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

by Rex Beach

  CHAPTER XVIII. The Search Begins

  As the sun arose it revealed three punchers riding away fromcivilization. On all sides, stretching to the evil-appearing horizon,lay vast blotches of dirty-white and faded yellow alkali and sand.Occasionally a dwarfed mesquite raised its prickly leaves and rustledmournfully. With the exception of the riders and an occasional Gilamonster, no life was discernible. Cacti of all shapes and sizes rearedaloft their forbidding spines or spread out along the sand. All wasdead, ghastly; all was oppressive, startlingly repellent in its sinisterpromise; all was the vastness of desolation.

  Hopalong knew this portion of the desert for ten miles inward--he hadrescued straying cattle along its southern rim--but once beyond thatlimit they would have to trust to chance and their own abilities. Therewere water holes on this skillet, but nine out of ten were death traps,reeking with mineral poisons, colored and alkaline. The two mentioned byBuck could not be depended on, for they came and went, and more than oneluckless wanderer had depended on them to allay his thirst, and had diedfor his trust.

  So the scouts rode on in silence, noting the half-buried skeletons ofcattle which were strewn plentifully on all sides. Nearly three percent, of the cattle belonging to the Double Arrow yearly found deathon this tableland, and the herds of that ranch numbered many thousandheads. It was this which made the Double Arrow the poorest of theranches, and it was this which allowed insufficient sentries in itsline-houses. The skeletons were not all of cattle, for at rare intervalslay the sand-worn frames of men.

  On the morning of the second day the oppression increased with the windand Red heaved a sigh of restlessness. The sand began to skip across theplain, in grains at first and hardly noticeable. Hopalong turned in hissaddle and regarded the desert with apprehension. As he looked hesaw that where grains had shifted handfuls were now moving. His mountevinced signs of uneasiness and was hard to control.

  A gust of wind, stronger than the others, pricked his face and grainsof sand rolled down his neck. The leather of his saddle emitted strangenoises as if a fairy tattoo was being beaten upon it and he raised hishand and pointed off toward the east. The others looked and saw what hadappeared to be a fog rise out of the desert and intervene between themand the sun. As far as eye could reach small whirlwinds formed and brokeand one swept down and covered them with stinging sand. The day becamedarkened and their horses whinnied in terror and the clumps of mesquitetwisted and turned to the gusts.

  Each man knew what was to come upon them and they dismounted, hobbledtheir horses and threw them bodily to the earth, wrapping a blanketaround the head of each. A rustling as of paper rubbing together becamenoticeable and they threw themselves flat upon the earth, their headswrapped in their coats and buried in the necks of their mounts. Foran hour they endured the tortures of hell and then, when the storm hadpassed, raised their heads and cursed Creation. Their bodies burnedas though they had been shot with fine needles and their clothes weremeshes where once was tough cloth. Even their shoes were perforated andthe throat of each ached with thirst.

  Hopalong fumbled at the canteen resting on his hip and gargled his mouthand throat, washing down the sand which wouldn't come up. His friendsdid likewise and then looked around. After some time had elapsed theloss of their pack horse was noticed and they swore again. Hopalong tookthe lead in getting his horse ready for service and then rode around ina circle half a mile in diameter, but returned empty handed. The horsewas gone and with it went their main supply of food and drink.

  Frenchy scowled at the shadow of a cactus and slowly rode toward thenortheast, followed closely by his friends. His hand reached for hisdepleted canteen, but refrained--water was to be saved until the lastminute.

  "I'm goin' to build a shack out here an' live in it, I am!" explodedHopalong in withering irony as he dug the sand out of his ears and alsofrom his sixshooter. "I just nachurally dotes on this, I do!"

  The others were too miserable to even grunt and he neatly severed thehead of a Gila monster from its scaly body as it opened it venomous jawsin rage at this invasion of its territory. "Lovely place!" he sneered.

  "You better save them cartridges, Hoppy," interposed Red as hiscompanion fired again, feeling that he must say something.

  "An' what for?" blazed his friend. "To plug sand storms? Anybody what wefind on this God-forsaken lay-out won't have to be shot--they will commitsuicide an' think it's fun! Tell yu what, if them rustlers hangs out onthis sand range they're better men than I reckons they are. Anybody whathides up here shore earns all he steals." Hopalong grumbled from forceof habit and because no one else would. His companions understood thisand paid no attention to him, which increased his disgust.

  "What are we up here for?" He asked, belligerently. "Why, because themDouble Arrow idiots can't even watch a desert! We have to do their workfor them an' they hangs around home an' gets slaughtered! Yes, sir!"he shouted, "they can't even take care of themselves when they're inline-houses what are forts. Why, that time we cleaned out them an' th'C-80 over at Buckskin they couldn't help runnin' into singin' lead!"

  "Yes," drawled Red, whose recollection of that fight was vivid. "Yas,an' why?" He asked, and then replied to his own question. "Because yusat up in a barn behind them, Buck played his gun on th' side window,Pete an' Skinny lay behind a rock to one side of Buck, me an' Lankywas across th' Street in front of them, an' Billy an' Johnny was in th'arroyo on th' other side. Cowan laid on his stummick on th' roof of hisplace with a buffalo gun, an' the whole blamed town was agin them. Therewasn't five seconds passed that lead wasn't rippin' through th' wallsof their shack. Th' Houston House wasn't made for no fort, an' besides,they wasn't like th' gang that's punchin' now. That's why."

  Hopalong became cheerful again, for here was a chance to differ from hisfriend. The two loved each other the better the more they squabbled.

  "Yas!" responded Hopalong with sarcasm. "Yas!" he reiterated, drawlingit out. "Yu was in front of them, an' with what? Why, an' old,white-haired, interfering Winchester, that's what! Me an' my Sharp's--"

  "Yu and yore Sharp's!" exploded Red, whose dislike for that rifle wasvery pronounced. "Yu and yore Sharp's."

  "Me an' my Sharp's, as I was palaverin' before bein' interrupted,"continued Hopalong, "did more damage in five min--"

  "Says yu!" snapped Red with heat. "All yu an yore Sharp's could do wasto cut yore initials in th' back door of their shack, an'----"

  "Did more damage in five minutes," continued Hopalong, "than all th'blasted Winchesters in th' whole damned town. Why--"

  "An' then they was cut blamed poor. Every time that cannon of yournexploded I shore thought th'--"

  "Why, Cowan an' his buffalo did more damage (Cowan was reputed to be avery poor shot) than yu an--"

  "I thought th' artillery was comin' into th' disturbance. I could seeyore red head--"

  "MY red head!" exclaimed Hopalong, sizing up the crimson warlock of hiscompanion. "MY red head!" he repeated, and then turned to Frenchy: "Hey,Frenchy, who's got th' reddest hair, me or Red?"

  Frenchy slowly turned in his saddle and gravely scrutinized them.Being strictly impartial and truthful, he gave up the effort ofdifferentiating and smiled. "Why, if the tops of yore heads were pokedthrough two holes in a board an' I didn't know which was which, I'dshore make a mistake if I tried to name 'em"

  But Red had the last word. "Anyhow, you didn't have a Sharp's in thatfight--you had a .45-70 Winchester, just like mine!"

  Thereupon the discussion was directed at the judge, and the forenoonpassed very pleasantly, Frenchy even smiling in his misery.