The Coming of Cassidy by Clarence E. Mulford (romantic novels in english TXT) 📕

“Corson an’ Lukins, up th’ hill from th’ depot,” answered Hopalong. “Like it?”

“Like it! Why, stranger, I used to spend most of my week’s pocket money for these.” He paused and stared at the smiling puncher. “Did you say Corson an’ Lukins?” he demanded incredulously. “Well, I’ll be hanged! When was you there?”

“Last week. Here, bartender; liquor for all hands.”

The cub touched the glass to his lips and waved his hand at a table. Seated across from the stranger with the heavensent cigars he ordered the second round, and when he went to pay for it he drew out a big roll of bills and peeled off the one on the outside.

Hopalong frowned. “Sonny,” he said in a low voice, “it ain’t none of my affair, but you oughta put that wad away an’forget you have it when out in public. You shouldn’t tempt yore feller men like that.”

The cub laughed: “Oh, I had my eye teeth cut long ago. Play a little game?”

Hopalong was amused. “Didn’t I just tell you not to tempt yore feller men?”

The cub grinned. “I reckon it’ll fade quick, anyhow; but it took me six months’ hard work to get it together. It’ll last about six days, I suppose.”

“Six hours, if you plays every man that comes along,” corrected Hopalong.

“Well, mebby,” admitted the cub. “Say: that was one fine girl you was talkin’ to, all right,” he grinned.

Hopalong studied him a moment. “Not meanin’ no offense, what’s yore name?”

“Sammy Porter; why?”

“Well, Sammy,” remarked Hopalong as he arose. “I reckon we’ll meet again before I leave. You was remarkin’ she was a fine girl. I admit it; she was. So long,” and he started for the door.

Sammy flushed. “Why, I—I didn’t mean nothin’!” he exclaimed. “I just happened to think about her that’s all! You know, I saw you talkin’ to her. Of course, you saw her first,” he explained.

Hopalong turned and smiled kindly. “You didn’t say nothin’ to offend me. I was just startin’ when you spoke. But as long as you mentioned it I’ll say that my interest in th’ lady was only brief. Her interest in me was th’ same. Beyond lettin’ you know that I’ll add that I don’t generally discuss wimmin. I’ll see you later,” and, nodding cheerily, he went out and closed the door behind him.

Hopalong leaned lazily against the hotel, out of reach of the spring wind, which was still sharp, and basked in the warmth of the timid sun. He regarded the little cow-town cynically but smilingly and found no particular fault with it. Existing because the railroad construction work of the season before had chanced to stop on the eastern bank of the deceptive creek, and because of the nearness of three drive trails, one of them important, the town had sprung up, mushroomlike, almost in a night. Facing on the square were two general stores, the railroad station and buildings, two restaurants, a dozen saloons where gambling either was the main attraction or an ambitious side-line, McCalFs place and a barber shop with a dingy, bullet-peppered red-and- white pole set close to the door. Between the barber shop and McCalFs was a narrow space, and the windows of the two buldings, while not opposite, opened on the little strip of ground separating them.

Rubbing a hand across his chin he regarded the barber shop thoughtfully and finally pushed away from the sun-warmed wall of the hotel and started lazily toward the red-and- white pole. As he did so the tin-panny notes of a piano redoubled and a woman’s voice shrilly arose to a high note, flatted, broke and swiftly dropped an octave. He squirmed and looked speculatively along the westward trail, wondering how far away his outfit was and why he had not gone with them. Another soaring note that did not flat and a crashing chord from the piano were followed by a burst of uproarious, reckless laughter. Hopalong frowned, snapped his fingers in sudden decision and stepped briskly toward the barber shop as the piano began anew.

Entering quietly and closing the door softly, he glanced appraisingly through the windows and made known his wants in a low voice. “I want a shave, haircut, shampoo, an’ anythin’ else you can think of. I’m tired an’ don’t want to talk. Take yore own time an’ do a good job; an’ if I’m asleep when yo’re through, don’t wake me till somebody else wants th’ chair. Savvy? All right start in.”

In McCalPs a stolid bartender listened to the snatches of conversation that filtered under the door to the dance hall alongside and on his face there at times flickered the suggestion of a cynical smile. A heavy, dark complexioned man entered from the street and glanced at the closed door of the dance hall. The bartender nodded and held up a staying hand, after which he shoved a drink across the bar. The heavy-set man carefully wiped a few drops of spilled liquor from his white, tapering hands and seated himself with a sigh of relief, and became busy with his thoughts until the time should come when he would be needed.

On the other side of that door a little comedy was being enacted. The musician, a woman, toyed with the keys of the warped and scratched piano, the dim light from the shaded windows mercifully hiding the paint and the hardness of her face and helping the jewelry, with which her hands were covered, keep its tawdry secret.

“I don’t see what makes you so touchy,” grumbled Sammy in a pout. “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you if I touch yore arm.” He was flushed and there was a suspicious unsteadiness in his voice.

She laughed. “Why, I thought you wanted to talk?”

“I did,” he admitted, sullenly; “but there’s a limit to most wants. Oh, well: go ahead an’ play. That last piece was all right; but give us a gallop or a mazurka anything lively. Better yet, a caprice: it’s in keepin’ with yore temperament. If you was to try to interpert mine you’d have to dig it out of Verdi an’ toll a funeral bell.”

“Say; who told you so much about music?” she demanded.

“Th’man that makes harmonicas,” he grinned. He arose and took a step toward her, but she retreated swiftly, smiling. “Now behave yourself, for a little while, at least. What’s th’ matter with you, anyhow? What makes you so silly?”

“You, of course. I don’t see no purty wimmin out on th’ range, an’ you went to my head th’ minute I laid eyes on you. I ain’t in no hurry to leave this town, now nohow.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to be awful when you grow up. But you’re a nice boy to say such pretty things. Here,” she said, filling his glass and handing it to him, “let’s drink another toast you know such nice ones.”

“Yes; an’ if I don’t run out of ‘em purty soon I’ll have to hunt a solid, immovable corner somewheres; an’ there ain’t nothin’ solid or immovable about this room at present,” he growled. “What you allus drinkin’ to somethin’ for? Well, here’s a toast I don’t know any more fancy ones. Here’s to you!”

“That’s nicer than oh, pshaw!” she exclaimed, pouting. “An’ you wouldn’t drink a full glass to that one. You must think I’m nice, when you renig like that! Don’t tell me any more pretty things an’ stop right where you are! Think you can hang onto me after that? Well, that’s better; why didn’t you do it th’ first time? You can be a nice boy when you want to.”

He flushed angrily. “Will you stop callin’ me a boy?” he demanded unsteadily. “I ain’t no kid! I do a man’s work, earn a man’s pay, an’ I spend it like a man.”

“An’ drink a boy’s drink,” she teased. “You’ll grow up some day.” She reached forward and filled his glass again, for an instant letting her cheek touch his. Swiftly evading him she laughed and patted him on the head. “Here, man” she taunted, “drink this if you dare!”

He frowned at her but gulped down the liquor. “There, like a fool!” he grumbled, bitterly. “You tryin’ to get me drunk?” he demanded suddenly in a heavy voice.

She threw back her head and regarded him coldly. “It will do me no good. Why should I? I merely wanted to see if you would take a dare, if you were a man. You are either not sober now, or you are insultingly impolite. I don’t care to waste any more words or time with you,” and she turned haughtily toward the door.

He had leaned against the piano, but now he lurched forward and cried out. “I’m sorry if I hurt yore feelin’s that way I shore didn’t mean to. Ain’t we goin’ to make up?” he asked, anxiously.

“Do you mean that?” she demanded, pausing and looking around.

“You know I do, Annie. Le’s make up come on; le’s make up.”

“Well; I’ll try you, an’ see.”

“Play some more. You play beautiful,” he assured her with heavy gravity.

“I’m tired of but, say: Can you play poker?” she asked, eagerly.

“Why, shore; who can’t?”

“Well, I can’t, for one. I want to learn, so I can win my money back from Jim. He taught me, but all I had time to learn was how to lose.”

Sammy regarded her in puzzled surprise and gradually the idea became plain. “Did he teach you, an’ win money from you? Did he keep it?” he finally blurted, his face flushed a deeper red from anger.

She nodded. “Why, yes; why?”

He looked around for his sombrero, muttering savagely.

“Where you goin’?” she asked in surprise.

“To get it back. He ain’t goin’ to keep it, th’ coyote!”

“Why, he won’t give it back to you if he wouldn’t to me. Anyhow, he won it.”

“Won it!” he snapped. “He stole it, that’s how much he won it. He’ll give it back or get shot.”

“Now look here,” she said, quickly. “You ain’t goin’ gunnin’ for no friend of mine. If you want to get that money for me, an’ I certainly can use it about now, you got to try some other way. Say! Why don’t you win it from him?” she exulted. “That’s th’ way get it back th’ way it went.”

He weighed her words and a grin slowly crept across his face. “Why, I reckon you called it, that time, Annie. That’s th’ way 1’ll try first, anyhow, Li’l Girl. Where is this good friend of yourn that steals yore money? Where is this feller?”

As if in answer to his inquiry the heavy-set man strolled in, humming cheerily. And as he did so the sleepy occupant of the barber’s chair slowly awoke, rubbed his eyes, stretched luxuriously and, paying his bill, loafed out and lazily sauntered down the street, swearing softly.

“Why, here he is now,” laughed the woman. “You must ‘a’ heard us talkin’ about you, Jim. I’m goin’ to get my money back this is Mr. Porter, Jim, who’s goin’ to do it.”

The gambler smiled and held out his hand. “Howd’y, Mr. Porter,” he said.

Sammy glared at him: “Put yore paw down,” he said, thickly. “I ain’t shakin’ ban’s with no dogs or tin-horns.”

The gambler recoiled and flushed, fighting hard to repress his anger. “What you mean?” he growled, furiously.

“What I said. If you want revenge sit down there an’ play, if you Ve got th’ nerve to play with a man. I never let no coyote steal