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

CHAPTER XIV

THE TALE OF A CIGARETTE

 

The open door revealed three men asleep on the earthen

floor, two of whom were Mexicans. Mr. Cassidy then for the first

time felt called upon to relieve his companion of the Colt’s which

so sorely itched that gentleman’s thigh and then disarmed the

sleeping guards.

 

“One man an’ a half,” murmured Mr. Cassidy, it being in

his creed that it took four Mexicans to make one Texan.

 

In the far corner of the room were two broncos, one of which tried in vain to kick

Mr. Cassidy, not realizing that he was ten feet away.

 

The noise awakened the sleepers, who sat up and then sprang to their feet, their

hands instinctively streaking to their thighs for the weapons which peeked contentedly

from the bosom of Mr. Cassidy’s open shirt. One of the Mexicans made a lightning-like

grab for the back of his neck for the knife which lay along his spine and was shot in the

front of his neck for his trouble. The shot spoiled his aim, as the knife flashed past Mr.

Cassidy’s arm, wide by two feet, and thudded into the door frame, where it hummed

angrily.

 

“The only man who could do that right was th’ man who invented it, Mr. Bowie,

of Texas,” explained Mr. Cassidy to the other Mexican. Then he glanced at the bronco,

that was squealing in rage and fear at the shot, which sounded like a cannon in the small

room, and laughed.

 

“That’s my cayuse, all right, an’ he wasn’t up no cactus nor roostin’ on th’ roof,

neither. He’s th’ most affectionate beast I ever saw. It took me nigh onto six months

afore I could ride him without fighting him to a standstill,” said Mr. Cassidy to his guest.

 

Then he turned to the horse and looked it over. “Come here! What d’yu mean, acting

thataway? Yu ragged end of nothin’ wobbling in space! Yu wall-eyed, ornery, locoed

guide to Hades! Yu won’t be so frisky when yu’ve made them seventy hot miles between

here an’ Alkaline in five hours,” he promised, as he made his way toward the animal.

 

Mr. Travennes walked over to the opposite wall and took down a pouch of

tobacco which hung from a peg. He did this in a manner suggesting ownership, and after

he had deftly rolled a cigarette with one hand he put the pouch in his pocket and, lighting

up, inhaled deeply and with much satisfaction. Mr. Cassidy turned around and glanced

the group over, wondering if the tobacco had been left in the hut on a former call.

 

“Did yu find yore makings?” he asked, with a note of congratulations in his voice.

 

“Yep. Want one?” asked Mr. Travennes.

 

Mr. Cassidy ignored the offer and turned to the guard whom he had found asleep.

 

“Is that his tobacco?” he asked, and the guard, anxious to make everything run

smoothly, told the truth and answered,

“Shore. He left it here last night,” whereupon Mr. Travennes swore and Mr.

Cassidy smiled grimly.

“Then yu knows how yore cayuse got in an’ how mine got out,” said the latter. “I

wish yu would explain,” he added, fondling his Colts.

 

Mr. Travennes frowned and remained silent.

 

“I can tell yu, anyhow,” continued Mr. Cassidy, still smiling, but his eyes and jaw

belied the smile. “Yu took them cayuses out because yu wanted yourn to be found in

their places. Yu remembered Santa Fe an’ it rankled in yu. Not being man enough to

notify me that yu’d shoot on sight an’ being afraid my friends would get yu if yu plugged

me on th’ sly, yu tried to make out that me an’ Red rustled yore cayuses. That meant a

lynching with me an’ Red in th’ places of honor. Yu never saw Red afore, but yu didn’t

care if he went with me. Yu don’t deserve fair play, but I’m going to give it to yu because

I don’t want anybody to say that any of th’ Bar-20 ever murdered a man, not even a skunk

like yu.

 

My friends have treated me too square for that. Yu can take this gun an yu can do

one of three things with it, which are: walk out in th’ open a hundred paces an’ then turn

an walk toward me-after you face me yu can set it a-going whenever yu want to; the

second is, put it under yore hat an’ I’ll put mine an’ th’ others back by the cayuses. Then

we’ll tossup an’ th’ lucky man gets it to use as he wants. Th’ third is, shoot yourself.”

 

Mr. Cassidy punctuated the close of his ultimatum by handing the weapon,

muzzle first, and, because the other might be an adept at “twirling,” he kept its recipient

covered during the operation. Then, placing his second Colt’s with the captured weapons,

he threw them through the door, being very careful not to lose the drop on his now armed

prisoner.

 

Mr. Travennes looked around and wiped the sweat from his forehead, and being

an observant gentleman, took the proffered weapon and walked to the east, directly

toward the sun, which at this time was halfway to the meridian. The glare of its straight

rays and those reflected from the shining sand would, in a measure, bother Mr. Cassidy

and interfere with the accuracy of his aim, and he was always thankful for small favors.

 

Mr. Travennes was the possessor of accurate knowledge regarding the lay of the

land, and the thought came to him that there was a small but deep hole out toward the east

and that it was about the required distance away. This had been dug by a man who had

labored all day in the burning sun to make an oven so that he could cook mesquite root in

the manner he had seen the Apaches cook it. Mr. Travennes blessed hobbies, specific and

general, stumbled thoughtlessly and disappeared from sight as the surprised Mr. Cassidy

started forward to offer his assistance.

 

Upon emphatic notification from the man in the hole that his help was not needed,

Mr. Cassidy wheeled around and in great haste covered the distance separating him from

the hut, whereupon Mr. Travennes swore in self-congratulation and regret. Mr. Cassidy’s

shots barked a cactus which leaned near Mr. Travennes’ head and flecked several clouds

of alkali near that person’s nose, causing him to sneeze, duck, and grin.

 

“It’s his own gun,” grumbled Mr. Cassidy as a bullet passed through his sombrero,

having in mind the fact that his opponent had a whole belt full of .44’s. If it had been Mr.

Cassidy’s gun that had been handed over he would have enjoyed the joke on Mr.

Travennes, who would have had five cartridges between himself and the promised

eternity, as be would have been unable to use the .44’s in Mr. Cassidy’s .45, while the

latter would have gladly consented to the change, having as he did an extra .45. Never

before had Mr. Cassidy looked with reproach upon his .45 caliber Colt’s, and he sighed as

he used it to notify Mr. Travennes that arbitration was not to be considered, which that

person indorsed, said indorsement passing so close to Mr. Cassidy’s ear that he felt the

breeze made by it.

 

“He’s been practicin’ since I plugged him up in Santa Fe,” thought Mr. Cassidy, as

he retired around the hut to formulate a plan of campaign.

 

Mr. Travennes sang “Hi-le, hi-lo,” and other selections, principally others, and

wondered how Mr. Cassidy could hoist him out. The slack of his belt informed him that

he was in the middle of a fast, and suggested starvation as the derrick that his honorable

and disgusted adversary might employ.

 

Mr. Cassidy, while figuring out his method of procedure, absentmindedly jabbed

a finger in his eye, and the ensuing tears floated an idea to him. He had always had great

respect for ricochet shots since his friend Skinny Thompson had proved their worth on

the hides of Sioux. If he could disturb the sand and convey several grains of it to Mr.

Travennes’ eyes the game would be much simplified. While planning for the proposed

excavation, a la Colt’s, he noticed several stones lying near at hand, and a new and better

scheme presented itself for his consideration. If Mr. Travennes could be persuaded to get

out of-well, it was worth trying.

 

Mr. Cassidy lined up his gloomy collection and tersely ordered them to turn their

backs to him and to stay in that position, the suggestion being that if they looked around

they wouldn’t be able to dodge quickly enough. He then slipped bits of his lariat over

their wrists and ankles, tying wrists to ankles and each man to his neighbor. That finished

to his satisfaction, he dragged them in the hut to save them from the burning rays of the

sun.

 

Having performed this act of kindness, he crept along the hot sand, taking

advantage of every bit of cover afforded, and at last he reached a point within a hundred

feet of the besieged. During the trip Mr. Travennes sang to his heart’s content, some of

the words being improvised for the occasion and were not calculated to increase Mr.

Cassidy’s respect for his own wisdom if he should hear them. Mr. Cassidy heard,

however, and several fragments so forcibly intruded on his peace of mind that he

determined to put on the last verse himself and to suit himself.

 

Suddenly Mr. Travennes poked his head up and glanced at the hut. He was down

again so quickly that there was no chance for a shot at him and he believed that his enemy

was still sojourning in the rear of the building, which caused him to fear that he was

expected to live on nothing as long as he could and then give himself up. Just to show his

defiance he stretched himself out on his back and sang with all his might, his sombrero

over his face to keep the glare of the sun out of his eyes.

 

He was interrupted, however, forgot to finish a verse as he had intended, and

jumped to one side as a stone bounced off his leg.

 

Looking up, he saw another missile curve into his patch of sky and swiftly bear

down on him. He avoided it by a hair’s breadth and wondered what had happened. Then

what Mr. Travennes thought was a balloon, being unsophisticated in matters pertaining to

aerial navigation, swooped down upon him and smote him on the shoulder and also

bounced off.

 

Mr. Travennes hastily laid music aside and took up elocution as he dodged

another stone and wished that the mesquite-loving crank had put on a roof. In evading

the projectile he let his sombrero appear on a level with the desert, and the hum of a

bullet as it passed through his head-gear and into the opposite wall made him wish that

there had been constructed a cellar, also.

 

“Hi-le, hi-lo” intruded upon his ear, as Mr. Cassidy got rid of the surplus of his

heart’s joy. Another stone the size of a man’s foot shaved Mr. Travennes’ ear and he

hugged the side of the hole nearest his enemy.

 

“Hibernate, blank yu!” derisively shouted the human catapult as he released a