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information. Besides,

he is th’ only man I knows of who’s capable of th’ plays that have been made. It’s hardly

necessary for me to tell yu to sleep with one eye open and never to get away from yore

guns. Now I’m goin’ to tell yu th’ hardest part: yu are goin’ to search th’ Staked Plain from

one end to th’ other, an’ that’s what no white man’s ever done to my knowledge.”

 

“Now, listen to this an’ don’t forget it. Twenty miles north from Last Stand Rock

is a spring; ten miles south of that bend in Hell Arroyo is another. If yu gets lost within

two days from th’ time yu enters th’ Plain, put yore left hand on a cactus sometime

between sun-up an’ noon, move around until yu are over its shadow an’ then ride straight

ahead-that’s south. If you goes loco beyond Last Stand Rock, follow th’ shadows made

before noon-that’s th’ quickest way to th’ Pecos. Yu all knows what to do in a sand-storm,

so I won’t bore you with that. Repeat all I’ve told yu,” he ordered and they complied.

 

“I’m tellin’ yu this,” continued the foreman, indicating the two auxiliaries,

“because yu might get separated from Frenchy. Now I suggests that yu look around near

the’ Devils Rocks: I’ve heard that there are several water holes among them, an’ besides,

they might be turned into fair corrals. Mind yu, I know what I’ve said sounds damned

idiotic for anybody that has had as much experience with th’ Staked Plain as I have, but

I’ve had every other place searched for miles around. Th’ men of all th’ ranches have been

scoutin’ an’ th’ Plain is th’ only place left. Them rustlers has got to be found if we have to

dig to hell for them. They’ve taken th’ pot so many times that they reckons they owns it,

an’ we’ve got to at least make a bluff at drawin’ cards. Mebby they’re at th’ bottom of th’

Pecos,” here he smiled faintly, “but wherever they are, we’ve got to find them. I want to

holler `Keno.”

 

“If you finds where they hangs out come away instanter,” here his face hardened

and his eyes narrowed, “for it’ll take more than yu three to deal with them th’ way I’m a-hankerin’ for. Come right back to th’ Double Arrow, send me word by one of their

punchers an’ get all the rest you can afore I gets there. It’ll take me a day to get th’ men

together an’ to reach yu. I’m goin’ to use smoke signals to call th’ other ranches, so there

won’t be no time lost. Carry all th’ water yu can pack when yu leaves th’ Double Arrow

an’ don’t depend none on cactus juice. Yu better take a pack horse to carry it, an’ yore

grub-yu can shoot it if yu have to hit th’ trail real hard.”

 

The three riders felt of their accouterments, said “So long,” and cantered off for

the pack horse and extra ammunition. Then they rode toward the Double Arrow,

stopping at Cowan’s long enough to spend some money, and reached the Double Arrow at

nightfall. Early the next morning they passed the last line-house and, with the profane

well-wishes of its occupants ringing in their ears, passed onto one of Nature’s worst

blunders-the Staked Plain.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SEARCH BEGINS

 

As the sun arose it revealed three punchers riding away from

civilization. On all sides, stretching to the evil-appearing horizon, lay

vast blotches of dirty-white and faded yellow alkali and sand.

 

Occasionally a dwarfed mesquite raised its prickly leaves and

rustled mournfully. With the exception of the riders and an occasional Gila monster, no

life was discernible. Cacti of all shapes and sizes reared aloft their forbidding spines or

spread out along the sand. All was dead, ghastly; all was oppressive, startlingly repellent

in its sinister promise; all was the vastness of desolation.

 

Hopalong knew this portion of the desert for ten miles inward-he had rescued

straying cattle along its southern rim-but once beyond that limit they would have to trust

to chance and their own abilities.

 

There were water holes on this skillet, but nine out of ten were death traps,

reeking with mineral poisons, colored and alkaline. The two mentioned by Buck could

not be depended on, for they came and went, and more than one luckless wanderer had

depended on them to allay his thirst, and had died for his trust.

 

So the scouts rode on in silence, noting the half-buried skeletons of cattle which

were strewn plentifully on all sides. Nearly three per cent, of the cattle belonging to the

Double Arrow yearly found death on this tableland, and the herds of that ranch numbered

many thousand heads. It was this which made the Double Arrow the poorest of the

ranches, and it was this which allowed insufficient sentries in its line-houses. The

skeletons were not all of cattle, for at rare intervals lay the sand-worn frames of men.

 

On the morning of the second day the oppression increased with the wind and Red

heaved a sigh of restlessness. The sand began to skip across the plain, in grains at first

and hardly noticeable. Hopalong turned in his saddle and regarded the desert with

apprehension. As he looked he saw that where grains had shifted handfuls were now

moving.

 

His mount evinced signs of uneasiness and was hard to control.

 

A gust of wind, stronger than the others, pricked his face and grains of sand rolled

down his neck. The leather of his saddle emitted strange noises as if a fairy tattoo was

being beaten upon it and he raised his hand and pointed off toward the east. The others

looked and saw what had appeared to be a fog rise out of the desert and intervene

between them and the sun. As far as eye could reach small whirlwinds formed and broke

and one swept down and covered them with stinging sand. The day became darkened and

their horses whinnied in terror and the clumps of mesquite twisted and turned to the

gusts.

 

Each man knew what was to come upon them and they dismounted, hobbled their

horses and threw them bodily to the earth, wrapping a blanket around the head of each. A

rustling as of paper rubbing together became noticeable and they threw themselves flat

upon the earth, their heads wrapped in their coats and buried in the necks of their mounts.

 

For an hour they endured the tortures of hell and then, when the storm had passed, raised

their heads and cursed Creation.

 

Their bodies burned as though they had been shot with fine needles and their

clothes were meshes where once was tough cloth. Even their shoes were perforated and

the throat of each ached with thirst.

 

Hopalong fumbled at the canteen resting on his hip and gargled his mouth and

throat, washing down the sand which wouldn’t come up. His friends did likewise and

then looked around. After some time had elapsed the loss of their pack horse was noticed

and they swore again.

 

Hopalong took the lead in getting his horse ready for service and then rode around

in a circle half a mile in diameter, but returned empty handed. The horse was gone and

with it went their main supply of food and drink.

 

Frenchy scowled at the shadow of a cactus and slowly rode toward the northeast,

followed closely by his friends. His hand reached for his depleted canteen, but refrained-water was to be saved until the last minute.

 

“I’m goin’ to build a shack out here an’ live in it, I am!” exploded Hopalong in

withering irony as he dug the sand out of his ears and also from his six shooter. “I just

nachurally dotes on this, I do!”

 

The others were too miserable to even grunt and he neatly severed the head of a

Gila monster from its scaly body as it opened it venomous jaws in rage at this invasion of

its territory. “Lovely place!” he sneered.

 

“You better save them cartridges, Hoppy,” interposed Red as his companion fired

again, feeling that he must say something.

 

“An’ what for?” blazed his friend. “To plug sand storms? Anybody what we find

on this God-forsaken lay-out won’t have to be shot—they will commit suicide an’ think it’s

fun! Tell yu what, if them rustlers hangs out on this sand range they’re better men than I

reckons they are. Anybody what hides up here shore earns all he steals.”

Hopalong grumbled from force of habit and because no one else would. His

companions understood this and paid no attention to him, which increased his disgust.

 

“What are we up here for?” he asked, belligerently. “Why, because them Double

Arrow idiots can’t even watch a desert! We have to do their work for them an’ they hangs

around home an’ gets slaughtered!

Yes, sir!” he shouted, “they can’t even take care of themselves when they’re in

line-houses what are forts. Why, that time we cleaned out them an’ th’ C-80 over at

Buckskin they couldn’t help runnin’ into singin’ lead!”

 

“Yes,” drawled Red, whose recollection of that fight was vivid.

 

“Yas, an’ why?” he asked, and then replied to his own question.

 

“Because yu sat up in a barn behind them, Buck played his gun on th’ side

window, Pete an’ Skinny lay behind a rock to one side of Buck, me an’ Lanky was across

th’ Street in front of them, an’ Billy an’ Johnny was in th’ arroyo on th’ other side. Cowan

laid on his stummick on th’ roof of his place with a buffalo gun, an’ the whole blamed

town was agin them. There wasn’t five seconds passed that lead wasn’t rippin’ through th’

walls of their shack. Th’ Houston House wasn’t made for no fort, an’ besides, they wasn’t

like th’ gang that’s punchin’ now. That’s why.”

 

Hopalong became cheerful again, for here was a chance to differ from his friend.

 

The two loved each other the better the more they squabbled.

“Yas!” responded Hopalong with sarcasm.

 

“Yas!” he reiterated, drawling it out. “Yu was in front of them, an’ with what?

Why, an’ old, white-haired, interfering Winchester, that’s what! Me an’ my Sharp’s-”

 

“Yu and yore Sharp’s!” exploded Red, whose dislike for that rifle was very

pronounced. “Yu and yore Sharp’s.”

 

“Me an’ my Sharp’s, as I was palaverin’ before bein’ interrupted,” continued

Hopalong, “did more damage in five min-”

 

“Says yu!” snapped Red with heat. “All yu an yore Sharp’s could do was to cut

yore initials in th’ back door of their shack, an’ -”

 

“Did more damage in five minutes,” continued Hopalong, “than all th’ blasted

Winchesters in th’ whole damned town. Why-”

 

“An’ then they was cut blamed poor. Every time that cannon of yourn exploded I

shore thought th’-”

 

“Why, Cowan an’ his buffalo did more damage (Cowan was reputed to be a very

poor shot) than yu an-”

 

“I thought th’ artillery was comin’ into th’ disturbance. I could see yore red head-”

 

“MY red head!” exclaimed Hopalong, sizing up the crimson warlock of his

companion.

 

“MY red head!” he repeated, and then turned to Frenchy “Hey, Frenchy, who’s got

th’ reddest hair, me or Red?”

 

Frenchy slowly turned in his saddle and gravely scrutinized them.

 

Being strictly impartial and truthful, he gave up the effort of differentiating and

smiled.

 

“Why, if the tops of yore heads were poked through two holes in a board an’ I

didn’t know which was which, I’d shore make a mistake if I tried to name `em”

 

But Red had the last word.

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