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

by Rex Beach

  CHAPTER XV. The Penalty

  While Mr. Travennes had been entertained in the manner narrated, Mr.Connors had passed the time by relating stale jokes to the uproariouslaughter of his extremely bored audience, who had heard the aged effortsmany times since they had first seen the light of day, and most of whomearnestly longed for a drink. The landlord, hearing the hilarity, hadtaken advantage of the opportunity offered to see a free show. Not beingable to see what the occasion was for the mirth, he had pulled on hisboots and made his way to the show with a flapjack in the skilletswhich, in his haste, he had forgotten to put down. He felt sure that hewould be entertained, and he was not disappointed. He rounded the cornerand was enthusiastically welcomed by the hungry Mr. Connors, whoseubiquitous guns coaxed from the skillet its dyspeptic wad.

  "Th' saints be praised!" ejaculated Mr. Connors as a matter of form,not having a very clear idea of just what saints were, but he knew whatflapjacks were and greedily overcame the heroic resistance of the oneprovided by chance and his own guns. As he rolled his eyes in ecstaticcontent the very man Mr. Cassidy had warned him against suddenly aroseand in great haste disappeared around the corner of the corral, fromwhich point of vantage he vented his displeasure at the treatment he hadreceived by wasting six shots at the mortified Mr. Connors.

  "Steady!" sang out that gentleman as the line-up wavered. "He'sa precedent to hell for yu fellers! Don't yu get ambitious, nonewhatever." Then he wondered how long it would take the fugitive tosecure a rifle and return to release the others by drilling him at longrange.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the vision of a red head that climbedinto view over a rise a short distance off and he grinned his delight asMr. Cassidy loomed up, jaunty and triumphant. Mr. Cassidy was executingcalisthenics with a Colt in the rear of Mr. Travennes' neck and wasleading the horses.

  Mr. Connors waved the skillet and his friend grinned his congratulationsat what the token signified.

  "I see yu got some more," said Mr. Cassidy, as he went down the line-upfrom the rear and collected nineteen weapons of various makes andconditions, this number being explained by the fact that all but one ofthe prisoners wore two. Then he added the five that had kicked againsthis ribs ever since he had left the hut, and carefully threaded the endof his lariat through the trigger guards.

  "Looks like we stuck up a government supply mule, Red," he remarked,as he fastened the whole collection to his saddle. "Fourteen colts, sixMerwin-Hulbert's, three Prescott, an' one puzzle," he added, examiningthe puzzle. "Made in Germany, it says, and it shore looks like it. It'sgot little pins stickin' out of th' cylinder, like you had to swat itwith a hammer or a rock, or somethin' to make it go off. Must be damndangerous, to most anybody around. Looks more like a cactus than asix-shooter-gosh, it's a ten-shooter! I allus said them Dutchmen wasbloody-minded cusses. Think of bein' able to shoot yoreself ten timesbefore th' blame thing stops!" Then looking at the line-up for the ownerof the weapon, he laughed at the woeful countenances displayed. "Didthey sidle in by companies or squads?" He asked.

  "By twos, mostly. Then they parade-rested an' got discharged from duty.I had eleven, but one got homesick, or disgusted, or something, an'deserted. It was that cussed flapjack," confessed and explained Mr.Connors.

  "What!" said Mr. Cassidy in a loud voice. "Got away! Well, we'll have tomake our get-away plumb sudden or we'll never go."

  At this instant the escaped man again began his bombardment from thecorner of the corral and Mr. Cassidy paused, indignant at the fusilladewhich tore up the dust at his feet. He looked reproachfully at Mr.Connors and then circled out on the plain until he caught a glimpse ofa fleeing cow-puncher, whose back rapidly grew smaller in thefast-increasing distance.

  "That's yore friend, Red," said Mr. Cassidy as he returned from hisreconnaissance. "He's that short-horn yearling. Mebby he'll come backagain," he added hopefully. "Anyhow, we've got to move. He'll collectreinforcements an' mebby they all won't shoot like him. Get up on yoreClarinda an' hold th' fort for me," he ordered, pushing the fartherhorse over to his friend. Mr. Connors proved that an agile man can mounta restless horse and not lose the drop, and backed off three hundredyards, deftly substituting his Winchester for the Colts. Then Mr.Cassidy likewise mounted with his attention riveted elsewhere and backedoff to the side of his companion.

  The bombardment commenced again from the corral, but this time Mr.Connors' rifle slid around in his lap and exploded twice. The bellicosegentleman of the corral yelled in pain and surprise and vanished.

  "Purty good for a Winchester," said Mr. Cassidy in doubtfulcongratulation.

  "That's why I got him," snapped Mr. Connors in brief reply, and thenhe laughed. "Is them th' vigilantes what never let a man get away?" Hescornfully asked, backing down the street and patting his Winchester.

  "Well, Red, they wasn't all there. They was only twelve all told,"excused Mr. Cassidy. "An' then we was two," he explained, as he wishedthe collection of six-shooters was on Mr. Connors' horse so theywouldn't bark his shin.

  "An we still are," corrected Mr. Connors, as they wheeled and gallopedfor Alkaline.

  As the sun sank low on the horizon Mr. Peters finished orderingprovisions at the general store, the only one Alkaline boasted, andsauntered to the saloon where he had left his men. He found diem a fewdollars richer, as they had borrowed ten dollars from the bartender ontheir reputations as poker players and had used the money to stake Mr.McAllister in a game against the local poker champion.

  "Has Hopalong an' Red showed up yet?" Asked Mr. Peters, frowning at thedelay already caused.

  "Nope," replied Johnny Nelson, as he paused from tormenting BillyWilliams.

  At that minute the doorway was darkened and Mr. Cassidy and Mr. Connorsentered and called for refreshments. Mr. Cassidy dropped a huge bundleof six-shooters on the floor, making caustic remarks regarding theirutility.

  "What's th' matter?" Inquired Mr. Peters of Mr. Cassidy. "Yu looks madan' anxious. An' where in blazes did yu corral them guns?"

  Mr. Cassidy drank deep and then reported with much heat what hadoccurred at Cactus Springs and added that he wanted to go back and wipeout the town, said desire being luridly endorsed by Mr. Connors.

  "Why, shore," said Mr. Peters, "we'll all go. Such doings must bestopped instanter." Then he turned to the assembled outfits and askedfor a vote, which was unanimous for war.

  Shortly afterward eighteen angry cowpunchers rode to the east, twored-haired gentlemen well in front and urging speed. It was 8 P.M. whenthey left Alkaline, and the cool of the night was so delightful that thefeeling of ease which came upon them made them lax and they lost threehours in straying from the dim trail. At eight o'clock the next morningthey came in sight of their destination and separated into two squads,Mr. Cassidy leading the northern division and Mr. Connors the one whichcircled to the south. The intention was to attack from two directions,thus taking the town from front and rear.

  Cactus Springs lay gasping in the excessive heat and the vigilantes whohad toed Mr. Connors' line the day before were lounging in the shade ofthe "Palace" saloon, telling what they would do if they ever faced thesame man again. Half a dozen sympathizers offered gratuitous condolenceand advice and all were positive that they knew where Mr. Cassidy andMr. Connors would go when they died.

  The rolling thunder of madly pounding hoofs disturbed their post-mortemand they arose in a body to flee from half their number, who, guns inhands, charged down upon them through clouds of sickly white smoke.Travennes' Terrors were minus many weapons and they could not beexpected to give a glorious account of themselves. Windows rattled andfell in and doors and walls gave off peculiar sounds as they grew fullof holes. Above the riot rattled the incessant crack of Colt's andWinchester, emphasized at close intervals by the assertive roar ofbuffalo guns. Off to the south came another rumble of hoofs and Mr.Connors, leading the second squad,--arrived to participate in thepayment of the debt.

  Smoke spurted from windows and other points of vantage and hung waveringin the h
eated air. The shattering of woodwork told of heavy slugsfinding their rest, and the whines that grew and diminished in the airsang the course of .45s.

  While the fight raged hottest Mr. Nelson sprang from his horse and ranto the "Palace," where he collected and piled a heap of tinder likewood, and soon the building burst out in flames, which, spreading, sweptthe town from end to end.

  Mr. Cassidy fired slowly and seemed to be waiting for something. Mr.Connors laid aside his hot Winchester and devoted his attention to hisColts. A spurt of flame and smoke leaped from the window of a 'dobehut and Mr. Connors sat down, firing as he went. A howl from the windowinformed him that he had made a hit, and Mr. Cassidy ran out and draggedhim to the shelter of a near-by bowlder and asked how much he was hurt.

  "Not much--in the calf," grunted Mr. Connors. "He was a bad shot--musthave been the cuss that got away yesterday," speculated the injuredman as he slowly arose to his feet. Mr. Cassidy dissented from force ofhabit and returned to his station. Mr. Travennes, who was sleepinglate that morning, coughed and fought for air in his sleep, awakened insmoke, rubbed his eyes to make sure and, scorning trousers and shirt,ran clad in his red woolen undergarments to the corral, where he mountedhis scared horse and rode for the desert and safety.

  Mr. Cassidy, swearing at the marksmanship of a man who fired at his headand perforated his sombrero, saw a crimson rider sweep down upon him,said rider being heralded by a blazing .44.

  "Gosh!" ejaculated Mr. Cassidy, scarcely believing his eyes. "Oh, it'smy friend Slim going to hades," he remarked to himself in audible andrelieved explanation. Mr. Cassidy's Colts cracked a protest and then hejoined Mr. Peters and the others and with them fought his way out of theflame-swept town of Cactus Springs.

  An hour later Mr. Connors glanced behind him at the smoke silhouetted onthe horizon and pushed his way to where Mr. Cassidy rode in silence. Mr.Connors grinned at his friend of the red hair, who responded in the samemanner.

  "Did yu see Slim?" Casually inquired Mr. Connors, looking off to thesouth.

  Mr. Cassidy sat upright in his saddle and felt of his Colts. "Yes," hereplied, "I saw him."

  Mr. Connors thereupon galloped on in silence.