Читать книгу The Bar 20 Rides Again - Clarence E. Mulford - Страница 8
ОглавлениеTHE LAST NIGHT
Lights gleamed in the windows of the little houses on the Double Y, where married men were trying to smooth the way for their forthcoming departures. Up in the main building, Rose Peters was writing a cordial invitation for Margaret Nelson to visit her until the far away southern range was harmless again. She would give this to Hopalong, hoping he would pass it on to Waffles for personal delivery. A crescent moon in a clear sky faintly silvered the corrals and various roofs, barely revealing an indistinct bulk on the horizon, where the distant mountains raised their heads heavenward. The bunkhouse was dark, but a low murmur of conversation arose within it, an apparently casual and innocent conversation, sounding as peaceful as the soft night noises, and in no way out of tune with the quiet range. Yet a close listener would have been surprised by the direct grimness of it, perhaps shocked a little by the calm planning of what was intended to be a campaign of cold killing.
Detail by detail arose, was discussed, and put behind in the class of decided things. Strategy and counter strategy were built up and dissected, rebuilt, and dissected again. Pete occasionally added a word, but mostly sat absorbing what he listened to, his grim face lost in the shielding dark. When Hopalong and Buck planned warfare he was content to listen and to admire.
A low sound, throbbing far off on the range, like the muffled beating of a drum, grew gradually louder until it challenged attention. The talkers stopped, listened, and went on again. Pete slowly and ponderously arose and lounged to the open door, where he peered into the glowing night and waited. Somehow, there came to his slow mind a picture of fast-riding raiders, in a land different from this. Cacti, mesquite, Spanish bayonet, and yuccas made a picture he was well familiar with. For a stolid man, this dreaming was strange; and for a stolid man his great hands opened and shut in a surprisingly significant movement. Somewhere in the great Southwest, such raiders, even then, might be riding. He tightened his jaws, and then relaxed. All right: two could play at raiding, and to him and his friends there was nothing new in such a game. It would be only a question of motive and ability. He shook his head as though to banish the picture, and again peered into the faintly lighted night, eager to welcome the returning Billy and what news he might have. The distant hoofbeats died out for a moment and then slowly swelled in sound again. Pete could see the swampy ground in that hollow between the ridges, and the changing timbre of the rolling beats let him place the rider. Stirring, he turned and looked back into the room, where the glowing tip of a cigarette located the consulting strategists.
"Billy, I reckon," he grunted, and faced forward again.
In reply a box scraped over the sand and planks, followed by the more modest scrape of a chair. The strategists stalked to the doorway, Pete stepping outside to give them room. The foremost of the two glanced at the lights in the little houses at the left of the big ranchhouse.
"Tough on th' wimmenfolk," he said, thoughtfully. "Good thing th' boys married winners."
"Yes, to both," said his companion, watching the distant doors open as the rolling tattoo of the nearing horseman gained attention in the married quarters. In each rectangular blot of light was silhouetted the figure of a man, and in an instant each figure doubled and became two. "Not one of them wimmen would stand in th' way of helpin' Johnny. They used to wrangle him when he was up here, but he ain't got no better friends when he's in trouble. Seems to me that Billy's made right good time."
"Yes—I reckon he didn't get no answers," said the other.
"Not enough time, mebby. We'll run into 'em at Wayback in th' mornin'," said Hopalong.
Now the horseman could be picked out as he swung down the little divide just beyond the farthest corral. The three men in the bunkhouse looked inquiringly at each other. They all had known, before this, that the coming horse was not the one Billy had ridden from the ranch. Their ears had told them that. The unspoken question in their glances was answered by Hopalong, who pushed away from the doorway and then stopped.
"Swapped at Sandy's," he said, referring to the hotel keeper in Twin River. Two confirmatory grunts sounded in his ears. "Sandy gave him his best."
A racing shadow swept along the corral fence, moved out into the lighter open, and straightened out for the bunkhouse. The figures in the distant houses now divided suddenly, and running men started across the ground.
The bay horse slid to a stop, his breath whistling through distended nostrils. Billy leaped to the ground, stumbled, caught himself, and laughed.
"Got 'em," he said. "Got th' answers," and he held out two flimsy envelopes to his foreman.
"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Buck, staring foolishly at the missives in his hand.
"Yeah. Both come nearly at once. I've wore out four cayuses since I left here. Sandy growled like a mad she-bear, but, like Sandy, gave me his pet. I'm goin' to buy that cayuse when I get back: rides like a rockin' chair."
The flare of a match sent a thin streak of stinking sulphur through the doorway, and the sputter of a protesting wick died suddenly as the room grew light. Pete pushed the lamp to the exact centre of the table and looked inquiringly toward the door.
"Well, I'll be damned!" said Buck, turning. He opened the messages and leaned down close to the smoking lamp, struggling with the handwriting of an operator whose schooling had been too much with rope and branding iron. Slowly he spelled out each word, unconscious of the tenseness of his companions, their distressed eagerness:
"'Buck Peters, Double Y, Twin River, Mont.
"'Leaving to-day for the south. Sending Jane to you. See boys in buttes. Beat them by a week. Be in bad company. Do not shoot me.
"'Tex'".
Buck cleared his throat.
"Bet he'll beat you; but what's he mean about bein' in bad company?"
Hopalong laughed and slapped his companions on their broad backs, slapped enthusiastically, with all his welling pride and exuberant glee.
"Don't you know?" he shouted, his voice roaring in the room. "I'll tell you in a minute. Read th' other!"
Buck leaned down again, and again came the slow and painful spelling of the message:
"'Hopalong Cassidy, Double Y, Twin River, Mont.
"'Come a-running. I'll be here.
"'Waffles.'"
Hopalong straightened up, one clenched fist going up above his head. He thrilled as he had not thrilled for months, and his voice broke from pride and pleasure.
"Two innocent telegrams, Buck; but they shore spell trouble for Nevady. I knowed they'd make good, both of 'em! I knowed it! Good old Tex! Good old Waffles!"
Pounding steps raced toward the house, and in a moment three heavily breathing men dashed through the doorway, asking questions, and redoubling the noise as they shouted exultantly. The telegrams passed from hand to hand and back again, with the clamour going higher.
Pete's great voice boomed out above the uproar, in a song which in the old days had been Johnny Nelson's favourite when feeling gay:
"A-down th' road, an' gun in hand,
Comes Whisky Bill, mad Whisky Bill;
A-lookin' for some place to land,
Comes Whisky Bill.
An' everybody'd like to be
Ten miles away, behind a tree,
When on his joyous, achin' spree
Starts Whisky Bil-l-l."
Pete flung his great arms up, his hands appealingly aloft.
"Come on, everybody: sing, you sinners, sing!"
He need not have extended his invitation, for everybody was singing, at the tops of their straining voices. They were a little out of time, and very much out of pitch, but the result was very striking and lacked nothing in volume because of this.
"Th' times have changed since you made love,
O Whisky Bill, O Whisky Bill.
Th' happy sun grinned up above
At Whisky Bill.
An' down th' middle of th' street,
Th' sheriff comes on toe-in feet,
A-wishin' for one fretful peek
At Whisky Bil-l-l."
"Louder on th' last verse, fellers!" shouted Pete. "Stamp her out, heels hard!"
"Th' cows go grazin' o'er th' lea—
Pore Whisky Bill, pore Whisky Bill!
An' achin' thoughts pour in on me
Of Whisky Bill.
Th' sheriff up an' found his stride,
Bill's soul went shootin' down th' slide—
How are things on th' Great Divide, O Whisky Bil-l-l?"
"My G——d!" said Buck, hands to ears, trying not to choke from the dust which filled the room in clouds. "My G——d! If Nevady heard that he'd never stop runnin'! Boys, we're all goin' back a long, long time to-night. Will you ever forget those grand old days? Hah! I tell you!"
"Tex was on th' other side, then," said Red thoughtfully. "Now he's with us, all th' way, clean to th' very end, no matter how bitter it may be. But what does he mean there, where he say's he'll be in bad company?"
"You got a head like a cow; a dead cow," cried Hopalong. "Don't you know that long-headed son of a gun well enough by this time to know what he means? Ain't there only one bad crowd down there that we got any interest in right now? Can't you guess it? Think man, think!"
They could, and did guess it, all but Pete; and they guessed it at the same time, sending another shout to roll across the range. Pete still looked doubtful, and worked slowly over to Buck's side.
"What's Tex mean, Buck?" he asked, cautiously.
"He's goin' in th' buttes alone an' try to join that gang," answered Buck, proudly. "Don't you worry about Tex, Pete; he's got a plenty of brains, an' he'll use 'em every minute of th' long, long day."
"Gosh!" muttered Pete. "Gawd help Nevady!"
"He'll need all th' help he can get!" replied Buck, savagely.
"How 'bout a dance before we go?" shouted some cheerful soul, and the words fell on fertile ground. Pete grinned and stepped through the doorway and cupped his hands before his lips. Then his bellowed summons crashed across the range and reached into the farthest house. Rose Peters heard it unbelievingly; but she threw a shawl over her head and stepped forth into the shining night, fighting back a mad and foolish urge to cry. A farewell dance, a night of revelry, and then a long journey which easily might end in death and heavy sorrow. Strange creatures, these men; strange, indeed; but, oh, so loyal! She choked, but fought it back, stopped to glance at the little houses to her right and to wait for the hurrying wives who came swiftly enough, but in a strange silence. A suppressed sob struck her ears, and she stepped forward impulsively but checked herself. The dance must go on, and the smiles must be unmarred by tears. Sympathy now might spoil it all. They must smile and dance, for it was the woman's way.
