Bar-20 by Clarence E. Mulford (black books to read .TXT) 📖

at the cowboy, who only smiled grimly and

entered the hut to place things ready for a siege, should one come. He had one hundred

rounds of ammunition and provisions enough for two weeks, with the assurance of

reinforcements long before that time would expire. He cut several rough loopholes and

laid out his weapons for quick handling. He knew that he could stop any advance during

the day and planned only for night attacks. How long he could go without sleep did not

bother him, because he gave it no thought, as he was accustomed to short naps and could

awaken at will or at the slightest sound.

 

As dusk merged into dark he crept forth and collected several handfuls of dry

twigs, which he scattered around the hut, as the cracking of these would warn him of an

approach. Then he went in and went to sleep.

 

He awoke at daylight after a good night’s rest, and feasted on canned beans and

peaches. Then he tossed the cans out of the door and shoved his hat out. Receiving no

response he walked out and surveyed the town at his feet. A sheepish grin spread over his

face as he realized that there was no danger. Several red-shirted men passed by him on

their way to town, and one, a grizzled veteran of many gold camps, stopped and sauntered

up to him.

 

“Mornin’,” said Hopalong.

 

“Mornin’,” replied the stranger. “I thought I’d drop in an’ say that I saw that gunplay of yourn yesterday. Yu ain’t got no reason to look fer a rush. This camp is half

white men an’ half bullies, an’ th’ white men won’t stand fer no play like that. Them

fellers that jest passed are neighbors of yourn, an’ they won’t lay abed if yu needs them.

 

But yu wants to look out fer th’ joints in th’ town. Guess this business is out of yore line,”

he finished as he sized Hopalong up.

 

“She shore is, but I’m here to stay. Got tired of punchin’ an’ reckoned I’d get rich.”

 

Here he smiled and glanced at the hole.

 

“How’re yu makin’ out?” He asked.

 

“`Bout five dollars a day apiece, but that ain’t nothin’ when grub’s so high. Got

reckless th’ other day an’ had a egg at fifty cents.”

 

Hopalong whistled and glanced at the empty cans at his feet. “Any marshal in this

burg?”

 

“Yep. But he’s one of th’ gang. No good, an’ drunk half th’ time an’ half drunk th’

rest. Better come down an’ have something,” invited the miner.

 

“I’d shore like to, but I can’t let no gang get in that door,“replied the puncher.

 

“Oh, that’s all right; I’ll call my pardner down to keep house till yu gits back. He

can hold her all right. Hey, Jake!” he called to a man who was some hundred paces

distant; “Come down here an’ keep house till we gits back, will yu?”

 

The man lumbered down to them and took possession as Hopalong and his newly

found friend started for the town.

 

They entered the “Miner’s Rest” and Hopalong fixed the room in his mind with

one swift glance. Three men-and they looked like the crowd he had stopped before-were

playing poker at a table near the window.

 

Hopalong leaned with his back to the bar and talked, with the players always in

sight.

 

Soon the door opened and a bewhiskered, heavy-set man tramped in, and walking

up to Hopalong, looked him over.

 

“Huh,” he sneered, “Yu are th’ gent with th’ festive guns that plugged Dan, ain’t

yu?”

 

Hopalong looked at him in the eyes and quietly replied

“An’ who th’ deuce are yu?”

 

The stranger’s eyes blazed and his face wrinkled with rage as he aggressively

shoved his jaw close to Hopalong’s face.

 

“Yu runt, I’m a better man than yu even if yu do wear hair pants,” referring to

Hopalong’s chaps. “Yu cow-wrastlers make me tired, an’ I’m goin’ to show yu that this

town is too good for you. Yu can say it right now that yu are a ornery, game-leg-”

 

Hopalong smashed his insulter squarely between the eyes with all the power of his

sinewy body behind the blow, knocking him in a heap under the table. Then he quickly

glanced at the card players and saw a hostile movement. His gun was out in a flash and

he covered the trio as he walked up to them. Never in all his life had he felt such a desire

to kill. His eyes were diamond points of accumulated fury, and those whom he faced

quailed before him.

 

“Yu scum! Draw, please draw! Pull yore guns an’ gimme my chance!

Three to one, an’ I’ll lay my guns here,” he said, placing them on the bar and

removing his hands. “‘Nearer My God to Thee’ is purty appropriate fer yu just now! Yu

seem to be a-scared of yore own guns.

 

Git down on yore dirty knees an’ say good an’ loud that yu eats dirt!

Shout out that yu are too currish to live with decent men,” he said, even-toned and

distinct, his voice vibrant with passion as he took up his Colts.

 

“Get down!” he repeated, shoving the weapons forward and pulling back the

hammers.

 

The trio glanced at each other, and all three dropped to their knees and repeated in

venomous hatred the words Hopalong said for them.

 

“Now git! An’ if I sees yu when I leaves I’ll send yu after yore friend. I’ll shoot on

sight now. Git!” He escorted them to the door and kicked the last one out.

 

His miner friend still leaned against the bar and looked his approval.

 

“Well done, youngster! But yu wants to look out-that man,” pointing to the now

groping victim of Hopalong’s blow, “is th’ marshal of this town. He or his pals will get yu

if yu don’t watch th’ corners.”

 

Hopalong walked over to the marshal, jerked him to his feet and slammed him

against the bar. Then he tore the cheap badge from its place and threw it on the floor.

 

Reaching down, he drew the marshal’s revolver from its holster and shoved it in its

owner’s hand.

 

“Yore th’ marshal of this place an’ it’s too good for me, but yore gain’ to pick up

that tin lie,” pointing at the badge, “an’ yore goin’ to do it right now. Then yore gain’ to

get kicked out of that door, an’ if yu stops runnin’ while I can see yu I’ll fill yu so full of

holes yu’ll catch cold. Yore a sumptious marshal, yu are! Yore th’ snortingest ki-yi that

ever stuck its tail atween its laigs, yu are. Yu pop-eyed wall flower, yu wants to peep to

yoreself or some papoose’ll slide yu over th’ Divide so fast yu won’t have time to grease

yore pants. Pick up that license-tag an’ let me see you perculate so lively that yore back’ll

look like a tencent piece in five seconds. Flit!”

 

The marshal, dazed and bewildered, stooped and fumbled for the badge. Then he

stood up and glanced at the gun in his hand and at the eager man before him. He slid the

weapon in his belt and drew his hand across his fast-closing eyes. Cursing streaks of

profanity, he staggered to the door and landed in a heap in the street from the force of

Hopalong’s kick. Struggling to his feet, he ran unsteadily down the block and disappeared

around a corner.

 

The bartender, cool and unperturbed, pushed out three glasses on his treat: “I’ve

seen yu afore, up in Cheyenne-‘member? How’s yore friend Red?” he asked as he filled

the glasses with the best the house afforded.

 

“Well, shore `nuff! Glad to see yu, Jimmy! What yu doin’ away off here?” asked

Hopalong, beginning to feel at home.

“Oh, jest filterin’ round like. I’m awful glad to see yu-this yere wart of a town

needs siftin’ out. It was only last week I was wishin’ one of yore bunch `ud show up-that

ornament yu jest buffaloed shore raised th’ devil in here, an’ I wished I had somebody to

prospect his anatomy for a lead mine. But he’s got a tough gang circulating with him.

 

Ever hear of Dutch Shannon or Blinky Neary? They’s with him.”

 

“Dutch Shannon? Nope,” he replied.

 

“Bad eggs, an’ not a-carin’ how they gits square. Th’ feller yu’ salted yesterday was

a bosom friend of th’ marshal’s, an’ he passed in his chips last night.”

 

“So?”

 

“Yep. Bought a bottle of ready-made nerve an’ went to his own funeral. Aristotle

Smith was lookin’ fer him up in Cheyenne last year.

 

Aristotle said he’d give a century fer five minutes’ palaver with him, but he shied

th’ town an’ didn’t come back. Yu know Aristotle, don’t yu? He’s th’ geezer that made

fame up to Poison Knob three years ago.

 

He used to go to town ridin’ astride a log on th’ lumber flume. Made four miles in

six minutes with th’ promise of a ruction when he stopped. Once when he was loaded he

tried to ride back th’ same way he came, an’ th’ first thing he knowed he was three miles

farther from his supper an’ a-slippin’ down that valley like he wanted to go somewhere.

 

He swum out at Potter’s Dam an’ it took him a day to walk back.

 

But he didn’t make that play again, because he was frequently sober, an’ when he

wasn’t he’d only stand off an’ swear at th’ slide.”

 

“That’s Aristotle, all hunk. He’s th’ chap that used to play checkers with Deacon

Rawlins. They used empty an’ loaded shells for men, an’ when they got a king they’d lay

one on its side. Sometimes they’d jar th’ board an’ they’d all be kings an’ then they’d have

a cussin’ match,” replied Hopalong, once more restored to good humor.

 

“Why,” responded Jimmy, “he counted his wealth over twice by mistake an’ shore

raised a howl when he went to blow it-thought he’s been robbed, an’ laid behind th’

houses fer a week lookin’ fer th’ feller that done it.”

 

“I’ve heard of that cuss-he shore was th’ limit. What become of him?” asked the

miner.

 

“He ambled up to Laramie an’ stuck his head in th’ window of that joint by th’

plaza an’ hollered `Fire,’ an’ they did. He was shore a good feller, all th’ same,” answered

the bartender.

 

Hopalong laughed and started for the door. Turning around he looked at his miner

friend and asked: “Comin’ along? I’m goin’ back now.”

 

“Nope. Reckon I’ll hit th’ tiger a whirl. I’ll stop in when I passes.”

 

“All right. So long,” replied Hopalong, slipping out of the door and watching for

trouble. There was no opposition shown him, and he arrived at his claim to find Jake in a

heated argument with another of the gang.

 

“Here he comes now,” he said as Hopalong walked up. “Tell him what yu said to

me.”

 

“I said yu made a mistake,” said the other, turning to the cowboy in a half

apologetic manner.

 

“An’ what else?” insisted Jake.

“Why, ain’t that all?” asked the claim-jumper’s friend in feigned surprise, wishing

that he had kept quiet.

 

“Well I reckons it is if yu can’t back up yore words,” responded Jake in open

contempt.

 

Hopalong grabbed the intruder by the collar of his shirt and hauled him off the

claim. “Yu keep off this, understand? I just kicked yore marshal out in th’ street, an’ I’ll

pay yu th’ next call. If yu rambles in range