Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up; Or, Bar-20 by Clarence Edward Mulford (positive books to read .TXT) 📖

Hopalong and his companion rode into Muddy Wells at noon, and Red Connors, who leaned with Buck Peters against the side of Tom Lee's saloon, gasped his astonishment. Buck looked twice to be sure, and then muttered incredulously: “What th' heck!” Red repeated the phrase and retreated within the saloon, while Buck stood his ground, having had much experience with women, inasmuch as he had narrowly escaped marrying. He thought that he might as well get all the information possible, and waited for an introduction. It was in vain, however, for the two rode past without noticing him.

Buck watched them turn the corner and then called for Red to come out, but that person, fearing an ordeal, made no reply and the foreman went in after him. The timorous one was corraling bracers at the bar and nearly swallowed down the wrong channel when Buck placed a heavy hand on his broad shoulder.

“G'way!” remarked Red. “I don't want no introduction, none whatever,” he asserted. “G'way!” he repeated, backing off suspiciously.

“Better wait 'til yu are asked,” suggested Buck. “Better wait 'til yu sees 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 be her 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 to-morrow!”

“Well, suppose he has?” Responded Red. “I don't reckon she'll stampede his gun-play 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 to-morrow? 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