Читать книгу Hopalong Cassidy and the Eagle's Brood - Clarence E. Mulford - Страница 8

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The long, skinny deputy who wore a shining badge regarded the six riders with a close interest, for their rigs suggested visitors from another part of the country; and for two days he had been waiting to welcome expected visitors. He pushed out from the wall, stuck his head in at the door, and said something; and thereupon Bob Corson, sheriff of Cactus County, stepped to the street. The two officers studied the leader of the cavalcade, nodded triumphantly to each other, and grinned their welcome as the cavalcade stopped.

“Glad to see you, Cassidy, an’ all you boys,” said the sheriff, conscious that men were stepping to the street from every building in the town. The fame of these riders had gone on before them.

“Glad to get here, an’ to see you, Sheriff,” said the leader.

“What you say about washin’ down some of th’ dust, an’ then head out for th’ ranch? Or, mebby, you’d rather stay here in town?” said the sheriff.

“It ain’t fair to dump this hungry gang onto no willin’ host,” replied Hopalong, chuckling. “But before we go any farther, Mr. Corson, let me name th’ boys,” and the introductions were duly performed.

“I didn’t know for shore if you was real,” Matt Skinner was saying to Nueces, the long, skinny deputy. “You shore didn’t cast no shadow.”

“That’s because I was a-standin’ edgeways to th’ sun,” chuckled Nueces, owning to a sudden liking for this free-handed insulter of deputies. “Listen! I just heard Steve pull out a cork; let’s go an’ take a look!”

They did, and Steve became a little flustered by the line-up at his humble bar; but he slid three bottles to their fate and let his customers look after themselves. As he shook hands with each man in turn he felt that he was in the presence of cow-country nobility; but he fully recovered the use of his faculties when Corson slid a gold piece toward him across the counter.

“Ain’t you got no sense a-tall?” demanded Steve, sliding it back again. “They’re on th’ house! Gents, I welcome you to Willer Springs. Here’s that yore sins never get found out!” and he raised a glass to lead in the ritual.

“Keno!” said Hopalong. “I’ve kept mine well hid, so far.”

The conversation became general, and round followed round; but Steve noticed that the strangers, and Corson and Nueces as well, were careful not to cover the bottoms of the glasses too deeply.

“... eat you out of house an’ home,” Hopalong was protesting.

“But we got a round-up cook,” replied Corson. “He don’t scare at nothin’ short of a regiment; and, besides, he’s been makin’ a lot of fancy fixin’s. I reckon he might feel a little put out if you boys don’t eat ’em.”

“Then I don’t see how I can stick it out ag’in you any longer,” said Hopalong. “I’d feel th’ same way if things was turned around. Well,” he said, turning to face his companions, “you boys ready to drift along?”

They were, and they did.

The next day found the talk settling down to the real business of the visit, a talk open to any man on the ranch who cared to listen or to take part. It seemed that the marshal of Bulltown had been somewhat detailed in his correspondence with Willow Springs, for the local sheriff had anticipated several contingencies. Proof of this developed after supper on the second night, when the sounds of a walking horse neared the bunkhouse and ceased just outside the door.

In a moment a splendid example of Mexican manhood, dressed in the height of fashion, stepped into the big room, and removed his sombrero with a flourish. His bearing was that of a prince of royal blood.

“Eet ees my pleasure to come en person, Señor Corson,” he said, his white teeth gleaming under his trim mustache.

“Why, that’s downright kind of you, Señor Chavez,” exclaimed the owner of the JC and the sheriff of the county. He leaped to his feet and extended a hand. “I expected to send my friends to you.”

“Then I would have been honor’, señor; but I thought eet best to talk fir-rst her-re. No one saw me ride. No one knows. There ees no, what you call—leenk?—to cause regret later, no?”

“Gentlemen,” said Corson, smiling around the room, “let me make you all acquainted with Señor Chavez, who has ridden up here from Old Mexico to aid us in deciding some points, if he can. Señor, this is Hopalong Cassidy.”

The Mexican did not raise a hand while he looked into the faded blue eyes, or while he spoke.

“Señor Cassi-day, I hav’ heard many theengs of you; ver’ many, endeed. Some I liked; some, not; but I have never hear-rd that you ar-re not a man and a gentleman. Weel you honor me weeth your hand?”

Hopalong was looking closely at the speaker, and now he slowly extended his hand.

“Every man is entitled to his own opinion,” he said, quietly. “We can’t all figger things alike.”

“Dave Saunders,” said Corson, turning to the Cottonwood Gulch man.

“I am honor’ to know you, señor,” said the Mexican, bowing.

“Tex Ewalt,” continued Corson, his smile growing.

“Hah! Do you know, Señor Ewalt, I once met a man who sat all day weeth the pack of car-rds. He e-shuffle, cut; e-shuffle, cut—all day. At the end of a week I ask heem; ‘What you do all day weeth those fool car-rds?’ You would laugh, Señor Ewalt. He say: ‘To be like Tex Ewalt.’ I say to heem: ‘You are a fool: Tex Ewalt, he was bor-rn weeth a geeft. Eet ees not to be acquire’. I am honor’, señor, to e-shake your hand.”

“Th’ honor runs both ways, Señor Chavez,” said Tex, laughing heartily.

“Matt Skinner, señor,” chuckled Corson, turning to another of the group. The sheriff was very much relieved, for things were going smoother than he thought: to introduce a first-class cattle thief to men like these—well, they didn’t know it yet.

“I am beatin’ you to it, Señor Chavez,” said Matt, holding out his big, bony hand. “You’ve never heard of me.”

“Then I can onlee ask you, ees Baldy well?” replied the Mexican, grasping the outheld hand.

“I’ll be durned! You win!”

“Meet Wyatt Duncan, señor,” said Corson, laughing outright. He was surprised, although he knew that if he had heard of these men, there was no reason why the Mexican should not have heard as much. As a matter of fact, remembering the Mexican’s organization, Señor Chavez might well know more than he did.

“Bet you ten, even money, you never heard of me,” said Wyatt, extending his hand.

“Shall we ask my fr-riend to hold the e-stakes, Señor Duncan; my fr-riend who once leeved near the Black Buttes?”

All eyes were now on this Mexican, frankly and suspiciously on him; but he gave no sign that he was conscious of it. He could have spoken of Saunders’s activities had he wished, far away as they had been; but he was a bandit, and found vigilante activities distasteful. He followed Corson’s gesture and bowed as the last name was mentioned.

“I am glad to meet weeth you, Señor Nelson. I onderstand that the Snake Buttes ar-re ver’ tame.”

“Thanks to my friends,” said Johnny, shaking hands.

When all were seated again, Corson looked around the circle and let his gaze rest on Hopalong.

“Th’ Bulltown marshal told me quite a lot, Cassidy,” he said, slowly and thoughtfully. “From it I have been able to make a pretty shrewd guess why you boys are in this part of th’ country. In sympathy I am with you; but, as that section is well out of my jurisdiction, I cannot join you, officially and in person. You wanted directions, an’ what information I could get. That right?”

Nods and grunts of affirmation answered him.

“I reckon so,” he continued. “But there is another side to th’ matter. You are concerned only in one definite affair: finding just one gang of cut-throats, and nothin’ else. That right?”

“You’ve put a name to it,” said Hopalong. “Just one gang, an’ nobody or nothin’ else.”

“Then, if you should run up against other people, who are not connected with yore gang a-tall, an’ they let you alone, you will let them alone?”

“Shore: why not?” replied Hopalong. “What has all this got to do with us?”

“Quite a lot, Cassidy; quite a lot,” answered his host, with a glance at the Mexican. “Th’ Bulltown marshal says you are after Big Henry’s gang. I’m right glad that somebody wants ’em bad enough to go in after ’em. But you don’t want El Toro’s crowd, do you?”

“Who’s he?” asked Hopalong, curiously.

“He ees not so well known as you, señor,” said Chavez, smiling.

“Heck he ain’t!” snapped Johnny, leaning forward in his chair. “He’s that——”

“Excuse me, Nelson!” interrupted Corson hurriedly. “Let’s not say anythin’ about persons that don’t touch this present matter. You boys want Big Henry an’ his gang. You don’t want nobody else. Let’s have that understood before we go on. Am I right?”

“Yes. Nobody else counts with us,” replied Hopalong, beginning to find a good and sufficient reason for Corson’s attitude. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Mexican, just a flash glance, and then he was regarding Corson steadily. “We’ll pass you our word on that, Corson; eh, boys?”

Affirmations answered him, and Corson sat back with a gentle sigh of relief.

“Good,” he said, and turned toward the Mexican. “Señor Chavez will talk from now on.”

“I theenk I know the theeng that you ar-re interest’ in,” said Chavez. “Eet ees a theeng that I deed not like. Eet was so—so on-necessary. I e-spik for Señor El Toro. Eef you do not bother heem, who had notheeng to do weeth that r-rottenness, weeth w’at happened, then you may do w’at you weesh weeth Beeg Henry. That ees a bar-rgain, señores?”

“We’ve already said it was,” replied Hopalong.

“Ah, yes; so you deed; so you deed,” admitted the Mexican, bowing. “Eef you weel do me the honor to leesten, I weel teel you the standing of matters een that par-rt of the countr-ry. Eet ees emportant that you should know of thees.”

“Th’ more we know, th’ better off we are,” admitted Hopalong.

“That ees so,” said Chavez, and he looked around the circle of faces, smiling at each in turn.

“Señor El Toro,” he continued, placidly, “ees a Mexican bandit, hees hand against hees bastar-rd government. He must leeve, an’ hees men, they must leeve. Hees hand eet r-reaches out over a gr-reat section of the countr-ry. Een that countr-ry he ees w’at you call boss. But ther-re ar-re par-rts of eet een wheech he has small interest. Beeg Henr-ry ees een that par-rt.

“Beeg Henr-ry, he knows hees beans, as you say. So he sends wor-rd to El Toro weeth a beezeness proposition. There ees a line he weel not cross. Ther-re ees a sum of money he weel pay. He weel not meddle weeth El Toro’s affairs; El Toro weel not meddle weeth Beeg Henr-ry’s. They both agree on that. They ar-re not friends, and they ar-re not enemies. Beeg Henr-ry ees an Americano; all hees men ar-re Americanos. El Toro ees a Mexican, an’ all hees men they ar-re Mexicans. Ther-re weel be no confusion; each side ees marked by the good God; each side, by eets race. Thees ees plain, señores?”

More nods and grunts of affirmation answered him.

“Eef you fight weeth Beeg Henr-ry, eet ees not El Toro’s fight: he ees not for you, or against you—openly. But eet steeks een hees craw, as you say, that theeng Beeg Henr-ry did, he and hees men. Madre de Dios! How eeny man could do such a devil theeng——”

“We know how—but not why,” cut in Cassidy shortly. “There was something back of it, certainly—no man, except perhaps an Apache, would torture a woman like that. There was something they were trying to find out. What it was, even the Kid didn’t know. If we get our hands on Big Henry, though, we’ll find out.” There was a cold merciless light in Hopalong’s eyes that brought a nod of admiration from the Mexican.

“Bueno. Eet was one devil theeng—the devil mus’ pay. Though that countr-ry ees El Toro’s countr-ry, you geeve heem your word that you make no tr-rouble for Mexicans—and eet ees yours to do weeth as you weesh.”

“We shore won’t make any trouble for Mexicans,” said Hopalong, thoughtfully, “unless, of course, they make trouble for us. They will set th’ pace in that. But how do we know that perhaps one of El Toro’s men ain’t right friendly, ag’in strangers, with Big Henry? Men have been bribed before, or have taken sides for other reasons.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Señor Chavez, his eyes blazing momentarily. “Eef you should find one such, and know eet ees tr-rue, then eef you e-shoot heem, you save El Toro from doing eet heemself; but eef you should find such a man, an’ do e-shoot heem, then you send wor-rd to El Toro of w’at you deed, an’ why. No?”

“I’m durned if I can see why we’ve got to bargain an’ truckle——” began Hopalong, but he was checked.

“Just a minute, Cassidy,” broke in Corson quickly, almost panicky. “That is somethin’ that we will discuss later. I can assure you, however, that there’s a right good reason for it; an’ that it won’t leave a bad taste in yore mouth when you learn it.”

“Well, all right,” grudged Hopalong slowly. “You know this part of th’ country better than we do. We’ll string along with you, an’ we shore are obliged to you for what you’ve done.”

Señor Chavez arose, bowed slightly, said a few polite words of regret at the parting, and stepped through the door, Corson following him. In a moment he had ridden off, and Corson returned to find a curious silence in the bunkhouse.

“Now, then,” said Hopalong, breaking the silence. “He’s gone, an’ we can’t hurt his feelin’s. You might tell us, now, why we’ve got to truckle with a Mexican bandit?”

Corson leaned against the door casing and answered him, and the crowd sat on the edges of the chairs before he had finished. Every man present could appreciate fairness and courage and friendliness; and when the tale was told, every man there was ready not only to truckle with that particular Mexican bandit, but to keep his word to the very last letter of it.