"Had a run-in with some o' your boys yesterday,"
Hopalong told him. "They braced me in the trail."
"Yeah, sorry that happened, Cassidy."
Sparr was completely at ease now, for already he was scheming ahead, planning, working things out. "We've had a sight of trouble with rustlers, an my boys are apt to get trigger happy when they see strangers on the range."
Both of them were ignoring the fact that it was Sim Thatcher who was originally braced, and that it had not taken place on Circle J range, but on Thatcher's own land.
"Dick inside? I'd like to see him."
"He'll be glad to see you too," Sparr said quietly; "but it can't be for a couple of hours. He never wakes much before ten, an' the doc wants him to get plenty of sleep."
His cold eyes met Hopalong's and they held for a minute. Then his frozen, hard face cracked in a smile.
"Had breakfast? We just et, an' cook's not cleaned up yet. Come on in." Anson Mowry stood in the door of the bunkhouse staring in open-eyed disbelief. Hopalong Cassidy here! Being received as a guest! He started for the house, hopping mad, then slowed down. After all, his hand was in bad shape.
It would be better to wait, to be careful.
Avery Sparr understood the situation, and with surprising ease he went up the steps first, followed by Soper. It was one of those cases when allowing a guest to come in last was definitely the most polite way. Hopalong grinned to himself, but behind the frosty blue eyes he was thinking fast.
The table was still a litter of dishes, and Sparr waved him to a place. Both men seated themselves, and Sparr called for coffee and breakfast for one. Hopalong looked up as the cook came in, then stopped, his mouth open. Standing in the door was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen.
Chapter 6
BIZCO TMES LEAD MEDICINE
Ironically enough, the first thing Hopalong thought of when he saw Pamela Jordan was how Bizco had laughed when he described her as all knees and freckles. No wonder he had laughed, and no wonder the description of her had stuck even in the mind of a dying outlaw, for this girl was slim, trim, and lovely. She was eighteen, but a woman in every sense. Not beautiful, but pretty, and with a strength and lithe awareness the West gives to its women. On her part she was even more astonished. She recognized him instantly, but somehow she had been expecting an older man. He was a man when she was still a child, yet girls come suddenly to womanhood; so suddenly, on occasion, that it leaves one gasping, and so it had been with her. Three years are not many in the life of a man, but the three years of a girl's life from fifteen to eighteen can mean much.
The man she saw was dressed no differently from any Western man except for the silver guns that she remembered so well. His face, already weather-beaten when she first knew him, was unchanged.
If lines had deepened, she was not aware of it.
Constant riding had trimmed him down, as it did all these men of the saddle. They rarely carried excess weight.
There was visible within him some of that vitality which life against the wind and under the sun and rain builds in a man. He had resistance and strength, and in every move, every change of expression, there was the mark of the man he was. His smile was quick. "Howdy, Pam! It's been a long time."
She had no idea what the situation was, and for an instant he was worried for fear some inadvertent or ill-considered remark might blow off a lid that Sparr had clamped on, and which Cassidy accepted as the best thing for the moment. A moment later and he knew he need not have worried. This girl had known her own trials, and she had grown with them. "It's good to see you, Hoppy."
She came swiftly around the table to him and offered him both her hands. He took them and squeezed them gently, seeing the fear, doubt, puzzled worry, and hope that was in her eyes.
"Are-are you going to be around long?"
The question pleased him. It gave him a chance to make a reply he wanted to make. "Why, shore, Pam."
His eyes lifted to those of Avery Sparr.
"I'll be around until your dad is able to be up and around again, running things for himself."
Then he added, also for their information, "Sent word down to the bank at McClellan that I was comin' here. Had some news for your dad from Josh Ledbetter and Buck, but that can wait."
"All right. See you later." She turned swiftly away, and Sparr stopped her with his eyes.
"When your dad wakes up, tell him I want to see him. I know Hopalong will want to see him, too, but he'd better be prepared for it. We don't," he said carefully, his eyes cold upon hers, "want him needlessly excited."
When she was gone, Hopalong started in on the food that had been placed before him, glad of the chance not to talk while he gave time to thinking this out. In the past few minutes he had acquired a new respect for Sparr.
Whatever the man was planning here, he was not to be stampeded into hasty action that he might regret later. Hopalong had not missed the covert warning to Pamela and her father, and he could guess what Sparr might say when he had that brief talk with Dick Jordan before Hopalong entered.
The situation was in his favor, he knew that. Had Sparr planned to kill him, he would have gambled at once, so obviously there was some reason why he would not be hurried. Too old in the ways of men to be fooled, Hopalong knew that Avery Sparr was not the man to be afraid. He was confident of his own gun skill and had the battles behind him to warrant that confidence. That he had kept his head this morning showed him to be a thinker as well as a man of action. It is not every man who can be faced with such a situation and not give rein to his first impulse. Avery Sparr knew the value of restraint, of calculation.
Soper was yet an unknown quantity, and of that Hopalong wanted to know more. Above all, he was curious. Why had Soper lied to Sparr? For he had lied. The man had come down the trail at the same time Hopalong had come, yet for two nights he had been somewhere. And he had not mentioned turning off the trail. What was it that lay against or in the north wall of the Elks that interested Soper? Where had he been on those two nights? The man was unreadable. He was pleasant, and he knew how to make conversation, as he was doing now, talking smoothly and easily of range conditions, growing cattle in high altitudes, and the benefit of late rains on mountain grass. There was no false note in the man anywhere. A big, tough, hard-cased man, old in the ways of the West and of crime, a man cunning as a fox and vicious as a lobo wolf, a man who was definitely out for himself and afwhat?
There was no sign of neglect on the ranch.
Hopalong had noticed that from the time he crossed the river. The few cattle he had seen looked good, and the stables and corrals were all in good shape. Nothing loose lay around the ranch yard. It gave no evidence that Sparr was planning a quick cleanup and getaway. No, the big gunman planned to stay.
Hopalong sat back from his meal. "Good grub," he said, smiling a little. "This country seems to favor good cooks. Sim Thatcher has a good one." "Couldn't say," Sparr said. "We aren't exactly neighborly. Been cattle missin', we've lost our share, too, an' some of the small outfits figger we're responsible. Nothin' to it."
"You say "our"-you mean you're foreman here now?" "No." Sparr put it to him bluntly:
"Partner."
"Noticed a lot o' young stuff wearin' a Circle S. Your brand?" "Yeah." Sparr felt irritation grow in him. "My brand."
"This partnership--any papers on file? Any notice given?" "Should there be?" Sparr shrugged.
"Plenty of time for that. I'm still in this fairly small. Sort of runnin' the show for Jordan."
"I see."
Hopalong reached for the pot then, and filled his coffee cup once more, taking his time. He would have a chance to talk to Jordan, but Sparr would be present.
They would give him no chance to be alone with the man, and to insist would only be to precipitate trouble.
If he was correct and the whole ranch was what they wanted, they would be trying to give the thing an appearance of being legitimate. Therefore they would probabl
y wait until he was off the ranch to attempt his death. Their excuse in that could lie with the killing of Barker. They would send Mowry against him, and someone else, probably the same double tactics that killed Char- ley Kitchen. Kitchen had been a friend of his.
They had been over the trail to Dodge together, the first time for each.
Pamela came to the door. "Father will see you now."
Her eyes went from Sparr, who was rising, to Hopalong. "He was glad to know you had come, but he wants to know whether all the boys are with you, or if they are following?"
The question brought Sparr up short, and Hopalong saw his face change color. Cassidy concealed his pleasure behind a casual expression. The question had been a neat one, and showed Dick comor Pamela-was thinking. "I reckon Mesquite an' Johnny are already here," he lied. "Only a couple of the others comin'."
"What's that for?" Sparr demanded, alert and puzzled. "Huh?" Hopalong's expression of surprise was perfect. "You mean you are a partner an' Dick never told you about the young stuff we were buyin' from him for a drive? Deal made months ago," he added, "for six hundred head of two-year-old stuff, some yearlin's."
Avery Sparr was caught, and he knew it.
Nothing had been said of this by anyone on the Circle J, yet it might be the truth. If it was not, he was fairly trapped by anything he might say. If it was true, and he had not been told, his status as a partner was questionable.
"Oh? Yeah."
He finally got the words out and pushed from the room, leaving Hopalong with Soper.
This was the man Hopalong wanted to know more about, but he was shrewd enough to leave the opening to Soper. Yet the man on the trail had been Soper. Of that he was positive.
"Odd," Soper suggested suddenly; "there is nothing in the ranch papers about any such deal."
Cassidy took a swallow of his coffee, then put the cup down. It was lukewarm. "Never made a paper deal in my life," he said quietly, "an' doubt if Dick ever made one with anybody he knew." He threw a quick glance at Soper. "Why does it interest you? Another partner, or what?" Soper stiffened, for once at a loss, even if momentarily, at how to answer the question. Outside, he had allowed it to be known that while Sparr was becoming a partner, he was temporarily managing the ranch affairs for Jordan. However, he had a feeling that that would not go over so well with Hopalong Cassidy. "I've been helping," he said, "with ranch business. Avery and I are working together."
Hopalong grinned, lifting his cold eyes with grim amusement. "You are? Now I figgered mebbe that was so, but wasn't so sure. Of course ever' man has some things he keeps to himself."
Soper was suddenly alert. He sat up a little, taking a quick glance at the inner door. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded. Hopalong rubbed out his cigarette and stood up. "Now that Elk Mountain country along the north line. I like that. Ever do much ridin' around up there, Mister Soper?"
Soper was enraged and at the same time he was worried. If something about this got to Sparr- "You are right, of course," he said carefully. "There are some things we don't talk about."
Cassidy walked to the door and opened it.
"Guess they are about ready for me in there," he said.
"Wait!" Soper got hastily to his feet.
"Avery will call you when he's ready."
"I'll go now," Hopalong replied quietly.
"If the old man is awake an' ready enough to see Sparr, who he's known only a few months, he sure can see one of the oldest friends he's got!"
He stepped into the intermediate room and closed the door, but even as he did so Sparr came through the other one. His eyes went cold when he saw Hopalong, and for an instant they faced each other there across the narrow room. Hoppy told himself, If he starts shootin be I got to move right or I d shoot through that door!
"Go on in," Sparr said. "I'll not bother you."
Surprised, Hopalong watched him go, and then he stepped through into the room beyond.
Anson Mowry was furious. Hurrying up to the house, he was in time to meet Soper coming out. "What goes on here?" Mowry demanded. "That gunslinger actin' like he belongs here!"
"Take it easy!" Soper said crisply.
"Span knows what he's doing! And don't worry.
You'll get your chance at him, and soon."
"That's all I want," Mowry said viciously, but with satisfaction. "Just give me a chance."
"Horse Springs," Soper mused; "that would be the place. We'll talk it over with Sparr. You, Johnny Rebb, and Bizco."
Mowry's face mottled. "I don't need help!"
"Yes, you do, Anson." Soper was calm. "I know this man. We will take no chances at all, do you hear? None at all! Once a gun is drawn on this man now, he must never get on his feet again. He must never talk again. The whole show hinges on him."
"All right," Mowry agreed grudgingly, "I'll stand by." His eyes glinted. "Cross fire, eh? Three-cornered?" He chuckled. "The livery stable, that would be the place. Maybe two witnesses, and Rebb an' Bizco could be in the shadows."
He walked away, thinking about it. He could claim to have killed Hopalong Cassidy then! That would make them sit up and take notice! Nobody would have to know about the others. Around here a few might know, but not elsewhere. The glory would be his. And, after all, Soper was right. Why take a chance?
For that matter, Bizco had his own score to settle with Hopalong. Too bad Bizco was in Horse Springs-they might start working out the details right away.
Bizco, in Horse Springs, was having his own troubles. Those troubles sternmed from two dusty riders who had come to town from the west, riding in over the old stage road only a few hours before. Leaving their horses in the livery stable, they had shambled over to the Old Corral and proceeded to open a bottle of Mark's best bourbon. With a drink under their belts they had been looking over the hangers-on without much favor. One of these young men, frozen-faced and cold-eyed, heard a voice on his left, and he turned to see a lean, hangdog man standing there.
"Them your hosses out front? Them with the Double y brand?" "Yeah," Mesquite Jenkins said, "they are."
"Feller from your outfit shore saved my bacon a while back. He come in hell a-shootin' just in time to drive off some "Paches. He was ridin" a big white gelding."
"You don't say!" Johnny Nelson leaned on the bar to look past Mesquite. "Where was this?"
"At Clifton's, on the Canadian. He was ridin' West."
Mark Connor was polishing a glass, but suddenly he was all ears. This was the man who called himself Tuck, the man Bizco wanted a look at.
"He say where he was goin'?" Johnny asked.
Leeds hesitated. Uncomfortably he had the feeling he was talking too much, but of late he had been chafing under the orders from Sparr. At first, hard-pressed by poverty, it had seemed harmless enough to allow a few horses corral space at his ranch every now and again.
Even after the robbery of the bank at McClellan it had not been too bad. But horses had disappeared, and people had seen things, and now few of his neighbors spoke when they met him on the street. A man couldn't live without neighbors. Leeds made up his mind.
"He said he was goin' to Dick Jordan's.
Jordan's got the Circle J, south of here."
"Jordan?" Mesquite scowled. "You know him, Johnny?" "Sure do! Used to run the same brand back in Texas. Knowed him there an' Montana too. Plumb forgot about him bein' down this way, but now I remember. His wife was Spanish. She got a big ranch down here through some land-grant inheritance."
"Old Hoppy! Won't he be surprised when we barge in on him. Mark Connor stiffened.
Hoppy? Hopalong Cassidy? He cursed himself for a fool. Of course! No wonder Bizco was waiting for a look at him! The story of Bizco's run-in with Hopalong had already gone the rounds of the gang. Even as he thought of that, the squint-eyed gunman came in. With several drinks under his belt he was mean and spoiling for a fight. Nor had he missed the Double y horses.
Connor was thinking swiftly, and he could see old man Teilhet's eyes on the two. Th
ose old eyes were sharp with awareness. Connor started back toward him, and when he got close the old man hissed, "Get Bizco out o' here! He's spilin' for a fight with them two! They'll kill him sure as cactus has stickers! Them two are Mesquite Jenkins an' Johnny Nelson, o' the old Bar 20 outfit!"
Jenkins had never known the Bar 20, but in Teilhet's mind all of that bunch were associated with the earlier brand. He had just occasion for recalling an earlier visit by Hopalong Cassidy. Mark moved back up the bar, trying to catch Bizco's eyes, but with the intentness only a drinking man can muster, Bizco had eyes only for the two Double y hands and the memory of his slugging by Hopalong Cassidy.
Yet he was not drunk enough to be altogether a fool, only drunk enough to be bolder than usual. While he preferred the fast horse to the smoking gun, he had some pride in his own prowess and knew that he was better than most hands who drifted along the trail. For these two he had nothing but contempt, and he chose the younger of the two, Mesquite Jenkins, for his challenge. He chose him because he was younger, and so believed to be less experienced. None of these thoughts came consciously to his mind, but nevertheless they had a part in his decision. Actually, he could not have chosen worse.
Aside from Hopalong himself there probably did not exist in that time and country two men more deadly with six-guns than these two. If anything, Johnny Nelson, being less easy to prod, might have been the lesser of two evils. Mesquite Jenkins was a young man with few qualities of mercy, and those few he had been learning only recently, from Hopalong, Johnny, Buck, and others of the outfit. He had grown up with the idea that the world had a grudge against him and every man who moved near him had a chip on his shoulder, ac- cordingly he had acquired his own chip. It functioned easily and often. "Bizcol"
Mark spoke sharply, and ordinarily that would have drawn the squint-eyed gunman's instant obedience, for it was well known that Connor was the right hand of Avery Sparr. But at the moment Bizco could think of nothing but that Double y brand and the fact that he wanted to get even. If he noticed Connor at all, he paid no attention.
the Rustlers Of West Fork (1951) Page 7