Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up; Or, Bar-20, Page 3

  CHAPTER III. The Argument

  Up the street two hundred yards from the Houston House Skinny and Petelay hidden behind a bowlder. Three hundred yards on the other side ofthe hotel Johnny and Billy were stretched out in an arroyo. Buck waslying down now, and Hopalong, from his position in the barn belonging tothe hotel, was methodically dropping the horses of the besieged, a jobhe hated as much as he hated poison. The corral was their death trap.Red and Lanky were emitting clouds of smoke from behind the store,immediately across the street from the barroom. A buffalo gun roareddown by the plaza and several Sharps cracked a protest from differentpoints. The town had awakened and the shots were dropping steadily.

  Strange noises filled the air. They grew in tone and volume and thendwindled away to nothing. The hum of the buffalo gun and the sobbingpi-in-in-ing of the Winchesters were liberally mixed with the sharpwhines of the revolvers.

  There were no windows in the hotel now. Raw furrows in the bleached woodshowed yellow, and splinters mysteriously sprang from the casings. Thepanels of the door were producing cracks and the cheap door handleflew many ways at once. An empty whisky keg on the stoop boomed outmournfully at intervals and finally rolled down the steps with arumbling protest. Wisps of smoke slowly climbed up the walls and seemedto be waving defiance to the curling wisps in the open.

  Pete raised his shoulder to refill the magazine of his smoking rifle anddropped the cartridges all over his lap. He looked sheepishly at Skinnyand began to load with his other hand.

  "Yore plum loco, yu are. Don't yu reckon they kin hit a blue shirtat two hundred?" Skinny cynically inquired. "Got one that time," heannounced a second later.

  "I wonder who's got th' buffalo," grunted Pete. "Mus' be Cowan," hereplied to his own question and settled himself to use his left hand.

  "Don't yu git Shorty; he's my meat," suggested Skinny.

  "Yu better tell Buck--he ain't got no love fer Shorty," replied Pete,aiming carefully.

  The panic in the corral ceased and Hopalong was now sending his regretsagainst the panels of the rear door. He had cut his last initial in thenear panel and was starting a wobbly "H" in its neighbor. He was in agood position. There were no windows in the rear wall, and as the doorwas a very dangerous place he was not fired at.

  He began to get tired of this one-sided business and crawled up on thewindow ledge, dangling his feet on the outside. He occasionally sent abullet at a different part of the door, but amused himself by annoyingBuck.

  "Plenty hot down there?" he pleasantly inquired, and as he received noanswer he tried again. "Better save some of them cartridges fer someother time, Buck."

  Buck was sending 45-70's into the shattered window with a precision thatpresaged evil to any of the defenders who were rash enough to try togain the other end of the room.

  Hopalong bit off a chew of tobacco and drowned a green fly that wascrawling up the side of the barn. The yellow liquid streaked downward ashort distance and was eagerly sucked up by the warped boards.

  A spurt of smoke leaped from the battered door and the bored Hopalongpromptly tumbled back inside. He felt of his arm, and then, delightedat the notice taken of his artistic efforts, shot several times froma crack on his right. "This yer's shore gittin' like home," he gravelyremarked to the splinter that whizzed past his head. He shot again atthe door and it sagged outward, accompanied by the thud of a fallingbody. "Pies like mother used to make," he announced to the loft as heslipped the magazine full of .45-70'S. "An' pills like popper used totake," he continued when he had lowered the level of the water in hisflask.

  He rolled a cigarette and tossed the match into the air, extinguishingit by a shot from his Colt.

  "Got any cigarettes, Hoppy?" said a voice from below.

  "Shore," replied the joyous puncher, recognizing Pete; "how'd yu githere?"

  "Like a cow. Busy?"

  "None whatever. Comin' up?"

  "Nope. Skinny wants a smoke too."

  Hopalong handed tobacco and papers down the hole. "So long."

  "So long," replied the daring Pete, who risked death twice for a smoke.

  The hot afternoon dragged along and about three o'clock Buck held up anempty cartridge belt to the gaze of the curious Hopalong. That observantworthy nodded and threw a double handful of cartridges, one by one, tothe patient and unrelenting Buck, who filled his gun and piled the fewremaining ones up at his side. "Th' lives of mice and men gang aft allwrong," he remarked at random.

  "Th' son-of-a-gun's talkin' Shakespeare," marveled Hopalong. "Satiateany, Buck?" he asked as that worthy settled down to await his chance.

  "Two," he replied, "Shorty an' another. Plenty damn hot down here," hecomplained. A spurt of alkali dust stung his face, but the hand thatmade it never made another. "Three," he called. "How many, Hoppy?"

  "One. That's four. Wonder if th' others got any?"

  "Pete said Skinny got one," replied the intent Buck.

  "Th' son-of-a-gun, he never said nothin' about it, an' me a fillin' hisornery paws with smokin'." Hopalong was indignant.

  "Bet yu ten we don't git 'em afore dark," he announced.

  "Got yu. Go yu ten more I gits another," promptly responded Buck.

  "That's a shore cinch. Make her twenty."

  "She is."

  "Yu'll have to square it with Skinny, he shore wanted Shorty plum' bad,"Hopalong informed the unerring marksman.

  "Why didn't he say suthin' about it? Anyhow, Jimmy was my bunkie."

  Hopalong's cigarette disintegrated and the board at his left receiveda hole. He promptly disappeared and Buck laughed. He sat up in the loftand angrily spat the soaked paper out from between his lips.

  "All that trouble fer nothin', th' white-eyed coyote," he muttered.Then he crawled around to one side and fired at the center of his "C."Another shot hurtled at him and his left arm fell to his side. "That'sfunny--wonder where th' damn pirut is?" He looked out cautiously and sawa cloud of smoke over a knothole which was situated close up under theeaves of the barroom; and it was being agitated. Some one was blowing atit to make it disappear. He aimed very carefully at the knot and fired.He heard a sound between a curse and a squawk and was not molested anyfurther from that point.

  "I knowed he'd git hurt," he explained to the bandage, torn from theedge of his kerchief, which he carefully bound around his last wound.

  Down in the arroyo Johnny was complaining.

  "This yer's a no good bunk," he plaintively remarked.

  "It shore ain't--but it's th' best we kin find," apologized Billy.

  "That's th' sixth that feller sent up there. He's a damn poor shot,"observed Johnny; "must be Shorty."

  "Shorty kin shoot plum' good--tain't him," contradicted Billy.

  "Yas--with a six-shooter. He's off'n his feed with a rifle," explainedJohnny.

  "Yu wants to stay down from up there, yu ijit," warned Billy as thedisgusted Johnny crawled up the bank. He slid down again with a welt onhis neck.

  "That's somebody else now. He oughter a done better'n that," he said.

  Billy had fired as Johnny started to slide and he smoothed his aggrievedchum. "He could onct, yu means."

  "Did yu git him?" asked the anxious Johnny, rubbing his welt. "Plum'center," responded the business-like Billy. "Go up agin, mebby I kin gitanother," he suggested tentatively.

  "Mebby you kin go to blazes. I ain't no gallery," grinned the nowexuberant owner of the welt.

  "Who's got the buffalo?" he inquired as the great gun roared.

  "Mus' be Cowan. He's shore all right. Sounds like a bloomin' cannon,"replied Billy. "Lemme alone with yore fool questions, I'm busy," hecomplained as his talkative partner started to ask another. "Go an' gitme some water--I'm alkalied. An' git some .45's, mine's purty near gone."

  Johnny crawled down the arroyo and reappeared at Hopalong's barn.

  As he entered the door a handful of empty shells fell on his hat anddropped to the floor. He shook his head and remarked, "That mus' be thatfool Hopalong."

 
"Yore shore right. How's business?" inquired the festive Cassidy.

  "Purty fair. Billy's got one. How many's gone?"

  "Buck's got three, I got two and Skinny's got one. That's six, an' Billyis seven. They's five more," he replied.

  "How'd yu know?" queried Johnny as he filled his flask at the horsetrough.

  "Because they's twelve cayuses behind the hotel. That's why."

  "They might git away on 'em," suggested the practical Johnny.

  "Can't. They's all cashed in."

  "Yu said that they's five left," ejaculated the puzzled water carrier.

  "Yah; yore a smart cuss, ain't yu?"

  Johnny grinned and then said, "Got any smokin'?" Hopalong lookedgrieved. "I ain't no store. Why don't yu git generous and buy some?"

  He partially filled Johnny's hand, and as he put the sadly depleted bagaway he inquired, "Got any papers?"

  "Nope."

  "Got any matches?" he asked cynically.

  "Nope."

  "Kin yu smoke 'em?" he yelled, indignantly.

  "Shore nuff," placidly replied the unruffled Johnny. "Billy wants some.45-70's."

  Hopalong gasped. "Don't he want my gun, too?"

  "Nope. Got a better one. Hurry up, he'll git mad." Hopalong was a verymethodical person. He was the only one of his crowd to carry a secondcartridge strap. It hung over his right shoulder and rested on hisleft hip. His waist belt held thirty cartridges for the revolvers. Heextracted twenty from that part of the shoulder strap hardest to get at,the back, by simply pulling it over his shoulder and plucking out thebullets as they came into reach.

  "That's all yu kin have. I'm Buck's ammernition jackass," he explained."Bet yu ten we gits 'em afore dark"--he was hedging.

  "Any fool knows that. I'll take yu if yu bets th' other way," respondedJohnny, grinning. He knew Hopalong's weak spot.

  "Yore on," promptly responded Hopalong, who would bet on anything.

  "Well, so long," said Johnny as he crawled away.

  "Hey, yu, Johnny!" called out Hopalong, "don't yu go an' tell anybody Igot any pills left. I ain't no ars'nal."

  Johnny replied by elevating one foot and waving it. Then he disappeared.

  Behind the store, the most precarious position among the besiegers,Red Connors and Lanky Smith were ensconced and commanded a view of theentire length of the barroom. They could see the dark mass they knew tobe the rear door and derived a great amount of amusement from the spotsof light which were appearing in it.

  They watched the "C" (reversed to them) appear and be completed. Whenthe wobbly "H" grew to completion they laughed heartily. Then thehardwood bar had been dragged across the field of vision and up to thefront windows, and they could only see the indiscriminate holes whichappeared in the upper panels at frequent intervals.

  Every time they fired they had to expose a part of themselves to areturn shot, with the result that Lanky's forearm was seared its entirelength. Red had been more fortunate and only had a bruised ear.

  They laboriously rolled several large rocks out in the open, pushingthem beyond the shelter of the store with their rifles. When they hadcrawled behind them they each had another wound. From their new positionthey could see Hopalong sitting in his window. He promptly waved hissombrero and grinned.

  They were the most experienced fighters of all except Buck, and weresaving their shots. When they did shoot they always had some portion ofa man's body to aim at, and the damage they inflicted was considerable.They said nothing, being older than the rest and more taciturn, andthey were not reckless. Although Hopalong's antics made them laugh, theygrumbled at his recklessness and were not tempted to emulate him. It wasnoticeable, too, that they shoved their rifles out simultaneously and,although both were aiming, only one fired. Lanky's gun cracked so closeto the enemy's that the whirr of the bullet over Red's head was mergedin the crack of his partner's reply.

  When Hopalong saw the rocks roll out from behind the store he grew verycurious. Then he saw a flash, followed instantly by another from thesecond rifle. He saw several of these follow shots and could sit insilence no longer. He waved his hat to attract attention and thenshouted, "How many?" A shot was sent straight up in the air and henotified Buck that there were only four left.

  The fire of these four grew less rapid--they were saving theirammunition. A pot shot at Hopalong sent that gentleman's rifle hurtlingto the ground. Another tore through his hat, removing a neat amount ofskin and hair and giving him a lifelong part. He fell back insideand proceeded to shoot fast and straight with his revolvers, his headburning as though on fire. When he had vented the dangerous pressureof his anger he went below and tried to fish the rifle in with a longstick. It was obdurate, so he sent three more shots into the door, and,receiving no reply, ran out around the corner of his shelter and graspedthe weapon. When half way back he sank to the ground. Before anothershot could be fired at him with any judgment a ripping, spitting riflewas being frantically worked from the barn. The bullets tore the doorinto seams and gaps; the lowest panel, the one having the "H" in it,fell inward in chunks. Johnny had returned for another smoke.

  Hopalong, still grasping the rifle, rolled rapidly around the corner ofthe barn. He endeavored to stand, but could not. Johnny, hearing rapidand fluent swearing, came out.

  "Where'd they git yu?" he asked.

  "In th' off leg. Hurts like blazes. Did yu git him?"

  "Nope. I jest come fer another cig; got any left?"

  "Up above. Yore gall is shore apallin'. Help me in, yu two-laiggedjackass."

  "Shore. We'll shore pay our 'tentions to that door. She'll go purtysoon--she's as full of holes as th' Bad Lan's," replied Johnny. "Gitaholt an' hop along, Hopalong."

  He helped the swearing Hopalong inside, and then the lead they pumpedinto the wrecked door was scandalous. Another panel fell in andHopalong's "C" was destroyed. A wide crack appeared in the one above itand grew rapidly. Its mate began to gape and finally both were drivenin. The increase in the light caused by these openings allowed Red andLanky to secure better aim and soon the fire of the defenders died out.

  Johnny dropped his rifle and, drawing his six-shooter, ran out anddashed for the dilapidated door, while Hopalong covered that openingwith a fusilade.

  As Johnny's shoulder sent the framework flying inward he narrowly missedsudden death. As it was he staggered to the side, out of range, anddropped full length to the ground, flat on his face. Hopalong's riflecracked incessantly, but to no avail. The man who had fired the shot wasdead. Buck got him immediately after he had shot Johnny.

  Calling to Skinny and Red to cover him, Buck sprinted to where Johnnylay gasping. The bullet had struck his shoulder. Buck, Colt in hand,leaped through the door, but met with no resistance. He signaled toHopalong, who yelled, "They's none left."

  The trees and rocks and gullies and buildings yielded men who sooncrowded around the hotel. A young doctor, lately graduated, appeared. Itwas his first case, but he eased Johnny. Then he went over to Hopalong,who was now raving, and attended to him. The others were patched upas well as possible and the struggling young physician had his pocketscrammed full of gold and silver coins.

  The scene of the wrecked barroom was indescribable. Holes, furrows,shattered glass and bottles, the liquor oozing down the walls of theshelves and running over the floor; the ruined furniture, a wrecked bar,seared and shattered and covered with blood; bodies as they had beenpiled in the corners; ropes, shells, hats; and liquor everywhere, overeverything, met the gaze of those who had caused the chaos.

  Perry's Bend had failed to wipe out the score.