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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Logan, a scowl on his face, rubbed the butt of his Colt and swore softly. âItâll be that way all over thâ range, some day. Go on.â
âWell, up on thâ Tin Cup, Buck got married. Hoppy had been before he left Texas. Tex Ewaltâs gettinâ thâ disease now. He quit drinkinâ, card playinâ, anâ most everything worth doinâ. He ainât fit company for a sheep no more. Not knowing he was framinâ up thâ play, I loafed along anâ didnât propose quick enough. Thatâs once more he saved my life. Thâ airâs plumb full of matrimony on thâ Tin Cup. There was two black-eyed sisters in Twin RiverâLanky takes one anâ Skinny thâ other. They tossed for choice. Pete, who was matrimony galled, raised such a ruction at thâ doinâs that there just wasnât no livinâ with him. His disposition was full of sand cracks, anâ heâd ruther fight than eat. We pulled off a couple of hummers, me anâ him.
âEvery time Iâd try to get some of my friends to go to town for a regular, old time, quiet eveninâ I found I didnât have no friends left; anâ thâ wimmin all joined hands anâ made me feel like a brand-blotter. I was awful popular, I was! Ever try to argue with a bunch of wimmin? Itâs like a dicky bird chirpinâ in a cyclone; he canât even hear hisself!
âWe had a cook once, on thâ Bar-2O, that would run anâ grab a gun if he saw a coyote ten miles away. Thatâs thâ way they acted about me, all but Mary, who is Mrs. Hopalong. She had thâ idea she could make me all over again; anâ I wouldnât a-cared if she hadnât kept tryinâ all thâ time. At first all my ex-friends would sneak around anâ sort of apologize to me for thâ way their wives acted; anâ then, dâ-d if they didnât get to sidinâ in with thâ wives! Whenever I wandered into sight thâ wimmin would cluck to their worse halves, anâ scold me like I was a chicken hawk. Anâ I had lots of advice, too. It was just like my shadow, only it worked nights, too. Nobody called me âKidâ or âJohnnyâ no more. Them days was past. I was that Johnny Nelson: know what I mean?
âRed did sneak off to town with me twice anâ drank ginger-ale, anâ acted about as free anâ happy as a calf with a red-hot old brandinâ iron over his flank. He wouldnât play faro because he only had two dollars, anâ reckoned he might need it for somethinâ before pay-day come around again. That was on payday, too! Anâ that was Red, Red Connors! Great polecats! Why, there was a time when Redâoh, whatâs thâ use!
âHopalongâyou call him that now when his wifeâs around!âhe was something on some board, or something; anâ he said he had to set a good example. Wouldnât even play penny ante! Think of it! There was a time when a camel, with all his stummicks, anâ a Gatlinâ gun on his back, couldnât a follered thâ example he set. I was just as happy as a bobcat in a trap anâ about as peaceful. There wasnât nothinâ I could do, if I stayed up there, but get married; anâ that was like hanginâ myself to keep from gettinâ shot. Then, one day, Mrs. Hopalong caught me learninâ William, Junior, how to chew tobacco. As if a five-year-old kid hadnât ought to get some manly habits! Anâ, say! You ought to see that kid! If he wonât bust his daddyâs records for hâl-raisinâ I miss my guess; unless they plumb spoils him in thâ bringinâ up. Well, she caught me learninâ him; but like thâ boundinâ jack rabbit Iâm hard to catch. Anâ here I am.â
Loganâs grin threatened his ears. âIâm glad of it,â he laughed. âThereâs something in yore face I like âmebby itâs thâ tobacco. Thanks; I will; Iâm all out of it right now. How did you come to pick us out ta land on? Pop recommend us to you?â
âNow donât blame me for that,â rejoined Johnny. âAnyhow, he took it back later. As to stoppinâ in this country, thâ idea suddenly whizzed my way at them twin buttes north of town. I like this range. Things sort of start themselves, anâ thereâs music in thâ air. It reminds me of thâ Bar-2O, in thâ old days. A man wonât grow lazy down here; heâll keep jumpinâ. Anâ I found a trace of lead at that funny-lookinâ ridge east of them freak buttes; but I couldnât find where it come from. If I had, Iâd âaâ salted thâ mine with a Sharpâs Special. You see, Iâm ambidextrousâainât that a snorter of a word?âanâ when I ainât punchinâ cows with one hand, Iâm prospectinâ with thâ other. Somebody down here is plumb careless with his gun anâ heâs got a good gun, too. Heâs too cussed familiar on short acquaintance. But itâs too bad I look like you, though thatâs why Iâm offerinâ you my valuable services.â
âI reckon itâs a cross I got to stagger under,â replied Logan, the smile gone from his face; âbut Iâll try to live it down. Anâ somehow my trusting nature leans toward you, though it shouldnât. Yoâre a two-gun man, which acts like yeast in thâ suspicious mind. Iâve seen âem before; anâ you looks most disconcertinâ capable. Then you says Bar-2O, anâ Hopalong, anâ Red Connors, anâ thâ others. You talk like you knew âem intimate. Iâve heard of âem, all of âem. Like thâ moon, you shine in reflected light. Iâve heard of you, too; Iâm surprised you ainât in jail. Now then: If you are that Johnny Nelson, of that outfit, anâ you can prove it, I yearns to weep on yore bosom; if you ainât, then Iâll weep on yore grave. Thâ question of identity is a ticklish one. It makes me that nervous I want to look under thâ bed. As a two-gun man, unknown, yoâre about as welcome on this ranch, right now, as a hydrophoby skunk; but as Johnny Nelson, of that old Bar-2O, yoâre worth fifty a month to me, as a starter, with ten dollars extra for each six-gun. But Iâve just simply got to have proof about who you are, anâ where you come from. Letâs pause for an inspiration.â
Johnny grinned. âI donât blame you; for Iâve had a sample of something already. Anâ Iâve got a tail holt on an inspiration. You hunt up that pen youâve had since Adam was a boy; find thâ ink that you put away last summer so youâd know where it was when you wanted it in a hurry; anâ then, in thirty minutesâ hard labor youâll have something like this:
ââMr. William Cassidy, Senior, Tin Cup, Twin Rivers, Montanny: Dear Sir: A nice lookinâ young man wants to take seventy dollars a month away from me, as a starter. His undershirt is red, with thâ initials âWCâ worked near thâ top buttonhole in pretty blue silk thread, wants Pete to send him that eight dollars that Pete borrowed to buy William, Junior, a .22 rifle to bust windows with. Tell Red his pants wear well. Does William, Junior, chew tobacco? He has been shot at already. What is this young manâs name? Did he work on thâ old Bar-20 with you? Yours truly, Logan.â
âExhibit I: Thâ red undershirt. Hoppy has even more of âem than Buck, âthough Rose is cominâ along fast. Mary branded âem all so she could pick âem out of thâ wash. It helped me pick this one off thâ clothesline, because me anâ Hoppy wears thâ same size. Exhibit 2: A scab on my off ear. William, Junior, was shootinâ at a calf anâ I stopped him. Heâs a spunky little cuss, all right; but theyâll spoil him yet. Anâ Pete never did have any sense, anyhow. Thâ poor kid is shootinâ blanks now, anâ blaminâ it on thâ gun. Anâ it was a mean trick, too. That hit about thâ tobacco will get under Hoppyâs scalp heâll answer right quick. You might say to tell William, Junior, that I ainât forgot my promise, anâ that Iâll send him a shotgun just as soon as he gets big enough to tote it around.â
âIâll shore send it,â laughed Logan, whose imagination was running wild. âBut outside of the identity you suits me right down to the ground. If Hopalong Cassidy says yoâre all right Iâll back you to my last dollar. You mentioned hearinâ music in thâ air. It was a tuninâ up. Will you stay for thâ dance?â
âSweet bells of joy!â exclaimed Johnny, leaving the saddle as though shot out by a spring. âFrom wimminâ, barb wire, sheep anâ railroad towns, to this! I can go to town with thâ boys once more! I can cuss out loud anâ swagger around regardless! Anâ some mangey gent is careless with his gun! You can lose me just as easy as a cow can lose a tick. I feel right at home.â
âAll right, then. Strip off yore saddle and turn that fine cayuse loose,â replied Logan, chuckling. He hoped that he might be able to coax the new man to swap horses. âThâ cookâs callinâ his hogs, so letâs go feed.â
FOR two weeks Johnny rode range with the outfit and got familiar with the ranch. There was one discovery which puzzled him and seemed to offer an explanation for the shot on the trail: He had found the ruins of a burned homestead on the northern end of the ranch and he guessed that it had been used by ânesters;â and the evicted squatters might have mistaken him for Logan. His thoughts constantly turned to the man who had shot at him, and to the country around Twin Buttes; and often he sat for minutes, stiffly erect in his saddle, staring at the two great buttes, eager to explore the country surrounding them and to pay his debt.
From where he rode, facing westward, he could see the Deepwater, cold at all seasons of the year. Flowing swiftly, it gurgled and swished around bowlders of lava and granite and could be forded in but one place in thirty miles, where it spread out over a rocky, submerged plateau on the trail between the CL and Hastings, and where it grew turbulent and frothy with wrath as it poured over the up-thrust ledges. Along its eastern bank lay the ranch, in the valley of the Deepwater, and beyond it a short distance stood the Barrier, following it mile after mile and curving as it curved.
The Barrier, well named, was a great ledge of limestone,
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