Bar-20 by Clarence E. Mulford (i want to read a book .txt) 📕

stuck a knife in me!” he lied.

 

The Mexican’s face brightened somewhat, but it would take more than that to

wipe out the insult of the blow. The horse became restless, and when Hopalong had

effectively quieted it he spoke again.

 

“Did yu ever hear of Tamale Jose?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, I’m th’ fellow that stopped him in th’ `dobe hut by th’ arroyo. I’m tellin’ yu

this so yu won’t do nothin’ rash an’ leave Carmencita a widow. Sabe?”

The hate on the Mexican’s face redoubled and he took a short step forward, but

stopped when the muzzle of the Colt kissed his nose. He was the brother of Tamale Jose.

 

As he backed away from the cool touch of the weapon he thought out swiftly his revenge.

 

Some of his brother’s old companions were at that moment drinking mescal in a saloon

down the street, and they would be glad to see this Americano die. He glanced past his

house at the saloon and Hopalong misconstrued his thoughts.

 

“Shore, go home. I’ll just circulate around some for exercise. No hard feelings,

only yu better throw it next time,” he said as he backed away and rode off.

Manuel went down the street and then ran into the saloon, where he caused an

uproar.

 

Hopalong rode to the end of the plaza and tried to sing, but it was a dismal failure.

 

Then he felt thirsty and wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. Turning his horse

and seeing the saloon he rode up to it and in, lying flat on the animal’s neck to avoid

being swept off by the door frame. His entrance scared white some half a dozen loungers,

who immediately sprang up in a decidedly hostile manner.

 

Hopalong’s Colts peeped over the ears of his horse and he backed into a corner

near the bar.

 

“One, two, three-now, altogether, breathe! Yu acts like yu never saw a real

puncher afore. All th’ same,” he remarked, nodding at several of the crowd, “I’ve seen yu

afore. Yu are th’ gents with th’ hot-foot get-a-way that vamoosed when we got Tamale.”

 

Curses were flung at him and only the humorous mood he was in saved trouble.

 

One, bolder than the rest, spoke up: “The senor will not see any `hot-foot get-a-way,’ as he

calls it, now! The senor was not wise to go so far away from his friends!”’

Hopalong looked at the speaker and a quizzical grin slowly spread over his face.

 

“They’ll shore feel glad when I tells them yu was askin’ for `em. But didn’t yu see too

much of `em once, or was yu poundin’ leather in the other direction? Yu don’t want to

worry none about me-an’ if yu don’t get yore hands closter to yore neck they’ll be heck to

pay! There, that’s more like home,” he remarked, nodding assurance.

 

Reaching over he grasped a bottle and poured out a drink, his Colt slipping from

his hand and dangling from his wrist by a thong. As the weapon started to fall several of

the audience involuntarily moved as if to pick it up. Hopalong noticed this and paused

with the glass half way to his lips.

 

“Don’t bother yoreselves none; I can git it again,” he said, tossing off the liquor.

 

“Wow! Holy smoke!” he yelled.

 

“This ain’t drink! Sufferin’ coyotes, nobody can accuse yu of sellin’ liquor! Did

yu make this all by yoreself?” he asked incredulously of the proprietor, who didn’t know

whether to run or to pray.

Then he noticed that the crowd was spreading out and his Colts again became the

center of interest.

 

“Yu with th’ lovely face, sit down!” he ordered as the person addressed was

gliding toward the door.

 

“I ain’t a-goin’ to let yu pot me from th’ street. Th’ first man who tries to get scarce

will stop somethin’ hot. An’ yu all better sit down,” he suggested, sweeping them with his

guns. One man, more obdurate than the rest, was slow in complying and Hopalong sent a

bullet through the top of his high sombrero, which had a most gratifying effect.

 

“You’ll regret this!” hissed a man in the rear, and a murmur of assent arose.

 

Some one stirred slightly in searching for a weapon and immediately a blazing

Colt froze him into a statue.

 

“Yu shore looks funny; eeny, meeny, miny, mo,” counted off the daring horseman;

“move a bit an’ off yu go,” he finished.

Then his face broke out in another grin as lie thought of more enjoyment.

 

That there gent on th’ left,” he said, pointing out with a gun the man he meant.

 

“Yu sing us a song. Sing a nice little song.”

 

As the object of his remarks remained mute he let his thumb ostentatiously slide

back with the hammer of the gun under it.

 

“Sing!”

 

“Quick!”

 

The man sang.

 

As Hopalong leaned forward to say something a stiletto flashed past his neck and

crashed into the bottle beside him. The echo of the crash was merged into a report as

Hopalong fired from his waist. Then he backed out into the Street and, wheeling,

galloped across the plaza and again faced the saloon. A flash split the darkness and a

bullet hummed over his head and thudded into an adobe wall at his back.

 

Another shot and he replied, aiming at the flash.

 

From down the street came the sound of a window opening and he promptly

caused it to close again. Several more windows opened and hastily closed, and he rode

slowly toward the far end of the plaza. As he faced the saloon once more he heard a

command to throw up his hands and saw the glint of a gun, held by a man who wore the

insignia of sheriff. Hopalong complied, but as his hands went up two spurts of fire shot

forth and the sheriff dropped his weapon, reeled and sat down. Hopalong rode over to

him and swinging down, picked up the gun and looked the officer over.

 

“Shoo, yu’ll be all right soon-yore only plugged in th’ arms,” he remarked as he

glanced up the street.

Shadowy forms were gliding from cover to cover and he immediately caused

consternation among them by his accuracy.

 

“Ain’t it sad?” He complained to the wounded man. “I never starts out but what

somebody makes me shoot `em. Came down here to see a girl an’ find she’s married.

 

Then when I moves on peaceable-like her husband makes me hit him. Then I wants a

drink an’ he goes an’ fans a knife at me, an’ me just teachin’ him how! Then yu has to

come along an’ make more trouble”.

 

Now look at them fools over there,” he said, pointing at a dark shadow some fifty

paces off. “They’re pattin’ their backs because I don’t see `em, an’ if I hurts them they’ll git

mad. Guess I’ll make `em dust along,” he added, shooting into the spot.

A howl went up and two men ran away at top speed.

 

The sheriff nodded his sympathy and spoke.

 

“I reckons you had better give up. You can’t get away. Every house, every corner

and shadow holds a man. You are a brave man, but, as you say, unfortunate. Better help

me up and come with me-they’ll tear you to pieces.”

 

“Shore I’ll help yu up-I ain’t got no grudge against nobody. But my friends know

where I am an’ they’ll come down here an’ raise a ruction if I don’t show up. So, if it’s all

th’ same to you, I’ll be ambling right along,” he said as he helped the sheriff to his feet.

 

“Have you any objections to telling me your name?” asked the sheriff as he looked

himself over.

 

“None whatever,” answered Hopalong heartily. “I’m Hopalong Cassidy of th’ Bar

20, Texas.”

 

“You don’t surprise me-I’ve heard of you,” replied the sheriff wearily.

 

“You are the man who killed Tamale Jose, whom I hunted for unceasingly. I

found him when you had left and I got the reward. Come again some time and I’ll divide

with you; two hundred and fifty dollars,” he added craftily.

 

“I shore will, but I don’t want no money,” replied Hopalong as he turned away.

 

“Adios, senor,” he called back.

 

“Adios,” replied the sheriff as he kicked a nearby door for assistance.

 

The cow-pony tied itself up in knots as it pounded down the street toward the trail,

and although he was fired on he swung into the dusty trail with a song on his lips.

 

Several hours later he stood dripping wet on the American side of the Rio Grande and

shouted advice to a score of Mexican cavalrymen on the opposite bank. Then he slowly

picked his way toward El Paso for a game at Faro Dan’s.

 

The sheriff sat in his easy chair one night some three weeks later, gravely engaged

in rolling a cigarette. His arms were practically well, the wounds being in the fleshy

parts. He was a philosopher and was disposed to take things easy, which accounted for

his being in his official position for fifteen years. A gentleman at the core, he was well

educated and had visited a goodly portion of the world. A book of Horace lay open on

his knees and on the table at his side lay a shining new revolver, Hopalong having carried

off his former weapon. He read aloud several lines and in reaching for a light for his

cigarette noticed the new six-shooter. His mind leaped from Horace to Hopalong, and he

smiled grimly at the latter’s promise to call.

 

Glancing up, his eyes fell on a poster which conveyed the information in Spanish

and in English that there was offered

FIVE HUNDRED PESOS REWARD

For Hopalong Cassidy,

of the Ranch Known as the Bar-20,

Texas, U. S. A.

 

and which gave a good description of that gentleman.

Sighing for the five hundred, he again took up his book and was lost in its pages

when he heard a knock, rather low and timid. Wearily laying aside his reading, he strode

to the door, expecting to hear a lengthy complaint from one of his townsmen. As he

threw the door wide open the light streamed out and lighted up a revolver and behind it

the beaming face of a cowboy, who grinned.

 

“Well, I’ll be damned!” ejaculated the sheriff, starting back in amazement.

 

“Don’t say that, sheriff; you’ve got lots of time to reform,” replied a humorous

voice. “How’s th’ wings?”

 

“Almost well: you were considerate,” responded the sheriff. “Let’s go in-somebody might see me out here an’ get into trouble,” suggested the visitor, placing his

foot on the sill.

 

“Certainly-pardon my discourtesy,” said the sheriff. “You see, I wasn’t expecting

you tonight,” he explained, thinking of the elaborate preparations that he would have

gone to if he had thought the irrepressible would call.

 

“Well, I was down this way, an’ seeing as how I had promised to drop in I just

natchurally dropped,” replied Hopalong as he took the chair proffered by his host.

 

After talking awhile on everything and nothing the sheriff coughed and looked

uneasily at his guest.

 

“Mr. Cassidy, I am sorry you called, for I like men of your energy and courage and

I very much dislike to arrest you,” remarked the sheriff. “Of course you understand that

you are under arrest,” he added with anxiety.

 

“Who, me?” asked I-Hopalong with a rising inflection.

 

“Most assuredly,” breathed the sheriff.

 

“Why, this is the first time I ever heard anything about it,” replied the astonished