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

by Rex Beach

  CHAPTER XXIII. Mr. Cassidy Meets a Woman

  The work of separating the cattle into herds of the different brandswas not a big contract, and with so many men it took but a comparativelyshort time, and in two days all signs of the rustlers had faded. It wasthen that good news went the rounds and the men looked forward to aweek of pleasure, which was all the sharper accentuated by the grimmercilessness of the expedition into the Panhandle. Here was a chancefor unlimited hilarity and a whole week in which to give strictattention to celebrating the recent victory.

  So one day Mr. Hopalong Cassidy rode rapidly over the plain, thinkingabout the joys and excitement promised by the carnival to be heldat Muddy Wells. With that rivalry so common to Western towns theinhabitants maintained that the carnival was to break all records, thisbecause it was to be held in their town. Perry's Bend and Buckskin hadeach promoted a similar affair, and if this year's festivities wereto be an improvement on those which had gone before, they wouldmost certainly be worth riding miles to see. Perry's Bend had beenunfortunate m being the first to hold a carnival, inasmuch as it onlyset a mark to be improved upon, and Buckskin had taken advantage of thisand had added a brass band, and now in turn was to be eclipsed.

  The events slated were numerous and varied, the most important beingthose which dealt directly with the everyday occupations of theinhabitants of that section of the country. Broncho busting,steer-roping and tying, rifle and revolver shooting, trick riding andfancy roping made up the main features of the programme and were tobe set off by horse and foot racing and other county fair necessities.Altogether, the proud citizens of the town looked forward with keenanticipation to the coming excitements, and were prone to swagger abit and to rub their hands in condescending egoism, while the crowdedgambling halls and saloons, and the three-card-monte men on the streetcorners enriched themselves at the cost of venturesome know-it-ails.

  Hopalong was firmly convinced that his day of hard riding was well worthwhile, for the Bar-20 was to be represented in strength. Probablya clearer insight into his idea of a carnival can be gained by hisdefinition, grouchily expressed to Red Connors on the day following thelast affair: "Raise cain, go broke, wake up an' begin punching cowsall over again." But that was the day after and the day after is alwaysfilled with remorse.

  Hopalong and Red, having twice in succession won the revolver and riflecompetitions, respectively, hoped to make it 'Three straight.' LankySmith, the Bar-20 rope expert, had taken first prize in the only contesthe had entered. Skinny Thompson had lost and drawn with Lefty Allen, ofthe O-Bar-O, in the broncho-busting event, but as Skinny had improvedgreatly in the interval, his friends confidently expected him to "yankfirst place" for the honor of his ranch. These expectations were backedwith all the available Bar-20 money, and, if they were not realized,something in the nature of a calamity would swoop down upon and wrapthat ranch in gloom. Since the O-Bar-O was aggressively optimistic thebetting was at even money, hats and guns, and the losers would beginlife anew so far as earthly possessions were concerned. No othercompetitors were considered in this event, as Skinny and Lefty had sofar outclassed all others that the honor was believed to lie betweenthese two.

  Hopalong, blissfully figuring out the chances of the differentcontestants, galloped around a clump of mesquite only fifteen miles fromMuddy Wells and stiffened in his saddle, for twenty rods ahead of him onthe trail was a woman. As she heard him approach she turned and waitedfor him to overtake her, and when she smiled he raised his sombrero andbowed.

  "Will you please tell me where I am?" She asked.

  "Yu are fifteen miles southeast of Muddy Wells," he replied.

  "But which is southeast?"

  "Right behind yu," he answered. "Th' town lies right ahead."

  "Are you going there?" She asked.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Then you will not care if I ride with you?" She asked. "I am a triflefrightened."

  "Why, I'd be some pleased if yu do, 'though there ain't nothing out hereto be afraid of now."

  "I had no intention of getting lost," she assured him, "but I dismountedto pick flowers and cactus leaves and after a while I had no conceptionof where I was."

  "How is it yu are out here?" He asked. "Yu shouldn't get so far fromtown."

  "Why, papa is an invalid and doesn't like to leave his room, and thetown is so dull, although the carnival is waking it up somewhat. Havingnothing to do I procured a horse and determined to explore the country.Why, this is like Stanley and Livingstone, isn't it? You rescued theexplorer!" And she laughed heartily. He wondered who in thunder Stanleyand Livingstone were, but said nothing.

  "I like the West, it is so big and free," she continued. "But it is verymonotonous at times, especially when compared with New York. Papaswears dreadfully at the hotel and declares that the food will drive himinsane, but I notice that he eats much more heartily than he did whenin the city. And the service!--it is awful. But when one leaves the townbehind it is splendid, and I can appreciate it because I had such a hardseason in the city last winter--so many balls, parties and theaters thatI simply wore myself out."

  "I never hankered much for them things," Hopalong replied. "An' I don'tlike th' towns much, either. Once or twice a year I gets as far asKansas City, but I soon tires of it an' hits th' back trail. Yu see, Idon't like a fence country--I wants lots of room an' air."

  She regarded him intently: "I know that you will think me very forward."

  He smiled and slowly replied: "I think yu are all O. K."

  "There do not appear to be many women in this country," she suggested.

  "No, there ain't many," he replied, thinking of the kind to be foundin all of the cow-towns. "They don't seem to hanker for this kind oflife--they wants parties an' lots of dancin' an' them kind of things. Ireckon there ain't a whole lot to tempt em to come.

  "You evidently regard women as being very frivolous," she replied.

  "Well, I'm speakin' from there not being any out here," he responded,"although I don't know much about them, to tell th' truth. Them what areout here can't be counted." Then he flushed and looked away.

  She ignored the remark and placed her hand to her hair:

  "Goodness! My hair must look terrible!"

  He turned and looked: "Yore hair is pretty--I allus did like brown hair."

  She laughed and put back the straggling locks: "It is terrible! Justlook at it! Isn't it awful?"

  "Why, no: I reckons not," he replied critically. "It looks sort of freean' easy thataway."

  "Well, it's no matter, it cannot be helped," she laughed. "Let's race!"she cried and was off like a shot.

  He humored her until he saw that her mount was getting unmanageable,when he quietly overtook her and closed her pony's nostrils with hishand, the operation having a most gratifying effect.

  "Joe hadn't oughter let yu had this cayuse," he said.

  "Why, how do you know of whom I procured it?" She asked. "By th' brand:it's a O-Bar-O, canceled, with J. H. over it. He buys all of his cayusesfrom th' O-Bar-O."

  She found out his name, and, after an interval of silence, she turned tohim with eyes full of inquiry: "What is that thorny shrub just ahead?"She asked.

  "That's mesquite," he replied eagerly.

  "Tell me all about it," she commanded.

  "Why, there ain't much to tell," he replied, "only it's a valuable treeout here. Th' Apaches use it a whole lot of ways. They get honey fromth' blossoms an' glue an' gum, an' they use th' bark for tannin' hide.Th' dried pods an' leaves are used to feed their cattle, an' th' woodmakes corrals to keep 'em in. They use th' wood for making other things,too, an' it is of two colors. Th' sap makes a dye what won't wash out,an' th' beans make a bread what won't sour or get hard. Then it makes abarrier that shore is a dandy-coyotes an' men can't get through it, an'it protects a whole lot of birds an' things. Th' snakes hate it likepoison, for th' thorns get under their scales an' whoops things up for'em. It keeps th' sand from shiftin', too. Down South where there isplenty of water, it
often grows forty feet high, but up here it squatsclose to th' ground so it can save th' moisture. In th' night th'temperature sometimes falls thirty degrees, an' that helps it, too."

  "How can it live without water?" She asked.

  "It gets all th' water it wants," he replied, smiling. "Th' tap rootsgo straight down 'til they find it, sometimes fifty feet. That's why itdon't shrivel up in th' sun. Then there are a lot of little roots rightunder it an' they protects th' tap roots. Th' shade it gives is th'coolest out here, for th' leaves turn with th' wind an' lets th' breezethrough-they're hung on little stems."

  "How splendid!" she exclaimed. "Oh! Look there!" she cried, pointingahead of them. A chaparral cock strutted from its decapitated enemy, arattlesnake, and disappeared in the chaparral.

  Hopalong laughed: "Mr. Scissors-bill Road-runner has great fun withsnakes. He runs along th' sand-an' he can run, too--an' sees a snaketakin' a siesta. Snip! goes his bill an' th' snake slides over th'Divide. Our fighting friend may stop some coyote's appetite beforemorning, though, unless he stays where he is."

  Just then a gray wolf blundered in sight a few rods ahead of them, andHopalong fired instantly. His companion shrunk from him and looked athim reproachfully.

  "Why did you do that!" she demanded.

  "Why, because they costs us big money every year," he replied. "There'sa bounty on them because they pull down calves, an' sometimes full growncows. I'm shore wonderin' why he got so close--they're usually just outof range, where they stays."

  "Promise me that you will shoot no more while I am with you.

  "Why, shore: I didn't think yu'd care," he replied. "Yu are like thatsky-pilot over to Las Cruces--he preached agin killin' things, which isall right for him, who didn't have no cows."

  "Do you go to the missions?" She asked.

  He replied that he did, sometimes, but forgot to add that it was usuallyfor the purpose of hilarity, for he regarded sky-pilots with humoroustoleration.

  "Tell me all about yourself--what you do for enjoyment and all about yourwork," she requested.

  He explained in minute detail the art of punching cows, and told hermore of the West in half an hour than she could have learned from ayear's experience. She showed such keen interest in his words that itwas a pleasure to talk to her, and he monopolized the conversation untilthe town intruded its sprawling collection of unpainted shacks and adobehuts in their field of vision.