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

and disappeared into the brush. Ten

minutes later forty of the force were distributed along the

edge of the grove fringing on the bank of the river and

twenty more minutes gave ample time for a detachment of

twenty to cross the stream and find concealment in the edge of the woods which ran from

the river to where the corral made an effective barrier on the south.

 

Eight crept down on the western side of the camp and worked their way close to

Mr. Trendley’s cabin door, and the seven who followed this detachment continued and

took up their positions at the rear of the corral, where, it was hoped, some of the rustlers

would endeavor to escape into the woods by working their way through the cattle in the

corral and then scaling the stockade wall. These seven were from the Three Triangle and

the Double Arrow, and they were positive that any such attempt would not be a success

from the view-point of the rustlers.

 

Two of those who awaited the pleasure of Mr. Trendley crept forward, and a rope

swished through the air and settled over the stump which lay most convenient on the

other side of the cabin door. Then the slack moved toward the woods, raised from the

ground as it grew taut and, with the stump for its axis, swung toward the door, where it

rubbed gently against the rough logs. It was made of braided horsehair, was half an inch

in diameter and was stretched eight inches above the ground.

 

As it touched the door, Lanky Smith, Hopalong and Red stepped out of the shelter

of the woods and took up their positions behind the cabin, Lanky behind the northeast

corner where he would be permitted to swing his right arm. In his gloved right hand he

held the carefully arranged coils of a fifty-foot lariat, and should the chief of the rustlers

escape tripping he would have to avoid the cast of the best roper in the southwest.

 

The two others took the northwest corner and one of them leaned slightly forward

and gently twitched the tripping-rope.

 

The man at the other end felt the signal and whispered to a companion, who

quietly disappeared in the direction of the river and shortly afterward the mournful cry of

a whip-poor-will dirged out on the early morning air. It had hardly died away when the

quiet was broken by one terrific crash of rifles, and the two camp guards asleep at the fire

awoke in another world.

 

Mr. Trendley, sleeping unusually well for the unjust, leaped from his bed to the

middle of the floor and alighted on his feet and wide awake. Fearing that a plot was

being consummated to deprive him of his leadership, he grasped the Winchester which

leaned at the head of his bed and, tearing open the door, crashed headlong to the earth.

 

As he touched the ground, two shadows sped out from the shelter of the cabin wall and

pounced upon him. Men who can rope, throw and tie a wild steer in thirty seconds flat do

not waste time in trussing operations, and before a minute had elapsed he was being

carried into the woods, bound and helpless. Lanky sighed, threw the rope over one

shoulder and departed after his friends.

 

When Mr. Trendley came to his senses he found himself bound to a tree in the

grove near the horses. A man sat on a stump not far from him, three others were seated

around a small fire some distance to the north, and four others, one of whom carried a

rope, made their way into the brush. He strained at his bonds, decided that the effort was

useless and watched the man on the stump, who struck a match and lit a pipe. The

prisoner watched the light flicker up and go out and there was left in his mind a picture

that he could never forget. The face which had been so cruelly, so grotesquely revealed

was that of Frenchy McAllister, and across his knees lay a heavy caliber Winchester. A

curse escaped from the lips of the outlaw; the man on the stump spat at a firefly and

smiled.

 

From the south came the crack of rifles, incessant and sharp. The reports rolled

from one end of the clearing to the other and seemed to sweep in waves from the center

of the line to the ends. Faintly in the infrequent lulls in the firing came an occasional

report from the rear of the corral, where some desperate rustler paid for his venture.

 

Buck went along the line and spoke to the riflemen, and after some time had

passed and the light had become stronger, he collected the men into groups of five and

six. Taking one group and watching it closely, it could be seen that there was a world of

meaning in this maneuver. One man started firing at a particular window in an opposite

hut and then laid aside his empty gun and waited. When the muzzle of his enemy’s gun

came into sight and lowered until it had nearly gained its sight level, the rifles of the

remainder of the group crashed out in a volley and usually one of the bullets, at least,

found its intended billet. This volley firing became universal among the besiegers and the

effect was marked.

 

Two men sprinted from the edge of the woods near Mr. Trendley’s cabin and

gained the shelter of the storehouse, which soon broke out in flames. The burning brands

fell over the main collection of huts, where there was much confusion and swearing. The

early hour at which the attack had been delivered at first led the besieged to believe that it

was an Indian affair, but this impression was soon corrected by the volley firing, which

turned hope into despair. It was no great matter to fight Indians, that they had done many

times and found more or less enjoyment in it; but there was a vast difference between

brave and puncher, and the chances of their salvation became very small.

 

They surmised that it was the work of the cow-men on whom they had preyed and

that vengeful punchers lay hidden behind that death-fringe of green willow and hazel.

 

Red, assisted by his inseparable companion, Hopalong, laboriously climbed up

among the branches of a black walnut and hooked one leg over a convenient limb. Then

he lowered his rope and drew up the Winchester which his accommodating friend

fastened to it. Settling himself in a comfortable position and sheltering his body

somewhat by the tree, he shaded his eyes by a hand and peered into the windows of the

distant cabins.

“How is she, Red?” anxiously inquired the man on the ground.

 

“Bully: want to come up?”

 

“Nope. I’m goin’ to catch yu when yu lets go,” replied Hopalong with a grin.

 

“Which same I ain’t goin’ to,” responded the man in the tree.

 

He swung his rifle out over a forked limb and let it settle in the crotch. Then he

slew his head around until he gained the bead he wished. Five minutes passed before he

caught sight of his man and then he fired. Jerking out the empty shell he smiled and

called out to his friend: “One.”

 

Hopalong grinned and went off to tell Buck to put all the men in trees.

 

Night came on and still the firing continued. Then an explosion shook the woods.

The storehouse had blown up and a sky full of burning timber fell on the cabins and soon

three were half consumed, their occupants dropping as they gained the open air. One

hundred paces makes fine pot-shooting, as Deacon Rankin discovered when evacuation

was the choice necessary to avoid cremation. He never moved after he touched the

ground and Red called out: “Two,” not knowing that his companion had departed.

 

The morning of the next day found a wearied and hopeless garrison, and shortly

before noon a soiled white shirt was flung from a window in the nearest cabin. Buck ran

along the line and ordered the firing to cease and caused to be raised an answering flag of

truce. A full minute passed and then the door slowly opened and a leg protruded, more

slowly followed by the rest of the man, and Cheyenne Charley strode out to the bank of

the river and sat down. His example was followed by several others and then an

unexpected event occurred.

 

Those in the cabins who preferred to die fighting, angered at this desertion,

opened fire on their former comrades, who barely escaped by rolling down the slightly

inclined bank into the river. Red fired again and laughed to himself. Then the fugitives

swam down the river and landed under the guns of the last squad. They were taken to the

rear and, after being bound, were placed under a guard. There were seven in the party and

they looked worn out.

 

When the huts were burning the fiercest the uproar in the corral arose to such a

pitch as to drown all other sounds. There were left within its walls a few hundred cattle

whose brands had not yet been blotted out, and these, maddened to frenzy by the shooting

and the flames, tore from one end of the enclosure to the other, crashing against the

alternate walls with a noise which could be heard far out on the plain. Scores were

trampled to death on each charge and finally the uproar subsided in sheer want of cattle

left with energy enough to continue. When the corral was investigated the next day there

were found the bodies of four rustlers, but recognition was impossible.

 

Several of the defenders were housed in cabins having windows in the rear walls,

which the occupants considered fortunate. This opinion was revised, however, after

several had endeavored to escape by these openings. The first thing that occurred when a

man put his head out was the hum of a bullet, and in two cases the experimenters lost all

need of escape.

 

The volley firing had the desired effect, and at dusk there remained only one cabin

from which came opposition. Such a fire was concentrated on it that before an hour had

passed the door fell in and the firing ceased. There was a rush from the side, and the

Barred Horseshoe men who swarmed through the cabins emerged without firing a shot.

 

The organization that had stirred up the Pecos Valley ranches had ceased to exist.