by Rex Beach
CHAPTER. X. Peace Hath its Victories
As they neared the central group of buildings they heard a hilariousand assertive song which sprang from the door and windows of the mainsaloon. It was in jig time, rollicking and boisterous, but the words hadevidently been improvised for the occasion, as they clashed immediatelywith those which sprang to the minds of the outfit, although they couldnot be clearly distinguished. As they approached nearer and finallydismounted, however, the words became recognizable and the visitors wereat once placed in harmony with the air of jovial recklessness by theroaring of the verses and the stamping of the time.
Oh we're red-hot cow-punchers playin' on our luck, An' there ain't a proposition that we won't buck: From sunrise to sunset we've ridden on the range, But now we're oft for a howlin' change.
CHORUS
Laugh a little, sing a little, all th' day; Play a little, drink a little--we can pay; Ride a little, dig a little an' rich we'll grow. Oh, we're that bunch from th' O-Bar-O!
Oh, there was a little tenderfoot an' he had a little gun, An' th' gun an' him went a-trailin' up some fun. They ambles up to Santa Fe' to find a quiet game, An' now they're planted with some more of th' same!
As Hopalong, followed by the others, pushed open the door and enteredhe took up the chorus with all the power of Texan lungs and even Billyjoined in. The sight that met their eyes was typical of the men and themood and the place. Leaning along the walls, lounging on the table andstraddling chairs with their forearms crossed on the backs were ninecowboys, ranging from old twenty to young fifty in years, and all wereshouting the song and keeping time with their hands and feet.
In the center of the room was a large man dancing a fair buck-and-wingto the time so uproariously set by his companions. Hatless,neck-kerchief loose, holsters flapping, chaps rippling out and close,spurs clinking and perspiration streaming from his tanned face, dancedBigfoot Baker as though his life depended on speed and noise. Bottlesshook and the air was fogged with smoke and dust. Suddenly, his beltslipping and letting his chaps fall around his ankles, he tripped andsat down heavily. Gasping for breath, he held out his hand and receiveda huge plug of tobacco, for Bigfoot had won a contest.
Shouts of greeting were hurled at the newcomers and many questions werefired at them regarding "th' latest from th' Hills." Waffles made a rushfor Hopalong, but fell over Big-foot's feet and all three were piled upin a heap. All were beaming with good nature, for they were as so manyschool boys playing truant. Prosaic cow-punching was relegated to therear and they looked eagerly forward to their several missions. Frenchytold of the barb-wire fence war and of the new regulations of "Smithof Buffalo" regarding cow-punchers' guns, and from the caustic remarksexplosively given it was plain to be seen what a wire fence couldexpect, should one be met with, and there were many imaginary Smiths puthors de combat.
Kid Morris, after vainly trying to slip a blue-bottle fly inside ofHopalong's shirt, gave it up and slammed his hand on Hopalong's backinstead, crying: "Well, I'll be doggoned if here ain't Hopalong! How'sth' missus an' th' deacon an' all th' folks to hum? I hears yu an'Frenchy's reg'lar poker fiends!"
"Oh, we plays onct in a while, but we don't want none of yore dust.Yu'll shore need it all afore th' Hills get through with yu," laughinglyreplied Hopalong.
"Oh, yore shore kind! But I was a sort of reckonin' that we needs somemore. Perfesser P. D. Q. Waffles is our poker man an' he shore can cleanout anything I ever saw. Mebbe yu fellers feel reckless-like an' wouldlike to make a pool," he cried, addressing the outfit of the Bar-20,"an' back yore boss of th' full house agin ourn?"
Red turned slowly around and took a full minute in which to size the Kidup. Then he snorted and turned his back again.
The Kid stared at him in outraged dignity. "Well, what say!" he softlymurmured. Then he leaped forward and walloped Red on the back."Hey, yore royal highness!" he shouted. "Yu-yu-yu-oh, hang it-yu! Yuslab-sided, ring-boned, saddle-galled shade of a coyote, do yu think I'monly meanderin' in th' misty vales of-of--"
Suggestions intruded from various sources. "Hades?" offered Hopalong."Cheyenne?" Murmured Johnny. "Misty mistiness of misty?" tentativelysupplied Waffles.
Red turned around again. "Better come up an' have somethin'," hesympathetically invited, wiping away an imaginary tear.
"An' he's so young!" sobbed Frenchy.
"An' so fair!" wailed Tex.
"An' so ornery!" howled Lefty, throwing his arms around the discomfitedyoungster. Other arms went around him, and out of the sobbing mob couldbe heard earnest and heart-felt cussing, interspersed with imperativecommands, which were gradually obeyed.
The Kid straightened up his wearing apparel. "Come on, yu locoed--"
"Angels?" Queried Charley Lane, interrupting him. "Sweet things?"breathed Hopalong in hopeful expectancy.
"Oh, blast it!" yelled the Kid as he ran out into the street to escapethe persecution.
"Good Kid, all right," remarked Waffles. "He'll go around an' lick someMexican an' come back sweet as honey."
"Did somebody say poker?" Asked Bigfoot, digressing from the Kid.
"Oh, yu fellows don't want no poker. Of course yu don't. Poker's mightyuncertain," replied Red.
"Yah!" exclaimed Tex Le Blanc, pushing forward. "I'll just bet yu toa standstill that Waffles an' Salvation'll round up all th' festivesimoleons yu can get together! An' I'll throw in Frenchy's hat as aninducement."
"Well, if yore shore set on it make her a pool," replied Red, "an' th'winners divide with their outfit. Here's a starter," he added, tossing abuckskin bag on the table. "Come on, pile 'em up."
The crowd divided as the players seated themselves at the table, theO-Bar-O crowd grouping themselves behind their representatives; theBar-20 behind theirs. A deck of cards was brought and the game was on.
Red, true to his nature, leaned back in a corner, where, hands on hips,he awaited any hostile demonstration on the part of the O-Bar-O; then,suddenly remembering, he looked half ashamed of his warlike position andbecame a peaceful citizen again. Buck leaned with his broad back againstthe bar, talking over his shoulder to the bartender, but watchingTenspot Davis, who was assiduously engaged in juggling a handful ofMexican dollars.
Up by the door Bigfoot Baker, elated at winning the buck-and-wingcontest, was endeavoring to learn a new step, while his late rival wasdrowning his defeat at Buck's elbow. Lefty Allen was softly singing aMexican love song, humming when the words would not come. At thetable could be heard low-spoken card terms and good-natured banter,interspersed with the clink of gold and silver and the soft pat-patof the onlookers' feet unconsciously keeping time to Lefty's song.Notwithstanding the grim assertiveness of belts full of .45's and thepeeping handles of long-barreled Colts, set off with picturesque chaps,sombreros and tinkling spurs, the scene was one of peaceful content andgood-fellowship.
"Ugh!" grunted Johnny, walking over to Red and informing that personthat he, Red, was a worm-eaten prune and that for half a wink he,Johnny, would prove it. Red grabbed him by the seat of his corduroysand the collar of his shirt and helped him outside, where they strolledabout, taking pot shots at whatever their fancy suggested.
Down the street in a cloud of dust rumbled the Las Cruces-El Paso stageand the two punchers went up to meet it. Raw furrows showed in thewoodwork, one mule was missing and the driver and guard wore freshbandages. A tired tenderfoot leaped out with a sigh of relief and huntedfor his baggage, which he found to be generously perforated. Swearingat the God-forsaken land where a man had to fight highwaymen andIndians inside of half a day he grumblingly lugged his valise toward aforbidding-looking shack which was called a hotel.
The driver released his teams and then turned to Red. "Hullo, old hoss,how's th' gang?" he asked genially. "We've had a heck of a time thisyere trip," he went on without waiting for Red to reply. "Five miles outof Las Cruces we stood off a son-of-a-gun that wanted th' dude's wealth.Then just this side of the San Andre foothills we runs into
a bunch ofyoung bucks who turned us off this yere way an' gave us a runnin' fightpurty near all th' way. I'm a whole lot farther from Paso now than Iwas when I started, an seem as I lost a jack I'll be some time gittin'there. Yu don't happen to sabe a jack I can borrow, do yu?"
"I don't know about no jack, but I'll rope yu a bronch," offered Red,winking at Johnny.
"I'll pull her myself before I'll put dynamite in di' traces," repliedthe driver. "Yu fellers might amble back a ways with me--them buddin'warriors'll be layin' for me."
"We shore will," responded Johnny eagerly. "There's nine of us now an'there'll be nine more an' a cook to-morrow, mebby."
"Gosh, yu grows some," replied the guard. "Eighteen'll be a plenty forthem glory hunters."
"We won't be able to," contradicted Red, "for things are peculiar."
At this moment the conversation was interrupted by the tenderfoot, whosported a new and cheap sombrero and also a belt and holster complete.
"Will you gentlemen join me?" He asked, turning to Red and nodding atthe saloon. "I am very dry and much averse to drinking alone."
"Why, shore," responded Red heartily, wishing to put the stranger atease.
The game was running about even as they entered and Lefty Allen wassinging "The Insult," the rich tenor softening the harshness of thesurroundings.
I've swum th' Colorado where she's almost lost to view, I've braced th' Jaro layouts in Cheyenne;
I've fought for muddy water with a howlin' bunch of Sioux, An' swallowed hot tamales, an' cayenne.
I've rid a pitchin' broncho 'till th' sky was underneath, I've tackled every desert in th' land;
I've sampled XXXX whiskey 'till I couldn't hardly see, An' dallied with th' quicksands of the Grande.
I've argued with th' marshals of a half-a-dozen burgs, I've been dragged free an' fancy by a cow;
I've had three years' campaignin' with th' fightin', bitin' Ninth, An' never lost my temper 'till right now.
I've had the yaller fever an I've been shot full of holes, I've grabbed an army mule plumb by its tail;
I've never been so snortin', really highfalutin' mad As when y'u up an' hands me ginger ale!
Hopalong laughed joyously at a remark made by Waffles and the strangerglanced quickly at him. His merry, boyish face, underlined by ajaw showing great firmness and set with an expression of aggressiveself-reliance, impressed the stranger and he remarked to Red, wholounged lazily near him, that he was surprised to see such a face on soyoung a man and he asked who the player was.
"Oh, his name's Hopalong Cassidy," answered Red. "He's di' cuss thatraised that ruction down in Mexico last spring. Rode his cayuse in asaloon and played with the loungers and had to shoot one before he gotout. When he did get out he had to fight a whole bunch of Mexicans an'even potted their marshal, who had di' drop on him. Then he returned andvisited the marshal about a month later, took his gun away from himan' then cut th' cards to see if he was a prisoner or not. He's a shorefunny cuss."
The tenderfoot gasped his amazement. "Are you not fooling with me?" Heasked.
"Tell him yu came after that five hundred dollars reward and see,"answered Red goodnaturedly.
"Holy smoke!" shouted Waffles as Hopalong won his sixth consecutive pot."Did yu ever see such luck?" Frenchy grinned and some time later rakedin his third. Salvation then staked his last cent against Hopalong'sflush and dropped out.
Tenspot flipped to Waffles the money he had been juggling and Leftysearched his clothes for wealth. Buck, still leaning against the bar,grinned and winked at Johnny, who was pouring hair-raising tales intothe receptive ears of the stranger. Thereupon Johnny confided to hisnewly found acquaintance the facts about the game, nearly causing thatperson to explode with delight.
Waffles pushed back his chair, stood up and stretched. At the finishof a yawn he grinned at his late adversary. "I'm all in, yu oldson-of-a-gun. Yu shore can play draw. I'm goin' to try yu again sometime. I was beat fair an' square an' I ain't got no kick comin', nonewhatever," he remarked, as he shook hands with Hopalong.
"Oh, we're that gang from th' O-Bar-O," hummed the Kid as he saunteredin. One cheek was slightly swollen and his clothes shed dust at everystep. "Who wins?" he inquired, not having heard Waffles.
"They did, blast it!" exploded Bigfoot.
One of the Kid's peculiarities was revealed in the unreasoning andhasty conclusions he arrived at. From no desire to imply unfairness,but rather because of his bitterness against failure of any kind and hisloyalty to Waffles, came his next words:
"Mebby they skinned yu."
Like a flash Waffles sprang before him, his hand held up, palm out. "Hedon't mean nothin'--he's only a ignorant kid!" he cried.
Buck smiled and wrested the Colt from Johnny's ever-ready hand. "Here'sanother," he said. Red laughed softly and rolled Johnny on the floor."Yu jackass," he whispered, "don't yu know better'n to make a gun-playwhen we needs them all?"
"What are we goin' to do?" Asked Tex, glancing at the bulging pockets ofHopalong's chaps.
"We're goin' to punch cows again, that's what we're to do," answeredBigfoot dismally.
"An' whose are we goin' to punch? We can't go back to the old man,"grumbled Tex.
Salvation looked askance at Buck and then at the others. "Mebby," hebegan, "Mebby we kin git a job on th' Bar-20." Then turning to Buckagain he bluntly asked, "Are yu short of punchers?"
"Well, I might use some," answered the foreman, hesitating. "But I ain't got only one cook, an'----"
"We'll git yu th' cook all O.K.," interrupted Charley Lane vehemently."Hi, yu cook!" he shouted, "amble in here an' git a rustle on!"
There was no reply, and after waiting for a minute he and Waffles wentinto the rear room, from which there immediately issued great chunksof profanity and noise. They returned looking pugnacious and disgusted,with a wildly fighting man who was more full of liquor than was thebottle which he belligerently waved.
"This here animated distillery what yu sees is our cook," said Waffles."We eats his grub, nobody else. If he gits drunk that's our funeral; buthe won't get drunk! If yu wants us to punch for yu say so an' we does;if yu don't, we don't."
"Well," replied Buck thoughtfully, "mebby I can use yu." Then with aburst of recklessness he added, "Yes, if I lose my job! But yu mightsober that Mexican up if yu let him fall in th' horse trough."
As the procession wended its way on its mission of wet charity, carryingthe cook in any manner at all, Frenchy waved his long lost sombreroat Buck, who stood in the door, and shouted, "Yu old son-of-a-gun, I'mproud to know yu!"
Buck smiled and snapped his watch shut "Time to amble," he said.