Hopalong Cassidy Part 30

"Oh, yes, he did it; with a gun, after th' pet had torn his pants off an' chewed him up real well. He's looking for another, because he says that was too mean a beast to have any luck with."

Buck stepped into the room again. "Who wants to go with me to th' dam in th' wagon?" he asked. "I want to look at that cut an' fix it for keeps if it needs fixing. All right! All right! Anybody'd think I asked you to go to a dance," he laughed. "Pete, you an' Billy an' Pie will be enough."

"Can't we ride alongside?" asked Pie. "Do we have to sit in that thing?"

"You can walk, if you want to. I don't care how you go," Buck replied, stepping into the rain with the three men close behind him.

Soon the rattling of the wagon was heard growing fainter on the plain.

The banter and the laughter ran on all the rest of the morning. After dinner Hopalong built a fire in the huge stove and put a ladleful of lead on the coals, while Frenchy and Skinny re-sized and re-capped sh.e.l.ls from the boxes on the wall. Hopalong watched the fire and smoked the bullet moulds, while Lanky managed to measure powder and fill the sh.e.l.ls after Frenchy and Skinny had finished with them.

Hopalong filled the moulds rapidly while Johnny took out the bullets and cooled them by dropping them into cold rain water, being cautioned by Hopalong not to splash any water into the row of moulds. As soon as he found them cool enough, Johnny wiped them dry and pa.s.sed them on to Red, who crimped them into the charged sh.e.l.ls. Soon the piles of cartridges grew to a goodly size, and when the last one had been finished the crowd fell to playing cards until supper was ready.

Hopalong, who had kept on running bullets, sorted them, and then dropped them into the boxes made for each size. Finally he stopped and went to the door to look for signs of the morrow's weather.

"Clearing up in th' west an' south--here comes Buck an' th' others,"

he called over his shoulder. "How was it, Buck?" he shouted, and out of the gathering dusk came the happy reply:

"Bully!"

CHAPTER XXI

HOPALONG RIDES SOUTH

The morning broke clear and showed a clean, freshened plain to the men who rode to the line house on the Peak, there to take up their quarters and from there to ride as scouts. Hopalong sent Red to ride along the line for the purpose of seeing how things were in that vicinity and, leaving the others to go where they wished, struck south down the side of the hill, intending to hunt Antonio on his own ground. Tied to his saddle was the shovel and in his pocket he carried the bra.s.s b.u.t.ton, his evidence for Meeker. As he rode at an easy lope he kept a constant lookout for signs of rustling. Suddenly he leaned forward and tightened his knee grip, the horse responding by breaking into a gallop, while its rider took up his lariat, shaking it into a long loop, his twisting right wrist imparting enough motion to it to keep it clear of the vegetation and rocks.

A distant cow wheeled sharply and watched him for a moment and then, snorting, its head down and its tail up, galloped away at a speed not to be found among domesticated cattle. It was bent upon only one thing--to escape that dreaded, whirling loop of rawhide, so pliant and yet so strong. Hopalong, not as expert as Lanky, who carried a rope nearly sixty feet long and who could place it where he wished, used one longer than the more common lariats.

The cow did its best, but the pony steadily gained, nimbly executing quick turns and jumping gullies, up one side of a hill and down the other, threading its way with precision through the chaparrals and deftly avoiding the holes in its path. Closer and closer together came the pursued and pursuers, and then the long rope shot out and sailed through the air, straight for the animal's hind legs. As it settled, a quick upward jerk of the arm did the rest and there was a snubbing of rope around the saddle horn, a sudden stopping and dropping back on haunches on the part of the pony, and the cow went down heavily. The rider did not wait for the horse to get set, but left the saddle as soon as the rope had been securely snubbed, and ran to the side of his victim.

The cow was absolutely helpless, for the rope was taut, the intelligent pony leaning back and being too well trained to allow the least amount of slack to bow the rawhide closer to the earth.

Therefore Hopalong gave no thought to his horse, for while cinches, pommel, and rope held, the small, wiry, wild-eyed bundle of galvanic cussedness would hold the cow despite all its efforts to get up.

"Never saw _that_ brand before, an' I've rid all over this country for a good many years, too," he soliloquized. "There sure ain't no HQQ herd down this way, nor no place close enough for a stray. Somebody is sh.o.r.e starting a herd on his own hook; from th' cows on this range, too.

"By th' great horned spoon! I can see Bar-20 in them marks!" he cried, bending closer. "All he had to do was to make a H out of th' Bar, close up th' 2, an' put a tail on th' O! Hum--whoop! There is H2 in it, too! Close th' 2 an' add a Q, an' there you are! I don't mind a hog once in a while, but working both ranches to a common mark is sh.o.r.e too much for me. Stealing from both ranches an' markin 'em all HQQ!"

He moved up to look at the ears and swore when he saw them. "D--n it!

That's all I want to know! Mebby a sheriff wouldn't get busy on th'

evidence, but I ain't no sheriff--I'm just a plain cow-punch with good common sense. Meeker's cut is a V in one ear--here I finds a slant like Skinny saw, an' in both ears. If that don't cut under Meeker's notch I'm a liar! All framed up to make a new herd out of our cows.

Just let me catch some coyote with a running iron under his saddle flap an' see what happens!"

He quickly slacked the rope and slipped off the noose, running as fast as he could go to his pony, for some cows get "on the prod" very easily, and few cows are afraid of a man on foot; and when a long-horned Texas cow has "its dander up," it is not safe for an unmounted man to take a chance with its horns, unless he is willing to shoot it down. This Hopalong would not do, for he did not want to let the rustlers know that the new brand had been discovered. Vaulting into his saddle he eluded the charge of the indignant cow and loped south, coiling up his rope as he went.

Half an hour after leaving the HQQ cow he saw a horseman ahead of him, threading his way through a chaparral. As Hopalong overtook him the other emerged and stopped, uncertain whether to reach for his gun or not. It was Juan, who had not gone to Mesa overnight, scouting to learn if any new developments had taken place along the boundary. Juan looked at the shovel and then at the puncher, his face expressionless.

Hopalong glanced at the other's cuff, found it was all right, and then forced himself to smile. "Looking for rustlers?" he bantered.

"_Si._"

"What! There ain't no rustlers loose on this range, is there?" asked Hopalong, surprised.

"_Quien sabe?_"

"Oh, them sleepers were made by yore own, lazy outfit, an' you might as well own up to it," Hopalong grinned, deprecatingly. "You can fool Meeker, all right, he's easy; but you can't throw dust in my eyes like that. On th' level, now, ain't I right? Didn't you fellers make them sleepers?"

Juan shrugged his shoulders. "_Quien sabe?_"

"That '_Quien sabe_' is th' handiest an' most used pair of words in yore cussed language," replied Hopalong grinning. "Ask one of you fellers something you don't want to tell an' it's '_Quien sabe?_'

ain't it?"

"_Si_," laughed the Mexican.

"I thought so," Hopalong retorted. "You can't tell me that any gang that would cut a dam like they did ourn wouldn't sleeper, an' don't you forget it, neither!"

Juan's face cleared for a moment as he gloated over how Antonio's scheme had worked out, and he laughed. "No can fool you, hey?" Then he pressed his knee tighter against his saddle skirt and a worried look came into his eyes.

Hopalong took no apparent notice of the action, but he saw it, and it sent one word burning through his brain. They were riding at a walk now and Hopalong, not knowing that Juan had left the H2, suggested that they ride to the ranch together. He was watching the Mexican closely, for it would not be unusual for a man in Juan's position to try to get out of it by shooting. The Mexican refused to ride south and Hopalong, who was determined to stay with his companion until he found out what he wanted to know, proposed a race to a barranca that cut into the plain several hundred yards ahead. He would let Juan beat him, and all the way, so he could watch the saddle flap, and if this failed he would waste no more time in strategy, but would find out about it quickly. Juan also declined to race, and very hurriedly, for the less his saddle was jolted the better it would be for him. He knew Hopalong's reputation as a revolver fighter and would take no chances.

"That ain't a bad cayuse you got there. I was wondering if it could beat mine, what's purty good itself. Is it very bronc?" he asked, kicking the animal in the ribs whereupon it reared and pranced.

Juan's left hand went to the a.s.sistance of his knee, his right grasped the cantle of his saddle, where it was nearer the b.u.t.t of his Colt, and a look of fear came into his eyes.

Hopalong watched his chance and as the restive animal swung towards him he spurred it viciously, at the same time crying: "Take yore hand from off that flap, you d----d cow-lifter!"

The command was unnecessary, for a thin, straight rod of iron slipped down and stuck in the sand, having worked loose from its lashings.

Mexican-like, Juan had put off until to-morrow to heat it and bend a loop in one end for more secure fastening.

At the instant it fell Juan leaned back and dropped over on the far side of his horse, his right leg coming up level with his enemy, and reached for his gun, intending to shoot through the end of the holster and save time. But he went farther than he had intended, not stopping until he struck the earth, his bullet missing Hopalong by only a few inches.

The Bar-20 puncher slipped his Colt back into the sheath and, leaning down, deftly picked up the iron and fastened it to his saddle. Roping the Mexican's horse he continued on his way to the H2, leaving Juan where he had fallen.

When he arrived at the ranch he turned the horse into the corral and started to ride to the bunk house; but Salem, enjoying a respite from cooking and washing dishes, saw him and started for him on an awkward run, crying:

"Where'd you git that hoss? Where'd you clear from, an' who are you?"

"Th' cayuse belongs to Meeker--Juan was riding it. Is anybody around?"

"I'm around, ain't I, you fog-eyed lubber! Where's th' Lascar? Who are you?"

"Well, Duke, I'm from th' Bar-20, an' my name is Hop--"

"Weigh anchor an' 'bout ship! You can't make this port, you wind-jamming pirate!"

"I want to see yore foreman. This is his shovel, an' I--"

"Then where'd you get it, hey? How'd you get his--"