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

The waters of the Rio Grande slid placidly toward the Gulf, the hot sun branding the sleepy waters with streaks of molten fire. To the north arose from the gray sandy plain the Quitman Mountains, and beyond them lay Bass Ca on. From the latter emerged a solitary figure astride a broncho, and as he ascended the topmost rise he glanced below him at the placid stream and beyond it into Mexico. As he sat quietly in his saddle he smiled and laughed gently to himself. The trail he had just followed had been replete with trouble which had suited the state of his mind and he now felt humorous, having cleaned up a pressing debt with his six-shooter. Surely there ought to be a mild sort of excitement in the land he faced, something picturesque and out of the ordinary. This was to be the finishing touch to his trip, and he had left his two companions at Albuquerque in order that he might have to himself all that he could find.

Not many miles to the south of him lay the town which had been the rendezvous of Tamale Jose, whose weakness had been a liking for other people's cattle. Well he remembered his first man hunt: the discovery of the theft, the trail and pursuit and—the ending. He was scarcely eighteen years of age when that event took place, and the wisdom he had absorbed then had stood him in good stead many times since. He had even now a touch of pride at the recollection how, when his older companions had failed to get Tamale Jose, he with his undeveloped strategy had gained that end. The fight would never be forgotten, as it was his first, and no sight of wounds would ever affect him as did those of Red Connors as he lay huddled up in the dark corner of that old adobe hut.

He came to himself and laughed again as he thought of Carmencita, the first girl he had ever known—and the last. With a boy's impetuosity he had wooed her in a manner far different from that of the peons who sang beneath her window and talked to her mother. He had boldly scaled the wall and did his courting in her house, trusting to luck and to his own ability to avoid being seen. No hidden meaning lay in his words; he spoke from his heart and with no concealment. And he remembered the treachery that had forced him, fighting, to the camp of his outfit; and when he had returned with his friends she had disappeared.

To this day he hated that mud-walled convent and those sisters who so easily forgot how to talk. The fragrance of the old days wrapped themselves around him, and although he had ceased to pine for his black-eyed Carmencita-well, it would be nice if he chanced to see her again. Spurring his mount into an easy canter he swept down to and across the river, fording it where he had crossed it when pursuing Tamale Jose.

The town lay indolent under the Mexican night, and the strumming of guitars and the tinkle of spurs and tiny bells softly echoed from several houses. The convent of St. Maria lay indistinct in its heavy shadows and the little church farther up the dusty street showed dim lights in its stained windows. Off to the north became audible the rhythmic beat of a horse and soon a cowboy swept past the convent with a mocking bow.

He clattered across the stone-paved plaza and threw his mount back on its haunches as he stopped before a house. Glancing around and determining to find out a few facts as soon as possible, he rode up to the low door and pounded upon it with the butt of his Colt. After waiting for possibly half a minute and receiving no response he hammered a tune upon it with two Colts and had the satisfaction of seeing half a score of heads protrude from the windows in the nearby houses.

“If I could scare up another gun I might get th' whole blamed town up,” he grumbled whimsically, and fell on the door with another tune.

“Who is it?” came from within. The voice was distinctly feminine and Hopalong winked to himself in congratulation.

“Me,” he replied, twirling his fingers from his nose at the curious, forgetting that the darkness hid his actions from sight.

“Yes, I know; but who is 'me'?” Came from the house.

“Ain't I a fool!” he complained to himself, and raising his voice he replied coaxingly, “Open th' door a bit an' see. Are yu Carmencita?”

“O-o-o! but you must tell me who it is first.”

“Mr. Cassidy,” he replied, flushing at the 'mister,' “an' I wants to see Carmencita.”

“Carmencita who?” teasingly came from behind the door. Hopalong scratched his head. “Gee, yu've roped me—I suppose she has got another handle. Oh, yu know—she used to live here about seven years back. She had great big black eyes, pretty cheeks an' a mouth that 'ud stampede anybody. Don't yu know now? She was about so high,” holding out his hands in the darkness.

The door opened a trifle on a chain and Hopalong peered eagerly forward.

“Ah, it is you, the brave Americano! You must go away quick or you will meet with harm. Manuel is awfully jealous and he will kill you! Go at once, please!”

Hopalong pulled at the half-hearted down upon his lip and laughed softly. Then he slid the guns back in their holsters and felt for his sombrero.

“Manuel wants to see me first, Star Eyes.”

“No! no!” she replied, stamping upon the floor vehemently. “You must go now—at once!”

“I'd shore look nice hittin' th' trail because Manuel Somebody wants to get hurt, wouldn't I? Don't yu remember how I used to shinny up this here wall an' skin th' cat gettin' through that hole up there what yu said was a window? Ah, come on an' open th' door—I'd shore like to see yu again!” pleaded the irrepressible.

“No! no! Go away. Oh, won't you please go away!”

Hopalong sighed audibly and turned his horse. As he did so he heard the door open and a sigh reached his ears. He wheeled like a flash and found the door closed again on its chain. A laugh of delight came from behind it.

“Come out, please!—just for a minute,” he begged, wishing that he was brave enough to smash the door to splinters and grab her.

“If I do, will you go away?” Asked the girl. “Oh, what will Manuel say if he comes? And all those people, they'll tell him!”

“Hey, yu!” shouted Hopalong, brandishing his Colts at the protruding heads. “Git scarce! I'll shore plug th' last one in!” Then he laughed at the sudden vanishing.

The door slowly opened and Carmencita, fat and drowsy, wobbled out to him. Hopalong's feelings were interfering with his breathing as he surveyed her. “Oh, yu shore are mistaken, Mrs. Carmencita. I wants to see yore daughter!”

“Ah, you have forgotten the little Carmencita who used to look for you. Like all the men, you have forgotten,” she cooed reproachfully. Then her fear predominated again and she cried, “Oh, if my husband should see me