The Man From Bar-20 by Clarence E. Mulford (good romance books to read .txt) 📕

JOHNNY rubbed his eyes and sat up, wondering. It was still dark, but a grayness in the east told of approaching daylight. He was puzzled, for it had been mid-forenoon when he had gone to sleep. Unrolling stiffly from the blanket, he sat up to listen and to peer about him. From his thicket he could see the tent, with the soles of his boots and part of his blanket showing. Arising he stretched and flexed his muscles to ease the ache of them, and then approached the ashes of the fire, and found them and the ground underneath to be stone cold. Rubbing his eyes, he laughed suddenly: he had slept for nearly twenty hours!

“Shore made up for th’ sleep I been missin’!” he grunted. “An’ ain’t I hungry!”

Having eaten a hearty breakfast he scouted along his back trail, acting upon the assumption that the Circle S puncher might have gone back again, picked it up and followed it. Reassured as to that he started back to camp, and on the way topped a little rise and caught sight of Pepper grazing in the narrow canyon.

“That won’t do, at all,” he muttered, thoughtfully. “She’s a dead give-away an I now I can’t take no chances.”

Returning to his camp he packed up food and spare ammunition, and then, hurrying down the canyon, whistled to the horse, who followed him closely, as he searched in vain for a safe place to put her. He was growing impatient, when he chanced to look closely at the face of the southern Twin, and then nodded quickly. If there was water on its top, that was the place for the horse. Half an hour later, after some careful climbing, he reached the high plateau, dropped the reins down before Pepper’s eyes and made a swift examination of the top of the butte. His hopes were rewarded, as he had expected them to be, for in a deep bowl-like depression lying at the foot of a high steep ridge he found a large pool, the level of which was considerably below the high-water mark on the wall. This meant concentration due to evaporation, and he tasted the water to be sure that it was fit to drink. Whistling Pepper to him, he picketed her so that she could reach the edge of the pool and range over enough grass to satisfy her needs, cached the pack and departed.

When he reached the canyon he went around the butte and started for his camp along its southern side, critically examining the sheer wall as he fought the brush and the loose shale under his feet. There was one place where he thought it possible for a cooL headed, experienced man to climb to the top, if he put his mind to the task and took plenty of time. Giving it no further thought he plunged on, glad that the horse was out of the sight of any scouting rustler and picketed so she could not get near the edge, where she would have shown up sharply against the sky, visible for miles.

Swinging past his camp and turning to the south he cautiously trossed the rustlers’ main trail and climbed the wall behind it, and as he went forward he tried to figure out what his enemies thought of the situation. If they believed that several enemies opposed them they would be likely to stay in the houses, or not stray far from them; but if they thought only one man fought them they would most certainly take the field after him. Such was his summing up; and, bearing in mind that Long Pete, when last seen by him, was headed toward the houses, he took full advantage of the cover afforded.

Approaching the cliff by a roundabout way, he at last wriggled to the edge and peered over. A gunbarrel projected from the crack of the door in the last house; a man lay behind a bowlder on the cliff across the valley, facing eastward; and almost directly below him a sombrero moved haltingly as its wearer slowly climbed up the cliff at one of the few places where it could be scaled.

“They’ve figgered right,” thought Johnny; “an’ they’re goin’ to make things whiz for me. Red Shirt, over there, must be a thousand yards away; but this sink is deceivin’.”

He looked down at the climber, who was about half way up the bluff. “Huhl I don’t want to shoot him without givin’ him a chance; but he just can’t come up. Le’s see: one, two, three; an’ one in th’ house, wounded, is four. There’s a couple more somewhere, layin’ low I reckon, waitin’ for me to move across their sights.”

He looked across at Red Shirt and grinned. “He’s layin’ on th’ wrong side of that rock an I don’t know it I’ll tell him, an’ get rid of that climber at th’ same time. Hope he busts his neck gettin’ down.”

Wriggling back from the edge so that the man in the house could not locate him by the smoke, he took deliberate aim at Red Shirt and gently squeezed the trigger. Red Shirt soared into the air and dove over the bowlder headfirst and with undignified speed.

“Knowed it was deceivin’,” growled Johnny. “Shot plumb over him. Can’t be more’n eight hundred yards. An’ that’s a fool color of a shirt to wear on a job like this.”

Johnny’s shirt had been blue, a long time back; but now its color hardly could be described by a single adjective. Sun, wind, and strong lye soap had taken their toll; and it had not been washed since he had left his little valley.

Wriggling back to the patch of grass, a quick glance below showed the climber frantically descending; and the man in the house was making lots of smoke on a gamble. Across the valley a gray-white cloud puffed out above the big rock and a little spurt of sand forty feet to Johnny’s left told him that Red Shirt, too, was guessing.

“Must’ve been asleep not to see my smoke,” muttered Johnny.

More smoke rolled up from the bowlder and soon some pebbles not ten feet away from him scattered suddenly, while a high-pitched whine soared skyward.

“He’s pluggin’ at every bit of cover he can see,” mused Johnny, wriggling back behind a rock. “An’ he’ll prospect that bunch of grass knowed it! He can shoot,” he exclaimed in ungrudging praise; “an’ he’s got th’ range figgered to a foot. An’ he’s workin’ steady from th’ north to th’ south; an’ when he tries for that clump of brush over there he’s got to show his head an’ shoulder.”

A puff of dust and sand fifty feet to his right told him to