Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up; Or, Bar-20

by Rex Beach

  CHAPTER V. The Law of the Range

  "Phew! I'm shore hungry," said Hopalong, as he and Red dismounted at theranch the next morning for breakfast. "Wonder what's good for it?"

  "They's three things that's good for famine," said Red, leading the wayto the bunk house. "Yu can pull in yore belt, yu can drink, an yu caneat. Yore getting as bad as Johnny--but he's young yet."

  The others met their entrance with a volley of good-humored banter, someof which was so personal and evoked such responses that it sounded likethe preliminary skirmish to a fight. But under all was that soft accent,that drawl of humorous appreciation and eyes twinkling in suppressedmerriment. Here they were thoroughly at home and the spirit ofcomradeship manifested itself in many subtle ways; the wit became moredaring and sharp, Billy lost some of his pessimism, and the alertnessdisappeared from their manner.

  Skinny left off romping with Red and yawned. "I wish that cook'ud wakeup an' git breakfast. He's the cussedest hombre I ever saw--he kin go tosleep standin' up an' not know it. Johnny's th' boy that worries him--th'kid comes in an' whoops things up till he's gorged himself."

  "Johnny's got th' most appallin' feel for grub of anybody I knows,"added Red. "I wonder what's keepin' him--he's usually hangin' around herebawlin' for his grub like a spoiled calf, long afore cookie's got th'fire goin'."

  "Mebby he rustled some grub out with him--I saw him tip-toein' out of th'gallery this mornin' when I come back for my cigs," remarked Hopalong,glancing at Billy.

  Billy groaned and made for the gallery. Emerging half a minute later heblurted out his tale of woe: "Every time I blows myself an' don't drinkit all in town some slab-sided maverick freezes to it. It's gone," headded, dismally.

  "Too bad, Billy--but what is it?" asked Skinny.

  "What is it? Wha'd yu think it was, you emaciated match? Jewelry?Cayuses? It's whisky--two simoleons' worth. Some-thin's allus wrong. Thishere whole yearth's wrong, just like that cross-eyed sky pilot said overto--"

  "Will yu let up?" Yelled Red, throwing a sombrero at the grumblingunfortunate. "Yu ask Buck where yore tanglefoot is.

  "I'd shore look nice askin' th' boss if he'd rustled my whisky, wouldn'tI? An' would yu mind throwin' somebody else's hat? I paid twenty wheelsfor that eight years ago, and I don't want it mussed none."

  "Gee, yore easy! Why, Ah Sing, over at Albuquerque, gives them awayevery time yu gits yore shirt washed," gravely interposed Hopalong as hewent out to cuss the cook.

  "Well, what'd yu think of that?" Exclaimed Billy in an injured tone.

  "Oh, yu needn't be hikin' for Albuquerque--WasheeWashee'ud charge yudouble for washin' yore shirt. Yu ought to fall in di' river someday--then he might talk business," called Hopalong over his shoulderas he heaved an old boot into the gallery. "Hey, yu hibernatin' son ofmorphine, if yu don't git them flapjacks in here pretty sudden-likeI'll scatter yu all over di' landscape, sabe? Yu just wait till Johnnycomes!"

  "Wonder where th' kid is?" asked Lanky, rolling a cigarette. "Offsomewhere lookin' at di' sun through di' bottom of my bottle," grumbledBilly.

  Hopalong started to go out, but halted on the sill and looked steadilyoff toward the northwest. "That's funny. Hey, fellows, here comes Buckan' Johnny ridin' double--on a walk, too!" he exclaimed. "Wonder whatth'--thunder! Red, Buck's carryun' him! Somethin's busted!" he yelled, ashe dashed for his pony and made for the newcomers.

  "I told yu he was hittin' my bottle," pertly remarked Billy, as hefollowed the rest outside.

  "Did yu ever see Johnny drunk? Did yu ever see him drink more'n twoglasses? Shut yore wailin' face--they's somethin' worse'n that in thishere," said Red, his temper rising. "Hopalong an' me took yore cheapliquor--it's under Pete's bunk," he added.

  The trio approached on a walk and Johnny, delirious and covered withblood, was carried into the bunk house. Buck waited until all hadassembled again and then, his face dark with anger, spoke sharply andwithout the usual drawl: "Skragged from behind, blast them! Get somegrub an' water an' be quick. We'll see who the gent with th' grudge is."

  At this point the expostulations of the indignant cook, who, notunderstanding the cause, regarded the invasion of china shop bulls assacrilegious, came to his ears. Striding quickly to the door, he grabbedthe pan the Mexican was about to throw and, turning the now frightenedman around, thundered, "Keep quiet an' get 'em some grub."

  When rifles and ammunition had been secured they mounted and followedhim at a hard gallop along the back trail. No words were spoken, fornone were necessary. All knew that they would not return until theyhad found the man for whom they were looking, even if the chase ledto Canada. They did not ask Buck for any of the particulars, for theforeman was not in the humor to talk, and all, save Hopalong, whosecuriosity was always on edge, recognized only two facts and cared fornothing else: Johnny had been ambushed and they were going to get theone who was responsible.

  They did not even conjecture as to who it might be, because the trailwould lead them to the man himself, and it mattered nothing who or whathe was--there was only one course to take with an assassin. So they saidnothing, but rode on with squared jaws and set lips, the seven poniesbreast to breast in a close arc.

  Soon they came to an arroyo which they took at a leap. As theyapproached it they saw signs in the dust which told them that a body hadlain there huddled up; and there were brown spots on the baked alkali.The trail they followed was now single, Buck having ridden along thebank of the arroyo when hunting for Johnny, for whom he had orders. Thistrail was very irregular, as if the horse had wandered at will. Suddenlythey came upon five tracks, all pointing one way, and four of theseturned abruptly and disappeared in the northwest. Half a mile beyond thepoint of separation was a chaparral, which was an important factor tothem.

  Each man knew just what had taken place as if he had been an eyewitness,for the trail was plain. The assassins had waited in the chaparral forJohnny to pass, probably having seen him riding that way. When he hadpassed and his back had been turned to them they had fired and woundedhim severely at the first volley, for Johnny was of the stuff thatfights back and his revolvers had showed full chambers and clean barrelswhen Red had examined them in the bunk house. Then they had given chasefor a short distance and, from some inexplicable motive, probably fear,they had turned and ridden off without knowing how bad he was hit. Itwas this trail that led to the northwest, and it was this trail thatthey followed without pausing.

  When they had covered fifty miles they sighted the Cross Bar O ranchwhere they hoped to secure fresh mounts. As they rode up to the ranchhouse the owner, Bud Wallace, came around the corner and saw them.

  "Hullo, boys! What deviltry are yu up to now?" he asked. Buckleaped from his mount, followed by the others, and shoved his sombreroback on his head as he started to remove the saddle.

  "We're trailin' a bunch of murderers. They ambushed Johnny an' blamenear killed him. I stopped here to get fresh cayuses."

  "Yu did right!" replied Wallace heartily. Then raising his voice heshouted to some of his men who were near the corral to bring up theseven best horses they could rope. Then he told the cook to bring outplenty of food and drink.

  "I got four punchers what ain't doin' nothin' but eat," he suggested.

  "Much obliged, Wallace, but there's only four of 'em, an' we'd ratherget 'em ourselves--Johnny'ud feel better," replied Buck, throwing hissaddle on the horse that was led up to him.

  "How's yore cartridges--got plenty?" Persisted Wallace.

  "Two hundred apiece," responded Buck, springing into his saddle andriding off. "So long," he called.

  "So long, an' plug blazes out of them," shouted Wallace as the dustswept over him.

  At five in the afternoon they forded the Black River at a point where itcrossed the state line from New Mexico, and at dusk camped at the baseof the Guadalupe Mountains. At daybreak they took up the chase, grim andmerciless, and shortly afterward they passed the smoldering remains ofa camp fire, showing that the pursued had been in a great hurry, for itsh
ould have been put out and masked. At noon they left the mountains tothe rear and sighted the Barred Horeshoe, which they approached.

  The owner of the ranch saw them coming, and from their appearancesurmised that something was wrong.

  "What is it?" He shouted. "Rustlers?"

  "Nope. Murderers. I wants to swap cayuses quick," answered Buck.

  "There they are. Th' boys just brought 'em in. Anything else I can letyu have?"

  "Nope," shouted Buck as they galloped off.

  "Somebody's goin' to get plugged full of holes," murmured the ranchowner as he watched them kicking up the dust in huge clouds.

  After they had forded a tributary of the Rio Penasco near the SacramentoMountains and had surmounted the opposite bank, Hopalong spurred hishorse to the top of a hummock and swept the plain with Pete's fieldglasses, which he had borrowed for the occasion, and returned to therest, who had kept on without slacking the pace. As he took up hisformer position he grunted, "War-whoops," and unslung his rifle, anexample followed by the others.

  The ponies were now running at top speed, and as they shot over a risetheir riders saw their quarry a mile and a half in advance. One of theIndians looked back and discharged his rifle in defiance, and it nowbecame a race worthy of the name--Death fled from Death. The freshermounts of the cowboys steadily cut down the distance and, as the riflesof the pursuers began to speak, the hard-pressed Indians made for thesmaller of two knolls, the plain leading to the larger one being tooheavily strewn with bowlders to permit speed.

  As the fugitives settled down behind the rocks which fringed the edge oftheir elevation a shot from one of them disabled Billy's arm, but had noother effect than to increase the score to be settled. The pursuersrode behind a rise and dismounted, from where, leaving their mountsprotected, they scattered out to surround the knoll.

  Hopalong, true to his curiosity, finally turned up on the highest pointof the other knoll, a spur of the range in the west, for he alwayswanted to see all he could. Skinny, due to his fighting instinct,settled one hundred yards to the north and on the same spur. Buck layhidden behind an enormous bowlder eight hundred yards to the northeastof Skinny, and the same distance southeast of Buck was Red Connors, whowas crawling up the bed of an arroyo. Billy, nursing his arm, lay infront of the horses, and Pete, from his position between Billy andHopalong, was crawling from rock to rock in an endeavor to get nearenough to use his Colts, his favorite and most effective weapons.Intermittent puffs of smoke arising from a point between Skinny and Buckshowed where Lanky Smith was improving each shining hour.

  There had been no directions given, each man choosing his own position,yet each was of strategic worth. Billy protected the horses, Hopalongand Skinny swept the knoll with a plunging fire, and Lanky and Buck layin the course the besieged would most likely take if they tried a dash.Off to the east Red barred them from creeping down the arroyo, and fromwhere Pete was he could creep up to within sixty yards if he chose theright rocks. The ranges varied from four hundred yards for Buck to sixtyfor Pete, and the others averaged close to three hundred, which allowedvery good shooting on both sides.

  Hopalong and Skinny gradually moved nearer to each other forcompanionship, and as the former raised his head to see what the otherswere doing he received a graze on the ear.

  "Wow!" he yelled, rubbing the tingling member.

  Two puffs of smoke floated up from the knoll, and Skinny swore.

  "Where'd he get yu, Fat?" asked Hopalong.

  "G'wan, don't get funny, son," replied Skinny.

  Jets of smoke arose from the north and east, where Buck and Red werestationed, and Pete was half way to the knoll. So far he hadn't been hitas he dodged in and out, and, emboldened by his luck, he made a run offive yards and his sombrero was shot from his head. Another dash and hisempty holster was ripped from its support. As he crouched behind a rockhe heard a yell from Hopalong, and saw that interested individual wavinghis sombrero to cheer him on. An angry pang! from the knoll caused thatenthusiastic rooter to drop for safety.

  "Locoed son-of-a-gun," complained Pete. "He'll shore git potted." Thenhe glanced at Billy, who was the center of several successive spurts ofdust.

  "How's business, Billy?" he called pleasantly.

  "Oh, they'll git me yet," responded the pessimist. "Yu needn't gitanxious. If that off buck wasn't so green he'd 'a' had me long ago."

  "Ya-hoo! Pete! Oh, Pete!" called Hopalong, sticking his head out at oneside and grinning as the wondering object of his hail craned his neck tosee what the matter was.

  "Huh?" grunted Pete, and then remembering the distance he shouted,"What's th' matter?"

  "Got any cigarettes?" asked Hopalong.

  "Yu poor sheep!" said Pete, and turning back to work he drove a .45 intoa yellow moccasin.

  Hopalong began to itch and he saw that he was near an ant hill. Then thecactus at his right boomed out mournfully and a hole appeared in it. Hefired at the smoke and a yell informed him that he had made a hit."Go 'way!" he complained as a green fly buzzed past his nose. Then hescratched each leg with the foot of the other and squirmed incessantly,kicking out with both feet at once. A warning metallic whir-r-r! on hisleft caused to yank them in again, and turning his head quickly he thepleasure of lopping off the head of a rattlesnake with his Colt's.

  "Glad yu wasn't a copperhead," he exclaimed. "Somebody had ought 'a'shot that fool Noah. Blast the ants!" He drowned with a jet of tobaccojuice a Gila monster that was staring at him and took a savage delightin its frantic efforts to bury itself.

  Soon he heard Skinny swear and he sung out: "What's the matter, Skinny?Git plugged again?"

  "Naw, bugs--ain't they mean?" Plaintively asked his friend. "They ain'tnone over here. What kind of bugs?"

  "Sufferin' Moses, I ain't no bugologist! All kinds!"

  But Hopalong got it at last. He had found tobacco and rolled acigarette, and in reaching for a match exposed his shoulder to a shotthat broke his collar bone. Skinny's rifle cracked in reply and theoffending brave rolled out from behind a rock. From the fuss emanatingfrom Hopalong's direction Skinny knew that his neighbor had been hit.

  "Don't yu care, Hoppy. I got th' cuss," he said consolingly. "Where'd hegit yu?" he asked.

  "In di' heart, yu pie-faced nuisance. Come over here an' corral thiscussed bandage an' gimme some water," snapped the injured man.

  Skinny wormed his way through the thorny chaparral and bound up theshoulder. "Anything else?" he asked.

  "Yes. Shoot that bunch of warts an' blow that tobacco-eyed Gila toCheyenne. This here's worse than the time we cleaned out th' C 80outfit!" Then he kicked the dead toad and swore at the sun.

  "Close yore yap; yore worse than a kid! Anybody'd think yu never gotplugged afore," said Skinny indignantly.

  "I can cuss all I wants," replied Hopalong, proving his assertion as hegrabbed his gun and fired at the dead Indian. A bullet whined abovehis head and Skinny fired at the smoke. He peeped out and saw that hisfriends were getting nearer to the knoll.

  "They's closin' in now. We'll soon be gittin' home," he reported.

  Hopalong looked out in time to see Buck make a dash for a bowlder thatlay ten yards in front of him, which he reached in safety. Lanky alsoran in and Pete added five more yards to his advance. Buck madeanother dash, but leaped into the air, and, coming down as if from anintentional high jump, staggered and stumbled for a few paces and thenfell flat, rolling over and over toward the shelter of a split rock,where he lay quiet. A leering red face peered over the rocks on theknoll, but the whoop of exultation was cut short, for Red's riflecracked and the warrior rolled down the steep bank, where another shotfrom the same gun settled him beyond question.

  Hopalong choked and, turning his face away, angrily dashed his knucklesinto his eyes. "Blast 'em! Blast 'em! They've got Buck! They've gotBuck, blast 'em! They've got Buck, Skinny! Good old Buck! They've gothim! Jimmy's gone, Johnny's plugged, and now Buck's gone! Come on!"he sobbed in a frenzy of vengeance. "Come on, Skinny! We'll tear theircu
ssed hides into a deeper red than they are now! Oh, blast it, I can'tsee--where's my gun?" He groped for the rifle and fought Skinny when thelatter, red-eyed but cool, endeavored to restrain him. "Lemme go, curseyu! Don't yu know they got Buck? Lemme go!"

  "Down! Red's got di' skunk. Yu can't do nothin'--they'd drop yu aforeyu took five steps. Red's got him, I tell yu! Do yu want me to lick yu?We'll pay 'em back with interest if yu'll keep yore head!" exclaimedSkinny, throwing the crazed man heavily.

  Musical tones, rising and falling in weird octaves, whining pityingly,diabolically, sobbing in a fascinating monotone and slobbering inragged chords, calling as they swept over the plain, always calling andexhorting, they mingled in barbaric discord with the defiant barks ofthe six-shooters and the inquiring cracks of the Winchesters. High up inthe air several specks sailed and drifted, more coming up rapidly fromall directions. Buzzards know well where food can be found.

  As Hopalong leaned back against a rock he was hit in the thigh by aricochet that tore its way out, whirling like a circular saw, a spanabove where it entered. The wound was very nasty, being ripped twicethe size made by an ordinary shot, and it bled profusely. Skinny crawledover and attended to it, making a tourniquet of his neckerchief andclumsily bandaging it with a strip torn from his shirt.

  "Yore shore lucky, yu are," he grumbled as he made his way back to hispost, where he vented his rancor by emptying the semi-depleted magazineof his Winchester at the knoll.

  Hopalong began to sing and shout and he talked of Jimmy and hischildhood, interspersing the broken narrative with choice selectionsas sung in the music halls of Leavenworth and Abilene. He wound up byyelling and struggling, and Skinny had his hands full in holding him.

  "Hopalong! Cassidy! Come out of that! Keep quiet--yu'll shore git pluggedif yu don't stop that plungin'. For gosh sake, did yu hear that?" Abullet viciously hissed between them and flattened out on a near-byrock; others cut their way through the chaparral to the sound of fallingtwigs, and Skinny threw himself on the struggling man and strappedHopalong with his belt to the base of a honey mesquite that grew at hisside.

  "Hold still, now, and let that bandage alone. Yu allus goes off di'range when yu gets plugged," he complained. He cut down a cactus andpoured the sap over the wounded man's face, causing him to gurgle andlook around. His eyes had a sane look now and Skinny slid off his chest.

  "Git that--belt loose; I ain't--no cow," brokenly blazed out the picketedHopalong. Skinny did so, handed the irate man his Colts and returned tohis own post, from where he fired twice, reporting the shots.

  "I'm tryin' to get him on th' glance' first one went high an' th' otherfell flat," he explained.

  Hopalong listened eagerly, for this was shooting that he couldappreciate. "Lemme see," he commanded. Skinny dragged him over to acrack and settled down for another try.

  "Where is he, Skinny?" Asked Hopalong.

  "Behind that second big one. No, over on this here side. See that smoothgranite? If I can get her there on th' right spot he'll shore know it."He aimed carefully and fired.

  Through Pete's glasses Hopalong saw a leaden splotch appear on the rockand he notified the marksman that he was shooting high. "Put her on thatbump closer down," he suggested. Skinny did so and another yell reachedtheir ears.

  "That's a dandy. Yore shore all right, yu old cuss," complimentedHopalong, elated at the success of the experiment.

  Skinny fired again and a brown arm flopped out into sight. Another shotstruck it and it jerked as though it were lifeless.

  "He's cashed. See how she jumped? Like a rope," remarked Skinny with agrin. The arm lay quiet.

  Pete had gained his last cover and was all eyes and Colts. Lanky wasalso very close in and was intently watching one particular rock.Several shots echoed from the far side of the knoll and they knew thatRed was all right. Billy was covering a cluster of rocks that protrudedabove the others and, as they looked, his rifle rang out and the lastdefender leaped down and disappeared in the chaparral. He wore yellowtrousers and an old boiled shirt.

  "By an'-by, by all that's bad!" yelled Hopalong. "Th' measly coyote! An'me a-fillin' his ornery hide with liquor. Well, they'll have to findhim all over again now," he complained, astounded by the revelation. Hefired into the chaparral to express his pugnacious disgust and scaredout a huge tarantula, which alighted on Skinny's chaps, crawling rapidlytoward the unconscious man's neck. Hopalong's face hardened and heslowly covered the insect and fired, driving it into the sand, tornand lifeless. The bullet touched the leathern garment and Skinnyremonstrated, knowing that Hopalong was in no condition for fancyshooting.

  "Huh!" exclaimed Hopalong. "That was a tarantula what I plugged. Hewas headin' for yore neck," he explained, watching the chaparral withapprehension.

  "Go 'way, was it? Bully for yu!" exclaimed Skinny, tarantulas beingplaced at par with rattlesnakes, and he considered that he had beensaved from a horrible death. "Thought yu said they wasn't no bugs overhere," he added in an aggrieved tone.

  "They wasn't none. Yu brought 'em. I only had th' main show--Gilas,rattlers an' toads," he replied, and then added, "Ain't it cussed hot uphere?"

  "She is. Yu won't have no cinch ridin' home with that leg. Yu bettertake my cayuse--he's busted more'n yourn," responded Skinny.

  "Yore cayuse is at th' Cross Bar O, yu wall-eyed pirute."

  "Shore 'nuff. Funny how a feller forgets sometimes. Lemme alone now,they's goin' to git By-an'-by. Pete an' Lanky has just went in afterhim."

  That was what had occurred. The two impatient punchers, had grown tiredof waiting, and risked what might easily have been death in order tohasten matters. The others kept up a rapid fire, directed at the far endof the chaparral on the knoll, in order to mask the movements of theirventuresome friends, intending also to drive By-and-by toward them sothat he would be the one to get picked off as he advanced.

  Several shots rang out in quick succession on the knoll and thechaparral became agitated. Several more shots sounded from the depthof the thicket and a mounted Indian dashed out of the northern edge andheaded in Buck's direction. His course would take him close to Buck,whom he had seen fall, and would let him escape at a point midwaybetween Red and Skinny, as Lanky was on the knoll and the range was veryfar to allow effective shooting by these two.

  Red saw him leave the chaparral and in his haste to reload jammed thecartridge, and By-and-by swept on toward temporary safety, with Reddancing in a paroxysm of rage, swelling his vocabulary with words he hadforgotten existed.

  By-and-by, rising to his full height in the saddle, turned and wiggledhis fingers at the frenzied Red and made several other signs that thecowboy was in the humor to appreciate to the fullest extent. Then heturned and shook his rifle at the marksmen on the larger knoll, whosebest shots kicked up the dust fully fifty yards too short. The pony wassweeping toward the reservation and friends only fifteen miles away,and By-and-by knew that once among the mountains he would be on equalfooting at least with his enemies.

  As he passed the rock behind which Buck lay sprawled on his face heuttered a piercing whoop of triumph and leaned forward on his pony'sneck. Twenty leaps farther and the spiteful crack of a rifle echoed fromwhere the foreman was painfully supporting himself on his elbows. Thepony swept on in a spurt of nerve-racking speed, but alone. By-and-byshrieked again and crashed heavily to the ground, where he rolledinertly and then lay still. Men like Buck are dangerous until theirhearts have ceased to beat.