That iron ain't cold, you Chinaman!" + +"Too cold for me--don't miss none," chuckled Billy sweetly. "Fill the +chute! Fill the chute! Don't keep us waiting!" he cried to the +guiders, hopping around with feigned eagerness and impatience. + +Hopalong Cassidy rode up and stopped as Red returned to take the place +of one of the iron heaters. "How they coming, Red?" he inquired. + +"Fast. You can sic that inspector on 'em the first thing to-morrow +morning, if he gets here on time. Bet he's off som'ers getting full of +redeye. Who're going with you on this drive?" + +"The inspector is all right--he's here now an' is going to spend the +night with us so as to be on hand the first thing to-morrow," replied +Hopalong, grinning at the hard-working pair on the platform. "Why, I +reckon I'll take you, Johnny, Lanky, Billy, Pete, an' Skinny, an' +we'll have two hoss-wranglers an' a cook, of course. We'll drive up +the right-hand trail through West Valley this time. It's longer, but +there'll be more water that way at this time of the year. Besides, I +don't want no more foot-sore cattle to nurse along. Even the West +Valley trail will be dry enough before we strike Bennett's Creek." + +"Yes; we'll have to drive 'em purty hard till we reach the creek," +replied Red, thoughtfully. "Say; we're going to have three thousand of +the finest three-year-old steers ever sent north out of these parts. +An' we ought to do it in a month an' deliver 'em fat an' frisky. We +can feed 'em good for the last week." + +"I just sent some of the boys out to drive in the cayuses," Hopalong +remarked, "an' when they get here you fellers match for choice an' +pick yore remuda. No use taking too few. About eight apiece'll do us +nice. I shore like a good cavvieyeh." + +"Hullo, Hoppy!" came from the platform as Billy grinned his welcome +through the dust on his face. "Want a job?" + +"Hullo yoreself," growled Pete. "Stick yore iron on that fourth steer +before he gets out, an' talk less with yore mouth." + +"Pete's still rabid," called Billy, performing the duty Pete +suggested. + +"That may be the polite name for it," snorted one of the iron heaters, +testing an iron, "but that ain't what I'd say. Might as well cover the +subject thoroughly while yo're on it." + +"Yes, verily," endorsed his companion. + +"Here comes the last of 'em," smiled Pete, watching several cattle +being driven towards the chute. "We'll have to brand 'em on the move, +Billy; there ain't enough to fill the chute." + +"All right; hot iron, you!" + +Early the next morning the inspector looked them over and made his +count, the herd was started north and at nightfall had covered twelve +miles. For the next week everything went smoothly, but after that, +water began to be scarce and the herd was pushed harder, and became +harder to handle. + +On the night of the twelfth day out four men sat around the fire in +West Valley at a point a dozen miles south of Bennett's Creek, and ate +heartily. The night was black--not a star could be seen and the south +wind hardly stirred the trampled and burned grass. They were +thoroughly tired out and their tempers were not in the sweetest state +imaginable, for the heat during the last four days had been almost +unbearable even to them and they had had their hands full with the +cranky herd. They ate silently, hungrily--there would be time enough +for the few words they had to say when the pipes were going for a +short smoke before turning in. + +"I feel like hell," growled Red, reaching for another cup of coffee, +but there was no reply; he had voiced the feelings of all. + +Hopalong listened intently and looked up, staring into the darkness, +and soon a horseman was seen approaching the fire. Hopalong nodded +welcome and waved his hand towards the food, and the stranger, +dismounting, picketed his horse and joined the circle. When the pipes +were lighted he sighed with satisfaction and looked around the group. +"Driving north, I see." + +"Yes; an' blamed glad to get off this dry range," Hopalong replied. +"The herd's getting cranky an' hard to hold--but when we pass the +creek everything'll be all right again. An' ain't it hot! When you +hear us kick about the heat it means something." + +"I'm going yore way," remarked the stranger. "I came down this trail +about two weeks ago. Reckon I was the last to ride through before the +fence went up. Damned outrage, says I, an' I told 'em so, too. They +couldn't see it that way an' we had a little disagreement about it. +They said as how they was going to patrol it." + +"Fence! What fence?" exclaimed Red. + +"Where's there any fence?" demanded Hopalong sharply. + +"Twenty mile north of the creek," replied the stranger, carefully +packing his pipe. + +"What? Twenty miles north of the creek?" cried Hopalong. "What creek?" + +"Bennett's. The 4X has strung three strands of barb wire from Coyote +Pass to the North Arm. Thirty mile long, without a gate, so they +says." + +"But it don't close this trail!" cried Hopalong in blank astonishment. + +"It shore does. They say they owns that range an' can fence it in all +they wants. I told 'em different, but naturally they didn't listen to +me. An' they'll fight about it, too." + +"But they /can't/ shut off this trail!" exclaimed Billy, with angry +emphasis. "They don't own it no more'n we do!" + +"I know all about that--you heard me tell you what they said." + +"But how can we get past it?" demanded Hopalong. + +"Around it, over the hills. You'll lose about three days doing it, +too." + +"I can't take no sand-range herd over them rocks, an' I ain't going to +drive 'round no North Arm or Coyote Pass if I could," Hopalong replied +with quiet emphasis. "There's poison springs on the east an' nothing +but rocks on the west. We go straight through." + +"I'm afraid that you'll have to fight if you do," remarked the +stranger. + +"Then we'll fight!" cried Johnny, leaning forward. "Blasted coyotes! +What right have they got to block a drive trail that's as old as +cattle-raising in these parts! That trail was here before I was born, +it's allus been open, an' it's going to stay open! You watch us go +through!" + +"Yo're dead right, Kid; we'll cut that fence an' stick to this trail, +an' fight if we has to," endorsed Red. "The Bar-20 ain't crawling out +of no hole that it can walk out of. They're bluffing; that's all." + +"I don't think they are; an' there's twelve men in that outfit," +suggested the stranger, offhand. + +"We ain't got time to count odds; we never do down our way when we +know we're right. An' we're right enough in this game," retorted +Hopalong, quickly. "For the last twelve days we've had good luck, +barring the few on this dry range; an' now we're in for the other +kind. By the Lord, I wish we was here without the cows to take care of +--we'd show 'em something about blocking drive trails that ain't in +their little book!" + +"Blast it all! Wire fences coming down this way now," mused Johnny, +sullenly. He hated them by training as much as he hated horse-thieves +and sheep; and his companions had been brought up in the same school. +Barb wire, the death-knell to the old-time punching, the bar to riding +at will, a steel insult to fire the blood--it had come at last. + +"We've shore got to cut it, Red,--" began Hopalong, but the cook had +to rid himself of some of his indignation and interrupted with heat. + +"Shore we have!" came explosively from the tail board of the chuck +wagon. "Got to lay it agin my li'l axe an' swat it with my big ol' +monkey wrench! An' won't them posts save me a lot of trouble hunting +chips an' firewood!" + +"We've shore got to cut it, Red," Hopalong repeated slowly. "You an' +Johnny an' me'll ride ahead after we cross the creek to-morrow an' do +it. I don't hanker after no fight with all these cows on my han's, but +we've got to risk one." + +"Shore!" cried Johnny, hotly. "I can't get over the gall of them +fellers closing up the West Valley drive trail. Why, I never heard +tell of such a thing afore!" + +"We're short-handed; we ought to have more'n we have to guard the herd +if there's a fight. If it stampedes--oh, well, that'll work out +to-morrow. The creek's only about twelve miles away an' we'll start at +daylight, so tumble in," Hopalong said as he arose. "Red, I'm going +out to take my shift--I'll send Pete in. Stranger," he added, turning, +"I'm much obliged to you for the warning. They might 'a' caught us +with our hands tied." + +"Oh, that's all right," hastily replied the stranger, who was in +hearty accord with the plans, such as they were. "My name's Hawkins, +an' I don't like range fences no more'n you do. I used to hunt buffalo +all over this part of the country before they was all killed off, an' +I allus rode where I pleased. I'm purty old, but I can still see an' +shoot; an' I'm going to stick right along with you fellers an' see it +through. Every man counts in this game." + +"Well, that's blamed white of you," Hopalong replied, greatly pleased +by the other's offer. "But I can't let you do it. I don't want to drag +you into no trouble, an'--" + +"You ain't dragging me none; I'm doing it myself. I'm about as mad as +you are over it. I ain't good for much no more, an' if I shuffles off +fighting barb wire I'll be doing my duty. First it was nesters, then +railroads an' more nesters, then sheep, an' now it's wire--won't it +never stop? By the Lord, it's got to stop, or this country will go to +the devil an' won't be fit to live in. Besides, I've heard of your +fellers before--I'll tie to the Bar-20 any day." + +"Well, I reckon you must if you must; yo're welcome enough," laughed +Hopalong, and he strode off to his picketed horse, leaving the others +to discuss the fence, with the assistance of the cook, until Pete rode +in. + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + THE FENCE + +When Hopalong rode in at midnight to arouse the others and send them +out to relieve Skinny and his two companions, the cattle were quieter +than he had expected to leave them, and he could see no change of +weather threatening. He was asleep when the others turned in, or he +would have been further assured in that direction. + +Out on the plain where the herd was being held, Red and the three +other guards had been optimistic until half of their shift was over +and it was only then that they began to worry. The knowledge that +running water was only twelve miles away had the opposite effect than +the one expected, for instead of making them cheerful, it caused them +to be beset with worry and fear. Water was all right, and they could +not have got along without it for another day; but it was, in this +case, filled with the possibility of grave danger. + +Johnny was thinking hard about it as he rode around the now restless +herd, and then pulled up suddenly, peered into the darkness and went +on again. "Damn that disreputable li'l rounder! Why the devil can't he +behave, 'stead of stirring things up when they're ticklish?" he +muttered, but he had to grin despite himself. A lumbering form had +blundered past him from the direction of the camp and was swallowed up +by the night as it sought the herd, annoying and arousing the thirsty +and irritable cattle along its trail, throwing challenges right and +left and stirring up trouble as it passed. The fact that the +challenges were bluffs made no difference to the pawing steers, for +they were anxious to have things out with the rounder. + +This frisky disturber of bovine peace was a yearling that had slipped +into the herd before it left the ranch and had kept quiet and +respectable and out of sight in the middle of the mass for the first +few days and nights. But keeping quiet and respectable had been an +awful strain, and his mischievous deviltry grew constantly harder to +hold in check. Finally he could stand the repression no longer, and +when he gave way to his accumulated energy it had the snap and ginger +of a tightly stretched rubber band recoiling on itself. On the fourth +night out he had thrown off his mask and announced his presence in his +true light by butting a sleepy steer out of its bed, which bed he +straightway proceeded to appropriate for himself. This was folly, for +the ground was not cold and he had no excuse for stealing a body- +warmed place to lie down; it was pure cussedness, and retribution +followed hard upon the act. In about half a minute he had discovered +the great difference between bullying poor, miserable, defenceless +dogies and trying to bully a healthy, fully developed, and pugnacious +steer. After assimilating the preliminary punishment of what promised +to be the most thorough and workmanlike thrashing he had ever known, +the indignant and frightened bummer wheeled and fled incontinently +with the aroused steer in angry pursuit. The best way out was the most +puzzling to the vengeful steer, so the bummer cavorted recklessly +through the herd, turning and twisting and doubling, stepping on any +steer that happened to be lying down in his path, butting others, and +leavening things with great success. Under other conditions he would +have relished the effect of his efforts, for the herd had arisen as +one animal and seemed to be debating the advisability of stampeding; +but he was in no mood to relish anything and thought only of getting +away. Finally escaping from his pursuer, that had paused to fight with +a belligerent brother, he rambled off into the darkness to figure it +all out and to maintain a sullen and chastened demeanor for the rest +of the night. This was the first time a brick had been under the hat. + +But the spirits of youth recover quickly--his recovered so quickly +that he was banished from the herd the very next night, which +banishment, not being at all to his liking, was enforced only by rigid +watchfulness and hard riding; and he was roundly cursed from dark to +dawn by the worried men, most of whom disliked the bumming youngster +less than they pretended. He was only a cub, a wild youth having his +fling, and there was something irresistibly likable and comical in his +awkward antics and eternal persistence, even though he was a pest. +Johnny saw more in him than his companions could find, and had quite a +little sport with him: he made fine practice for roping, for he was +about as elusive as a grasshopper and uncertain as a flea. Johnny was +in the same general class and he could sympathize with the +irrepressible nuisance in its efforts to stir up a little life and +excitement in so dull a crowd; Johnny hoped to be as successful in his +mischievous deviltry when he reached the town at the end of the drive. + +But to-night it was dark, and the bummer gained his coveted goal with +ridiculous ease, after which he started right in to work off the high +pressure of the energy he had accumulated during the last two nights. +He had desisted in his efforts to gain the herd early in the evening +and had rambled off and rested during the first part of the night, and +the herders breathed softly lest they should stir him to renewed +trials. But now he had succeeded, and although only Johnny had seen +him lumber past, the other three guards were aware of it immediately +by the results and swore in their throats, for the cattle were now on +their feet, snorting and moving about restlessly, and the rattling of +horns grew slowly louder. + +"Ain't he having a devil of a good time!" grinned Johnny. But it was +not long before he realized the possibilities of the bummer's efforts +and he lost his grin. "If we get through the night without trouble +I'll see that you are picketed if it takes me all day to get you," he +muttered. "Fun is fun, but it's getting a little too serious for +comfort." + +Sometime after the middle of the second shift the herd, already +irritable, nervous, and cranky because of the thirst they were +enduring, and worked up to the fever pitch by the devilish manoeuvres +of the exuberant and hard-working bummer, wanted only the flimsiest +kind of an excuse to stampede, and they might go without an excuse. A +flash of lightning, a crash of thunder, a wind-blown paper, a flapping +wagon cover, the sudden and unheralded approach of a careless rider, +the cracking and flare of a match, or the scent of a wolf or coyote-- +or water, would send an avalanche of three thousand crazed steers +crashing its irresistible way over a pitch-black plain. + +Red had warned Pete and Billy, and now he rode to find Johnny and send +him to camp for the others. As he got halfway around the circle he +heard Johnny singing a mournful lay, and soon a black bulk loomed up +in the dark ahead of him. "That you, Kid?" he asked. "That you, +Johnny?" he repeated, a little louder. + +The song stopped abruptly. "Shore," replied Johnny. "We're going to +have trouble aplenty to-night. Glad daylight ain't so very far off. +That cussed li'l rake of a bummer got by me an' into the herd. He's +shore raising Ned to-night, the li'l monkey: it's getting serious, +Red." + +"I'll shoot that yearling at daylight, damn him!" retorted Red. "I +should 'a' done it a week ago. He's picked the worst time for his +cussed devilment! You ride right in an' get the boys, an' get 'em out +here quick. The whole herd's on its toes waiting for the signal; an' +the wink of an eye'll send 'em off. God only knows what'll happen +between now and daylight! If the wind should change an' blow down from +the north, they'll be off as shore as shooting. One whiff of Bennett's +Creek is all that's needed, Kid; an'--" + +"Oh, pshaw!" interposed Johnny. "There ain't no wind at all now. It's +been quiet for an hour." + +"Yes; an' that's one of the things that's worrying me. It means a +change, shore." + +"Not always; we'll come out of this all right," assured Johnny, but he +spoke without his usual confidence. "There ain't no use--" he paused +as he felt the air stir, and he was conscious of Red's heavy +breathing. There was a peculiar hush in the air that he did not like, +a closeness that sent his heart up in his throat, and as he was about +to continue a sudden gust snapped his neck-kerchief out straight. He +felt that refreshing coolness which so often precedes a storm and as +he weighed it in his mind a low rumble of thunder rolled in the north +and sent a chill down his back. + +"Good God! Get the boys!" cried Red, wheeling. "It's /changed/! An' +Pete an' Billy out there in front of--/there they go/!" he shouted as +a sudden tremor shook the earth and a roaring sound filled the air. He +was instantly lost to ear and eye, swallowed by the oppressive +darkness as he spurred and quirted into a great, choking cloud of dust +which swept down from the north, unseen in the night. The deep thunder +of hoofs and the faint and occasional flash of a six-shooter told him +the direction, and he hurled his mount after the uproar with no +thought of the death which lurked in every hole and rock and gully on +the uneven and unseen plain beneath him. His mouth and nose were lined +with dust, his throat choked with it, and he opened his burning eyes +only at intervals, and then only to a slit, to catch a fleeting glance +of--nothing. He realized vaguely that he was riding north, because the +cattle would head for water, but that was all, save that he was +animated by a desperate eagerness to gain the firing line, to join +Pete and Billy, the two men who rode before that crazed mass of horns +and hoofs and who were pleading and swearing and yelling in vain only +a few feet ahead of annihilation--if they were still alive. A stumble, +a moment's indecision, and the avalanche would roll over them as if +they were straws and trample them flat beneath the pounding hoofs, a +modern Juggernaut. If he, or they, managed to escape with life, it +would make a good tale for the bunk house some night; if they were +killed it was in doing their duty--it was all in a day's work. + +Johnny shouted after him and then wheeled and raced towards the camp, +emptying his Colt in the air as a warning. He saw figures scurrying +across the lighted place, and before he had gained it his friends +raced past him and gave him hard work catching up to them. And just +behind him rode the stranger, to do what he could for his new friends, +and as reckless of consequences as they. + +It seemed an age before they caught up to the stragglers, and when +they realized how true they had ridden in the dark they believed that +at last their luck was turning for the better, and pushed on with +renewed hope. Hopalong shouted to those nearest him that Bennett's +Creek could not be far away and hazarded the belief that the steers +would slow up and stop when they found the water they craved; but his +words were lost to all but himself. + +Suddenly the punchers were almost trapped and their escape made +miraculous, for without warning the herd swerved and turned sharply to +the right, crossing the path of the riders and forcing them to the +east, showing Hopalong their silhouettes against the streak of pale +gray low down in the eastern sky. When free from the sudden press of +cattle they slowed perceptibly, and Hopalong did likewise to avoid +running them down. At that instant the uproar took on a new note and +increased threefold. He could hear the shock of impact, whip-like +reports, the bellowing of cattle in pain, and he arose in his stirrups +to peer ahead for the reason, seeing, as he did so, the silhouettes of +his friends arise and then drop from his sight. Without additional +warning his horse pitched forward and crashed to the earth, sending +him over its head. Slight as was the warning it served to ease his +fall, for instinct freed his feet from the stirrups, and when he +struck the ground it was feet first, and although he fell flat at the +next instant, the shock had been broken. Even as it was, he was partly +stunned, and groped as he arose on his hands and knees. Arising +painfully he took a short step forward, tripped and fell again; and +felt a sharp pain shoot through his hand as it went first to break the +fall. Perhaps it was ten seconds before he knew what it was that had +thrown him, and when he learned that he also learned the reason for +the whole calamity--in his torn and bleeding hand he held a piece of +barb wire. + +"Barb wire!" he muttered, amazed. "Barb wire! Why, what the-- /Damn +that ranch/!" he shouted, sudden rage sweeping over him as the +situation flashed through his mind and banished all the mental effects +of the fall. "They've gone an' strung it south of the creek as well! +Red! Johnny! Lanky!" he shouted at the top of his voice, hoping to be +heard over the groaning of injured cattle and the general confusion. +"Good Lord! /are they killed/!" + +They were not, thanks to the forced slowing up, and to the pool of +water and mud which formed an arm of the creek, a back-water away from +the pull of the current. They had pitched into the mud and water up to +their waists, some head first, some feet first, and others as they +would go into a chair. Those who had been fortunate enough to strike +feet first pulled out the divers, and the others gained their feet as +best they might and with varying degrees of haste, but all mixed +profanity and thankfulness equally well; and were equally and +effectually disguised. + +Hopalong, expecting the silence of death or at least the groaning of +injured and dying, was taken aback by the fluent stream of profanity +which greeted his ears. But all efforts in that line were eclipsed +when the drive foreman tersely explained about the wire, and the +providential mud bath was forgotten in the new idea. They forthwith +clamored for war, and the sooner it came the better they would like +it. + +"Not now, boys; we've got work to do first," replied Hopalong, who, +nevertheless, was troubled grievously by the same itching trigger +finger. They subsided--as a steel spring subsides when held down by a +weight--and went off in search of their mounts. Daylight had won the +skirmish in the east and was now attacking in force, and revealed a +sight which, stilling the profanity for the moment, caused it to flow +again with renewed energy. The plain was a shambles near the creek, +and dead and dying steers showed where the fence had stood. The rest +of the herd had passed over these. The wounded cattle and three horses +were put out of their misery as the first duty. The horse that +Hopalong had ridden had a broken back; the other two, broken legs. +When this work was out of the way the bruised and shaken men gave +their attention to the scattered cattle on the other side of the +creek, and when Hawkins rode up after wasting time in hunting for the +trail in the dark, he saw four men with the herd, which was still +scattered; four others near the creek, of whom only Johnny was +mounted, and a group of six strangers riding towards them from the +west and along the fence, or what was left of that portion of it. + +"That's awful!" he cried, stopping his limping horse near Hopalong. +"An' here come the fools that done it." + +"Yes," replied Johnny, his voice breaking from rage, "but they won't +go back again! I don't care if I'm killed if I can get one or two of +that crowd--" + +"Shut up, Kid!" snapped Hopalong as the 4X outfit drew near. "I know +just how you feel about it; feel that way myself. But there ain't a- +going to be no fighting while I've got these cows on my han's. That +gang'll be here when we come back, all right." + +"Mebby one or two of 'em won't," remarked Hawkins, as he looked again +over the carnage along the fence. "I never did much pot-shooting, +'cept agin Injuns; but I dunno--" He did not finish, for the strangers +were almost at his elbow. + +Cranky Joe led the 4X contingent and he did the talking for it without +waste of time. "Who the hell busted that fence?" he demanded, +belligerently, looking around savagely. Johnny's hand twitched at the +words and the way they were spoken. + +"I did; did you think somebody leaned agin it?" replied Hopalong, very +calmly,--so calmly that it was about one step short of an explosion. + +"Well, why didn't you go around?" + +"Three thousand stampeding cattle don't go 'round wire fences in the +dark." + +"Well, that's not our fault. Reckon you better dig down an' settle up +for the damages, an' half a cent a head for water; an' then go 'round. +You can't stampede through the other fence." + +"That so?" asked Hopalong. + +"Reckon it is." + +"Yo're real shore it is?" + +"Well there's only six of us here, but there's six more that we can +get blamed quick if we need 'em. It's so, all right." + +"Well, coming down to figures, there's eight here, with two hoss- +wranglers an' a cook to come," retorted Hopalong, kicking the +belligerent Johnny on the shins. "We're just about mad enough to +tackle anything: ever feel that way?" + +"Oh, no use getting all het up," rejoined Cranky Joe. "We ain't a- +going to fight 'less we has to. Better pay up." + +"Send yore bills to the ranch--if they're O. K., Buck'll pay 'em." + +"Nix; I take it when I can get it." + +"I ain't got no money with me that I can spare." + +"Then you can leave enough cows to buy back again." + +"I'm not going to pay you one damned cent, an' the only cows I'll +leave are the dead ones--an' if I could take them with me I'd do it. +An' I'm not going around the fence, neither." + +"Oh, yes; you are. An' yo're going to pay," snapped Cranky Joe. + +"Take it out of the price of two hundred dead cows an' gimme what's +left," Hopalong retorted. "It'll cost you nine of them twelve men to +pry it out'n me." + +"You won't pay?" demanded the other, coldly. + +"Not a plugged peso." + +"Well, as I said before, I don't want to fight nobody 'less I has to," +replied Cranky Joe. "I'll give you a chance to change yore mind. We'll +be out here after it to-morrow, cash or cows. That'll give you twenty- +four hours to rest yore herd an' get ready to drive. Then you pay, an' +go back, 'round the fence." + +"All right; to-morrow suits me," responded Hopalong, who was boiling +with rage and felt constrained to hold it back. If it wasn't for the +cows--! + +Red and three companions swept up and stopped in a swirl of dust and +asked questions until Hopalong shut them up. Their arrival and the +manner of their speech riled Cranky Joe, who turned around and loosed +one more remark; and he never knew how near to death he was at that +moment. + +"You fellers must own the earth, the way you act," he said to Red and +his three companions. + +"We ain't fencing it in to prove it," rejoined Hopalong, his hand on +Red's arm. + +Cranky Joe wheeled to rejoin his friends. "To-morrow," he said, +significantly. + +Hopalong and his men watched the six ride away, too enraged to speak +for a moment. Then the drive foreman mastered himself and turned to +Hawkins. "Where's their ranch house?" he demanded, sharply. "There +must be some way out of this, an' we've got to find it; an' before +to-morrow." + +"West; three hours' ride along the fence. I could find 'em the darkest +night what ever happened; I was out there once," Hawkins replied. + +"Describe 'em as exact as you can," demanded Hopalong, and when +Hawkins had done so the Bar-20 drive foreman slapped his thigh and +laughed nastily. "One house with one door an' only two windows--are +you shore? Good! Where's the corrals? Good again! So they'll take pay +for their blasted fence, eh? Cash or cows, hey! Don't want no fight +'less it's necessary, but they're going to make us pay for the fence +that killed two hundred head, an' blamed nigh got us, too. An' half a +cent a head for drinking water! I've paid that more'n once--some of +the poor devils squatting on the range ain't got nothing to sell but +water, but I don't buy none out of Bennett's Creek! Pete, you mounted +fellers round up a little--bunch the herd a little closer, an' drive +straight along the trail towards that other fence. We'll all help you +as soon as the wranglers bring us up something to ride. Push 'em hard, +limp or no limp, till dark. They'll be too tired to go crow-hopping +'round any in the dark to-night. An' say! When you see that bummer, if +he wasn't got by the fence, drop him clean. So they've got twelve men, +hey! Huh!" + +"What you going to do?" asked Red, beginning to cool down, and very +curious. + +"Yes; tell us," urged Johnny. + +"Why, I'm going to cut that fence, an' cut it all to hell. Then I'm +going to push the herd through it as far out of danger as I can. When +they're all right Cookie an' the hoss-wranglers will have to hold 'em +during the night while we do the rest." + +"What's the rest?" demanded Johnny. + +"Oh, I'll tell you that later; it can wait," replied Hopalong. +"Meanwhile, you get out there with Pete an' help get the herd in +shape. We'll be with you soon--here comes the wranglers an' the +cavvieyeh. 'Bout time, too." + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + MR. BOGGS IS DISGUSTED + +The herd gained twelve miles by dark and would pass through the +northern fence by noon of the next day, for Cook's axe and monkey +wrench had been put to good use. For quite a distance there was no +fence: about a mile of barb wire had been pulled loose and was tangled +up into several large piles, while rings of burned grass and ashes +surrounded what was left of the posts. The cook had embraced this +opportunity to lay in a good supply of firewood and was the happiest +man in the outfit. + +At ten o'clock that night eight figures loped westward along the +southern fence and three hours later dismounted near the first corral +of the 4X ranch. They put their horses in a depression on the plain +and then hastened to seek cover, being careful to make no noise. + +At dawn the door of the bunk house opened quickly and as quickly +slammed shut again, three bullets in it being the reason. An uproar +ensued and guns spat from the two windows in the general direction of +the unseen besiegers, who did not bother about replying; they had +given notification of their presence and until it was necessary to +shoot there was no earthly use of wasting ammunition. Besides, the +drive outfit had cooled down rapidly when it found that its herd was +in no immediate danger and was not anxious to kill any one unless +there was need. The situation was conducive to humor rather than +anger. But every time the door moved it collected more lead, and it +finally remained shut. + +The noise in the bunk house continued and finally a sombrero was waved +frantically at the south window and a moment later Nat Boggs, foreman +of the incarcerated 4X outfit, stuck his head out very cautiously and +yelled questions which bore directly on the situation and were to the +point. He appeared to be excited and unduly heated, if one might judge +from his words and voice. There was no reply, which still further +added to his heat and excitement. Becoming bolder and a little angrier +he allowed his impetuous nature to get the upper hand and forthwith +attempted the feat of getting through that same window; but a sharp +/pat!/ sounded on a board not a foot from him, and he reconsidered +hastily. His sombrero again waved to insist on a truce, and collected +two holes, causing him much mental anguish and threatening the loss of +his worthy soul. He danced up and down with great agility and no grace +and made remarks, thereby leading a full-voiced chorus. + +"Ain't that a hell of a note?" he demanded plaintively as he paused +for breath. "Stick /yore/ hat out, Cranky, an' see what /you/ can do," +he suggested, irritably. + +Cranky Joe regarded him with pity and reproach, and moved back towards +the other end of the room, muttering softly to himself. "I know it +ain't much of a bonnet, but he needn't rub it in," he growled, +peevishly. + +"Try again; mebby they didn't see you," suggested Jim Larkin, who had +a reputation for never making a joke. He escaped with his life and +checked himself at the side of Cranky Joe, with whom he conferred on +the harshness of the world towards unfortunates. + +The rest of the morning was spent in snipe-shooting at random, +trusting to luck to hit some one, and trusting in vain. At noon Cranky +Joe could stand the strain no longer and opened the door just a little +to relive the monotony. He succeeded, being blessed with a smashed +shoulder, and immediately became a general nuisance, adding greatly to +the prevailing atmosphere. Boggs called him a few kinds of fools and +hastened to nail the door shut; he hit his thumb and his heart became +filled with venom. + +"/Now/ look at what they went an' done!" he yelled, running around in +a circle. "Damned outrage!" + +"Huh!" snorted Cranky Joe with maddening superiority. "That ain't +nothing--just look at me!" + +Boggs looked, very fixedly, and showed signs of apoplexy, and Cranky +Joe returned to his end of the room to resume his soliloquy. + +"Why don't you come out an' take them cows!" inquired an unkind voice +from without. "Ain't changed yore mind, have you?" + +"We'll give you a drink for half a cent a head--that's the regular +price for watering cows," called another. + +The faint ripple of mirth which ran around the plain was lost in +opinions loudly expressed within the room; and Boggs, tears of rage in +his eyes, flung himself down on a chair and invented new terms for +describing human beings. + +John Terry was observing. He had been fluttering around the north +window, constantly getting bolder, and had not been disturbed. When he +withdrew his sombrero and found that it was intact he smiled to +himself and leaned his elbows on the sill, looking carefully around +the plain. The discovery that there was no cover on the north side +cheered him greatly and he called to Boggs, outlining a plan of +action. + +Boggs listened intently and then smiled for the first time since dawn. +"Bully for you, Terry!" he enthused. "Wait till dark--we'll fool 'em." + +A bullet chipped the 'dobe at Terry's side and he ducked as he leaped +back. "From an angle--what did I tell you?" he laughed. "We'll drop +out here an' sneak behind the house after dark. They'll be watching +the door--an' they won't be able to see us, anyhow." + +Boggs sucked his thumb tenderly and grinned. "After which--," he +elated. + +"After which--," gravely repeated Terry, the others echoing it with +unrestrained joy. + +"Then, mebby, I can get a drink," chuckled Larkin, brightening under +the thought. + +"The moon comes up at ten," warned a voice. "It'll be full to-night-- +an' there ain't many clouds in sight." + +"/Ol' King Cole was a merry ol' soul/," hummed McQuade, lightly. + +"An'--a--merry--ol'--soul--was--he!--was--he!" thundered the chorus, +deep-toned and strong. "/He had a wife for every toe, an' some toes +counted three!/" + +"Listen!" cried Meade, holding up his hand. + +"/An' every wife had sixteen dogs, an' every dog a flea!/" shouted a +voice from the besiegers, followed by a roar of laughter. + +The hilarity continued until dark, only stopping when John Terry +slipped out of the window, dropped to all-fours and stuck his head +around the corner of the rear wall. He saw many stars and was silently +handed to Pete Wilson. + +"What was that noise?" exclaimed Boggs in a low tone. "Are you all +right, Terry?" he asked, anxiously. + +Three knocks on the wall replied to his question and then McQuade went +out, and three more knocks were heard. + +"Wonder why they make that funny noise," muttered Boggs. + +"Bumped inter something, I reckon," replied Jim Larkin. "Get out of my +way--I'm next." + +Boggs listened intently and then pushed Duke Lane back. "Don't like +that--sounds like a crack on the head. Hey, Jim! /Say/ something!" he +called softly. The three knocks were repeated, but Boggs was +suspicious and he shook his head decisively. "To 'ell with the +knocking--/say/ something!" + +"Still got them twelve men?" asked a strange voice, pleasantly. + +"/An' every dog a flea/," hummed another around the corner. + +"Hell!" shouted Boggs. "To the door, fellers! To the door--quick!" + +A whistle shrilled from behind the house and a leaden tattoo began on +the door. "Other window!" whispered O'Neill. The foreman got there +before him and, shoving his Colt out first to clear the way, yelled +with rage and pain as a pole hit his wrist and knocked the weapon out +of his hand. He was still commenting when Duke Lane pried open the +door and, dropping quickly on his stomach, wriggled out, followed +closely by Charley Beal and Tim. At that instant the tattoo drummed +with greater vigor and such a hail of lead poured in through the +opening that the door was promptly closed, leaving the three men +outside to shift for themselves with the darkness their only cover. + +Duke and his companions whispered together as they lay flat and agreed +upon a plan of action. Going around the ends of the house was suicide +and no better than waiting for the rising moon to show them to the +enemy; but there was no reason why the roof could not be utilized. Tim +and Charley boosted Duke up, then Tim followed, and the pair on the +roof pulled Charley to their side. Flat roofs were great institutions +they decided as they crawled cautiously towards the other side. This +roof was of hard, sun-baked adobe, over two feet thick, and they did +not care if their friends shot up on a gamble. + +"Fine place, all right," thought Charley, grinning broadly. Then he +turned an agonized face to Tim, his chest rising. "/Hitch! Hitch!/" he +choked, fighting with all his will to master it. "/Hitch-chew! Hitch- +chew! Hitch-chew!/" he sneezed, loudly. There was a scramble below and +a ripple of mirth floated up to them. + +"/Hitch-chew/?" jeered a voice. "What do we want to hit you for?" + +"Look us over, children," invited another. + +"Wait until the moon comes up," chuckled the third. "Be like knocking +the nigger baby down for Red an' the others. Ladies and gents: We'll +now have a little sketch entitled 'Shooting snipe by moonlight.'" + +"Jack-snipe, too," laughed Pete. "Will somebody please hold the bag?" + +The silence on the roof was profound and the three on the ground tried +again. + +"Let me call yore attention to the trained coyotes, ladies an' gents," +remarked Johnny in a deep, solemn voice. "Coyotes are not birds; they +do not roost on roofs as a general thing; but they are some +intelligent an' can be trained to do lots of foolish tricks. These +ani-mules were--" + +"Step this way, people; on-ly ten cents, two nickels," interrupted +Pete. "They bark like dogs, an' howl like hell." + +"Shut up!" snapped Tim, angrily. + +"After the moon comes up," said Hopalong, "when you fellers get tired +dodging, you can chuck us yore guns an' come down. An' don't forget +that this side of the house is much the safest," he warned. + +"Go to hell!" snarled Duke, bitterly. + +"Won't; they're laying for me down there." + +Johnny crawled to the north end of the wall and, looking cautiously +around the corner, funnelled his hands: "On the roof, Red! On the +roof!" + +"Yes, dear," was the reply, followed by gun-shots. + +"Hey! Move over!" snapped Tim, working towards the edge furthest from +the cheerful Red, whose bullets were not as accurate in the dark as +they promised to become in a few minutes when the moon should come up. + +"Want to shove me off?" snarled Charley, angrily. "For heaven's sake, +Duke, do you want the whole earth?" he demanded of his second +companion. + +"You just bet yore shirt I do! An' I want a hole in it, too!" + +"Ain't you got no sense?" + +"Would I be up here if I had?" + +"It's going to be hot as blazes up here when the sun gets high," +cheerfully prophesied Tim: "an' dry, too," he added for a finishing +touch. + +"We'll be lucky if we're live enough to worry about the sun's heat-- +/say/, that was a /close/ one!" exclaimed Duke, frantically trying to +flatten a little more. "Ah, thought so--there's that blamed moon!" + +"Wish I'd gone out the window instead," growled Charley, worming +behind Duke, to the latter's prompt displeasure. + +"You fellers better come down, one at a time," came from below. "Send +yore guns down first, too. Red's a blamed good shot." + +"Hope he croaks," muttered Duke. "/That's/ closer yet!" + +Tim's hand raised and a flash of fire singed Charley's hair. "Got to +do something, anyhow," he explained, lowering the Colt and peering +across the plain. + +"You damned near succeeded!" shouted Charley, grabbing at his head. +"Why, they're three hundred, an' you trying for 'em with a--/oh!/" he +moaned, writhing. + +"Locoed fool!" swore Duke, "showing 'em where we are! They're doing +good enough as it is! You ought--got /you/, too!" + +"/I'm/ going down--that blamed fool out there ain't caring what he +hits," mumbled Charley, clenching his hands from pain. He slid over +the edge and Pete grabbed him. + +"Next," suggested Pete, expectantly. + +Tim tossed his Colt over the edge. "Here's another," he swore, +following the weapon. He was grabbed and bound in a trice. + +"When may we expect you, Mr. Duke?" asked Johnny, looking up. + +"Presently, friend, presently. I want to--/wow/!" he finished, and +lost no time in his descent, which was meteoric. "That feller'll +/kill/ somebody if he ain't careful!" he complained as Pete tied his +hands behind his back. + +"You wait till daylight an' see," cheerily replied Pete as the three +were led off to join their friends in the corral. + +There was no further action until the sun arose and then Hopalong +hailed the house and demanded a parley, and soon he and Boggs met +midway between the shack and the line. + +"What d'you want?" asked Boggs, sullenly. + +"Want you to stop this farce so I can go on with my drive." + +"Well, I ain't holding you!" exploded the 4X foreman. + +"Oh, yes; but you are. I can't let you an' yore men out to hang on our +flanks an' worry us; an' I don't want to hold you in that shack till +you all die of thirst, or come out to be all shot up. Besides, I can't +fool around here for a week; I got business to look after." + +"Don't you worry about us dying with thirst; that ain't worrying us +none." + +"I heard different," replied Hopalong, smiling. "Them fellers in the +corral drank a quart apiece. See here, Boggs; you can't win, an' you +know it. Yo're not bucking me, but the whole range, the whole country. +It's a fight between conditions--the fence idea agin the open range +idea, an' open trails. The fence will lose. You closed a drive trail +that's 'most as old as cow-raising. Will the punchers of this part of +the country stand for it? Suppose you lick us,--which you won't--can +you lick all the rest of us, the JD, Wallace's, Double-Arrow, C-80, +Cross-O-Cross, an' the others! That's just what it amounts to, an' you +better stop right now, before somebody gets killed. You know what that +means in this section. Yo're six to our eight, you ain't got a drink +in that shack, an' you dasn't try to get one. You can't do a thing +agin us, an' you know it." + +Boggs rested his hands on his hips and considered, Hopalong waiting +for him to reply. He knew that the Bar-20 man was right but he hated +to admit it, he hated to say he was whipped. + +"Are any of them six hurt?" he finally asked. + +"Only scratches an' sore heads," responded Hopalong, smiling. "We +ain't tried to kill anybody, yet. I'm putting that up to you." + +Boggs made no reply and Hopalong continued: "I got six of yore twelve +men prisoners, an' all yore cayuses are in my han's. I'll shoot every +animal before I'll leave 'em for you to use against me, an' I'll take +enough of yore cows to make up for what I lost by that fence. You've +got to pay for them dead cows, anyhow. If I do let you out you'll have +to road-brand me two hundred, or pay cash. My herd ain't worrying me-- +it's moving all the time. It's through that other fence by now. An' if +I have to keep my outfit here to pen you in or shoot you off I can +send to the JD for a gang to push the herd. Don't make no mistake: +yo're getting off easy. Suppose one of my men had been killed at the +fence--what then?" + +"Well, what do you want me to do?" + +"Stop this foolishness an' take down them fences for a mile each side +of the trail. If Buck has to come up here the whole thing'll go down. +Road-brand me two hundred of yore three-year-olds. Now as soon as you +agree, an' say that the fight's over, it will be. You can't win out; +an' what's the use of having yore men killed off?" + +"I hate to quit," replied the other, gloomily. + +"I know how that is; but yo're wrong on this question, dead wrong. You +don't own this range or the trail. You ain't got no right to close +that old drive trail. Honest, now; have you?" + +"You say them six ain't hurt?" + +"No more'n I said." + +"An' if I give in will you treat my men right?" + +"Shore." + +"When will you leave." + +"Just as soon as I get them two hundred three-year-olds." + +"Well, I hate a quitter; but I can't do nothing, nohow," mused the 4X +foreman. He cleared his throat and turned to look at the house. "All +right; when you get them cows you get out of here, an' don't never +come back!" + +Hopalong flung his arm with a shout to his men and the other kicked +savagely at an inoffensive stick and slouched back to his bunk house, +a beaten man. + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + TEX EWALT HUNTS TROUBLE + +Not more than a few weeks after the Bar-20 drive outfit returned to +the ranch a solitary horseman pushed on towards the trail they had +followed, bound for Buckskin and the Bar-20 range. His name was Tex +Ewalt and he cordially hated all of the Bar-20 outfit and Hopalong in +particular. He had nursed a grudge for several years and now, as he +rode south to rid himself of it and to pay a long-standing debt, it +grew stronger until he thrilled with anticipation and the sauce of +danger. This grudge had been acquired when he and Slim Travennes had +enjoyed a duel with Hopalong Cassidy up in Santa Fe, and had been +worsted; it had increased when he learned of Slim's death at Cactus +Springs at the hands of Hopalong; and, some time later, hearing that +two friends of his, "Slippery" Trendley and "Deacon" Rankin, with +their gang, had "gone out" in the Panhandle with the same man and his +friends responsible for it, Tex hastened to Muddy Wells to even the +score and clean his slate. Even now his face burned when he remembered +his experiences on that never-to-be-forgotten occasion. He had been +played with, ridiculed, and shamed, until he fled from the town as a +place accursed, hating everything and everybody. It galled him to +think that he had allowed Buck Peters' momentary sympathy to turn him +from his purpose, even though he was convinced that the foreman's +action had saved his life. And now Tex was returning, not to Muddy +Wells, but to the range where the Bar-20 outfit held sway. + +Several years of clean living had improved Tex, morally and +physically. The liquor he had once been in the habit of consuming had +been reduced to a negligible quantity; he spent the money on +cartridges instead, and his pistol work showed the results of careful +and dogged practice, particularly in the quickness of the draw. +Punching cows on a remote northern range had repaid him in health far +more than his old game of living on his wits and other people's lack +of them, as proved by his clear eye and the pink showing through the +tan above his beard; while his somber, steady gaze, due to long-held +fixity of purpose, indicated the resourcefulness of a perfectly +reliable set of nerves. His low-hung holster tied securely to his +trousers leg to assure smoothness in drawing, the restrained swing of +his right hand, never far from the well-worn scabbard which sheathed a +triggerless Colt's "Frontier"--these showed the confident and ready +gun-man, the man who seldom missed. "Frontiers" left the factory with +triggers attached, but the absence of that part did not always +incapacitate a weapon. Some men found that the regular method was too +slow, and painstakingly cultivated the art of thumbing the hammer. +"Thumbing" was believed to save the split second so valuable to a man +in argument with his peers. Tex was riding with the set purpose of +picking a fair fight with the best six-shooter expert it had ever been +his misfortune to meet, and he needed that split second. He knew that +he needed it and the knowledge thrilled him with a peculiar elation; +he had changed greatly in the past year and now he wanted an "even +break" where once he would have called all his wits into play to avoid +it. He had found himself and now he acknowledged no superior in +anything. + +On his way south he met and talked with men who had known him, the old +Tex, in the days when he had made his living precariously. They did +not recognize him behind his beard, and he was content to let the +oversight pass. But from these few he learned what he wished to know, +and he was glad that Hopalong Cassidy was where he had always been, +and that his gun-work had improved rather than depreciated with the +passing of time. He wished to prove himself master of The Master, and +to be hailed as such by those who had jeered and laughed at his +ignominy several years before. So he rode on day after day, smiling +and content, neither under-rating nor over-rating his enemy's ability +with one weapon, but trying to think of him as he really was. He knew +that if there was any difference between Hopalong Cassidy and himself +that it must be very slight--perhaps so slight as to result fatally to +both; but if that were so then it would have to work out as it saw fit +--he at least would have accomplished what many, many others had +failed in. + + + +In the little town of Buckskin, known hardly more than locally, and +never thought of by outsiders except as the place where the Bar-20 +spent their spare time and money, and neutral ground for the +surrounding ranches, was Cowan's saloon, in the dozen years of its +existence the scene of good stories, boisterous fun, and quick deaths. +Put together roughly, of crude materials, sticking up in inartistic +prominence on the dusty edge of a dustier street; warped, bleached by +the sun, and patched with boards ripped from packing cases and with +the flattened sides of tin cans; low of ceiling, the floor one huge +brown discoloration of spring, creaking boards, knotted and split and +worn into hollows, the unpretentious building offered its hospitality +to all who might be tempted by the scrawled, sprawled lettering of its +sign. The walls were smoke-blackened, pitted with numerous small and +clear-cut holes, and decorated with initials carelessly cut by men who +had come and gone. + +Such was Cowan's, the best patronized place in many hot and dusty +miles and the Mecca of the cowboys from the surrounding ranches. Often +at night these riders of the range gathered in the humble building and +told tales of exceeding interest; and on these occasions one might see +a row of ponies standing before the building, heads down and quiet. It +is strange how alike cow-ponies look in the dim light of the stars. On +the south side of the saloon, weak, yellow lamp light filtered through +the dirt on the window panes and fell in distorted patches on the +plain, blotched in places by the shadows of the wooden substitutes for +glass. + +It was a moonlight night late in the fall, after the last beef round- +up was over and the last drive outfit home again, that two cow-ponies +stood in front of Cowan's while their owners lolled against the bar +and talked over the latest sensation--the fencing in of the West +Valley range, and the way Hopalong Cassidy and his trail outfit had +opened up the old drive trail across it. The news was a month old, but +it was the last event of any importance and was still good to laugh +over. + +"Boys," remarked the proprietor, "I want you to meet Mr. Elkins. He +came down that trail last week, an' he didn't see no fence across it." +The man at the table arose slowly. "Mr. Elkins, this is Sandy Lucas, +an' Wood Wright, of the C-80. Mr. Elkins here has been a-looking over +the country, sizing up what the beef prospects will be for next year; +an' he knows all about wire fences. Here's how," he smiled, treating +on the house. + +Mr. Elkins touched the glass to his bearded lips and set it down +untasted while he joked over the sharp rebuff so lately administered +to wire fences in that part of the country. While he was an ex-cow- +puncher he believed that he was above allowing prejudice to sway his +judgment, and it was his opinion, after careful thought, that barb +wire was harmful to the best interests of the range. He had ridden +over a great part of the cattle country in the last few yeas, and +after reviewing the existing conditions as he understood them, his +verdict must go as stated, and emphatically. He launched gracefully +into a slowly delivered and lengthy discourse upon the subject, which +proved to be so entertaining that his companions were content to +listen and nod with comprehension. They had never met any one who was +so well qualified to discuss the pros and cons of the barb-wire fence +question, and they learned many things which they had never heard +before. This was very gratifying to Mr. Elkins, who drew largely upon +hearsay, his own vivid imagination, and a healthy logic. He was very +glad to talk to men who had the welfare of the range at heart, and he +hoped soon to meet the man who had taken the initiative in giving barb +wire its first serious setback on that rich and magnificent southern +range. + +"You shore ought to meet Cassidy--he's a fine man," remarked Lucas +with enthusiasm. "You'll not find any better, no matter where you +look. But you ain't touched yore liquor," he finished with surprise. + +"You'll have to excuse me, gentlemen," replied Mr. Elkins, smiling +deprecatingly. "When a man likes it as much as I do it ain't very easy +to foller instructions an' let it alone. Sometimes I almost break +loose an' indulge, regardless of whether it kills me or not. I reckon +it'll get me yet." He struck the bar a resounding blow with his +clenched hand. "But I ain't going to cave in till I has to!" + +"That's purty tough," sympathized Wood Wright, reflectively. "I ain't +so very much taken with it, but I know I would be if I knowed I +couldn't have any." + +"Yes, that's human nature, all right," laughed Lucas. "That reminds me +of a little thing that happened to me once--" + +"Listen!" exclaimed Cowan, holding up his hand for silence. "I reckon +that's the Bar-20 now, or some of it--sounds like them when they're +feeling frisky. There's allus something happening when them fellers +are around." + +The proprietor was right, as proved a moment later when Johnny Nelson, +continuing his argument, pushed open the door and entered the room. "I +didn't neither; an' you know it!" he flung over his shoulder. + +"Then who did?" demanded Hopalong, chuckling. "Why, hullo, boys," he +said, nodding to his friends at the bar. "Nobody else would do a fool +thing like that; nobody but you, Kid," he added, turning to Johnny. + +"I don't care a hang what you think; I say I didn't an'--" + +"He shore did, all right; I seen him just afterward," laughed Billy +Williams, pressing close upon Hopalong's heels. "Howdy, Lucas; an' +there's that ol' coyote, Wood Wright. How's everybody feeling?" + +"Where's the rest of you fellers?" inquired Cowan. + +"Stayed home to-night," replied Hopalong. + +"Got any loose money, you two?" asked Billy, grinning at Lucas and +Wright. + +"I reckon we have--an' our credit's good if we ain't. We're good for a +dollar or two, ain't we, Cowan?" replied Lucas. + +"Two dollars an' four bits," corrected Cowan. "I'll raise it to three +dollars even when you pay me that 'leven cents you owe me." + +"'Leven cents? What 'leven cents?" + +"Postage stamps an' envelope for that love letter you writ." + +"Go to blazes; that wasn't no love letter!" snorted Lucas, +indignantly. "That was my quarterly report. I never did write no love +letters, nohow." + +"We'll trim you fellers to-night, if you've got the nerve to play us," +grinned Johnny, expectantly. + +"Yes; an' we've got that, too. Give us the cards, Cowan," requested +Wood Wright, turning. "They won't give us no peace till we take all +their money away from 'em." + +"Open game," prompted Cowan, glancing meaningly at Elkins, who stood +by idly looking on, and without showing much interest in the scene. + +"Shore! Everybody can come in what wants to," replied Lucas, heartily, +leading the others to the table. "I allus did like a six-handed game +best--all the cards are out an' there's some excitement in it." + +When the deal began Elkins was seated across the table from Hopalong, +facing him for the first time since that day over in Muddy Wells, and +studying him closely. He found no changes, for the few years had left +no trace of their passing on the Bar-20 puncher. The sensation of +facing the man he had come south expressly to kill did not interfere +with Elkins' card-playing ability for he played a good game; and as if +the Fates were with him it was Hopalong's night off as far as poker +was concerned, for his customary good luck was not in evidence. That +instinctive feeling which singles out two duellists in a card game was +soon experienced by the others, who were careful, as became good +players, to avoid being caught between them; in consequence, when the +game broke up, Elkins had most of Hopalong's money. At one period of +his life Elkins had lived on poker for five years, and lived well. But +he gained more than money in this game, for he had made friends with +the players and placed the first wire of his trap. Of those in the +room Hopalong alone treated him with reserve, and this was cleverly +swung so that it appeared to be caused by a temporary grouch due to +the sting of defeat. As the Bar-20 man was known to be given to moods +at times this was accepted as the true explanation and gave promise of +hotly contested games for revenge later on. The banter which the +defeated puncher had to endure stirred him and strengthened the +reserve, although he was careful not to show it. + +When the last man rode off, Elkins and the proprietor sought their +bunks without delay, the former to lie awake a long time, thinking +deeply. He was vexed at himself for failing to work out an acceptable +plan of action, one that would show him to be in the right. He would +gain nothing more than glory, and pay too dearly for it, if he killed +Hopalong and was in turn killed by the dead man's friends--and he +believed that he had become acquainted with the quality of the +friendship which bound the units of the Bar-20 outfit into a smooth, +firm whole. They were like brothers, like one man. Cassidy must do the +forcing as far as appearances went, and be clearly in the wrong before +the matter could be settled. + +The next week was a busy one for Elkins, every day finding him in the +saddle and riding over some one of the surrounding ranches with one or +more of its punchers for company. In this way he became acquainted +with the men who might be called on to act as his jury when the +showdown came, and he proceeded to make friends of them in a manner +that promised success. And some of his suggestions for the improvement +of certain conditions on the range, while they might not work out +right in the long run, compelled thought and showed his interest. His +remarks on the condition and numbers of cattle were the same in +substance in all cases and showed that he knew what he was talking +about, for the punchers were all very optimistic about the next year's +showing in cattle. + +"If you fellers don't break all records for drive herds of quality +next year I don't know nothing about cows; an' I shore don't know +nothing else," he told the foreman of the Bar-20, as they rode +homeward after an inspection of that ranch. "There'll be more dust +hanging over the drive trails leading from this section next year when +spring drops the barriers than ever before. You needn't fear for the +market, neither--prices will stand. The north an' central ranges ain't +doing what they ought to this year--it'll be up to you fellers down +south, here, to make that up; an' you can do it." This was not a +guess, but the result of thought and study based on the observations +he had made on his ride south, and from what he had learned from +others along the way. It paralleled Buck's own private opinion, +especially in regard to the southern range; and the vague suspicions +in the foreman's mind disappeared for good and all. + +Needless to say Elkins was a welcome visitor at the ranch houses and +was regarded as a good fellow. At the Bar-20 he found only two men who +would not thaw to him, and he was possessed of too much tact to try +any persuasive measures. One was Hopalong, whose original cold reserve +seemed to be growing steadily, the Bar-20 puncher finding in Elkins a +personality that charged the atmosphere with hostility and quietly +rubbed him the wrong way. Whenever he was in the presence of the +newcomer he felt the tugging of an irritating and insistent antagonism +and he did not always fully conceal it. John Bartlett, Lucas, and one +or two of the more observing had noticed it and they began to prophesy +future trouble between the two. The other man who disliked Elkins was +Red Connors; but what was more natural? Red, being Hopalong's closest +companion, would be very apt to share his friend's antipathy. On the +other hand, as if to prove Hopalong's dislike to be unwarranted, +Johnny Nelson swung far to the other extreme and was frankly +enthusiastic in his liking for the cattle scout. And Johnny did not +pour oil on the waters when he laughingly twitted Hopalong for +allowing "a licking at cards to make him sore." This was the idea that +Elkins was quietly striving to have generally accepted. + +The affair thus hung fire, Elkins chafing at the delay and cautiously +working for an opening, which at last presented itself, to be promptly +seized. By a sort of mutual, unspoken agreement, the men in Cowan's +that night passed up the cards and sat swapping stories. Cowan, +swearing at a smoking lamp, looked up with a grin and burned his +fingers as a roar of laughter marked the point of a droll reminiscence +told by Bartlett. + +"That's a good story, Bartlett," Elkins remarked, slowing refilling +his pipe. "Reminds me of the lame Greaser, Hippy Joe, an' the canned +oysters. They was both bad, an' neither of 'em knew it till they came +together. It was like this. . . ." The malicious side glance went +unseen by all but Hopalong, who stiffened with the raging suspicion of +being twitted on his own deformity. The humor of the tale failed to +appeal to him, and when his full senses returned Lucas was in the +midst of the story of the deadly game of tag played in a ten-acre lot +of dense underbrush by two of his old-time friends. It was a tale of +gripping interest and his auditors were leaning forward in their +eagerness not to miss a word. "An' Pierce won," finished Lucas; "some +shot up, but able to get about. He was all right in a couple of weeks. +But he was bound to win; he could shoot all around Sam Hopkins." + +"But the best shot won't allus win in that game," commented Elkins. +"That's one of the minor factors." + +"Yes, sir! It's /luck/ that counts there," endorsed Bartlett, quickly. +"Luck, nine times out of ten." + +"Best shot ought to win," declared Skinny Thompson. "It ain't all +luck, nohow. Where'd I be against Hoppy, there?" + +"Won't neither!" cried Johnny, excitedly. "The man who sees the other +first wins out. That's wood-craft, an' brains." + +"Aw! What do you know about it, anyhow?" demanded Lucas. "If he can't +shoot so good what chance has he got--if he misses the first try, what +then?" + +"What chance has he got! First chance, miss or no miss. If he can't +see the other first, where the devil does his good shooting come in?" + +"Huh!" snorted Wood Wright, belligerently. "Any fool can /see/, but he +can't /shoot/! An' it's as much luck as wood-craft, too, an' don't you +forget it!" + +"The first shot don't win, Johnny; not in a game like that, with all +the dodging an' ducking," remarked Red. "You can't put one where you +want it when a feller's slipping around in the brush. It's the most +that counts, an' the best shot gets in the most. I wouldn't want to +have to stand up against Hoppy an' a short gun, not in that game; no, +sir!" and Red shook his head with decision. + +The argument waxed hot. With the exception of Hopalong, who sat +silently watchful, every one spoke his opinion and repeated it without +regard to the others. It appeared that in this game, the man with the +strongest lungs would eventually win out, and each man tried to show +his superiority in that line. Finally, above the uproar, Cowan's +bellow was herd, and he kept it up until some notice was taken of it. +"Shut up! /Shut up/! For God's sake, /quit/! Never saw such a bunch of +tinder--let somebody drop a cold, burned-out match in this gang, an' +hell's to pay. Here, /all/ of you, play cards an' forget about cross- +tag in the scrub. You'll be arguing about playing marbles in the dark +purty soon!" + +"All right," muttered Johnny, "but just the same, the man who--" + +"Never mind about the man who! Did you hear /me/?" yelled Cowan, +swiftly reaching for a bucket of water. "/This/ is a game where /I/ +gets the most in, an' don't forget it!" + +"Come on; play cards," growled Lucas, who did not relish having his +decision questioned on his own story. Undoubtedly somewhere in the +wide, wide world there was such a thing as common courtesy, but none +of it had ever strayed onto that range. + +The chairs scraped on the rough floor as the men pulled up to a table. +"I don't care a hang," came Elkins' final comment as he shuffled the +cards with careful attention. "I'm not any fancy Colt expert, but I'm +damned if I won't take a chance in that game with any man as totes a +gun. Leastawise, of /course/, I wouldn't take no such advantage of a +lame man." + +The effect would have been ludicrous but for its deadly significance. +Cowan, stooping to go under the bar, remained in that hunched-up +attitude, his every faculty concentrated in his ears; the match on its +way to the cigarette between Red's lips was held until it burned his +fingers, when it was dropped from mere reflex action, the hand still +stiffly aloft; Lucas, half in and half out of his chair, seemed to +have got just where he intended, making no effort to seat himself. +Skinny Thompson, his hand on his gun, seemed paralyzed; his mouth was +open to frame a reply that never was uttered and he stared through +narrowed eyelids at the blunderer. The sole movement in the room was +the slow rising of Hopalong and the markedly innocent shuffling of the +cards by Elkins, who appeared to be entirely ignorant of the weight +and effect of his words. He dropped the pack for the cut and then +looked up and around as if surprised by the silence and the +expressions he saw. + +Hopalong stood facing him, leaning over with both hands on the table. +His voice, when he spoke, rumbled up from his chest in a low growl. +"You won't /have/ no advantage, Elkins. Take it from me, you've had +yore last fling. I'm glad you made it plain, this time, so it's +something I can take hold of." He straightened slowly and walked to +the door, and an audible sigh sounded through the room as it was +realized that trouble was not immediately imminent. At the door he +paused and turned back around, looking back over his shoulder. "At +noon to-morrow I'm going to hoof it north through the brush between +the river an' the river trail, starting at the old ford a mile down +the river." He waited expectantly. + +"Me too--only the other way," was the instant rejoinder. "Have it yore +own way." + +Hopalong nodded and the closing door shut him out into the night. +Without a word the Bar-20 men arose and followed him, the only +hesitant being Johnny, who was torn between loyalty and new-found +friendship; but with a sorrowful shake of the head, he turned away and +passed out, not far behind the others. + +"Clannish, ain't they?" remarked Elkins, gravely. + +Those remaining were regarding him sternly, questioningly, Cowan with +a deep frown darkening his face. "You hadn't ought to 'a' said that, +Elkins." The reproof was almost an accusation. + +Elkins looked steadily at the speaker. "You hadn't ought to 'a' let me +say it," he replied. "How did I know he was so touchy?" His gaze left +Cowan and lingered in turn on each of the others. "Some of you ought +to 'a' told me. I wouldn't 'a' said it only for what I said just +before, an' I didn't want him to think I was challenging him to no +duel in the brush. So I says so, an' then he goes an' takes it up that +I /am/ challenging him. I ain't got no call to fight with nobody. +Ain't I tried to keep out of trouble with him ever since I've been +here? Ain't I kept out of the poker games on his account? Ain't I?" +The grave, even tones were dispassionate, without a trace of animus +and serenely sure of justice. + +The faces around him cleared gradually and heads began to nod in +comprehending consent. + +"Yes, I reckon you have," agreed Cowan, slowly, but the frown was not +entirely gone. "Yes, I reckon--mebby--you have." + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + THE MASTER + +It was noon by the sun when Hopalong and Red shook hands south of the +old ford and the former turned to enter the brush. Hopalong was cool +and ominously calm while his companion was the opposite. Red was +frankly suspicious of the whole affair and nursed the private opinion +that Mr. Elkins would lay in ambush and shoot his enemy down like a +dog. And Red had promised himself a dozen times that he would study +the signs around the scene of action if Hopalong should not come back, +and take a keen delight, if warranted, in shooting Mr. Elkins full of +holes with no regard for an even break. He was thinking the matter +over as his friend breasted the first line of brush and could not +refrain from giving a slight warning. "Get him, Hoppy," he called, +earnestly; "get him good. Let /him/ do some of the moving about. I'll +be here waiting for you." + +Hopalong smiled in reply and sprang forward, the leaves and branches +quickly shutting him from Red's sight. He had worked out his plan of +action the night before when he was alone and the world was still, and +as soon as he had it to his satisfaction he had dropped off to sleep +as easily as a child--it took more than gun-play to disturb his +nerves. He glanced about him to make sure of his bearings and then +struck on a curving line for the river. The first hundred yards were +covered with speed and then he began to move more slowly and with +greater regard for caution, keeping close to the earth and showing a +marked preference for low ground. Sky-lines were all right in times of +peace, but under the present conditions they promised to become +unhealthy. His eyes and ears told him nothing for a quarter of an +hour, and then he suddenly stopped short and crouched as he saw the +plain trail of a man crossing his own direction at a right angle. From +the bottom of one of the heel prints a crushed leaf was slowly rising +back towards its original position, telling him how new the trail was; +and as if this were not enough for his trained mind he heard a twig +snap sharply as he glanced along the line of prints. It sounded very +close, and he dropped instantly to one knee and thought quickly. Why +had the other left so plain a trail, why had he reached up and broken +twigs that projected above his head as he passed? Why had he kicked +aside a small stone, leaving a patch of moist, bleached grass to tell +where it had lain? Elkins had stumbled here, but there were no toe +marks to tell of it. Hopalong would not track, for he was no assassin; +but he knew that he would do if he were, and careless. The answer +leaped to his suspicious mind like a flash, and he did not care to +waste any time in trying to determine whether or not Elkins was +capable of such a trick. He acted on the presumption that the trail +had been made plain for a good reason, and that not far ahead at some +suitable place,--and there were any number of such within a hundred +yards,--the maker of the plain trail lay in wait. Smiling savagely he +worked backward and turning, struck off in a circle. He had no +compunctions whatever now about shooting the other player of the game. +It was not long before he came upon the same trail again and he +started another circle. A bullet /zipped/ past his ear and cut a twig +not two inches from his head. He fired at the smoke as he dropped, and +then wriggled rapidly backward, keeping as flat to the earth as he +could. Elkins had taken up his position in a thicket which stood in +the centre of a level patch of sand in the old bed of the river,--the +bed it had used five years before and forsaken at the time of the big +flood when it cut itself a new channel and made the U-bend which now +surrounded this piece of land on three sides. Even now, during the +rainy season, the thicket which sheltered Mr. Elkins was frequently an +island in a sluggish, shallow overflow. + +"Hole up, blast you!" jeered Hopalong, hugging the ground. The second +bullet from Mr. Elkins' gun cut another twig, this one just over his +head, and he laughed insolently. "I ain't ascared to do the moving, +even if you are. Judging from the way you keep out o' sight the canned +oysters are in the can again. /I/ never did no ambushing, you coyote." + +"You can't make remarks like that an' get away with 'em--I've knowed +you too long," retorted Elkins, shifting quickly, and none too soon. +"You went an' got Slim afore he was wide awake. I know /you/, all +right." + +Hopalong's surprise was but momentary, and his mind raced back over +the years. Who was this man Elkins, that he knew Slim Travennes? +"Yo're a liar, Elkins, an' so was the man who told you that!" + +"Call me Ewalt," jeered the other, nastily. "Nobody'll hear it, an' +you'll not live to tell it. Ewalt, Tex Ewalt; call me that." + +"So you've come back after all this time to make me get you, have you? +Well, I ain't a-going to shoot no buttons off you /this/ time. I allus +reckoned you learned something at Muddy Wells--but you'll learn it +here," Hopalong rejoined, sliding into a depression, and working with +great caution towards the dry river bed, where fallen trees and +hillocks of sand provided good cover in plenty. Everything was clear +now and despite the seriousness of the situation he could not repress +a smile as he remembered vividly that day at the carnival when Tex +Ewalt came to town with the determination to kill him and show him up +as an imitation. His grievance against Elkins was petty when compared +to that against Ewalt, and he began to force the issue. As he peered +over a stranded log he caught sight of his enemy disappearing into +another part of the thicket, and two of his three shots went home. +Elkins groaned with pain and fear as he realized that his right knee- +cap was broken and would make him slow in his movements. He was lamed +for life, even if he did come out of the duel alive; lamed in the same +way that Hopalong was--the affliction he had made cruel sport of had +come to him. But he had plenty of courage and he returned the fire +with remarkable quickness, his two shots sounding almost as one. + +Hopalong wiped the blood from his cheek and wormed his way to a new +place; when half way there he called out again, "How's yore health-- +Tex?" in mock sympathy. + +Elkins lied manfully and when he looked to get in another shot his +enemy was on the farther bank, moving up to get behind him. He did not +know Hopalong's new position until he raised his head to glance down +over the dried river bed, and was informed by a bullet that nicked his +ear. As he ducked, another grazed his head, the third going wild. He +hazarded a return shot, and heard Hopalong's laugh ring out again. + +"Like the story Lucas told, the best shot is going to win out this +time, too," the Bar-20 man remarked, grimly. "You thought a game like +this would give you some chance against a better shot, didn't you? You +are a fool." + +"It ain't over yet, not by a damned sight!" came the retort. + +"An' you thought you had a little the best of it if you stayed still +an' let me do the moving, didn't you? You'll learn something before I +get through with you: but it'll be too late to do you any good," +Hopalong called, crouched below a hillock of sand so the other could +not take advantage of the words and single him out for a shot. + +"You can't learn me nothing, you assassin; I've got my eyes open, this +time." He knew that he had had them open before, and that Hopalong was +in no way an assassin; but if he could enrage his enemy and sting him +into some reflex carelessness he might have the last laugh. + +Elkins' retort was wasted, for the sudden and unusual, although a +familiar sound, had caught Hopalong's ear and he was giving all his +attention to it. While he weighed it, his incredulity holding back the +decision his common sense was striving to give him, the noise grew +louder rapidly and common sense won out in a cry of warning an instant +before a five-foot wall of brown water burst upon his sight, sweeping +swiftly down the old, dry river bed; and behind it towered another and +greater wall. Tree trunks were dancing end over end in it as if they +were straws. + +"Cloud-burst!" he yelled. "Run, Tex! Run for yore life! Cloud-burst up +the valley! Run, you fool; /Run/!" + +Tex's sarcastic retort was cut short as he instinctively glanced +north, and his agonized curse lashed Hopalong forward. "Can't run-- +knee cap's busted! Can't swim, can't do--ah, hell--!" + +Hopalong saw him torn from his shelter and whisked down the raging +torrent like an arrow from a bow. The Bar-20 puncher leaped from the +bank, shot under the yellow flood and arose, gasping and choking many +yards downstream, fighting madly to get the muddy water out of his +throat and eyes. As he struck out with all his strength down the +current, he caught sight of Tex being torn from a jutting tree limb, +and he shouted encouragement and swam all the harder, if such a thing +were possible. Tex's course was checked for a moment by a boiling +back-current and as he again felt the pull of the rushing stream +Hopalong's hand gripped his collar and the fight for safety began. +Whirled against logs and stumps, drawn down by the weight of his +clothes and the frantic efforts of Tex to grasp him--fighting the +water and the man he was trying to save at the same time, his head +under water as often as it was out of it, and Tex's vise-like fingers +threatening him--he headed for the west shore against powerful cross- +currents that made his efforts seem useless. He seemed to get the +worst of every break. Once, when caught by a friendly current, they +were swung under an overhanging branch, but as Hopalong's hand shot up +to grasp it a submerged bush caught his feet and pulled him under, and +Tex's steel-like arms around his throat almost suffocated him before +he managed to beat the other into insensibility and break the hold. + +"I'll let you go!" he threatened; but his hand grasped the other's +collar all the tighter and his fighting jaw was set with greater +determination than ever. + +They shot out into the main stream, where the U-bend channel joined +the short-cut, and it looked miles wide to the exhausted puncher. He +was fighting only on his will now. He would not give up, though he +scarce could lift an arm, and his lungs seemed on fire. He did not +know whether Tex was dead or alive, but he would get the body ashore +with him, or go down trying. He bumped into a log and instinctively +grasped it. It turned, and when he came up again it was bobbing five +feet ahead of him. Ages seemed to pass before he flung his numb arm +over it and floated with it. He was not alone in the flood; a coyote +was pushing steadily across his path towards the nearer bank, and on a +gliding tree trunk crouched a frightened cougar, its ears flattened +and its sharp claws dug solidly through the bark. Here and there were +cattle and a snake wriggled smoothly past him, apparently as much at +home in the water as out of it. The log turned again and he just +managed to catch hold of it as he came up for the second time. + +Things were growing black before his eyes and strange, weird ideas and +images floated through his brain. When he regained some part of his +senses he saw ahead of him a long, curling crest of yellow water and +foam, and he knew, vaguely, that it was pouring over a bar. The next +instant his feet struck bottom and he fought his way blindly and +slowly, with the stubborn determination of his kind, towards the +brush-covered point twenty feet away. + +When he opened his eyes and looked around he became conscious of +excruciating pains and he closed them again to rest. His outflung hand +struck something that made him look around again, and he saw Tex +Ewalt, face down at his side. He released his grasp on the other's +collar and slowly the whole thing came to him, and then the necessity +for action, unless he wished to lose what he had fought so hard to +save. + +Anything short of the iron man Tex had become would have been dead +before this or have been finished by the mauling he now got from +Hopalong. But Tex groaned, gurgled a curse, and finally opened his +eyes upon his rescuer, who sank back with a grunt of satisfaction. +Slowly his intelligence returned as he looked steadily into Hopalong's +eyes, and with it came the realization of a strange truth: he did not +hate this man at all. Months of right living, days and nights of +honest labor shoulder to shoulder with men who respected him for his +ability and accepted him as one of themselves, had made a new man of +him, although the legacy of hatred from the old Tex had disguised him +from himself until now; but the new Tex, battered, shot-up, nearly +drowned, looked at his old enemy and saw him for the man he really +was. He smiled faintly and reached out his hand. + +"Cassidy, yo're the boss," he said. "Shake." + +They shook. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, BAR-20 DAYS *** + +This file should be named br20d10.txt or br20d10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, br20d11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, br20d10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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