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

none whatever,” he asserted.

 

“G’way!” he repeated, backing off suspiciously.

 

“Better wait `til yu are asked,” suggested Buck. “Better wait `til yusees th’ rope

afore yu duck.” Then he laughed: “Yu bashful fellers make me plumb disgusted. Why,

I’ve seen yu face a bunch of guns an never turn a hair, an’ here yore all in because yu fear

yu’ll have to stand around an’ hide yore hands. She won’t bite yu. Anyway, from what I

saw, Hopalong is due to beher grub-he never saw me at all, th’ chump.”

 

“He shore didn’t see me, none,” replied Red with distinct relief. “Are they gone?”

 

“Shore,” answered Buck. “An’ if they wasn’t they wouldn’t see us, not if we stood

in front of them an’ yelled. She’s a hummer-stands two hands under him an’ is a whole lot

prettier than that picture Cowan has got over his bar. There’s nothing th’ matter with his

eyesight, but he’s plumb locoed, all th’ same. He’ll go an’ get stuck on her an’ then she’ll

hit th’ trail for home an’ mamma, an’ he won’t be worth his feed for a year.”

 

Then he paused in consternation: “Thunder, Red: he’s got to shoot tomorrow!”

 

“Well, suppose he has?” responded Red. “I don’t reckon she’ll stampede his gunplay none.

 

“Yu don’t reckon, eh?” queried Buck with much irony. “No, an’ that’s what’s th’

matter with yu. Why, do yu expect to see him tomorrow? Yu won’t if I knows him an’ I

reckon I do. Nope, he’ll be follerin’ her all around.”

 

“He’s got sand to burn,” remarked Red in awe. “Wonder how he got to know

her?”

 

“Yu can gamble she did th’ introducing part-he ain’t got th’ nerve to do it himself.

 

He saved her life, or she thinks he did, or some romantic nonsense like that. So yu better

go around an’ get him away, an’ keep him away, too.”

 

“Who, me?” Inquired Red in indignation. “Me go around an’ tote him off? I ain’t

no wagon: yu go, or send Johnny.”

 

“Johnny would say something real pert an’ get knocked into th’ middle of next

week for it. He won’t do, so I reckon yu better go yoreself,” responded Buck, smiling

broadly and moving off.

 

“Hey, yu! Wait a minute!” cried Red in consternation.

Buck paused and Red groped for an excuse: “Why don’t you send Billy?” he

blurted in desperation.

 

The foreman’s smile assumed alarming proportions and he slapped his thigh in

joy: “Good boy!” he laughed. “Billy’s th’ man-good Lord, but won’t he give Cupid cold

feet! Rustle around an’ send th’ pessimistic soul to me.”

 

Red, grinning and happy, rapidly visited door after door, shouted, “Hey, Billy!”

and proceeded to the next one. He was getting pugnacious at his lack of success when he

espied Mr. Billy Williams tacking along the accidental street as if he owned it. Mr.

Williams was executing fancy steps and was trying to sing many songs at once.

 

Red stopped and grabbed his bibulous friend as that person veered to starboard:

“Yore a peach of a life-preserver, yu are!” he exclaimed.

 

Billy balanced himself, swayed back and forth and frowned his displeasure at this

unwarranted action: “I ain’t no wife-deserter!” he shouted. “Unrope me an’ give me th’

trail! No tenderfoot can ride me!” Then he recognized his friend and grinned joyously:

“Shore I will, but only one. Jus’ one more, jus’ one more. Yu see, m’friend, it was all

Jimmy’s fault. He—”

 

Red secured a chancery hold and dragged his wailing and remonstrating friend to

Buck, who frowned with displeasure.

 

“This yere,” said Red in belligerent disgust, “is th’ dod-blasted hero what’s a-goin’

to save Hopalong from a mournful future. What are we a-goin’ to do?”

 

Buck slipped the Colt’s from Billy’s holster and yanked the erring one to his feet:

“Fill him full of sweet oil, source him in th’ trough, walk him around for awhile an’ see

what it does,” he ordered.

 

Two hours later Billy walked up to his foreman and weakly asked what was

wanted. He looked as though he had just been released from a six-months’ stay in a

hospital.

 

“Yu go over to th’ hotel an’ find Hopalong,” said the foreman sternly. “Stay with

him all th’ time, for there is a plot on foot to wing him on th’ sly. If yu ain’t mighty spry

he’ll be dead by night.”

 

Having delivered the above instructions and prevarications, Buck throttled the

laugh which threatened to injure him and scowled at Red, who again fled into the saloon

for fear of spoiling it all with revealed mirth.

 

The convalescent stared in open-mouthed astonishment

“What’s he doin’ in th’ hotel, an’ who’s goin’ to plug him?” He asked.

 

“Yu leave that to me,” replied Buck, “All yu has to do is to get on th’job with yore

gun,” handing the weapon to him, “an’ freeze to him like a flea on a cow. Mebby there’ll

be a woman in th’ game, but that ain’t none of yore funeral—yu do what I said.”

 

“Blast th’ women!” exploded Billy, moving off. When he had entered the hotel

Buck went in to Red.

 

“For Pete’s sake!” moaned that person in senseless reiteration. “Th’ Lord help

Billy! Holy Mackinaw!” he shouted. “Gimme a drink an’ let me tell th’ boys.”

 

The members of the outfit were told of the plot and they gave their uproarious

sanction, all needing bracers to sustain them.

 

Billy found the clerk swapping lies with the bartender and, procuring the desired

information, climbed the stairs and hunted for room No. 6. Discovering it, he dispensed

with formality, pushed open the door and entered.

 

He found his friend engaged in conversation with a pretty young woman, and on a

couch at the far side of the room lay an elderly white-whiskered gentleman who was

reading a magazine. Billy felt like a criminal for a few seconds and then there came to

him the thought that his was a mission of great import and he braced himself to face any

ordeal.

 

“Anyway,” he thought, “th’ prettier they are th’ more dust they can raise.”

 

“What are yu doing here?” cried Hopalong in amazement.

 

“That’s all right,” averred the protector, confidentially.

 

“What’s all right?”

 

“Why, everything,” replied Billy, feeling uncomfortable.

 

The elderly man hastily sat up and dropped his magazine when he saw the armed

intruder, his eyes as wide open as his mouth. He felt for his spectacles, but did not need

them, for he could see nothing but the Colt’s which Billy jabbed at him.

 

“None of that!” snapped Billy. “`Nds up!” he ordered, and the hands went up so

quick that when they stopped the jerk shook the room. Peering over the gentleman’s leg,

Billy saw the spectacles and backed to the wall as he apologized: “It’s shore on me,

Stranger—I reckoned yu was contemplatin’ some gunplay.”

 

Hopalong, blazing with wrath, arose and shoved Billy toward the hall, when Mr.

Johnny Nelson, oozing fight and importance, intruded his person into the zone of action.

 

“Lord!” ejaculated the newcomer, staring at the vision of female loveliness which

so suddenly greeted him. “Mamma,” he added under his breath. Then he tore off his

sombrero: “Come out of this, Billy, yu chump!” he exploded, backing toward the door,

being followed by the protector.

 

Hopalong slammed the door and turned to his hostess, apologizing for the

disturbance.

 

“Who are they?” palpitated Miss Deane.

 

“What the deuce are they doing up here!” blazed her father.

 

Hopalong disclaimed any knowledge of them and just then Billy opened the door

and looked in.

 

“There he is again!” cried Miss Deane, and her father gasped. Hopalong ran out

into the hall and narrowly missed kicking Billy into Kingdom Come as that person slid

down the stairs, surprised and indignant.

 

Mr. Billy Williams, who sat at the top of the stairs, was feeling hungry and thirsty

when he saw his friend, Mr. Pete Wilson, the slow witted, approaching.

 

“Hey, Pete,” he called, “come up here an’ watch this door while I rustles some

grub. Keep yore eyes open,” he cautioned.

 

As Pete began to feel restless the door opened and a dignified gentleman with

white whiskers came out into the hall and then retreated with great haste and no dignity.

 

Pete got the drop on the door and waited. Hopalong yanked it open and kissed the

muzzle of the weapon before he could stop, and Pete grinned.

 

“Coming to th’ fight?” he loudly asked. “It’s going to be a shore `nough sumptious

scrap-just th’ kind yu allus like. Come on, th’ boys are waitin’ for yu.”

 

“Keep quiet!” hissed Hopalong.

 

“What for?” asked Pete in surprise. “Didn’t yu say yu shore wanted to see that

scrap?”

 

“Shut yore face an’ get scarce, or yu’ll go home in cans!”

 

As Hopalong seated himself once more Red strolled up to the door and knocked.

 

Hopalong ripped it open and Red, looking as fierce and worried as he could, asked

Hopalong if he was all right. Upon being assured by smoking adjectives that he was, the

caller looked relieved and turned thoughtfully away.

 

“Hey, yu! Come here!” called Hopalong.

 

Red waved his hand and said that he had to meet a man and clattered down the

stairs. Hopalong thought that he, also, had to meet a man and, excusing himself, hastened

after his friend and overtook him in the Street, where he forced a confession. Returning

to his hostess he told her of the whole outrage, and she was angry at first, but seeing the

humorous side of it, she became convulsed with laughter. Her father re-read his

paragraph for the thirteenth time and then, slamming the magazine on the floor, asked

how many times he was expected to read ten lines before he knew what was in them, and

went down to the bar.

 

Miss Deane regarded her companion with laughing eyes and then became

suddenly sober as he came toward her.

 

“Go to your foreman and tell him that you will shoot tomorrow, for I will see that

you do, and I will bring luck to the Bar-20. Be sure to call for me at one o’clock: I will be

ready.”

 

He hesitated, bowed, and slowly departed, making his way to Tom Lee’s, where

his entrance hushed the hilarity which had reigned. Striding to where Buck stood, he

placed his hands on his hips and searched the foreman’s eyes.

 

Buck smiled: “Yu ain’t mad, are yu?” he asked.

 

Hopalong relaxed: “No, but blame near it.”

 

Red and the others grabbed him from the rear, and when he had been “buffaloed”

into good humor he threw them from him, laughed and waved his hand toward the bar

“Come up, yu sons-of-guns. Yore a cussed nuisance sometimes, but yore a bully

gang all th’ same.”