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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Again the inoffensive garment flopped; and then a singing bullet passed squarely through Holbrookâs expensive sombrero.
âYou stay down from up there!â grunted Holbrook at the hat. âPlumb center! I got a lot of respect for that hombre. He got thâ best of thâ swap, too. I spoiled a worn-out shirt, anâ he ventilated a twenty dollar Stetson. He owes me a couple more shots!â
The next shot missed, but the second turned the shirt into another funnel.
âHey!â shouted an angry voice. âWhat you think yoâredoinâ?â
Holbrookâs grin turned into a burst of laughter as the pole swiftly descended, and he again poked up his hat, hoping for a miss and another wasted cartridge; but, failing to draw a shot, he gave it up and crawled back to a safer and more comfortable place where he lay down to get some sleep.
Johnny, full of wrath, worked along the edge of the butte in a vain endeavor to catch sight of his enemy, and he took plenty of time in his efforts to be cautious. Any man who could hit a shirt plumb center and nearly every time, at that distance, shooting across a deceptive canyon and against the sky, was no one to get careless with. After waiting a while without hearing any more from his humorous enemy, he looked down each trail and then went to the other end of the butte.
Not far from him a slender column of smoke arose from a box-like depression which lay beyond a high ridge and was well protected from his rifle. Peering cautiously over the rim of the butte, his head hidden in a tuft of grass, he critically examined the canyon, bowlder by bowlder, ridge by ridge. A puff of smoke spurted from a pile of rocks and a malignant whine passed over his head. Wriggling back, he hurried to another point fifty yards to his right, where he again crept to the edge and looked down. Another puff of smoke and a bloody furrow across his cheek told him that the marksman had good eyes and knew how to shoot. Johnny drove a Sharpâs Special into the middle of the smoke and heard an angry curse follow it.
âHey, Nelson!â called a peeved voice from the rocks. âNelson!â
âWhat you belly-achinâ about?â I demanded Johnny insolently.
âHowâd you like to join us instead of fightinâ us?â
âYoâre loco!â retorted Johnny. âCanât you think of anything betterân that? I cut my eye-teeth long ago.â
âI mean it,â said Quigley, earnestly. âMean it all thâ way through. We talked it over last night. Itâs poor business fightinâ each other when we might be workinâ together. Laugh if you want to; but lemme tell you it ainât as foolish as you think. Itâs a lazy, independent life; anâ thereâs good money in it. Youâd do better with us than youâd âaâ done alone.â
âIâve shore fooled âem!â chuckled Johnny softly. Aloud he said: âI canât trust you, not after whatâs happened.â
âI reckon you are suspicious; anâ nobody can blame you,â replied Quigley. âBut I mean it.â
âWhy didnât you make this play when I was in my valley, panninâ gold anâ gettinâ a little herd together?â demanded Johnny. âYou knowed I wasnât after no gold; anâ you knowed what I was after. But no; you was hogginâ thâ earth an I too cussed mean to give a man a chance, anâ make another split in yore profits. You burned oh, whatâs thâ use? If you want my answer, stick yore head out anâ Iâll give it to you quick !â
âI know we acted hasty,â persisted Quigley; âbut some of us was agâin it. Three of âem are dead now; Ackermanâs missinâ. Weâll give you thâ share of one of âem in thâ herd that we got now; anâ an equal share of what we get from now on. Thatâs fair; anâ it more than makes up for yore cabin anâ them six cows. As far as they are concerned, weâll give you all of what they bring. How about it?â
âReckon itâs too late,â replied Johnny. âI ainât takinâ nobodyâs share. Iâm aiminâ to take thâ whole layout, lock, stock, anâ barrel. Why should I give you fellers any share in it? Whatâll you give me if I let you all clear out now?â
âWhat you mean?â demanded Quigley.
âJust what I said,â retorted Johnny. âThereâs six of you now. It ought to be worth something to you fellers to be allowed to stay alive. Iâll throw off half for thâ wounded men let âem off at half price. What are you fellers willinâ to pay me if I let you leave thâ country with a cayuse apiece anâ all yore personal belonginâs?â
âThis ainât no time for jokinâ!â snapped Quigley angrily.
âI ainât jokinâ a bit! Iâll have yore skins pegged out to dry before I get through with you. Yoâre a bunch of sap-headed jackasses, with no more sense than a sheep-herder. Iâm âmost ashamed to get you; but Iâm stranglinâ my shame. You pore muttonheads!â
Quigleyâs language almost seared the vegetation and he was threatened with spontaneous combustion. When he paused for breath he swung his rifle up and pulled the trigger, almost blind with rage. Johnnyâs answering shot ripped through his forearm and he felt the awful sickness which comes when a bone is scraped. Half fainting, Quigley dropped his rifle and leaned back against a rock, regarding the numbed and bleeding arm with eyes which saw the landscape turning over and over. Gathering his senses by a great effort of will, he steadied himself and managed to make and apply a rough bandage with the clumsy aid of one hand and his teeth.
âIâll give you till tomorrow morninâ to make me an offer,â shouted Johnny; âbut donât get reckless before then, because thâ temptation shore will be more than I can stand. Think it over.â
âDân his measly hide!â moaned Quigley, his anger welling up anew. âGive him our ranch, an I cows, anâ pay him to let us leave thâ country! Six of us I Six gun-fightinâ, law-breakinâ, cattle-liftinâ cowpunchers; sane, healthy, anâ as tough as rawhide rope, payinâ him, a lone man up a tree, to let us leave thâ country I All right, you conceited pup; youâll pay, anâ pay well, for that insult!â
He still was indulging in the luxury of an occasional burst of profanity when Holbrook approached the bowlders on his hands and knees.
âIâm still hungry; anâ I canât sleep unless Iâm full of grub,â! apologized the rustler. âAnâ I heard shootinâ. Whatâs thâ matter, Tom? Yore language ainât fit for innercent ears!â
âMatter?â roared Quigley, going off in another flight of oratory. âMatter?â he shouted. âLook at this arm! Anâ listen to what that carrioneatinâ squawâs dog of a had thâ gall to say!â
As the recital unfolded Holbrook leaned back against a rock and laughed until the tears washed clean furrows through the dust and dirt on his face; and the more he laughed the more his companionâs anger arose. Finally Quigley could stand it no longer, and he loosed a sudden torrent of verbal fire upon his howling friend.
Holbrook feebly wiped his eyes with the backs of his dusty hands, which smeared the dirt over the wet places and gave him a grotesque appearance.
âWhy shouldnât I laugh?â he choked, and then became indignant. âWhy shouldnât I?â he demanded. âIâve laughed at yore jokes, Flemingâs stories, Cookieâs cookinâ, anâ Danâl Booneâs windy lies; anâ now when something funny comes along you want me to be like thâ chief mourner at a funeral! Iâm forty years old an I Iâve met some stuck-up people in my life; but that fool up there has got more gall anâ conceit than anybody I ever even heard tell of! Iâm glad I didnât hear him say it, or I shore would âaâ laughed myself plumb to death. Did you ever hear anything like it; drunk or sober, did you?â
âNo, I didnât!â snapped Quigley. âAnâ if youâve got all over yore nonsense, suppose you take a look at my arm, anâ fix this bandage right!â
âSorry, Tom,â answered Holbrook quickly; âbut I was near keeled over. Here, gimme that arm; anâ when I get it fixed right, you make a bee-line for thâ ranch. There ainât no use of you stayinâ out here with an arm like that. Good Lord! He shore made a mess of it! Them slugs of his are awful; anâ that gun is thâ worst I ever went up agâin. I want that rifle; anâ I speaks for it here anâ now. When we get him, I get thâ gun.â
âItâs yourn,â groaned Quigley. âGimme a drink of whiskey before I start out. But I donât like to leave you to handle this alone. I can stick it out.â
âItâs a one-man job until somebody comes out,â responded Holbrook. âAll I got to do is lay low anâ not let him come down that trail. A ten-year-old kid can do that durinâ daylight. But you ainât goinâ to go till you feel a little better,â he ordered, producing a flask. âYou wait a while thâ sun wonât be hot for a couple of hours yet Anâ would you look at thâ mosquitoes! They must âaâ smelled thâ blood. Here, wrap yore coat around it or theyâll pump it full of pizen.â
Two hours later, Quigley having departed for the ranch, Holbrook lay on the top of the northern Twin, glad to have escaped from the attacks of the winged pests which had driven him out of the canyon; and hoping that his enemy would try to take advantage of the situation, if he knew of it, and try to escape. He had decided that he could guard the trail as well from the top of the butte as he could from the canyon, for the whole length of the steeply sloping path lay before him. Cool breezes played about him, there were neither flies, mosquitoes, nor yellowjackets to plague him, and the opposite butte and the whole canyon lay under his eyes. And he also had better protection than the canyon afforded, for there was always present a vague uneasiness, no matter how well hidden he might be, while his good-shooting enemy was five hundred feet above him. Food and water were close to his hand and he enjoyed a smoke as he lazily sprawled behind his protecting breastwork of rocks and set himself the task of keeping awake and alert. He had seen no sign of his enemy, although he had closely scrutinized every foot of the opposite butte. Quigley, he thought, must have reached the ranch by that time and no doubt Fleming or Purdy was on the way to relieve him. As he glanced along the canyon in the direction that his friend would appear he saw a movement of the brush near the bottom of the much watched trail and he slid his rifle through an opening between the rocks covering the center of the disturbance.
It was too early for Fleming or Purdy, he reflected; and his eyes narrowed as he wondered if it could be some friend of the man he was watching.
The bushes moved again and a grizzled head thrust out into view, slowly followed by a pair of massive shoulders as a great silver-tip grizzly pushed out into the little clearing where the guarding fire had been, and slowly turned its head from side to side, sniffing suspiciously. Satisfied that there was nothing to fear, it crossed the clearing and ripped the bark off of a dead and fallen tree trunk, licking up the grubs and the scurrying insects. Shredding the bark and thoroughly cleaning up the last
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