The Man From Bar-20 by Clarence E. Mulford (best books to read for young adults .txt) đ
- Author: Clarence E. Mulford
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As the words died out in the distance Johnny started to slip out from between the bowlders, when a sharp spang! rang out at a rock near his waist, and a whining scream soared skyward. An opening made by a split in the bowlder had partly revealed his moving body to a pair of very keen eyes on the look-out for just such a sign. A second later the flat report of the shot cracked against his ears, but he was on the other side of the bowlders and leaping down the steep hillside when he heard it. As he cleared a big rock he landed almost upon a slinking coyote, which instantly destroyed distance at an unbelievable speed. It shot up the hill, over the crest, and sped like an arrow of haze across the open table-land. Another shot rang out and a laughing voice shouted greeting.
âHi-yi! Who-o-p-e-e-e! Scoot, you streak of lightninâ, Cookieâs layinâ for you with nine buckshot in each barrel. But Iâm a drunk Injun if you didnât fool me.â
A peeved voice raised loudly in the twilight. âHey I Dân you! Look out where yoâre shootinM That slug ricochetted plumb between our heads! Ainât you got no sense a-tall?â
âThatâs right! Start kickinâIâ retorted Gates at the top of his voice. âDidnât you ever hear a slug before? Donât you know that thâ slug you can hear is past you?â
âThat so? Howâd you like to listen to one now?â angrily shouted the objector. âHow do I know that thâ next one is goinâ past?â
âAh, go to hâl!â jeered Gates. âLittle things make big bumps on you, you sage hen!â
âLittle things!â roared a second voice. âLittle things! Would you lissen to him? It sounded like a train of cars to me, dâ-d if it didnât !â
âThinks heâs treed another cougar,â laughed a third voice.
The three appeared upon the plateau and rode toward the disgruntled marksman, their hands up over their heads in mock anxiety and surrender. Down from the north rolled a swift, rhythmic drumming, and Harrison, eagerly alert, his rifle balanced in his hands, slid to a dusty stop.
âWhat is it?â he demanded.
âReckon it was Cookieâs pet ki-yote,â grinned Gates. âThere ainât nothinâ with wings, even, can beat âem. He just melted.â
âYoâre a dâ-d fool! âswore Harrison angrily.
âHuh! I could âaâ told you that long ago,â observed Purdy. âYou just catchinâ on?â
âI saw somethinâ move,â retorted Gates. âIt slid past that crack anâ thâ sun caught it purty fair, so I let drive. How thâ devil do you suppose I knowed it was a ki-yote? Think Iâm one of them mejums anâ has second sight?â
âNever!â chuckled Fleming. âPeople make mistakes, but thâ man donât live, free anâ unrestrained, that would think you had second sight. He might even be doubtful about thâ first sight. You want to practice second look. Look twice, pray, anâ then count ten, Danâl, old trapper.â
âHe oughta be penned up nights,â growled Sanford. âHeâs a cussed sight more dangerous than a plague.â
Another rider joined them from the south. âDanâl Boone at it again?â he asked, grinning.
âHe is!â snapped Purdy.
Harrison quieted his horse. âYou fellers take him home with you, anâ keep him there. He shoots at anythinâ that moves! Iâm goinâ to take root right here till he gets down below. Mebby he might take me for somethinâ suspicious.â
âIf Iâd âaâ got that chicken-thief,â placidly remarked Gates, âIâd âaâ slipped it into Cookieâs coop tonight, cussed if I wouldnât!â
âYou keep away from his coop,â warned Fleming, with a solemn shake of his head. âHeâs another that shoots at anythinâ that moves.â
Holbrook looked at Harrison. âYou takinâ thâ north end tonight?â
âYes; but Iâm stayinâ right here till Davy Crockett gets down on thâ range. Donât you move, Frank; heâll likely blow you apart if you do.â
âGlad he ainât ridinâ in yore place. Good night, fellers.â
The group split up and four of the riders rode toward the canyon trail.
âTake thâ lead, Art,â said Purdy. âYou know that ledge betterân we do.â
Holbrook and Harrison watched them disappear^ consulted a few moments and then separated.
At the bottom of the steep eastern bank of the plateau, Johnny, a vague blur in the fading light, hasâ tened stealthily into the brush. When assured that he was safe from observation he swung north and made the best time possible in the darkness over such ground, eager to reach his horse, which was picketed more than a mile away.
âHuh!â he grunted. âSo theyâre combinâ thâ country anâ patrolinâ. Hereafter anâ henceforth Iâve got to play Injun for all Iâm worth. Anâ if they comb thâ west side tomorrow Iâve got to move my camp at daylight.â
To the southwest of the rustlersâ ranch Ackerman and his new friend had sworn day after day, for they found no tracks to follow. After riding up several creeks to their head-waters they gave up such careful searching and went blindly ahead in the direction Ackerman thought their enemy would take; and the ashes of dead camp-fires from time to time told them that they had decided right.
At last they came to a point due west of the little valley of the burned cabin, and Ackerman did not choose to pass the stream which flowed from that direction. As the day was about done they camped on the bank of the little tributary and planned the next dayâs work. Arising early the following morning Ackerman divided the supplies and gave part of them to Long Pete.
âWell,â he said, smiling grimly; âhereâs where we separate. Weâre north of Twin Buttes, anâ that means we are about even with thâ south end of our ranch. He could âaâ turned off any place from here on because when he got this far he had just about arrived.
âNow I reckon I better keep on follerinâ thâ big creek, for I got a feelinâ that I know purty well just about where heâs located. But we canât overlook no bets. You foller this crick to thâ end, or till you see where he left it. Anâ you meet me tonight, if you can, at thâ south end of that big butte up there, thâ one with thâ humpback.
âIâve told you heâs dangerous, chain-lightninâ with his guns; anâ Iâm tellinâ you now to make shore you wonât forget it. If you run across him, shoot first, as soon as you see him. You canât beat him on thâ draw; anâ while I donât like to shoot a man that way, Iâm swallerinâ my pride in this case because heâs a spy, or else heâd never ride up thâ cricks for forty miles. I never heard of anybody beinâ so cautious anâ patient all thâ time. We got to get him; if we donât thereâll be hâl to pay.â
âDonât you get no gray hair about me,â growled Long Pete. âI know what it means, dân him! âA smile flitted across his face. âBut I shore has to laugh at thâ son-of-a-gun! Anâ me thinkinâ he was a prospector, anâ loco! Iâd feel ashamed of myself if I really did think he was a prospector. You see, Iâve seen prospectors before. You mustnât mind me makinâ a break like that once in a while; Iâve had to fool so many folks I canât sort of get my bearinâs now. Iâd be prouder of gettinâ a man like him than anythinâ I ever done. Did you gimme plenty of grub? All right; Iâm movinâ on now. So long.â
âSo long; anâ good luck,â replied Ackerman, going north along the creek.
Long Pete rode carefully up his own watery way, thoroughly alert and closely scrutinizing both banks.
âSettinâ on a cayuse, out here, donât set well on my stummick,â he muttered uneasily. âIâd mebby be more prominent cavortinâ around on a mountain top, or ridinâ upside down on thâ under side of a cloud, but I ainât hankerinâ after no prominence. Nope; Iâm a shrinkinâ wiolet. Anâ splash! splash! says thâ bronc. Splash! splash! regâlar as a watch, for thâ whole wide world to hear, observe, anâ think about. Long Pete, yoâre a fool. Long Pete, yoâre several, all kinds of fools. What you should oughta do is picket thâ bronc anâ perceed with more caution, on yore belly like a silent worm, or at least on yore kneecaps anâ hanâs, like a like a a who thâ hâl cares what? Day after day we been temptinâ Providence. âHurry up!â says he. âHurry be dâ-d!â thought I. But we hurried. Yes sir. But it must be did. Dân thâ must. All my sinful life there was a must or a mustnât. Itâs a must-y world. He-he! That ainât a bad one, or Iâm a liar!â
âAll serene. Both banks lovely. Lush grass anâ mosquitoes anâ flies. Splash! Splash! Ah-splash! Cr-splash! Slop inter it, bronc. Donât mind my stummick. Keep lunginâ on, plugginâ right ahead, stubborn as thâ workinâs of hell. Long Pete! Long Pete! Ker-splash! Hereâs Long Pete! Tell him, bronc; grease thâ chute for yore boss. Even thâ frogs got more sense; they shut up when they hears us. Itâs a gamble, bronc; a toss-up. Our friend, Mr. James Ackerman, says: âHere, Long Pete. We done reached thâ partinâ of thâ ways. He could âaâ left thâ crick any place, now. Over east yonder is where he was burned out. You take that way, anâ Iâll go on north where I reckon I know mebby where he oughta be.â Thatâs what he said, bronc. But what he kept a damp, dark, deep secret was: âBut I know he ainât. Heâs east, where he knows thâ lay of thâ land. Where he feels at home. Anâ anyhow, Long Pete, you know too dâ-d much about our affairs.â Heâs a friend of ours, bronc; we know that but heâs a better friend of hisself.
âWe must watch both banks, bronc; watch âem close. All right; but this time weâll just bust hâl out of Mr. Must. Weâll square up, right now, for thâ way Mr. Must has horned inter our affairs all our fool life. Come on; get out of this! Thatâs right. Now you stand there anâ drip. Iâm going to travel humble anâ quiet. I donât want no fife anâ drum to lead me to war; no maâam; not a-tall.â
Long Peteâs low, muttered chatter ceased as he wriggled through the cover. Minutes passed as he went ahead, glancing continually at the banks of the small creek for the telltale signs. He wormed around some scattered bowlders and came to the edge of a small, rock-floored clearing, where he paused.
A movement half-way up on a mesa close by caught his eye, and he backed over his trail, wriggled around the little clearing and began to stalk that particular mesa ledge. Yard after yard was put behind him, nearer and nearer he approached the ledge and a nest of bowlders three hundred yards from it. The bowlders were his objective, for, once among them, he would have the view he wished. Leading to them was a brush-covered ridge and toward this he cautiously advanced, rifle at the ready and every sense alert. But he never reached it.
Behind him and two hundred yards to his right a man slowly arose from behind a rock and, resting a rifle on the bulwark, took slow and careful aim at the gray shirt crawling close to the ridge. There was a flash, a puff of smoke, a sharp report. Pete, a look of great surprise on his face, tried to rise and turn to pay his debt, crumpled suddenly and lay inert, sprawled grotesquely on the ground.
The man behind the rock mechanically reloaded
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