Bar-20 Days by Clarence E. Mulford (read the beginning after the end novel .TXT) 📕

The door slammed shut, the props fell against it, and the two friends turned to the work of driving back the second band, which, however, had given up all hope of rushing the house in the face of Red’s telling fire, and had sought cover instead.

The stranger dragged himself to the canteens and drank what little water remained, and then turned to watch the two men moving from place to place, firing coolly and methodically. He thought he recognized one of them from the descriptions he had heard, but he was not sure.

“My name’s Holden,” he whispered hoarsely, but the cracking of the rifles drowned his voice. During a lull he tried again. “My name’s Holden,” he repeated weakly. “I’m from the Cross-O-Cross, an’ can’t get back there again.”

“Mine’s Cassidy, an’ that’s Connors, of the Bar-20. Are you hurt very bad?”

“No; not very bad,” lied Holden, trying to smile. “Gee, but I’m glad I fell in with you two fellers,” he exclaimed. He was but little more than a boy, and to him Hopalong Cassidy and Red Connors were names with which to conjure. “But I’m plumb sorry I went an’ brought you more trouble,” he added regretfully.

“Oh, pshaw! We had it before you came—you needn’t do no worrying about that, Holden; besides, I reckon you couldn’t help it,” Hopalong grinned facetiously. “But tell us how you came to mix up with that bunch,” he continued.

Holden shuddered and hesitated a moment, his companions alertly shifting from crack to crack, window to window, their rifles cracking at intervals. They appeared to him to act as if they had done nothing else all their lives but fight Indians from that shack, and he braced up a little at their example of coolness.

“It’s an awful story, awful!” he began. “I was riding towards Hoyt’s Corners an’ when I got about half way there I topped a rise an’ saw a nester’s house about half a mile away. It wasn’t there the last time I rode that way, an’ it looked so peaceful an’ home-like that I stopped an’ looked at it a few minutes. I was just going to start again when that war-party rode out of a barranca close to the house an’ went straight for it at top speed. It seemed like a dream, ‘cause I thought Apaches never got so far east. They don’t, do they? I thought not— these must ‘a’ got turned out of their way an’ had to hustle for safety. Well, it was all over purty quick. I saw ‘em drag out two women an’—an’—purty soon a man. He was fighting like fury, but he didn’t last long. Then they set fire to the house an’ threw the man’s body up on the roof. I couldn’t seem to move till the flames shot up, but then I must ‘a’ went sort of loco, because I emptied my gun at ‘em, which was plumb foolish at that distance, for me. The next thing I knowed was that half of ‘em was coming my way as hard as they could ride, an’ I lit out instanter; an’ here I am. I can’t get that sight outen my head nohow—it’ll drive me loco!” he screamed, sobbing like a child from the horror of it all.

His auditors still moved around the room, growing more and more vindictive all the while and more zealously endeavoring to create a still greater deficit in one Apache war-party. They knew what he had looked upon, for they themselves had become familiar with the work of Apaches in Arizona. They could picture it vividly in all its devilish horror. Neither of them paid any apparent attention to their companion, for they could not spare the time, and, also, they believed it best to let him fight out his own battles unassisted.

Holden sobbed and muttered as the minutes dragged along, at times acting so strangely as to draw a covert side-glance from one or both of the Bar-20 punchers. Then Mr. Connors saw his boon companion suddenly lean out of a window and immediately become the target for the hard-working enemy. He swore angrily at the criminal recklessness of it. “Hey, you! Come in out of that! Ain’t you got no brains at all, you blasted idiot! Don’t you know that we need every gun?”

“Yes; that’s right. I sort of forgot,” grinned the reckless one, obeying with alacrity and looking sheepish. “But you know there’s two thundering big tarantulas out there fighting like blazes. You ought to see ‘em jump! It’s a sort of a leap-frog fight, Red.”

“Fool!” snorted Mr. Connors belligerently. “You’d ‘a’ jumped if one of them slugs had ‘a’ got you! Yo’re the damnedest fool that ever walked on two laigs, you blasted sage-hen!” Mr. Connors was beginning to lose his temper and talk in his throat.

“Well, they didn’t get me, did they? What you yelling about, anyhow?” growled Hopalong, trying to brazen it out.

“An’ you talking about suicide to me!” snapped Mr. Connors, determined to rub it in and have the last word.

Mr. Holden stared, open-mouthed, at the man who could enjoy a miserable spider fight under such distressing circumstances, and his shaken nerves became steadier as he gave thought to the fact that he was a companion of the two men about whose exploits he had heard so much. Evidently the stories had not been exaggerated. What must they think of him for giving way as he had? He rose to his feet in time to see a horse blunder into the open on Red’s side of the house, and after it blundered its owner, who immediately lost all need of earthly conveyances. Holden laughed from the joy of being with a man who could shoot like that, and he took up his rifle and turned to a crack in the wall, filled with the determination to let his companions know that he was built of the right kind of timber after all, wounded as he was.

Red’s only comment, as he pumped a fresh cartridge into the barrel, was, “He must ‘a’ thought he saw a spider fight, too.”

“Hey, Red,” called Hopalong. “The big one is dead.”

“What big one?”

“Why, don’t you remember? That big tarantula I was watching. One was bigger than the other, but the little feller shore waded into him an’—”

“Go to the devil!” shouted Red, who had to grin, despite his anger.

“Presently, presently,” replied Hopalong, laughing.

So the day passed, and when darkness came upon them all of the defenders were wounded, Holden desperately so.

“Red, one of us has got to try to make the ranch,” Hopalong suddenly announced, and his friend knew he was right. Since Holden had appeared upon the scene they had known that they could not try a dash; one of them had to stay.

“We’ll toss for it; heads, I go,” Red suggested, flipping a coin.

“Tails!” cried Hopalong. “It’s only thirty miles to Buckskin, an’ if I can get away from here I’m good to make it by eleven to-night. I’ll stop at Cowan’s an’ have him send word to Lucas an’ Bartlett, so there’ll be enough in case any of our boys are out on the range in some line house. We can pick ‘em up on the way back, so there won’t be no time lost. If I get through you can expect excitement on the outside of this sieve by daylight. You an’ Holden can hold her till then, because they never attack at night. It’s the only way out of this for us—we ain’t got cartridges or water enough to last another day.”

Red, knowing that Hopalong was taking a desperate chance in working through the cordon of Indians which surrounded them, and that the house was safe when compared to running such a gantlet, offered to go through the danger line with him. For several minutes a wordy war raged and finally Red accepted a compromise; he was to help, but not to work through the line.

“But what’s the use of all this argument?” feebly demanded Holden. “Why don’t you both go? I ain’t a-going to live nohow, so there ain’t no use of anybody staying here with me, to die with me. Put a bullet through me so them devils can’t play with me like they do with others, an’ then get away while you’ve got a chance. Two men can get through as easy as one.” He sank back, exhausted by the effort.

“No more of that!” cried Red, trying to be stern. “I’m going to stay with you an’ see things through. I’d be a fine sort of a coyote to sneak off an’ leave you for them fiends. An’, besides, I can’t get away; my cayuse is hit too hard an’ yourn is dead,” he lied cheerfully. “An’ yo’re going to get well, all right. I’ve seen fellers hit harder than you are pull through.”

Hopalong walked over to the prostrate man and shook hands with him. “I’m awful glad I met you, Holden. Yo’re pure grit all the way through, an’ I like to tie to that kind of a man. Don’t you worry about nothing; Red can handle this proposition, an’ we’ll have you in Buckskin by to-morrow night; you’ll be riding again in two weeks. So long.”

He turned to Red and shook hands silently, led his horse out of the building and mounted, glad that the moon had not yet come up, for in the darkness he had a chance.

“Good luck, Hoppy!” cried Red, running to the door. “Good luck!”

“You bet—an’ lots of it, too,” groaned Holden, but he was gone. Then Red wheeled. “Holden, keep yore eyes an’ ears open. I’m going out to see that he gets off. He may run into a—” and he, too, was gone.

Holden watched the doors and windows, striving to resist the weak, giddy feeling in his head, and ten minutes later he heard a shot and then several more in quick succession. Shortly afterward Red called out, and almost immediately the Bar-20 puncher crawled in through a window.

“Well?” anxiously cried the man on the floor. “Did he make it?”

“I reckon so. He got away from the first crowd, anyhow. I wasn’t very far behind him, an’ by the time they woke up to what was going on he was through an’ riding like blazes. I heard him call ‘em half-breeds a moment later an’ it sounded far off. They hit me,—fired at my flash, like I drilled one of them. But it ain’t much, anyhow. How are you feeling now?”

“Fine!” lied the other. “That Cassidy is shore a wonder—he’s all right, an’ so are you. I’ll never see him again, but I shore hope he gets through!”

“Don’t be foolish. Here, you finish the water in yore canteen—I picked it up outside by yore cayuse. Then go to sleep,” ordered Red. “I’ll do all the watching that’s necessary.”

“I will if you’ll call me when you get sleepy.”

“Why, shore I will. But don’t you want the rest of the water? I ain’t a bit thirsty—I had all I could hold just before you came,” Red remarked as his companion pushed the canteen against him in the dark. He was choking with thirst. “Well, then; all right,” and Red pretended to drink. “Now, then, you go to sleep; a good snooze will do you a world of good—it’s just what you need.”