Читать книгу The Bar 20 Rides Again - Clarence E. Mulford - Страница 7

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Up in Montana, on the Double Y ranch, Red Connors thumbed his nose at Skinny Thompson and swaggered toward the corral with a brand-new saddle on his shoulder, as proud as a boy with a new pair of red-topped boots.

"Stuck on hisself," drawled Skinny, peering out of the bunkhouse door. "Huh!"

"Allus was," commented Lanky Smith, gratis. "Hell! A saddle ain't no good till it's broke in a little. Like a new pair of boots, it is: not much good till it's near wore out."

"Sour grapes!" jeered Billy Williams. "Yo're near green with envy about it. Saw you lovin' it with both hands. Sour grapes!"

"Ain't neither!" retorted Lanky. "I was just feelin' of th' leather, I was. Me envious? I got a better one, ain't I?"

"Shucks," said Pete Wilson, a slow-witted giant, whose strength was proverbial. "I don't like them centre fires. Do you, Lanky?"

"A good rider don't care whether it's centre fire or rim fire," replied Lanky. "Of course, I don't blame you for likin' a rim fire. You naturally need all th' blame cinches you can get."

"Couple extry stirrups would help Pete a lot," snickered Billy; "an' a couple of handles somewhere to hang hold of. There comes Hoppy with th' mail—not that it makes no difference to me, however."

"Got to know how to read before mail means anythin'," jibed Skinny. He peered through the doorway again. "Look at him wavin'! Mebby somethin's wrong, fellers; or mebby Tex, or Mesquite, is comin' back here."

"Mesquite ain't been gone long enough," grunted Lanky. "Tough luck, his mother dyin'. Good kid, he is."

"Somethin's wrong," said Skinny. "He's wavin' his hat!"

"Mebby Mesquite's cut his finger or stubbed his toe," growled Pete, a little jealous of the affection existing between the absent youth and the nearing rider.

"Shut up!" snapped Lanky. "No time to get funny when a man's gone back home to bury his mother. Ain't you got no sense, a-tall?"

"Never did have, an' never will have," said Billy, the pessimist.

"Not if I hang out in this outfit," grunted Pete.

Three quick shots rang out on the trail from town, and the inmates of the bunkhouse rushed the door, jammed in the opening, and spoke frankly and impolitely to each other as they tried to claw through it. Red dropped his new saddle and ran awkwardly to meet the racing horseman, behind whom now trailed thin wisps of powder smoke. Skinny, because of his peculiar architecture, was the first to squirm through the doorway, and, once through, his zealous haste died promptly and he idly leaned against the bunkhouse wall.

"Huh!" he snorted in suspicious disgust. "Tryin' to run a blazer on us, I reckon."

"One of his fool jokes; there ain't nothin' wrong," growled Billy, pessimistically, leaning beside Skinny. "There ain't nothin' excitin' ever goin' to happen up here no more; an' if it does, I won't be let in on it. What's he hollerin'?"

They all listened intently, and soon the words could be made out.

"Free fight! Free fight! No holds barred, an' everybody in it!" came the words down the wind. They saw Red gain the trail, run with the horse, and swing himself up behind the rider. Then Red's gun spurted into the air and he began yelling something.

The suspicious line-up leaning against the wall moved forward, and then settled back again, grinning at this attempt to fool it.

"Free fight!" Hopalong Cassidy's words were plainer now. "Johnny's in trouble!"

The line-up reacted galvanically and filled the air with profanity, some of it weighted with ridicule. They seemed to have a deal of confidence in Johnny's ability to take care of himself. Still, you never could tell. The horse dashed up to the house and its riders swung down on opposite sides, Hopalong waving an opened letter.

"Johnny's in trouble! Shot to pieces, you damn fools!" he yelled. "Wants help!"

"Serves him right!" snapped Lanky. "When do we start?" His hand dropped to his gun.

"Pack yore war bags, fellers!" barked Skinny, his eyes blazing.

Hopalong jumped for him and Lanky, threw his arms around them, and went down in the sand with them. They wrestled furiously for a moment and then arose, simultaneously, and simultaneously spat sand and dust.

An anxious chorus was asking questions.

"What's th' matter?"

"Who's gougin' him?"

"Git th' time-table, Lanky!"

"Time-table? That's last winter's, you tumblebug. Where th' hell you been all spring?"

Billy Williams sneered openly.

"There ain't nothin' wrong with Johnny. It's another one of Hoppy's fool jokes."

"That so?" cried Hopalong, again waving the letter. "If you'll make less noise I'll read it to you!"

"All right; shut yore own face an' there'll be less noise," said Skinny, rubbing an abraded knee. "Read it, why don't you?"

Hopalong faced them, his eyes on the letter, and his eyes were cold.

"'Dear Friends,'" he read. "'I wish I was on the old Bar 20, with the old crowd behind me. Every move I make is known. The same with my men. Sherwood and his boys have been whipped twice. Lost nearly half their cattle. Mine are going fast. It's Nevada and his gang, over in Snake Buttes. Need men that are not known down here. Where is Tex?

"'If you fellows were not so damn fat and dumb I'd invite you all to a Colt fandango, with no holds barred. As it is, Nevada would slaughter you all with one hand. I'm still in the saddle, but shot up and slipping. Margaret and I both send our love to all of you. I may have to get a job working for Buck again, Lord help me. Good luck. Johnny.'"

"Huh!" snorted Skinny in strong derision. "'Where's Tex?' Of all th' insultin' letter I ever heard, that's th' worst! 'Where's Tex?' 'Fat an' dumb!' Oughta let him get licked. Come on: we can catch th' evenin' train!"

"Evenin' train?" grunted Red. "Better get one goin' th' right way!"

"If we can get on to it we can make it go th' right way! They can run backwards, can't they?"

"Where you goin', Lanky?" called Skinny suddenly.

"To get a roll of bills from under th' mattress," answered Lanky, "an' my rifle. I'll be ready in two shakes."

"Roll of bills from yore wife's stockin', you mean!" jeered Pete.

"Wait a minute!" called Hopalong. "Come back here! We can't all go, you flat-head. Somebody's got to stay here with Buck. We've got to draw lots."

"Draw 'em yoreself," derided Lanky. "I never had no luck drawin' lots; an' I'm goin'. Damn this country, anyhow! Th' cactus an' mesquite shore will look good to me ag'in."

"Fine example of a married man, you are!" yelled Skinny. "Goin' off an' leavin' yore wife."

"Red left his for a year, didn't he?" demanded Lanky, walking back a few steps.

"He did," said Red. "What's more, I'm aimin' to repeat. She'd throw me out if I didn't try to help th' Kid."

"Well, so'd mine," growled Lanky.

"Who's killed?" demanded a new voice, and they saw their frowning foreman looking at them suspiciously. "What's th' matter with you idjuts, anyhow? Can't a man take a little nap on his own ranch without no war bustin' loose under his nose? What's th' matter with you?"

"Johnny's in trouble, Buck—big trouble," said Hopalong, holding out the letter.

Buck read it, turned it over, back again, and read it again.

"Huh!" he grunted, eyeing his outfit with vast suspicion. "Since when has th' Kid writ a nice hand like this? Look at it! Look at it!" he ordered, shoving it under his partner's nose. "What fool game are you all up to, anyhow, you fellers?"

"Margaret wrote that," explained Hopalong calmly. "You know he ain't touched a pen since he got married no more than you have. Th' Kid's in a lot of trouble, Buck, or he'd never let that letter be sent. He's got me worried."

"You know that Margaret would never swear like that if she writ this letter," retorted Buck, trying to guess the game. "There, see for yoreself. See that damn?"

"I betcha that little lady would swear worse than that if Johnny was in trouble," replied Red, his eyes sparkling. "Anyhow, that ain't swearin'."

The crowd emphatically agreed with him while Buck read their serious and anxious faces; and belief came to him suddenly. His eyes narrowed.

"Who-all are goin'?" he demanded. "I'm payin' th' fares an' all th' expenses. Glad to get rid of you for awhile, an' keep that cub from comin' up here to pester me. Who're goin'?"

Again the shouted answer made it unanimous, and again the foreman frowned; but it was an unfortunate frown, because it died even as it was born. Buck knew these men, knew what Johnny Nelson meant to them, and to him. They all had come up from the old ranch to help him out of trouble on this northern range; and they had succeeded. Now that Johnny was in trouble, it was only fair that they go back again and whip another range into submission. He was getting too old to be of any real use to them as an active participant in the game they would play; he doubted that he could hold the pace they would set. The least he could do was to send them where they were needed, and to train his old gun-hand to sign more checks.

"Yo're all loco," he told them, his eyes shining. "Let's get some sense. Before we say anythin' more, however, I'm sayin' that you all can go. Draw on me for everythin' you need till you get back. Johnny helped to save this ranch, an' it's all his if he needs it. Every last cow, every last acre! Where was Tex th' last time you heard from him?"

"You've got his address in th' back of yore account book," said Red. "Buck, yo're all right! Damn old square-shootin' hoss-thief! You can get some men from th' Cyclone to help you till we get back."

"Don't want no help!" blazed Buck, his face set to hide his emotions. "It's high time I quit takin' naps in th' daytime. Got to work some fat off me, an' from under my hat. Anyhow, this range is all fresh cleaned up ag'in, thanks to you boys. Porter's gang is busted up, an' most of 'em dead. Shanghai's near scared to death; but if he busts loose ag'in, I'll take th' old Sharps an' blow him apart. Set down ag'in that wall. We got to know what we're goin' to do before we start anythin'. Seems to me we got to act secret: what was it th' Kid said about them fellers knowin' everythin' he did?"

"Buck, I'm downright proud of you," said Hopalong. "This sounds like th' old Bar 20, damned if it don't; an' there's few things sweeter to this bunch than that. This is th' best thing that ever happened to you."

"Like gettin' rid of a crutch," muttered Billy, incautiously.

"Who's a crutch?" snapped Buck, pugnaciously. "Let me tell you, Billy, there wasn't never a day that I couldn't flop you on yore back an' hold you there; an' that day ain't come yet!"

"I said you was a crutch to any friend in trouble," explained Billy, and then turned swiftly to throttle Skinny's guffaw.

"Trouble with you, an' it goes for all th' rest of you, too," said Buck, glaring, "is that you been settin' around gettin' rusty. All you fellers been thinkin' about, these days, is grub pile, an' bedtime. Make men of you ag'in, down there lickin' that Nevady feller: an' I'm tellin' you that you've got to lick him! I ain't what you might call bloodthirsty, but I want that toad's scalp! Hear me real plain?"

"Am I sober?" muttered Hopalong, hardly believing his ears.

"Yes, I'm sober!" snapped Buck, whirling. "An' I'm gettin' mad by th' minute! How do we know what's happened to th' Kid by this time? We don't even know that he's alive, right now!"

"If he ain't," growled Pete, "we'll pile up quite some few dead men on top of his grave to keep him company!" The tremendous muscles of his great arms threatened to burst the sleeves that covered them.

"Set down, I tell you!" ordered Buck. "How can anybody be heard in all this hell-a-baloo? That's better. Now then, what are we goin' to do, an' how? You first, Hoppy: got any idears?"

"He's full of 'em, such as they are," said Red, squirming.

"Shut up!" snapped Buck. "Got any idears, Hoppy?" he repeated.

"First thing is to telegraph Tex. Johnny asked for him special," said Hopalong, his eyes glowing. "Tex is worth a dozen men if he's let loose to play a lone hand. I know him. Then we got to let Johnny know that we're comin'. Next thing: we start."

"Keno," said Buck, nodding. "Write that telegram, an' we'll get it on its way."

"How long will it take us to get to Gunsight?" asked Skinny, eagerly.

"Months, mebby; we ain't goin' to Gunsight," answered Hopalong.

"What?" cried Skinny. "We ain't goin' to Gunsight? Why ain't we?"

"Shut yore face, Skinny, an' let a better head work," said his friend Billy.

"Better?" snorted Skinny, up in arms. "His wears a bigger hat; but so would a cow's! Why ain't we goin' to Gunsight?"

Hopalong looked at the curious faces, and smiled.

"Yore head's as good as anybody's, Skinny, only you never use it. If we go to Gunsight, them Snake Buttes coyotes will know us as well as they know Johnny. Th' Kid said he wanted th' old Bar 20 crowd: all right, he'll get it; an' what's more, he'll get th' old Bar 20 ways along with it. We never overlooked no bets, down there; an' we acted quick an' rough. This here Nevady feller has got somethin' headin' his way, but he shore ain't got no damn idear what it is! An' he ain't goin' to know till it hits him; an' then it'll be too late.

"First, we'll send word to Tex. Wait till I get a pencil," he said, and darted into the house. When he came out again, the noise subsided enough for him to be heard, and he forthwith read the message, and handed it to Billy. "Fork a good cayuse an' get that to th' railroad office, down in Wayback, pronto! Better wait right there for an answer, but be back before mornin'."

"Wait!" said Red, sharply. "You might use yore head a little more an' do it good, Hoppy. Better send Johnny's at th' same time. No use makin' two trips, is there? Th' Kid will be anxious to learn we're comin'."

"Like hell he will!" snapped Buck. "He knows us better'n that! He knows we're comin', an' comin' hard. But we might as well let him know."

"If folks quit wearin' hats, Red wouldn't have no use for his head," said Hopalong. "There ain't no message goin' to Johnny," he said, decisively.

Buck looked at him quickly and then smiled grimly.

"Yo're right, Hoppy!" he exclaimed. "No tellin' who might read a message sent to him. Remember what th' letter said? But he's goin' to get word about us comin', an' I'm goin' to figger out a way to do it. My G——d, I got it! I'll send it to him by word of mouth! I'll send a man down there to whisper it to him, an' to bring me back his answer." He chuckled. "Then I'll be shore that he's still alive."

"You mean yo're sendin' a man down there to say a few words to th' Kid an' then come back again?" asked Lanky, his eyes gleaming. "All th' way down there, an' back?"

"You remember, Lanky, when I sent men from around th' Bar 20 away up here to Montany for Frenchy McAllister, don't you? Sent 'em on hossback, too! If I could do that for myself, I can do this for th' Kid."

Lanky sprang to his feet, swinging his big hat around his head.

"Three cheers for th' old Bar 20! By G——d, Buck, I'm proud of you!"

"Nobody gives a damn who yo're proud of. Set down!" snapped Buck. He was becoming excited, his mention of the time he had sent for Frenchy McAllister stirring him deeply. He had called on many friends for that fight with Deacon Rankin and his crowd; and every last man had responded. His eyes sparkled and his hands opened and shut nervously. "Th' Kid said th' old Bar 20: well, he's gettin' it, flavour an' all! Damn it, but I wish I could go with you!" He faced Hopalong again, his hand going out to rest on his old friend's shoulder. "What else, Hoppy?" he asked.

"In th' first place," replied Hopalong, "you needn't send nobody to Johnny with no message. Telegraph to Mr. Wiggins, Highbank, an' he'll see that th' Kid gets th' news. He's Arch Wiggins' father. Now, then: th' Kid needs help right there on his range, an' we can't play that part; but we can see that he gets it. We can't go to Gunsight, or Highbank, Juniper, or Rawlins. When we hit th' Snake Buttes country we hit it from th' other side. That puts Nevady between two fires. What's more, he won't know that we are there, who we are, or anythin' about it till we tell him in powder smoke. He's asked for a fight, pickin' on th' Kid; an' I'm tellin' you that he's shore goin' to get one, damn him!"

Billy dashed up, mounted on the best horse on the ranch. The dust of his sudden stop swirled unnoticed in the faces of his friends.

"I'm off, Hoppy! Anythin' else?" he cried.

"Yes; wait a minute," flung Hopalong over his shoulder, as he once more darted into the bunkhouse. When he came out again, he handed two more messages to the waiting rider and waved him on his long ride to the telegraph office in Wayback.

"Who're they to?" asked Buck, puzzled about the third message.

"One is to Wiggins. It said: 'Tell Nelson we are comin. Bar 20.' Th' other is to Waffles, good old Waffles, of th' O Bar O! You all remember that me an' Red saw him, down in Mesquite, when we bucked Kane that time? Waffles is workin' for Twitchell an' Carpenter, down in Sandy Bend, Texas. I'm goin' to Sandy Bend to talk to Waffles, an' I want to be shore that he'll be home when I get there. If I know him, an' I'll bet my last dollar that I do, I know what he'll do. Nevady won't be so all-fired happy one of these nights when he raids Johnny's cattle. Boys, I'm gettin' young ag'in. Th' old days are comin' back, an' comin' with a rush!"

"Gran'pa's quit settin' in th' shade an' whittlin'," chuckled Red. "What'd I tell you, back on th' Old Western Trail: didn't I say you'd never be able to take things easy? You called it 'settin' in th' shade an' whittlin'. Huh!"

"How can I, Red?" exulted Hopalong, tingling from his scalp to his toes. "Ain't I lost my knife?" He turned to the foreman and laughed. "Yo're shore goin' to have quite some payroll before I get through, Buck. You better stop me in time."

"Well, some of th' money will be yours, too; an' we both got more than we know what to do with," answered Buck, grinning. "Ranch an' cattle free an' clear; but they'll be covered so deep with mortgages, if Johnny needs that much, that you won't be able to see a cow or an acre. It'll be worth that to keep him from raisin' hell up here!" His laughter boomed out, to reassure an anxious face in the ranchhouse window, where his wife waited to learn what ill news had come to the Double Y.

"All right," said Hopalong, and turned toward the others. "We take guns, saddles, tobacco, an' blankets. Everythin' else we'll buy when we leave th' last damn train. There's a train leavin' Wayback at two-ten to-morrow afternoon. We'll be on it, prayin' for speed."

"Wish I was goin' with you," grunted Buck, his face working. "Got a mind to, anyhow!" He paced to and fro to work off excess energy. Then he stopped and wheeled. "Hey! What did you say to Tex in that message?"

Hopalong chuckled, scratched his head, and spoke.

"I said: 'Johnny bein' licked to a frazzle. Needs help. Wants you. Is in great danger. Are you afraid of Nevady an 'the 'Snake Buttes? We are all goin' by way of Sandy Bend. Will hit buttes from southwest. No holds barred. Answer quick.'

"Tex is a shore and quick guesser. He knows about Nevady an' th' Snake Buttes. Johnny sheltered Jane before Tex married her, an' would 'a' died before any harm come to her. I know Tex, through an' through!" He laughed exultantly, slapping his thigh. Then he looked into his foreman's grinning face. "If Tex don't answer before we leave, send it on to me in care of Twitchell an' Carpenter, down in Sandy Bend."

"He'll answer it if he gets it in time," said Buck, unhesitatingly; "An' if I know Tex, he'll beat you to th' Snake Buttes. But what'll he do with his wife?"

"Reckon you can leave that with him," suggested Red.

"Serves him right for gettin' married," gloomily remarked Billy. He arose. "I can pack my war bag in three minutes, flat." He started toward an out-building. "I reckon you all want a gunny sack apiece?"

"Reckon we're goin' to carry our saddles on our heads?" sarcastically demanded Lanky. "Mind that you pick out th' best. There's some that are near wore out."

"I'm aimin' to pick out th' best," retorted Billy. "One of th' best, anyhow."

"Hey, Red," said Skinny, gravely innocent. "Ain't you scared that yore brand new saddle will get all wrinkled in a gunny sack?"

Red arose, pushed the speaker's hat down over his ears, and started after Billy to see that at least two good gunny sacks were picked out of the pile.

"I never should 'a' left th' Kid," growled Hopalong, walking with his foreman toward the ranchhouse, there to go into executive session and to plan, as far as possible, the line of campaign. Once he knew just what Tex would do, he could plan more closely.

Buck grunted non-committally and glanced off on the plain, where two graves lay in the sunlight on a hillside. They covered his companion's wife and son, and most of his heart.

"What'll I tell that Mesquite cub when he comes back?" he asked.

"You tell him to stay right here on th' Double Y till I get back," said Hopalong, finding a little relief in the thought of this reinforcement for Buck. With Mesquite riding range, there were not many persons in that part of the country who would let their avarice lead them into raiding the ranch; and Buck was becoming the man he always had been before he had left the old Bar 20. Hopalong chuckled and glanced sidewise at his companion. "If Tex should send Jane up here while he's down in th' Snake Buttes country, you'll have quite a hen ranch, Buck."

Buck laughed, proudly.

"You bet, God bless 'em! Wish Johnny would send his wife up here, too. I ain't never met her, an' I reckon she'd be safer on th' Double Y."

"She shore would be safer; but she'll stick to th' SV an' th' Kid. She's as much a thoroughbred as he is."

"Wish I was goin' with you," muttered Buck, and turned his head quickly away.

Hopalong silently opened the ranchhouse door and led the way inside.