Clarence E. Mulford_Hopalong Cassidy 04 (9 page)

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?"

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."