Bar-20 Days by Clarence E. Mulford (best black authors TXT) đ
- Author: Clarence E. Mulford
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Redâs weary air bespoke a vast and settled contempt for such inanities and his iron descended against the side of the victim below himâhe would not deign to reply. Not so with Johnny, who could not refrain from hot retort.
âDonât be a fool all the time,â snapped Johnny. âMind yore own business, you shorthorn. Big-mouthed old woman, thatâs whatââ his tone dropped and the words sank into vague mutterings which a strangling cough cut short. âBlasted idiot,â he whispered, tears coming into his eyes at the effort. Burning hair is bad for throat and temper alike.
Red deftly knocked his companionâs iron up and spoke sharply. âYou mind yourn betterâthat makes the third youâve tried to brand twice. Why donât you look what yoâre doing? Hot iron! Hot iron! Whatâre you fellers doing?â he shouted down at the heaters. âThis ainât no time to go to sleep. How dâye expect us to do any work when you ainât doing any yoreselves!â Redâs temper was also on the ragged edge.
âYouâve got one in yore other hand, you sheep!â snorted one of the iron heaters with restless pugnacity. âGo tearing into us when youââ he growled the rest and kicked viciously at the fire.
âLovely bunch,â grinned Billy who, followed by Pete Wilson, mounted the platform to relieve the branders. âChase yoreselvesâme anâ Pete are shore going to show you cranky bugs how to do a hundred an hour. Ainât we, Pete? Anâ look here, you,â he remarked to the heaters, âdonât you fellers keep us waiting for hot irons!â
âThatâs right! Make a fool out of yoreself first thing!â snapped one of the pair on the ground.
âBilly, I never loved you as much as I do this minute,â grinned Johnny wearily. âWish youâd âaâ come along to show us how to do it an hour ago.â
âI would, onlyââ
âQuit chinning anâ get busy,â remarked Red, climbing down. âThe chuteâs full; anâ itâs all yourn.â
Billy caught the iron, gave it a preliminary flourish, and started to work with a speed that would not endure for long. He branded five out of the eight and jeered at his companion for being so slow.
âHave yore fun now, Billy,â Pete replied with placid good nature. âBefore weâre through with this job youâll be lucky if you can do two of the string, if you keep up that pace.â
âHeâll be missing every other one,â growled his heater with overflowing malice. âThat iron ainât cold, you Chinaman!â
âToo cold for meâdonât miss none,â chuckled Billy sweetly. âFill the chute! Fill the chute! Donât keep us waiting!â he cried to the guiders, hopping around with feigned eagerness and impatience.
Hopalong Cassidy rode up and stopped as Red returned to take the place of one of the iron heaters. âHow they coming, Red?â he inquired.
âFast. You can sic that inspector on âem the first thing to-morrow morning, if he gets here on time. Bet heâs off somâers getting full of redeye. Whoâre going with you on this drive?â
âThe inspector is all rightâheâs here now anâ is going to spend the night with us so as to be on hand the first thing to-morrow,â replied Hopalong, grinning at the hard-working pair on the platform. âWhy, I reckon Iâll take you, Johnny, Lanky, Billy, Pete, anâ Skinny, anâ weâll have two hoss-wranglers anâ a cook, of course. Weâll drive up the right-hand trail through West Valley this time. Itâs longer, but thereâll be more water that way at this time of the year. Besides, I donât want no more foot-sore cattle to nurse along. Even the West Valley trail will be dry enough before we strike Bennettâs Creek.â
âYes; weâll have to drive âem purty hard till we reach the creek,â replied Red, thoughtfully. âSay; weâre going to have three thousand of the finest three-year-old steers ever sent north out of these parts. Anâ we ought to do it in a month anâ deliver âem fat anâ frisky. We can feed âem good for the last week.â
âI just sent some of the boys out to drive in the cayuses,â Hopalong remarked, âanâ when they get here you fellers match for choice anâ pick yore remuda. No use taking too few. About eight apieceâll do us nice. I shore like a good cavvieyeh.â
âHullo, Hoppy!â came from the platform as Billy grinned his welcome through the dust on his face. âWant a job?â
âHullo yoreself,â growled Pete. âStick yore iron on that fourth steer before he gets out, anâ talk less with yore mouth.â
âPeteâs still rabid,â called Billy, performing the duty Pete suggested.
âThat may be the polite name for it,â snorted one of the iron heaters, testing an iron, âbut that ainât what Iâd say. Might as well cover the subject thoroughly while yoâre on it.â
âYes, verily,â endorsed his companion.
âHere comes the last of âem,â smiled Pete, watching several cattle being driven towards the chute. âWeâll have to brand âem on the move, Billy; there ainât enough to fill the chute.â
âAll right; hot iron, you!â
Early the next morning the inspector looked them over and made his count, the herd was started north and at nightfall had covered twelve miles. For the next week everything went smoothly, but after that, water began to be scarce and the herd was pushed harder, and became harder to handle.
On the night of the twelfth day out four men sat around the fire in West Valley at a point a dozen miles south of Bennettâs Creek, and ate heartily. The night was blackânot a star could be seen and the south wind hardly stirred the trampled and burned grass. They were thoroughly tired out and their tempers were not in the sweetest state imaginable, for the heat during the last four days had been almost unbearable even to them and they had had their hands full with the cranky herd. They ate silently, hungrilyâthere would be time enough for the few words they had to say when the pipes were going for a short smoke before turning in.
âI feel like hell,â growled Red, reaching for another cup of coffee, but there was no reply; he had voiced the feelings of all.
Hopalong listened intently and looked up, staring into the darkness, and soon a horseman was seen approaching the fire. Hopalong nodded welcome and waved his hand towards the food, and the stranger, dismounting, picketed his horse and joined the circle. When the pipes were lighted he sighed with satisfaction and looked around the group. âDriving north, I see.â
âYes; anâ blamed glad to get off this dry range,â Hopalong replied. âThe herdâs getting cranky anâ hard to holdâbut when we pass the creek everythingâll be all right again. Anâ ainât it hot! When you hear us kick about the heat it means something.â
âIâm going yore way,â remarked the stranger. âI came down this trail about two weeks ago. Reckon I was the last to ride through before the fence went up. Damned outrage, says I, anâ I told âem so, too. They couldnât see it that way anâ we had a little disagreement about it. They said as how they was going to patrol it.â
âFence! What fence?â exclaimed Red.
âWhereâs there any fence?â demanded Hopalong sharply.
âTwenty mile north of the creek,â replied the stranger, carefully packing his pipe.
âWhat? Twenty miles north of the creek?â cried Hopalong. âWhat creek?â
âBennettâs. The 4X has strung three strands of barb wire from Coyote Pass to the North Arm. Thirty mile long, without a gate, so they says.â
âBut it donât close this trail!â cried Hopalong in blank astonishment.
âIt shore does. They say they owns that range anâ can fence it in all they wants. I told âem different, but naturally they didnât listen to me. Anâ theyâll fight about it, too.â
âBut they canât shut off this trail!â exclaimed Billy, with angry emphasis. âThey donât own it no moreân we do!â
âI know all about thatâyou heard me tell you what they said.â
âBut how can we get past it?â demanded Hopalong.
âAround it, over the hills. Youâll lose about three days doing it, too.â
âI canât take no sand-range herd over them rocks, anâ I ainât going to drive âround no North Arm or Coyote Pass if I could,â Hopalong replied with quiet emphasis. âThereâs poison springs on the east anâ nothing but rocks on the west. We go straight through.â
âIâm afraid that youâll have to fight if you do,â remarked the stranger.
âThen weâll fight!â cried Johnny, leaning forward. âBlasted coyotes! What right have they got to block a drive trail thatâs as old as cattle-raising in these parts! That trail was here before I was born, itâs allus been open, anâ itâs going to stay open! You watch us go through!â
âYoâre dead right, Kid; weâll cut that fence anâ stick to this trail, anâ fight if we has to,â endorsed Red. âThe Bar-20 ainât crawling out of no hole that it can walk out of. Theyâre bluffing; thatâs all.â
âI donât think they are; anâ thereâs twelve men in that outfit,â suggested the stranger, offhand.
âWe ainât got time to count odds; we never do down our way when we know weâre right. Anâ weâre right enough in this game,â retorted Hopalong, quickly. âFor the last twelve days weâve had good luck, barring the few on this dry range; anâ now weâre in for the other kind. By the Lord, I wish we was here without the cows to take care of âweâd show âem something about blocking drive trails that ainât in their little book!â
âBlast it all! Wire fences coming down this way now,â mused Johnny, sullenly. He hated them by training as much as he hated horse-thieves and sheep; and his companions had been brought up in the same school. Barb wire, the death-knell to the old-time punching, the bar to riding at will, a steel insult to fire the bloodâit had come at last.
âWeâve shore got to cut it, Red,ââ began Hopalong, but the cook had to rid himself of some of his indignation and interrupted with heat.
âShore we have!â came explosively from the tail board of the chuck wagon. âGot to lay it agin my liâl axe anâ swat it with my big olâ monkey wrench! Anâ wonât them posts save me a lot of trouble hunting chips anâ firewood!â
âWeâve shore got to cut it, Red,â Hopalong repeated slowly. âYou anâ Johnny anâ meâll ride ahead after we cross the creek to-morrow anâ do it. I donât hanker after no fight with all these cows on my hanâs, but weâve got to risk one.â
âShore!â cried Johnny, hotly. âI canât get over the gall of them fellers closing up the West Valley drive trail. Why, I never heard tell of such a thing afore!â
âWeâre short-handed; we ought to have moreân we have to guard the herd if thereâs a fight. If it stampedesâoh, well, thatâll work out to-morrow. The creekâs only about twelve miles away anâ weâll start at daylight, so tumble in,â Hopalong said as he arose. âRed, Iâm going out to take my shiftâIâll send Pete in. Stranger,â he added, turning, âIâm much obliged to you for the warning. They might âaâ caught us with our hands tied.â
âOh, thatâs all right,â hastily replied the stranger, who was in hearty accord with the plans, such as they were. âMy nameâs Hawkins, anâ I donât like range fences no moreân you do. I used to hunt buffalo all over this part of the country before
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