Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up; Or, Bar-20 by Clarence Edward Mulford (positive books to read .TXT) 📖

the scene its loss brought before him. He walked over to his horse and, leaping into the saddle, turned and faced his friends. “Yu old sons-of-guns,” he said. They looked sheepish and nodded negatively in answer to the look of inquiry in his eyes. “They ain't got 'em yet,” remarked Red slowly. Hopalong straightened up, his eyes narrowed and his face became hard and resolute as he led the way back toward the town.

Buck rode up beside him and, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve, began to speak to Red. “We might look up th' Joneses, Red. They had been dodgin' th' sheriff purty lively lately, an' they was huntin' Hopalong. Ever since we had to kill their brother in Buckskin they has been yappin' as how they was goin' to wipe us out. Hopalong an' Harris was standin' clost together an' they tried for both. They shot twice, one for Harris an' one for Hopalong, an' what more do yu want?”

“It shore looks thataway, Buck,” replied Red, biting into a huge plug of tobacco which he produced from his chaps. “Anyhow, they wouldn't be no loss if they didn't. Member what Pie said?”

Hopalong looked straight ahead, and when he spoke the words sounded as though he had bitten them off: “Yore right, Buck, but I gits first try at Thirsty. He's my meat an' I'll plug th' fellow what says he ain't. Damn him!”

The others replied by applying their spurs, and in a short time they dismounted before the Nugget and Rope. Thirsty wouldn't have a chance to not care how he dealt the cards.

Buck and Red moved quickly through the crowd, speaking fast and earnestly. When they returned to where they had left their friend they saw him half a block away and they followed slowly, one on either side of the street. There would be no bullets in his back if they knew what they were about, and they usually did.

As Hopalong neared the corner, Thirsty and his two brothers turned it and saw him. Thirsty said something in a low voice, and the other two walked across the street and disappeared behind the store. When assured that they were secure, Thirsty walked up to a huge boulder on the side of the street farthest from the store and turned and faced his enemy, who approached rapidly until about five paces away, when he slowed up and finally stopped.

For a number of seconds they sized each other up, Hopalong quiet and deliberate with a deadly hatred; Thirsty pale and furtive with a sensation hitherto unknown to him. It was Right meeting Wrong, and Wrong lost confidence. Often had Thirsty Jones looked death in the face and laughed, but there was something in Hopalong's eyes that made his flesh creep.

He glanced quickly past his foe and took in the scene with one flash of his eyes. There was the crowd, eager, expectant, scowling. There were Buck and Red, each lounging against a boulder, Buck on his right, Red on his left. Before him stood the only man he had ever feared. Hopalong shifted his feet and Thirsty, coming to himself with a start, smiled. His nerve had been shaken, but he was master of himself once more.

“Well!” he snarled, scowling.

Hopalong made no response, but stared him in the eyes.

Thirsty expected action, and the deadly quiet of his enemy oppressed him. He stared in turn, but the insistent searching of his opponent's eyes scorched him and he shifted his gaze to Hopalong's neck.

“Well!” he repeated uneasily.

“Did yu have a nice time at th' dance last night?” Asked Hopalong, still searching the face before him.

“Was there a dance? I was over in Alameda,” replied Thirsty shortly.

“Ya-as, there was a dance, an' yu can shoot purty durn far if yu was in Alameda,” responded Hopalong, his voice low and monotonous.

Thirsty shifted his feet and glanced around. Buck and Red were still lounging against their bowlders and apparently were not paying any attention to the proceedings. His fickle nerve came back again, for he knew he would receive fair play. So he faced Hopalong once more and regarded him with a cynical smile.

“Yu seems to worry a whole lot about me. Is it because yu has a tender feelin', or because it's none of yore blame business?” He asked aggressively.

Hopalong paled with sudden anger, but controlled himself.

“It's because yu murdered Harris,” he replied.

“Shoo! An' how does yu figger it out?” Asked Thirsty, jauntily.

“He was huntin' yu hard an' yu thought yu'd stop it, so yu came in to lay for him. When yu saw me an' him together yu saw di' chance to wipe out another score. That's how I figger it out,” replied Hopalong quietly.

“Yore a reg'lar 'tective, ain't yu?” Thirsty asked ironically.

“I've got common sense,” responded Hopalong.

“Yu has? Yu better tell th' rest that, too,” replied Thirsty.

“I know yu shot Harris, an' yu can't get out of it by makin' funny remarks. Anyhow, yu won't be much loss, an' th' stage company'll feel better, too.”

“Shoo! An' suppose I did shoot him, I done a good job, didn't I?”

“Yu did the worst job yu could do, yu highway robber,” softly said Hopalong, at the same time moving nearer. “Harris knew yu stopped th' stage last month, an' that's why yu've been dodgin' him.”

“Yore a liar!” shouted Thirsty, reaching for his gun.

The movement was fatal, for before he could draw, the Colt in Hopalong's holster leaped out and flashed from its owner's hip and Thirsty fell sideways, face down in the dust of the street.

Hopalong started toward the fallen man, but as he did so a shot rang out from behind the store and he pitched forward, stumbled and rolled behind the bowlder. As he stumbled his left hand streaked to his hip, and when he fell he had a gun in each hand.

As he disappeared from sight Goodeye and Bill Jones stepped from behind the store and started to run away. Not able to resist the temptation to look again, they stopped and turned and Bill laughed.

“Easy as sin,” he said.

“Run, yu fool—Red an' Buck'll be here. Want to git plugged?” shouted Goodeye angrily.

They turned and started for a group of ponies twenty yards away, and as they leaped into the saddles two shots were fired from the street. As the reports died away Buck and Red turned the corner of the store, Colts in hand, and, checking their rush as they saw the saddles emptied, they turned toward the street and saw Hopalong, with blood oozing from an abrasion on his cheek, sitting up cross-legged, with each hand holding a gun, from which came thin wisps of smoke.

“Th' son-of-a-gun!” cried Buck, proud and delighted.

“Th' son-of-a-gun!” echoed Red, grinning.