"You been a good man, Mark, saved me lots of headaches, but if you stay, you will be a bigger one.
I'm too old a man to close up an' start somewheres else, an' I know what Cassidy an' his crowd are like when they start to unwind.
"You heard him"-the old man gestured toward the rustler"... T is the way Cassidy works. I never figgered Sparr would get him. ,.
"An' if he does?" Connor demanded harshly.
"Come back an' go to work. I've nothin' against you, but this here place is all I got. I can't afford to lose her. You better take my advice an' slope."
"I got money comin' from Sparr."
"Forget it. It ain't worth stayin' for. I'll pay you what you got comin' here. The stage is due in just a few minutes. Don't miss it."
Frightened by the old man's sincerity, Mark Connor stripped off his apron and headed for the back room where he lived. It would be only a few minutes until the stage arrived-ample time in which to pack. He had scarcely dosed the door when Mesquite Jenkins and Johnny Nelson came in through the front. There was blood on Mesquite's shoulder and it was noticed at once. Leeds saw it first. "Hurt?" he asked. Mesquite turned and, recognizing Leeds from his friendly warning, replied, "Burn. Had us a battle."
Sensing the curiosity of the crowd, he added, "Four hombres in Turkey Crick Canyon.
Two of "em the Hardy brothers."
"All dead?"
"We're here, ain't we? They started it." Then Johnny added, "Figger they had a deal with Soper.
He visited 'em before we got there. They had a list of fellers to kill an" we were on it. They started right then. It was a bad start."
Teilhet leaned his big hands on the bar. He felt very old now, and wished he had closed the place early. Luckily, Mark was ready to leave.
He would not be getting out of town too soon. Too much killing. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age. He had known the Hardy boys-tough lads they were too. But not tough enough for these two, and Cassidy was somewhere around, prob- ably heading this way now. If he made up his mind to it, he might burn the Old Corral over their heads. He was right sudden, that Cassidy, and had a way of making things stick.
West of the Jerky Mountains, Avery Sparr and his weary riders were on the last leg of their homeward trek. Sparr was in the lead, as yet unaware of how badly all his plans had failed and how they were folding up around him. It was getting late, and as he rode he turned over in his mind the various angles. He felt a vague sense of defeat, for he had wanted to get his hands on Cassidy and had wanted to keep the Jordans a little longer. In fact, he had never made up his mind to killing that girl. She was something, when you thought about it. But women had a way of making trouble for a man. Ed Framson pulled up alongside him.
Framson was a hard case and one of the few whom Sparr trusted implicitly. That was partly because Framson was in every sense a reliable man. Rustler he might be, but his word was good, and he was loyal.
He was also tough.
"Never could figger why you let Soper register his brand," he began suddenly. "That puzzles me some, although I ain't long on figgerin'." Avery Sparr's head came around sharply. "What?
Soper's brand?" "Uh-huh. The Circle S."
"That's my brand, not Soper's. He registered it for me."
"Reckon he lied, Avery. I seen the books. Soper registered that brand in his own name."
Avery Sparr's gimlet eyes went cold and ugly. He had been wrong to trust that smooth-faced rat! He should have guessed there was no good in the man, but Goff had spoken well of him, and Goff was a good solid fellow. Or was he? Maybe the two were working together! "Thanks, Ed," he said quietly.
"I reckon I'll have to start cleanin' out the skunks in this outfit." "There's a few need it."
Framson was quiet. "Soper, he's the worst.
I figgered it was somethin' you planned yourself. Never figgered he would take a chance on crossin' you.
He's right keerful o' that hide of his'n." They rode for some distance without speaking, and then they saw a rider approaching. It was Sim Thatcher.
Sparr's innate viciousness rushed to the fore.
"Why, there's that T Bar coyote now!" he said "I reckon this is as good a time as any!" Thatcher drew up, facing the tight group of riders, his face white.
"You had better save that," he advised, seeing Sparr's hand on his gun. "You'll need it!"
"What's that?" Sparr's hard face chilled.
"What you mean?" Sim Thatcher was smiling. "Your show blowed up, Sparr. Tony Cuyas tried to throw a gun on those two partners of Hopalong an' got killed. Hank Lydon lit out of the country. There's four dead men in Turkey Springs Canyon that were friends of Soper. Hopalong made it over the mountain safe with the Jordans, an' then he closed the Eagle an' run that whole outfit out of the country. They are scatterin' like rats ahead of a bull snake!" "You're lyin'!"
Sparr's face was a mask of fury. "No, I ain't. Hoppy killed two of your men on the Silver. He's headed back this way, gunnin' for you. The Jordans are safe in P, .1m$11
Avery Sparr stared bitterly at his big hands.
So this was the end! Well, one thing remained. He would kill Soper, and then he would round up all the cattle in sight and drive them over the border.
Maybe he was only a cow rustler, anyway!
Yes, there was one other thing he could do. He could kill Hopalong Cassidy, the cause of all his trouble. Yes, that was just what he would do. And he would do it tomorrow.
Chapter 13
BLOOD ON THE SNOW
If the gun hands of Avery Sparr could come west by relays of horses, Hopalong Cassidy could go east the same way. Doc Benton started him off with a powerful bay who had been too long in the stable and wanted to get out and go.
The trail north from Alma went up the canyon of the San Francisco and through the Plaza. Hopalong pushed the bay hard, and he was working his way over the trail. through the Kelley Mountains when he encountered a puncher headed south. The man was riding a fresh steeldust, and Hopalong swapped mounts with him, promising to leave the horse at the Plaza. At a ranch on the Negrito he swapped again, this time leaving on a fast black horse. And it was the black that took him through to Horse Springs. He had caught three hours' sleep in the cabin on the Negrito, so he swept into Horse Springs early on the morning after leaving Alma. No horses stood at the hitch rail and the street was empty of tracks save a few from the night before.
The Old Corral was open, but Teilhet himself was puttering around inside. He lifted his heavy head as Hopalong came in and nodded to him. His huge, pearlike body seemed to tremble visibly as Hopalong entered. He responded to Cassidy's quick question.
"Blowed town, I guess. They figgered there would be trouble."
"Where's Connor?"
"Gone."
Teilhet leaned his thick hands on the bar.
"Look, Cassidy, I'm an old man.
Don't close me up or burn me out. I know how you are when you are on the prod. Leave me be, will you?" "All right, but stay out of it, understand? One sign that you are givin' a hand to any of that Sparr crowd an' you get what the Eagle got, hear me?" Hopalong looked up, freezing the frightened man with his glance. "Seen Mesquite an'
Johnny Nelson?"
"Uh-huh. They are in town now. Over to Ma Baker's eatin' breakfast, I figger. If you ain't et, that's the best grub in town. Next to this place, that is, an' my cook ain't around yet."
Hopalong stepped to the door and glanced quickly up and down the street. Snow was falling lazily, but there was no one in sight. Under the thick blanket of snow the outlaw town looked almost beautiful. It was wrong to consider it an outlaw town, he reflected, for it was anything but that. The good people always outnumbered the bad, only they made less noise and attracted less attention. It was a good town, and would continue to be so. Mounting the black, he rode to the sign that indicated Ma Baker's and pushed open the door. The first person he saw was Johnny, then Mesquite. Hopalong grinned widely.
"Well, if it ain't feather-he
aded Johnny!" he said. "Who's your partner?"
"Tumbleweed that blowed in. He don't know much but he's willin' to learn. I been sort of showin' him aroun' some, but he gets into a sight of trouble."
The ghost of a smile came into Mesquite's eyes. "Pay no attention to this pothole rider, Hoppy. He's sore because Ma gave me the biggest hunk of apple pie."
"Pie for breakfast?" Hopalong inquired.
"I'll buy that. Nobody ever ate so foolish as a cowhand off the home ranch, but apple pie?
I'll tackle it anytime!" He glanced sidewise at them. "What's been comin' off down here?" They explained, first one talking, then the other.
Hopalong nodded at the story of Turkey Springs Canyon.
"I figgered somethin' like that. Soper disappeared down that way one day but I had no time nor reason to trail him. Didn't even know there was a canyon in there. Did you see him? Or Sparr?"
"Didn't see Soper after he left the ranch, an' never have seen Sparr. I reckon he'll be there by now, or close to it. Goin' back?"
"Uh-huh, an' right away."
The door opened behind them and Hopalong looked up to see Johnny Rebb standing there. Rebb looked quickly from one to the other of them, then seated himself.
Nobody said anything after their first greeting. Rebb ate silently and got up to leave.
Hopalong lifted his eyes.
"Rebb, yuh ridin' for Sparr?"
The buck-toothed gunman turned a little to face them. Instantly Hopalong heard a clang of an alarm bell in his subconscious. The man in the shabby vest and worn shirt was cool, completely cool, completely poised. "Yeah, I ride for him."
"If you're driftin' back to the Circle J, tell him I'll be down soon. He can wait for me, or meet me on the trail."
"He'll come."
Mesquite Jenkins lifted his cold eyes.
"Where'full you be?"
"Anywhere you like," Johnny Rebb said quietly. "Nobody is runnin' me out of this country."
"See you at the ranch," Mesquite said. "I must eat breakfast."
"I'll see you there," Johnny Rebb replied shortly. He turned his back to them and walked out, and the three exchanged glances. "Salty, that one."
Hopalong returned to his food. "There's some tough men in this outfit. Leven Proctor is a cool head an' he's got a few brains. Anse Mowry is poison mean, a killer from away back. Ed Framson I don't know, but he sizes up as a bad hombre coma stayer too."
"Six or eight of "em?"
"About that."
"Maybe we'll have a scrap like those in the old days. Won't Red throw a fit when he hears about it?" Johnny chuckled at the thought. "At that, we could use his rifle. I never saw a better man with one. Not even Cassidy here, an" he's one of the best."
Mesquite lifted his head and looked at Hopalong. "Say, you know a hombre named Goff?"
"Met him at Clifton's. What about him?"
"He's perambulatin' around some. Can't figger what for, unless he's tied in with that Soper gent.
He was talkin' to Leeds the other day. Leeds an' that kid of his had come to Horse Springs for grub.
It seems folks down McClellan way don't cotton to "em very much."
"He's tied in with the Sparr outfit."
"Yeah," Johnny admitted, "but he done us a favor, an" you too. Told us where yuh were, an' that yuh might need help down to the Circle J. So we high-tailed it down there to find that you had hit for the mountains like somebody built a fire under yore tail."
As they talked Hopalong was thinking the situation out. Haw ing such gun hands as Mesquite and Johnny, two of the fightingest cowhands that ever tied on with any outfit, made the situation some different. Instead of going it alone, he was to have two men with him who could more than carry their own weight.
Usually Hopalong preferred to work alone, and did, but any of the old outfit who knew him well were fighters, and he knew when they were in the game they would understand what moves he would be liable to make and would act accordingly. Now, with these two, all the problems were much more simple. It was not enough to regain the ranch for Dick Jordan and his daughter, for all threat to it and to them must be removed. Rightly, Hopalong deduced the next actions of Avery Sparr. He nodded as he consid- ered that angle.
"Look at Hoppy," Johnny said. "He's figgerin' out some devilment against that Sparr."
"More'n you could do," Mesquite replied, grinning. "If you were sittin' there no. In' I'd just figger you were goin' to sleep."
"Sleep!" Johnny roared. "Why, you no-account mavericldn' crow bait! Nobody sleeps less than I do! Nobody!"
"Supposin'," Hopalong said, to quiet the argument, "you were a rustler tryin' to steal a ranch, an' you failed. You knew you were blowed up. What would you do?"
Mesquite considered the question. "Probably grab all the cows in sight an' head for the border."
"Much as I hate to admit it," Johnny agreed, "that's probably right. "The way I figger, I think our friend Sparr has a couple of chores he'll want to do. He'll want those cows, an' he'll want my scalp. Also, there may be another one or two that he'll want.
Take those four hombres you downed at Turkey Springs now. They weren't his men any way you can figger. If they weren't, they must have been Soper's.
"You saw Soper headin' that way, or trailed him. I did too. He lied to Sparr about how long he'd been away from Horse Springs, so he must have stopped with to hose hombres for a while. In other words, Soper was riggin' a double-cross."
"We saw it that way," Johnny agreed. "You think Sparr will go gunnin' for him?"
"Sure he will! I'd bet my shirt on it!" said Mesquite. "Might be a good idear for one of us to get on his trail an' stay there."
"An' it is time we were movin', all of us."
Hopalong got to his feet. "Let's go!"
Leaving money on the table, they went out to their horses. There was plenty of snow on the ground, but the air was warmer. Nevertheless, it promised to continue cold, so Hopalong led the way to a store where they each bought sheepskin-lined coats and gloves.
Hopalong restocked on .44's, as did Johnny. Mesquite had thoughtfully appropriated all the shells on the two men he had killed at Turkey Springs, so he had plenty of ammunition. With a showdown imminent and no time to waste, Hopalong led the way straight across the plains, pointing for Coyote Peak and the pass. The black was a good horse and somewhat rested, and he moved right out on the trail.
Mesquite and Johnny rode alongside, and three pairs of eyes swept the country from the high slopes of the mountains to the long, flat levels of the snowcovered plain.
South of them things were not standing still. Avery Sparr had returned to the Circle J in a driving fury. Framson, Byrn Lydon, Leven Proctor, and the Piute headed out at once and began rounding up cattle. All of them were pleased, although secretly. They were men of small imagination and the idea of stealing a ranch had been too big for them. Now that Sparr had relinquished the idea they all felt better because of it. Rustling was something they understood, and all were good hands when necessity forced them to be.
Moreover, they knew where most of the cattle were to be found and within a matter of hours had bunched a herd of several hundred head. These they started south toward the crossing of the Gila. If they could get this herd to Mexico they would have a nice stake coming, regardless. Yet it was Anse Mowry, on the ranch with Sparr, who voiced another thought. "That Cassidy come out here to pay a debt, didn't he?" he questioned suddenly. "Didn't Bizco say something about fifteen thousand dollars?" Avery Sparr turned his head slowly. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully, "he did, at that. But maybe he paid it to Jordan."
"Mebbe, but I doubt it." Mowry grinned wolfishly. "Fifteen thousand. That's a lot of money, Sparr."
The big gunman nodded. "Fifteen thousand!" he muttered. It was a lot of money. It was enough money to make him forget his failure here. And he wanted Cassidy, anyway. Suddenly he began to think.
Hopalong Cassidy would come back to the Circle J. He would most certainly come here, and while A
very Sparr had no doubts about handling him alone, he had no idea of trying it. No, the thing to do was be careful, lay a trap for Hopalong and let him blunder into it. Mentally he checked off the men he would have, and began planning their placement. As he planned, he felt a sharp feeling of satisfaction.
This time he would get Cassidy, and this time he would clean up all the loose cattle he could find without combing the breaks. But Hopalong Cassidy had upset his plans, and it was Hopalong he wanted.
The plan when made was good. In fact, it was foolproof. When Hopalong rode into the yard at the Circle J he would be finished, and no matter from which direction he approached, the path would be bristling with rifles. "How yuh like it, Anse?" he said, with satisfaction. "Perfect!" Mowry's eyes glinted. "Only one thing. If he's still alive when they quit shootin', I want to walk out an' fire the last shot! And I want him to know it!"
An hour later, with the men gathered around him, Avery Sparr quietly laid out the whole plan for them and checked every man on his duties. As he talked, Leeds, a dozen yards away, was unloading supplies, bought several days ago, from a heavy wagon, carrying them into the storeroom under the eyes of the Mexican woman. Fixing a piece of broken harness was young Billy Leeds. Passing by the corner of the house, en route to the blacksmith shop for a punch to make a hole in the leather, Billy overheard a few words. Stopping near the porch, he listened quietly to the talk, and then walked on. When he returned, he was bubbling with excitement. To leave now would be to attract attention and suspicion, not only to himself but to his father. This was the last thing young Billy wanted; what he did want most of all was to warn the man who had killed the Apaches on that day east of the Canadian.
He fidgeted and worried until his father noticed it and glared at him. "What the tarnation's the matter?" he demanded angrily. "If you got nothin' to do, help me with this stuff!"
As Billy grabbed a box and started for the storeroom with it, Leeds glanced at the dispersing knot of men. What were they about now? Whatever it was, it was no good to know about it. The faster he got away from the Circle J the better he was going to like it. Yet from Billy's actions and his suppressed excitement he knew the boy had something on his mind, so he hurried to get the wagon unloaded, and as they rolled out of the yard he turned to Billy.
the Rustlers Of West Fork (1951) Page 17