Bar-20 Days by Clarence E. Mulford (best black authors TXT) đ
- Author: Clarence E. Mulford
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Mr. Elkins touched the glass to his bearded lips and set it down untasted while he joked over the sharp rebuff so lately administered to wire fences in that part of the country. While he was an ex-cow- puncher he believed that he was above allowing prejudice to sway his judgment, and it was his opinion, after careful thought, that barb wire was harmful to the best interests of the range. He had ridden over a great part of the cattle country in the last few yeas, and after reviewing the existing conditions as he understood them, his verdict must go as stated, and emphatically. He launched gracefully into a slowly delivered and lengthy discourse upon the subject, which proved to be so entertaining that his companions were content to listen and nod with comprehension. They had never met any one who was so well qualified to discuss the pros and cons of the barb-wire fence question, and they learned many things which they had never heard before. This was very gratifying to Mr. Elkins, who drew largely upon hearsay, his own vivid imagination, and a healthy logic. He was very glad to talk to men who had the welfare of the range at heart, and he hoped soon to meet the man who had taken the initiative in giving barb wire its first serious setback on that rich and magnificent southern range.
âYou shore ought to meet Cassidyâheâs a fine man,â remarked Lucas with enthusiasm. âYouâll not find any better, no matter where you look. But you ainât touched yore liquor,â he finished with surprise.
âYouâll have to excuse me, gentlemen,â replied Mr. Elkins, smiling deprecatingly. âWhen a man likes it as much as I do it ainât very easy to foller instructions anâ let it alone. Sometimes I almost break loose anâ indulge, regardless of whether it kills me or not. I reckon itâll get me yet.â He struck the bar a resounding blow with his clenched hand. âBut I ainât going to cave in till I has to!â
âThatâs purty tough,â sympathized Wood Wright, reflectively. âI ainât so very much taken with it, but I know I would be if I knowed I couldnât have any.â
âYes, thatâs human nature, all right,â laughed Lucas. âThat reminds me of a little thing that happened to me onceââ
âListen!â exclaimed Cowan, holding up his hand for silence. âI reckon thatâs the Bar-20 now, or some of itâsounds like them when theyâre feeling frisky. Thereâs allus something happening when them fellers are around.â
The proprietor was right, as proved a moment later when Johnny Nelson, continuing his argument, pushed open the door and entered the room. âI didnât neither; anâ you know it!â he flung over his shoulder.
âThen who did?â demanded Hopalong, chuckling. âWhy, hullo, boys,â he said, nodding to his friends at the bar. âNobody else would do a fool thing like that; nobody but you, Kid,â he added, turning to Johnny.
âI donât care a hang what you think; I say I didnât anâââ
âHe shore did, all right; I seen him just afterward,â laughed Billy Williams, pressing close upon Hopalongâs heels. âHowdy, Lucas; anâ thereâs that olâ coyote, Wood Wright. Howâs everybody feeling?â
âWhereâs the rest of you fellers?â inquired Cowan.
âStayed home to-night,â replied Hopalong.
âGot any loose money, you two?â asked Billy, grinning at Lucas and Wright.
âI reckon we haveâanâ our creditâs good if we ainât. Weâre good for a dollar or two, ainât we, Cowan?â replied Lucas.
âTwo dollars anâ four bits,â corrected Cowan. âIâll raise it to three dollars even when you pay me that âleven cents you owe me.â
ââLeven cents? What âleven cents?â
âPostage stamps anâ envelope for that love letter you writ.â
âGo to blazes; that wasnât no love letter!â snorted Lucas, indignantly. âThat was my quarterly report. I never did write no love letters, nohow.â
âWeâll trim you fellers to-night, if youâve got the nerve to play us,â grinned Johnny, expectantly.
âYes; anâ weâve got that, too. Give us the cards, Cowan,â requested Wood Wright, turning. âThey wonât give us no peace till we take all their money away from âem.â
âOpen game,â prompted Cowan, glancing meaningly at Elkins, who stood by idly looking on, and without showing much interest in the scene.
âShore! Everybody can come in what wants to,â replied Lucas, heartily, leading the others to the table. âI allus did like a six-handed game bestâall the cards are out anâ thereâs some excitement in it.â
When the deal began Elkins was seated across the table from Hopalong, facing him for the first time since that day over in Muddy Wells, and studying him closely. He found no changes, for the few years had left no trace of their passing on the Bar-20 puncher. The sensation of facing the man he had come south expressly to kill did not interfere with Elkinsâ card-playing ability for he played a good game; and as if the Fates were with him it was Hopalongâs night off as far as poker was concerned, for his customary good luck was not in evidence. That instinctive feeling which singles out two duellists in a card game was soon experienced by the others, who were careful, as became good players, to avoid being caught between them; in consequence, when the game broke up, Elkins had most of Hopalongâs money. At one period of his life Elkins had lived on poker for five years, and lived well. But he gained more than money in this game, for he had made friends with the players and placed the first wire of his trap. Of those in the room Hopalong alone treated him with reserve, and this was cleverly swung so that it appeared to be caused by a temporary grouch due to the sting of defeat. As the Bar-20 man was known to be given to moods at times this was accepted as the true explanation and gave promise of hotly contested games for revenge later on. The banter which the defeated puncher had to endure stirred him and strengthened the reserve, although he was careful not to show it.
When the last man rode off, Elkins and the proprietor sought their bunks without delay, the former to lie awake a long time, thinking deeply. He was vexed at himself for failing to work out an acceptable plan of action, one that would show him to be in the right. He would gain nothing more than glory, and pay too dearly for it, if he killed Hopalong and was in turn killed by the dead manâs friendsâand he believed that he had become acquainted with the quality of the friendship which bound the units of the Bar-20 outfit into a smooth, firm whole. They were like brothers, like one man. Cassidy must do the forcing as far as appearances went, and be clearly in the wrong before the matter could be settled.
The next week was a busy one for Elkins, every day finding him in the saddle and riding over some one of the surrounding ranches with one or more of its punchers for company. In this way he became acquainted with the men who might be called on to act as his jury when the showdown came, and he proceeded to make friends of them in a manner that promised success. And some of his suggestions for the improvement of certain conditions on the range, while they might not work out right in the long run, compelled thought and showed his interest. His remarks on the condition and numbers of cattle were the same in substance in all cases and showed that he knew what he was talking about, for the punchers were all very optimistic about the next yearâs showing in cattle.
âIf you fellers donât break all records for drive herds of quality next year I donât know nothing about cows; anâ I shore donât know nothing else,â he told the foreman of the Bar-20, as they rode homeward after an inspection of that ranch. âThereâll be more dust hanging over the drive trails leading from this section next year when spring drops the barriers than ever before. You neednât fear for the market, neitherâprices will stand. The north anâ central ranges ainât doing what they ought to this yearâitâll be up to you fellers down south, here, to make that up; anâ you can do it.â This was not a guess, but the result of thought and study based on the observations he had made on his ride south, and from what he had learned from others along the way. It paralleled Buckâs own private opinion, especially in regard to the southern range; and the vague suspicions in the foremanâs mind disappeared for good and all.
Needless to say Elkins was a welcome visitor at the ranch houses and was regarded as a good fellow. At the Bar-20 he found only two men who would not thaw to him, and he was possessed of too much tact to try any persuasive measures. One was Hopalong, whose original cold reserve seemed to be growing steadily, the Bar-20 puncher finding in Elkins a personality that charged the atmosphere with hostility and quietly rubbed him the wrong way. Whenever he was in the presence of the newcomer he felt the tugging of an irritating and insistent antagonism and he did not always fully conceal it. John Bartlett, Lucas, and one or two of the more observing had noticed it and they began to prophesy future trouble between the two. The other man who disliked Elkins was Red Connors; but what was more natural? Red, being Hopalongâs closest companion, would be very apt to share his friendâs antipathy. On the other hand, as if to prove Hopalongâs dislike to be unwarranted, Johnny Nelson swung far to the other extreme and was frankly enthusiastic in his liking for the cattle scout. And Johnny did not pour oil on the waters when he laughingly twitted Hopalong for allowing âa licking at cards to make him sore.â This was the idea that Elkins was quietly striving to have generally accepted.
The affair thus hung fire, Elkins chafing at the delay and cautiously working for an opening, which at last presented itself, to be promptly seized. By a sort of mutual, unspoken agreement, the men in Cowanâs that night passed up the cards and sat swapping stories. Cowan, swearing at a smoking lamp, looked up with a grin and burned his fingers as a roar of laughter marked the point of a droll reminiscence told by Bartlett.
âThatâs a good story, Bartlett,â Elkins remarked, slowing refilling his pipe. âReminds me of the lame Greaser, Hippy Joe, anâ the canned oysters. They was both bad, anâ neither of âem knew it till they came together. It was like this⊠.â The malicious side glance went unseen by all but Hopalong, who stiffened with the raging suspicion of being twitted on his own deformity. The humor of the tale failed to appeal to him, and when his full senses returned Lucas was in the midst of the story of the deadly game of tag played in a ten-acre lot of dense underbrush by two of his old-time friends. It was a tale of gripping interest and his auditors were leaning forward in their eagerness not to miss a word. âAnâ Pierce won,â finished Lucas; âsome shot up, but able to get about. He was all right in a couple of weeks. But he was bound to win; he could shoot all
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