by Rex Beach
CHAPTER IX. The Advent of McAllister
The blazing sun shone pitilessly on an arid plain which was spottedwith dust-gray clumps of mesquite and thorny chaparral. Basking in theburning sand and alkali lay several Gila monsters, which raised theirheads and hissed with wide-open jaws as several faint, whip-like reportsechoed flatly over the desolate plain, showing that even they hadlearned that danger was associated with such sounds.
Off to the north there became visible a cloud of dust and at intervalssomething swayed in it, something that rose and fell and then becamehidden again. Out of that cloud came sharp, splitting sounds, which werefaintly responded to by another and larger cloud in its rear. As it camenearer and finally swept past, the Gilas, to their terror, saw a madlypounding horse, and it carried a man. The latter turned in his saddleand raised a gun to his shoulder and the thunder that issued from itcaused the creeping audience to throw up their tails in sudden panic andbury themselves out of sight in the sand.
The horse was only a broncho, its sides covered with hideous yellowspots, and on its near flank was a peculiar scar, the brand. Foamflecked from its crimsoned jaws and found a resting place on its sidesand on the hairy chaps of its rider. Sweat rolled and streamed from itsheaving flanks and was greedily sucked up by the drought-cursed alkali.Close to the rider's knee a bloody furrow ran forward and one of thebroncho's ears was torn and limp. The broncho was doing its best--itcould run at that pace until it dropped dead. Every ounce of strength itpossessed was put forth to bring those hind hoofs well in front ofthe forward ones and to send them pushing the sand behind in streamingclouds. The horse had done this same thing many times--when would itsmaster learn sense?
The man was typical in appearance with many of that broad land. Lithe,sinewy and bronzed by hard riding and hot suns, he sat in his Cheyennesaddle like a centaur, all his weight on the heavy, leather-guardedstirrups, his body rising in one magnificent straight line. A bleachedmoustache hid the thin lips, and a gray sombrero threw a heavy shadowacross his eyes. Around his neck and over his open, blue flannelshirt lay loosely a knotted silk kerchief, and on his thighs a pair ofopen-flapped holsters swung uneasily with their ivory handled burdens.He turned abruptly, raised his gun to his shoulder and fired, thenhe laughed recklessly and patted his mount, which responded tothe confident caress by lying flatter to the earth in a spurt ofheart-breaking speed.
"I'll show 'em who they're trailin'. This is th' second time I'vestarted for Muddy Wells, an' I'm goin' to git there, too, for all th'Apaches out of Hades!"
To the south another cloud of dust rapidly approached and the riderscanned it closely, for it was directly in his path. As he watched ithe saw something wave and it was a sombrero! Shortly afterward a realcowboy yell reached his ears. He grinned and slid another cartridge inthe greasy, smoking barrel of the Sharp's and fired again at the cloudin his rear. Some few minutes later a whooping, bunched crowd of madlyriding cowboys thundered past him and he was recognized.
"Hullo, Frenchy!" yelled the nearest one. "Comin' back?"
"Come on, McAllister!" shouted another; "we'll give 'em blazes!" Inresponse the straining broncho suddenly stiffened, bunched and slid onits haunches, wheeled and retraced its course. The rear cloud suddenlyscattered into many smaller ones and all swept off to the east. Therescuing band overtook them and, several hours later, when seated arounda table in Tom Lee's saloon, Muddy Wells, a count was taken of them,which was pleasing in its facts.
"We was huntin' coyotes when we saw yu," said a smiling puncher who wasknown as Salvation Carroll chiefly because he wasn't.
"Yep! They've been stalkin' Tom's chickens," supplied Waffles, thechampion poker player of the outfit. Tom Lee's chickens could whipanything of their kind for miles around and were reverenced accordingly.
"Sho! Is that so?" Asked Frenchy with mild incredulity, such a state ofaffairs being deplorable.
"She shore is!" answered Tex Le Blanc, and then, as an afterthought, headded, "Where'd yu hit th' War-whoops?"
"'Bout four hours back. This here's th' second time I've headed for thisplace--last time they chased me to Las Cruces."
"That so?" Asked Bigfoot Baker, a giant. "Ain't they allus interferin',now? Anyhow, they're better'n coyotes."
"They was purty well heeled," suggested Tex, glancing at a bunch ofrepeating Winchesters of late model which lay stacked in a corner."Charley here said he thought they was from th' way yore cayuse looked,didn't yu, Charley?" Charley nodded and filled his pipe.
"'Pears like a feller can't amble around much nowadays without havin' tofight," grumbled Lefty Allen, who usually went out of his way hunting uptrouble.
"We're goin' to th' Hills as soon as our cookie turns up," volunteeredTenspot Davis, looking inquiringly at Frenchy. "Heard any more news?"
"Nope. Same old story--lots of gold. Shucks, I've bit on so many of themrumors that they don't feaze me no more. One man who don't know nothin'about prospectin' goes an' stumbles over a fortune an' those who know itfrom A to Izzard goes 'round pullin' in their belts."
"We don't pull in no belts--we knows just where to look, don't we,Tenspot?" Remarked Tex, looking very wise.
"Ya-as we do," answered Tenspot, "if yu hasn't dreamed about it, we do."
"Yu wait; I wasn't dreamin', none whatever," assured Tex.
"I saw it!"
"Ya-as, I saw it too onct," replied Frenchy with sarcasm. "Went andlugged fifty pound of it all th' way to th' assay office--took me twodays! an' that there four-eyed cuss looks at it and snickers. Thenhe takes me by di' arm an' leads me to th' window. 'See that pile, myfriend? That's all like yourn,' sez he. 'It's worth about one simoleon aton at th' coast. They use it for ballast.'"
"Aw! But this what I saw was gold!" exploded Tex.
"So was mine, for a while!" laughed Frenchy, nodding to the bartenderfor another round.
"Well, we're tired of punchin' cows! Ride sixteen hours a day, year inan' year out, an' what do we get? Fifty a month an' no chance to spendit, an' grub that'd make a coyote sniffle! I'm for a vacation, an' if Igoes broke, why, I'll punch again!" asserted Waffles, the foreman, thusrevealing the real purpose of the trip.
"What'd yore boss say?" Asked Frenchy.
"Whoop! What didn't he say! Honest, I never thought he had it in him.It was fine. He cussed an hour frontways an' then trailed back on a deadgallop, with us a-laughin' fit to bust. Then he rustles for his gun an'we rustles for town," answered Waffles, laughing at his remembrance ofit.
As Frenchy was about to reply his sombrero was snatched from hishead and disappeared. If he "got mad" he was to be regarded as notsufficiently well acquainted for banter and he was at once in hot water;if he took it good-naturedly he was one of the crowd in spirit; but ineither case he didn't get his hat without begging or fighting forit. This was a recognized custom among the O-Bar-O outfit and was notintended as an insult.
Frenchy grabbed at the empty air and arose. Punching Lefty playfully inthe ribs he passed his hands behind that person's back. Not finding thelost head-gear he laughed and, tripping Lefty up, fell with him and,reaching up on the table for his glass, poured the contents down Lefty'sback and arose.
"Yu son-of-a-gun!" indignantly wailed that unfortunate. "Gee, it feelsfunny," he added, grinning as he pulled the wet shirt away from hisspine.
"Well, I've got to be amblin'," said Frenchy, totally ignoring theloss of his hat. "Goin' down to Buckskin," he offered, and then asked,"When's yore cook comin'?"
"Day after to-morrow, if he don't get loaded," replied Tex.
"Who is he?"
"A one-eyed Mexican--Quiensabe Antonio."
"I used to know him. He's a heck of a cook. Dished up th' grub oneseason when I was punchin' for th' Tin-Cup up in Montana," repliedFrenchy.
"Oh, he kin cook now, all right." replied Waffles.
"That's about all he can cook. Useter wash his knives in th' coffee potan' blow on di' tins. I chased him a mile one night for leavin' sand inth' skillet. Yu can have him--I don't envy yu non
e whatever.
"He don't sand no skillet when little Tenspot's around," assured thatperson, slapping his holster. "Does he, Lefty?"
"If he does, yu oughter be lynched," consoled Lefty.
"Well, so long," remarked Frenchy, riding off to a small store, where hebought a cheap sombrero.
Frenchy was a jack-of-all-trades, having been cow-puncher, prospector,proprietor of a "hotel" in Albuquerque, foreman of a ranch, sheriff,and at one time had played angel to a venturesome but poor show troupe.Beside his versatility he was well known as the man who took the stagethrough the Sioux country when no one else volunteered. He could shootwith the best, but his one pride was the brand of poker he handed out.Furthermore, he had never been known to take an unjust advantage overany man and, on the contrary, had frequently voluntarily handicappedhimself to make the event more interesting. But he must not be classedas being hampered with self-restraint.
His reasons for making this trip were two-fold: he wished to see BuckPeters, the foreman of the Bar-20 outfit, as he and Buck had punchedcows together twenty years before and were firm friends; the other wasthat he wished to get square with Hopalong Cassidy, who had decisivelycleaned him out the year before at poker. Hopalong played eitherin great good luck or the contrary, while Frenchy played an even,consistent game and usually left off richer than when he began, and thisdecisive defeat bothered him more than he would admit, even to himself.
The round-up season was at hand and the Bar-20 was short of ropers, therumors of fresh gold discoveries in the Black Hills having drawn all themore restless men north. The outfit also had a slight touch of the goldfever, and only their peculiar loyalty to the ranch and the assuranceof the foreman that when the work was over he would accompany them, keptthem from joining the rush of those who desired sudden and much wealthas the necessary preliminary of painting some cow town in all the "bangup" style such an event would call for. Therefore they had been givenorders to secure the required assistance, and they intended to do so,and were prepared to kidnap, if necessary, for the glamour of wealth andthe hilarity of the vacation made the hours falter in their speed.
As Frenchy leaned back in his chair in Cowan's saloon, Buckskin, earlythe next morning, planning to get revenge on Hopalong and then torecover his sombrero, he heard a medley of yells and whoops and soon thedoor flew open before the strenuous and concentrated entry of a massof twisting and kicking arms and legs, which magically found theirrespective owners and reverted to the established order of things.
When the alkali dust had thinned he saw seven cow-punchers sitting onthe prostrate form of another, who was earnestly engaged in trying topush Johnny Nelson's head out in the street with one foot as he voicedhis lucid opinion of things in general and the seven in particular.After Red Connors had been stabbed in the back several times by thevictim's energetic elbow he ran out of the room and presently returnedwith a pleased expression and a sombrero full of water, his fingerplugging an old bullet hole in the crown.
"Is he any better, Buck?" Anxiously inquired the man with the reservoir.
"About a dollar's worth," replied the foreman. "Jest put a little righthere," he drawled as he pulled back the collar of the unfortunate'sshirt.
"Ow! wow! WOW!" wailed the recipient, heaving and straining. Theunengaged leg was suddenly wrested loose, and as it shot up and outBilly Williams, with his pessimism aroused to a blue-ribbon pitch, satdown forcibly in an adjacent part of the room, from where he lecturedbetween gasps on the follies of mankind and the attributes of armymules.
Red tiptoed around the squirming bunch, looking for an opening, hispleased expression now having added a grin.
"Seems to be gittin' violent-like," he soliloquized, as he aimed astream at Hopalong's ear, which showed for a second as Pete Wilsonstrove for a half-nelson, and he managed to include Johnny and Pete inhis effort.
Several minutes later, when the storm had subsided, the woeful crowdenthusiastically urged Hopalong to the bar, where he "bought."
"Of all th' ornery outfits I ever saw--" began the man at the table,grinning from ear to ear at the spectacle he had just witnessed.
"Why, hullo, Frenchy! Glad to see yu, yu old son-of-a-gun! What's th'news from th' Hills?" Shouted Hopalong.
"Rather locoed, an' there's a locoed gang that's headin' that way. Goin'up?" he asked.
"Shore, after round-up. Seen any punchers trailin' around loose?"
"Ya-as," drawled Frenchy, delving into the possibilities suddenly openedto him and determining to utilize to the fullest extent the opportunitythat had come to him unsought. "There's nine over to Muddy Wells that yumight git if yu wants them bad enough. They've got a sombrero of mine,"he added deprecatingly.
"Nine! Twisted Jerusalem, Buck! Nine whole cow-punchers a-pinin' forwork," he shouted, but then added thoughtfully, "Mebby they's engaged,"it being one of the courtesies of the land not to take another man'shelp.
"Nope. They've stampeded for th' Hills an' left their boss all alone,"replied Frenchy, well knowing that such desertion would not, in theminds of the Bar-20 men, add any merits to the case of the distantoutfit.
"Th' sons-of-guns," said Hopalong, "let's go an' get 'em," he suggested,turning to Buck, who nodded a smiling assent.
"Oh, what's the hurry?" Asked Frenchy, seeing his projected gameslipping away into the uncertain future and happy in the thought that hewould be avenged on the O-Bar-O outfit.
"They'll be there till to-morrow noon--they's waitin' for their cookie,who's goin' with them."
"A cook! A cook! Oh, joy, a cook!" exulted Johnny, not for one instantdoubting Buck's ability to capture the whole outfit and seeing a whirlof excitement in the effort.
"Anybody we knows?" Inquired Skinny Thompson.
"Shore. Tenspot Davis, Waffles, Salvation Carroll, Bigfoot Baker,Charley Lane, Lefty Allen, Kid Morris, Curley Tate an' Tex Le Blanc,"responded Frenchy.
"Umm-m. Might as well rope a blizzard," grumbled Billy. "Might as welltry to git th' Seventh Cavalry. We'll have a pious time corralling thatbunch. Them's th' fellows that hit that bunch of inquirin' Crow bravesthat time up in th' Bad Lands an' then said by-bye to th' Ninth."
"Aw, shut up! They's only two that's very much, an' Buck an' Hopalongcan sing 'em to sleep," interposed Johnny, afraid that the expeditionwould fall through.
"How about Curley and Tex?" Pugnaciously asked Billy.
"Huh, jest because they buffaloed yu over to Las Vegas yu needn't thinkthey's dangerous. Salvation an' Tenspot are only ones who can shoot,"stoutly maintained Johnny.
"Here yu, get mum," ordered Buck to the pair. "When this outfit goesafter anything it generally gets it. All in favor of kidnappin' thatoutfit signify di' same by kickin' Billy," whereupon Bill swore.
"Do yu want yore hat?" Asked Buck, turning to Frenchy.
"I shore do," answered that individual.
"If yu helps us at th' round-up we'll get it for yu. Fifty a month an'grub," offered the foreman.
"O.K." replied Frenchy, anxious to even matters.
Buck looked at his watch. "Seven o'clock--we ought to get there by fiveif we relays at th' Barred-Horseshoe. Come on."
"How are we goin' to git them?" Asked Billy.
"Yu leave that to me, son. Hopalong an' Frenchy'll tend to that part ofit," replied Buck, making for his horse and swinging into the saddle, anexample which was followed by the others, including Frenchy.
As they swung off Buck noticed the condition of Frenchy's mount andhalted. "Yu take that cayuse back an' get Cowan's," he ordered.
"That cayuse is good for Cheyenne--she eats work, an' besides I wants myown," laughed Frenchy.
"Yu must had a reg'lar picnic from th' looks of that crease,"volunteered Hopalong, whose curiosity was mastering him. "Shoo! I hada little argument with some feather dusters--th' O-Bar-O crowd cleanedthem up."
"That so?" Asked Buck.
"Yep! They sorter got into th' habit of chasin' me to Las Cruces an'forgot to stop."
"How many'd yu get?" Asked Lanky Smi
th.
"Twelve. Two got away. I got two before th' crowd showed up--that makesfo'teen."
"Now th' cavalry'll be huntin' yu," croaked Billy.
"Hunt nothin'! They was in war-paint-think I was a target?--Think I wasgoin' to call off their shots for 'em?"
They relayed at the Barred-Horseshoe and went on their way at the samepace. Shortly after leaving the last-named ranch Buck turned to Frenchyand asked, "Any of that outfit think they can play poker?"
"Shore. Waffles."
"Does th' reverend Mr. Waffles think so very hard?"
"He shore does."
"Do th' rest of them mavericks think so too?"
"They'd bet their shirts on him."
At this juncture all were startled by a sudden eruption from Billy."Haw! Haw! Haw!" he roared as the drift of Buck's intentions struck him."Haw! Haw! Haw!"
"Here, yu long-winded coyote," yelled Red, banging him over the headwith his quirt, "If yu don't 'Haw! Haw!' away from my ear I'll make ita Wow! Wow! What d'yu mean? Think I am a echo cliff? Yu slabsideddoodle-bug, yu!"
"G'way, yu crimson topknot, think my head's a hunk of quartz? Fer aplugged peso I'd strew yu all over th' scenery!" shouted Billy, feigninganger and rubbing his head.
"There ain't no scenery around here," interposed Lanky. "This herebe-utiful prospect is a sublime conception of th' devil."
"Easy, boy! Them highfalutin' words'il give yu a cramp some day. Yu talklike a newly-made sergeant," remarked Skinny.
"He learned them words from the sky-pilot over at El Paso," volunteeredHopalong, winking at Red. "He used to amble down th' aisle afore thelights was lit so's he could get a front seat. That was all hunky fora while, but every time he'd go out to irrigate, that femaleorgan-wrastler would seem to call th' music off for his special benefit.So in a month he'd sneak in an' freeze to a chair by th' door, an' aftera while he'd shy like blazes every time he got within eye range of th'church."
"Shore. But do yu know what made him get religion all of a sudden? Heused to hang around on di' outside after th' joint let out an' trailalong behind di' music-slinger, lookin' like he didn't know what to dowith his hands. Then when he got woozy one time she up an' told him thatshe had got a nice long letter from her hubby. Then Mr. Lanky hit th'trail for Santa Fe so hard that there wasn't hardly none of it left. Ididn't see him for a whole month," supplied Red innocently.
"Yore shore funny, ain't yu?" sarcastically grunted Lanky. "Why, I cantell things on yu that'd make yu stand treat for a year."
"I wouldn't sneak off to Santa Fe an' cheat yu out of them. Yu ought tobe ashamed of yoreself."
"Yah!" snorted the aggrieved little man. "I had business over to SantaFe!"
"Shore," endorsed Hopalong. "We've all had business over to Santa Fe.Why, about eight years ago I had business--"
"Choke up," interposed Red. "About eight years ago yu was washin' pansfor cookie, an' askin' me for cartridges. Buck used to larrup yu aboutfour times a day eight years ago."
To their roars of laughter Hopalong dropped to the rear, where,red-faced and quiet, he bent his thoughts on how to get square.
"We'll have a pleasant time corralling that gang," began Billy for thethird time.
"For heaven's sake get off that trail!" replied Lanky. "We aint goin' tohold 'em up. De-plomacy's th' game."
Billy looked dubious and said nothing. If he hadn't proven that he wasas nervy as any man in the outfit they might have taken more stock inhis grumbling.
"What's the latest from Abilene way?" Asked Buck of Frenchy.
"Nothin' much 'cept th' barb-wire ruction," replied the recruit.
"What's that?" Asked Red, glancing apprehensively back at Hopalong.
"Why, th' settlers put up barb-wire fence so's the cattle wouldn't geton their farms. That would a been all right, for there wasn't much ofit. But some Britishers who own a couple of big ranches out there gotsmart all of a sudden an' strung wire all along their lines. Puncherscrossin' th' country would run plumb into a fence an' would have to ridea day an' a half, mebbe, afore they found th' corner. Well, naturally,when a man has been used to ridin' where he blame pleases an' asstraight as he pleases he ain't goin' to chase along a five-foot fenceto Trisco when he wants to get to Waco. So th' punchers got to totin'wire-snips, an' when they runs up agin a fence they cuts down half amile or so. Sometimes they'd tie their ropes to a strand an' pull off acouple of miles an' then go back after th' rest. Th' ranch bosses sentout men to watch th' fences an' told 'em to shoot any festive puncherthat monkeyed with th' hardware. Well, yu know what happens when apuncher gets shot at."
"When fences grow in Texas there'll be th' devil to pay," said Buck. Hehated to think that some day the freedom of the range would be annulled,for he knew that it would be the first blow against the cowboys'occupation. When a man's cattle couldn't spread out all over the land hewouldn't have to keep so many men. Farms would spring up and the sun ofthe free-and-easy cowboy would slowly set.
"I reckons th' cutters are classed th' same as rustlers," remarked Redwith a gleam of temper.
"By th' owners, but not by th' punchers; an' it's th' punchers thatcount," replied Frenchy.
"Well, we'll give them a fight," interposed Hopalong, riding up. "Whenit gets so I can't go where I please I'll start on th' warpath. I won'tbuck the cavalry, but I'll keep it busy huntin' for me an' I'll havetime to 'tend to th' wire-fence men, too. Why, we'll be told we can'ttote our guns!"
"They're sayin' that now," replied Frenchy. "Up in Buffalo, Smith, who'snow marshal, makes yu leave 'em with th' bartenders."
"I'd like to see any two-laigged cuss get my guns If I didn't want himto!" began Hopalong, indignant at the idea.
"Easy, son," cautioned Buck. "Yu would do what th' rest did because yuare a square man. I'm about as hard-headed a puncher as ever straddledleather an' I've had to use my guns purty considerable, but I reckons ifany decent marshal asked me to cache them in a decent way, why, I'ddo it. An' let me brand somethin' on yore mind--I've heard of Smith ofBuffalo, an' he's mighty nifty with his hands. He don't stand off an'tell yu to unload yore lead-ranch, but he ambles up close an' taps yuon yore shirt; if yu makes a gunplay he naturally knocks yu clean acrossth' room an' unloads yu afore yu gets yore senses back. He weighs abouta hundred an' eighty an' he's shore got sand to burn."
"Yah! When I makes a gun play she plays! I'd look nice in Abilene orPaso or Albuquerque without my guns, wouldn't I? Just because I totesthem in plain sight I've got to hand 'em over to some liquor-wrastler? Ireckons not! Some hip-pocket skunk would plug me afore I could wink. I'dshore look nice loping around a keno layout without my guns, in th'same town with some cuss huntin' me, wouldn't I? A whole lot of good amarshal would a done Jimmy, an' didn't Harris get his from a cur in th'dark?" shouted Hopalong, angered by the prospect.
"We're talkin' about Buffalo, where everybody has to hang up theirguns," replied Buck. "An' there's th' law--"
"To blazes with th' law!" whooped Hopalong in Red's ear as heunfastened the cinch of Red's saddle and at the same time stabbing thatunfortunate's mount with his spurs, thereby causing a hasty separationof the two. When Red had picked himself up and things had quieted downagain the subject was changed, and several hours later they rode intoMuddy Wells, a town with a little more excuse for its existence thanBuckskin. The wells were in an arid valley west of Guadaloupe Pass, andwere not only muddy but more or less alkaline.