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

on yu this time, don’t we?”

 

“Th’ more th’ Kid talks, th’ more money he needs,” remarked Lanky, placing his

glass on the bar. “He had to blow me an’ Skinny twice last night.”

 

“I got two more after yu left,” added Skinny “He shore oughter practice keeping

still.”

 

At one o’clock sharp Hopalong walked up to the clerk of the hotel and grinned.

 

The clerk looked up: “Hullo, Cassidy?” he exclaimed, genially. “What was all that fuss

about this mornin’ when I was away? I haven’t seen you for a long time, have I? How are

you?”

 

“That fuss was a fool joke of Buck’s, an’ I wish they had been throwed out,”

 

Hopalong replied. “What I want to know is if Miss Deane is in her room. Yu see, I have

a date with her.”

 

The clerk grinned

“So she’s roped you, too, has she?”

 

“What do yu mean?” asked Hopalong in surprise.

 

“Well, well,” laughed the clerk. “You punchers are easy. Any third-rate actress

that looks good to eat can rope you fellows, all right. Now look here, Laura, you keep shy

of her corral, or you’ll be broke so quick you won’t believe you ever had a cent: that’s

straight. This is the third year that she’s been here and I know what I’m talking about.

 

How did you come to meet her?”

 

Hopalong explained the meeting and his friend laughed again

“Why, she knows this country like a book. She can’t get lost anywhere around

here. But she’s blame clever at catching punchers.”

 

“Well, I reckon I’d better take her, go broke or not,” replied Hopalong. “Is she in

her room?”

 

“She is, but she is not alone,” responded the clerk. “There is a dude puncher up

there with her and she left word here that she was indisposed, which means that you are

outlawed.”

 

“Who is he?” asked Hopalong, having his suspicions. “That friend of yours:

Ewalt. He sported a wad this morning when she passed him, and she let him make her

acquaintance. He’s another easy mark. He’ll be busted wide open tonight.”

 

“I reckon I’ll see Tex,” suggested Hopalong, starting for the stairs.

 

“Come back, you chump!” cried the clerk. “I don’t want any shooting here. What

do you care about it? Let her have him, for it’s an easy way out of it for you. Let him

think he’s cut you out, for he’ll spend all the more freely. Get your crowd and enlighten

them-it’ll be better than a circus. This may sound like a steer, but it’s straight.”

 

Hopalong thought for a minute and then leaned on the cigar case

“I reckon I’ll take about a dozen of yore very best cigars, Charley. Got any real

high-toned brands?”

 

“Cortez panatella-two for a simoleon,” Chancy replied. “But, seein’ that it’s you,

I’ll throw off a dollar on a dozen. They’re a fool notion of the old man, for we can’t sell

one in a month.”

 

Hopalong dug up a handful and threw one on the counter, lighting another: “Yu

light a Cortez panatella with me,” he said, pocketing the remainder. “That’s five

simoleons she didn’t get. So long.”

He journeyed to Tom Lee’s and found his outfit making merry. Passing around

his cigars he leaned against the bar and delighted in the first really good smoke he had

since he came home from Kansas City.

 

Johnny Nelson blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling and paused with a pleased

expression on his face

“This is a lalapoloosa of a cigar,” he cried. “Where’d yu get it, an’ how many’s

left?”

 

“I got it from Charley, an’ there’s more than yu can buy at fifty a shot.”

 

“Well, I’ll just take a few for luck,” Johnny responded, running out into the street.

 

Returning in five minutes with both hands full of cigars he passed them around and

grinned “They’re birds, all right!”

 

Hopalong smiled, turned to Buck and related his conversation with Chancy.

 

“What do yu think of that?” he asked as he finished.

 

“I think Charley oughter be yore guardian,” replied the foreman.

 

“He was,” replied Hopalong.

 

“If we sees Tex we’ll all grin hard,” laughed Red, making for the door. “Come on

to th’ contests-Lanky’s gone already.”

 

Muddy Wells streamed to the carnival grounds and relieved itself of its

enthusiasm and money at the booths on the way. Cowpunchers rubbed elbows with

Indians and Mexicans, and the few tourists that were present were delighted with the

picturesque scene. The town was full of fakirs and before one of them stood a group of

cowpunchers, apparently drinking in the words of a barker.

 

“Right this way, gents, and see the woman who don’t eat. Lived for two years

without food, gents. Right this way, gents. Only a quarter of a dollar. Get your tickets,

gents, and see…”

 

Red pushed forward.

 

“What did yu say, pard?” he asked. “I’m a little off in my near ear. What’s that

about eatin’ a woman for two years?”

 

“The greatest wonder of the age, gents. The wom—”

 

“Any discount for th’ gang?” asked Buck, gawking.

 

“Why don’t yu quit smokin’ an’ buy th’ lady a meal?” asked Johnny from the center

of the group.

 

“Th’ cane yu ring th’ cane yu get!” came from the other side of the street and

Hopalong purchased rings for the outfit. Twenty-four rings got one cane, and it was

divided between them as they wended their way toward the grounds.

 

“That makes six wheels she didn’t get,” murmured Hopalong. As they passed the

snake charmer’s booth they saw Tex and his companion ahead of them in the crowd, and

they grinned broadly.

 

“I like th’ front row in th’ balcony,” remarked Johnny, who had been to Kansas

City.

 

“Don’t cry in th’ second act-it ain’t real,” laughed Red.

 

“We’ll hang John Brown on a sour appletree-in th’ Panhandle,” sang Skinny as

they passed them.

 

Arriving at the grounds they hunted up the registration committee and entered in

the contests. As Hopalong signed for the revolver competition he was rudely pushed

aside and Tex wrote his name under that of his enemy. Hopalong was about to show

quick resentment for the insult, but thought of what Charley had said, and he grinned

sympathetically. The seats were filling rapidly, and the outfit went along the ground

looking for friends. A bugle sounded and a hush swept over the crowd as the

announcement was made for the first event.

 

“Bronco-busting-Red Devil, never ridden: Frenchy McAllister, Tin-Cup, Montana;

 

Meteor, killed his man: Skinny Thompson, Bar-20, Texas;

 

Vixen, never ridden: Lefty Allen, O-Bar-O, Texas.”

 

All eyes were focused on the plain where the horse was being led out for the first

trial. After the usual preliminaries had been gone through Frenchy walked over to it,

vaulted in the saddle and the bandage was torn from the animal’s eyes. For ten minutes

the onlookers were held spellbound by the fight before them, and then the horse kicked

and galloped away and Frenchy was picked up and carried from the field.

 

“Too bad!” cried Buck, running from the outfit.

 

“Did yu see it?” asked Johnny excitedly, “Th’ cinch busted.”

 

Another horse was led out and Skinny Thompson vaulted to the saddle, and after a

fight of half an hour rode the animal from the enclosure to the clamorous shouts of his

friends. Lefty Allen also rode his mount from the same gate, but took ten minutes more

in which to do it.

 

The announcer conferred with the timekeepers and then stepped forward: “First,

Skinny Thompson, Bar-20, thirty minutes and ten seconds; second, Lefty Allen, O-Bar-O,

forty minutes and seven seconds.”

 

Skinny returned to his friends shamefacedly and did not look as if he had just won

a championship. They made way for him, and Johnny, who could not restrain his

enthusiasm pounded him on the back and cried “Yu old son-of-a-gun!”

 

The announcer again came forward and gave out the competitors for the next

contest, steer-roping and tying. Lanky Smith arose and, coiling his rope carefully,

disappeared into the crowd. The fun was not so great in this, but when he returned to his

outfit with the phenomenal time of six minutes and eight seconds for his string of ten

steers, with twenty-two seconds for one of them, they gave him vociferous greeting.

 

Three of his steers had gotten up after he had leaped from his saddle to tie them, but his

horse had taken care of that. His nearest rival was one minute over him and Lanky

retained the championship.

 

Red Connors shot with such accuracy in the rifle contest as to run his points

twenty per cent higher than Waffles, of the O-Bar-O, and won the new rifle.

 

The main interest centered in the revolver contest, for it was known that the

present champion was to defend his title against an enemy and fears were expressed in the

crowd that there would be an “accident.”

Buck Peters and Red stood just behind the firing line with their hands on hips, and

Tex, seeing the precautions, smiled grimly as he advanced to the line.

 

Six bottles, with their necks an inch above a board, stood twenty paces from him,

and he broke them all in as many shots, taking twelve seconds in which to do it.

 

Hopalong followed him and tied the score.

 

Three tin balls rolling erratically in a blanket supported by two men were sent

flying into the air in four shots, Tex taking six seconds.

 

His competitor sent them from the blanket in three shots and in the same time. In

slow shooting from sights Tex passed his rival in points and stood to win. There was but

one more event to be contested and in it Hopalong found his joy.

 

Shooting from the hip when the draw is timed is not the sport of even good shots,

and when Tex made sixty points out of a possible hundred, he felt that he had shot well.

 

When Hopalong went to the line his friends knew that they would now see shooting such

as would be almost unbelievable, that the best draw-and-shoot marksman in their State

was the man who limped slightly as he advanced and who chewed reflectively on his

fifty-cent cigar. He wore two guns and he stepped with confidence before the marshal of

the town, who was also judge of the contest.

 

The iron ball which lay on the ground was small enough for the use of a rifle and

could hardly be seen from the rear seats of the amphitheater. There was a word spoken

by the timekeeper, and a gloved hand flashed down and up, and the ball danced and spun

and leaped and rolled as shot after shot followed it with a precision and speed which

brought the audience to a heavy silence. Taking the gun which Buck tossed to him and

throwing it into the empty holster, he awaited the signal, and then smoke poured from his

hips and the ball jumped continuously. Both guns emptied in the two-hand shooting, he

wheeled and jerked loose the guns which the marshal wore, spinning around without a

pause, the target hardly ceasing in its rolling. Under his arms he shot, backward and

between his legs; leaping from side to side, ducking and dodging, following the ball

wherever it went.

 

Reloading the weapons quickly, he stepped forward and followed the ball until

once more his guns were empty. Then he turned and walked back to the side of the

marshal, smiling a little. His friends, and there were many in the crowd, torn from their

affected