HUNTERS AND HUNTED
A string of empty cars backed onto the siding at X----, bumping and
grinding and squealing as the engine puffed softly; a running rattle and
crash told of the shivering line coming to rest and the sibilant sighs
of the engine seemed to voice its protest at being side-tracked for the
passing of an engine of a higher caste. While it panted and wheezed,
its crew taking advantage of the opportunity to look to and oil journals
and rods, a man made his way through the brush several hundred yards
down the track, swearing mildly as he brushed cinders and dust from his
clothes. His only possessions besides his clothes were a revolver
swinging in its buttoned holster, and a tightly rolled and securely tied
gunny sack, to which he clung in grim determination.
"H--l of a ride," he growled as he headed in a circuitous course for the
town a short distance away. "But it breaks th' trail. They 'll figger I
went north to cross th' line, or up to Helena. Lucky they told me
Denver Gus's relay was relieved. Brains, says Smiler--huh, devil a lot
of good his brains done him. He is out of it, an' so is Peters, d--n
'em. Brains!"
He entered the town, looking for a place to put up. The Come-Again
looked good and he entered it, securing a room on the second floor,
which was under the roof. He was explicit to the proprietor: "It's got
to be a back room, an' I want it for a couple of days, an' I don't want
no noise,--I'm out here for my cussed nerves an' as soon as I can get a
good job we 'll see about terms. Oh, I expect to pay in advance--will
two days' pay keep you from layin' awake nights?"
"Reckon somebody made a mistake," replied the proprietor. "Yore nerves
is purty strong."
"Have a drink and forget it," Dave smiled. When he had paid for the
drinks he asked a question: "Who's got th' best horse in town? I'm
a-goin' to buy it if it's good enough."
The proprietor looked him over and nodded toward a table in the farther
corner: "That's him."
Dave sauntered over to the lone drinker: "Just been told you got th'
best horse in town. That right?"
The other looked up slowly: "I might," he replied.
"I want to buy him. I don't give a d--n about th' price if he's good.
Interested? Thought you'd be."
The other also looked the cocky stranger over: "Yes--I 'm interested--a
little. I ain't h--l-bent for to sell that horse. He 's th' best ever
came to these parts--that's why he 's good--he _came_ here."
Dave was impatient: "Is he where I can see him?"
"Shore," drawled the horseman, arising languidly. "Come along an' you
can see him if yore eyes is good."
The owner of the "best horse in town" studied Dave as they walked along
and his mental comment was not flattering to the _protege_ of the late
Herr Schatz. "Fake cow-puncher," was his summing up. "He don't know a
_hoss_ from a hoss--but he thinks he does."
When they came to the corral the owner pointed to a big gray in the
corner: "That's him, stranger. He 's part cow-horse an' part Kaintuk,
an' too good to be out here in this part of the country. _That's_ th'
hoss Bad Hawkins rid from Juniper Creek to Halfway in ten hours--one
hundred an' forty miles, says th' map, an' Hawkins weighed a hundred an'
seventy afore they got him. He weighed so much he broke off th' limb of
th' best tree they could find. Why, _he 's_ th' cuss what held up th'
Montana Express down at Juniper Creek bridge--reckon you _are_ a
stranger to these parts."
"He don't look like no miracle to _me_," asserted Dave, closely
scrutinizing the horse.
"No? Mebby you ain't up on miracles. If you want a purty hoss why did
n't you say so? Dolly 's slick as silk an' fat as butter--you can have
her if you wants her. Cost you about twenty-five dollars less. But you
won't save nothin' on her if you wants a hoss for hard ridin', one that
gets there quick, an' gets back quick."
"I ain't said nothin' 'bout savin' no money," retorted Dave. "An' it
seems to me yo 're purty d--n high in yore prices, anyhow."
"Well, I sees you wants a hoss right bad; an' when a man wants a hoss
bad he wants a _good_ hoss--an' good hosses come high. Dolly 's gentle
as a kitten," shrewdly explained the owner. "Big Gray, there, he 's
some hard to ride, onless you can sit a saddle good as th' next."
"How much for Big Gray?" snapped Dave.
"One hundred dollars."
"I ain't buyin' a herd," remonstrated Dave.
"I ain't sellin' a herd," smiled the owner. "I told you good hosses
come high. Mebby Dolly 'd suit you better. She 's my daughter's hoss."
"Here 's th' hundred," replied Dave, nettled. "Got a bridle or halter
or piece of rope? An' I want to buy a saddle--one that's been broke
in."
"There's a halter on him--good enough? All right; I got a saddle that's
in purty fair shape--don't need it, so you can have it for twenty."
When Dave rode from the corral he was headed for the general store and
bought a rifle, a rope, and sundry other necessaries, including food.
Returning to the hotel he put his horse in the corral, had a drink, and
went to his room carrying the saddle, the gunny sack, and his other
purchases with him. The gunny sack had not been from under his arm an
instant while he had been in town. The erstwhile owner of Big Gray
drifted back to his table shortly after Dave's return and settled
himself for another drink.
"Did you sell him one?" asked the proprietor, digging down for change.
"Yep," was the reply.
"Fifty, sixty, seventy-five--there 's yore change. I wonder who he is
an' where he's goin'?" remarked the proprietor, in lieu of something
better.
"Dunno; but he ain't no cow-punch, an' likewise he ain't no tenderfoot.
Looks like a tin-horn to me. His fingers was purty slick gettin' th'
bills off his roll. They was so slick I counted 'em to be sure he was
n't robbin' hisself. But there was n't no folded bill there. Here,
have a drink with me--business is pickin' up."
* * * * *
When the east-bound accommodation pulled into X---- at dusk two men
jumped off and started toward the nearest hotel. The proprietor of the
Come-Again assigned them a room and spoke of supper, to which they
intimated their ability to do justice to "anythin' you got." As they
turned away carelessly toward the "washroom" one of them halted: "We're
expectin' a friend," and he gave a concise description of the third man.
"Why, he 's upstairs now--first door to th' left at th' top of th'
flight--got in this afternoon. But he said he did n't want to be
bothered none," hastily warned the proprietor.
"That's right--you can let that go for th' three of us," replied
Hopalong, smiling.
"Said his nerves was all stampeded," commented the host, dubiously.
Hopalong winked, grinning: "Did n't act none that-a-way, did he?"
"Oh, I _told_ him somebody was stringin' him," laughed the proprietor.
"Reckon we 'll go up an' hustle him down to his feed," Tex remarked,
leading the way, with Hopalong stepping on his heels.
The proprietor studied the three names on his register, and spoke to the
horseman, who now was playing solitaire in a negligent way. "Wonder
what's up, Dick?"
"Dunno," replied Dick, holding aloft a queen of hearts and studying the
layout. "Reckon you better let this deal go by. Keep yore chips out,
Joe; don't like th' looks of th' pair of 'em. That red-head looks like
a bad customer, if his corn 's stepped on. Mebby their nervous friend
has did somethin' they don't like."
The knocking upstairs now reverberated through the house and a peevish
voice threatened destruction to the door unless it opened speedily.
"That's th' red-head," remarked Dick. "What did I tell you?"
The proprietor hastened from behind the bar and went up the steep,
narrow stairs with undignified haste. "Don't bust that door!" he cried.
"Don't you bust it!"
"Aw, close yore face!" growled a voice, and Dick nodded his head wisely.
"Both of 'em bad customers," he mumbled.
There was a crash and the sound of splintering wood, followed by
disgusted exclamations. Dick arose and sauntered up to see the show:
the host was nervously clutching a bill large enough to pay for several
broken doors. The red-head was looking out of the open window while the
other man rapidly searched the room.
"He dropped his belongings first," audibly commented the man at the
window. "Then _he_ dropped." He turned quickly to the proprietor: "Did
he have a horse?"
"Yes; bought one first thing after he registered."
"We want one apiece," crisply demanded Hopalong, "with speed, bottom,
an' sand. Got 'em? No? Then where can we get 'em to-night?"
"What'd he do?" blundered the host, rubbing the bill with tender fingers
and looking for information instead of giving it.
"He dropped out th' winder," sharply replied Tex. "We never stand for
that."
"Never, not under no circumstances," endorsed his friend. "It allus
riles us. How 'bout them horses?"
"I reckon I can fix you up," offered Dick. "I sold him th' hoss he 's
got. He wanted th' best in town, which he didn't get for bein' too
blamed flip. But he paid for it, just th' same. I got a roan an' a bay
that 'll run Big Gray off 'n his feed an' his feet. If yo 're comin'
back this way I 'll buy 'em back again at a reduction--I 'd like to keep
them two. I don't reckon I 'll get no chance to buy back th' other."
The horseman fell in behind the descending procession and lined up with
it against the bar on Hopalong's treat. Then they left the proprietor
to swear at the cook while they departed for the corral.
Dick chuckled. "Th' gray I sold yore missin' friend carried Bad Hawkins
from Juniper Creek to Halfway in fourteen hours--ten miles an hour. Th'
roan an' th' bay did it in ten hours even--which puts a period after th'
last words of Hawkins. Bad Hawkins weighed less 'n you," he said to
Tex, "an' th' gray shore sprains a laig a-doin' it. It don't show--that
is, not when he was sold it did n't. That feller was too d--d flip--one
of them Smart Alecks that stirs my bile somethin' awful."
Tex wearied of his voice: "Yore discernment is very creditable," he
replied, with becoming gravity.
The horseman glanced at him out of the corner of his eye: "Yes--I reckon
so," he hazarded.
When they reached the corral the two strangers looked in critically.
Nearly a score of horses were impounded, among them several bays and
roans. Hopalong pointed to one of the roans. "That looks like th'
horse," he remarked, quietly, at the instant his friend singled out the
bay.
"Them 's th' hosses--they 'll run th' liver out of Big Gray even if his
laig does hold out," smiled their owner, glad that his first customer
had not been as wise as either of these two men. The horses were cut
out and accepted on the spot.
"How much?" demanded Hopalong, brusquely.
"Eighty apiece."
"That's a lot of money. But we got to have 'em. How 'bout saddles? We
can do without 'em if we has to, but we ain't hankerin' very strong to
do it."
"I got a couple of good ones," responded the horseman. Then he yielded
to a sudden burst of generosity. "Tell you what I 'll do--I 'll sell you
them saddles for forty apiece an' when I gets 'em back, you gets yore
money back. An' if you don't kill th' hosses, we 'll have a little
dicker over them, too. I would n't sell 'em only for a good price an'
you won't have nothin' to complain about if I buys 'em back again."
"Yo 're a white man," responded Hopalong. "Now we all oughta have a
drink to bind th' deal. An' I reckon supper 'll go good, too. We 'll
be right glad to have you join us." The invitation was accepted with
becoming alacrity.
After the meal, and a game of cards, during which both punchers had
learned much about the surrounding country, they went on a tour of
investigation. They had discovered that the only way south likely to be
taken by a man not perfectly familiar with the several little-known
mountain trails, was through Lone Tree Pass. A walk about the town,
before turning in, disclosed to them the kind and amount of Dave's
purchases: these showed that he expected to be in the saddle more than a
few hours. Returning to the hotel they went at once to their room.
Sitting on the edge of the bed Hopalong asked a question: "You 've got
me on t' lay of th' land in this part of the country, Tex. Why do you
figger he 'll head south?"
Tex blew out the light and settled himself snugly in his bed before
replying. "Because anybody else would figger he 'd strike north for th'
Canadian line, or up to Helena an' West, where a man can get lost easy.
I 've sort of palled with Dave, an' I know th' skunk like a ABC book.
His trail will show us th' way, but it won't tell us about th' country
ahead of us. I allus like to know what I 'm goin' up against when I
can."
"Shore; good-night," muttered Hopalong, and in a moment more soft snores
vibrated out through the open window, to be mildly criticised by the
cook in the cook shack below.
Down in the bar-room the proprietor, having said good-night to his last
customer, pushed the column of figures away with a sigh of satisfaction
and rested his chin on his hand while he reviewed the events of the day.
"Why," he muttered, pugnaciously, coming out of his reveries and pouring
himself a liberal drink on the strength of the day's profits; "why, now
I know what that coyote wanted his room at the back of the house
for--good thing I got th' money ahead of time! Well, he 's got a h--l of
a lot of trouble chasin' him, anyhow, th' beat."
* * * * *
With three days' rations fastened to their saddles Hopalong and Tex
whirled away from the Come-Again as the first streak of gray appeared in
the eastern sky and after a short distance at full speed to take the
devilishness out of their mounts, they slowed to a lope. Heading
straight for the Pass, they picked up Dave's trail less than two miles
from town and then settled into a steady gait that ate up the miles
without punishing their horses. They had not made any mistake in their
mounts for they were powerful and tough, spirited enough to possess
temper and courage without any undue nervous waste, and the way they
covered ground, with apparently no effort, brought a grim smile to
Hopalong's face.
"I don't reckon I 'll do no swappin' back, Tex," he chuckled. "I 've
allus wanted a cayuse like this 'n, an' I reckon he 'll stay bought,
even at th' price."
"They look good--but I 'll tell you more about 'em by night," Tex
replied. He glanced ahead with calm assurance: "I don't figger he's so
very far, Hoppy?"
"Why no, Tex; he could n't ride hard last night, not over strange
country--it was darker'n blazes. We did n't leave very long after him
when you figger it in miles, an' he ain't reckonin' _shore_ on bein'
chased. He drops out th' winder an' sneaks that way 'cause he ain't
takin' no chances.
"We 've got th' best cayuses, we 've had more sleep than him, we know
this game better, we 're tougher, an' we can get more out of a cayuse
than he can. I reckon we ought to get sight of him afore sundown, an' I
would n't be surprised if we saw him shortly after noon. We 'll shore
get him 'bout noon, if he 's had any sleep."
"I 'd ruther get him this side of Lone Tree Pass--I ain't hankerin' for
no close chase through th' mountains after a cuss like Dave," Tex
replied. "What do you say 'bout lettin' out another link?"
Hopalong watched his horse for a minute, glanced critically at his
companion's, and tightened the grip of his knees. "That feller said a
hundred an' forty in ten hours--how far is that pass? Well, might as
well find out what this cayuse can do--come on, let 'em go!"
Pounding along at a gait which sent the wind whistling past their ears
they dipped into hollows, shot over rises, and rounded turns side by
side, stirrups touching and eyes roving as they searched the trail
ahead. The turns they made were not as many as those in the trail they
followed, for often they cut straight across from one turn to another.
The ability to do this brought a shrewd smile to Hopalong's thin lips.
"Let his cayuse pick its way, Tex--told you he could n't go fast last
night. Bet a dollar we come to where he slept afore long--an' say! luck
's with us, shore. Notice how he was bearin'--a little off th' course
all th' time--that gray of his must a' come from som'ers up north. He
had to correct that when he could see where th' Pass lay--come on, we
'll try another cut-off, an' a big one."
"Yo 're right--we 'll gain a hour, easy," Tex replied as they shot off
at a tangent for the distant mountain range on a line for the Pass. The
sun was two hours higher when Tex laughed aloud, stretching his hand
across his friend's horse and pointing some distance ahead of him.
"There's th' track again, Hoppy," he cried, "you was right--see it?"
Hopalong waited until they swept up along the fresh trail before he
replied and the reply was characteristic of him. "Pushin' th' gray
hard, Tex. Them toe prints are purty deep--an' d--d if th' gray ain't
havin' trouble with his bad laig! See that off fore hoofmark? See how
it ain't as deep as its mate? Th' gray's favorin' that laig, an' only
for one reason: it hurts him more when he don't. Move away a little,
Tex; don't do no good to be bunched so close where there 's so much
cover. He ain't a long way off, judgin' from them tracks. We don't
know that he ain't doubled back to pick us off as we near him."
Tex tightened his knee-grip and rowelled his spurs lightly along the
side of his mount, darting ahead with Hopalong speeding up to catch him.
It was a test to see how the horses were holding up and when the animals
took up the new speed and held it with plenty of reserve strength, the
two men let them go.
As they shot down a rough, sloping trail to a shallow creek, flowing
noisily along the bottom of a wild arroyo, Hopalong looked ahead eagerly
and called to Tex to slow down to a walk. Tex, surprised, obeyed and
took the reins of the bay as Hopalong went ahead to cross the stream on
foot. But Tex's surprise was only momentary; he quickly understood the
reason for the play and he warmed to his sagacious friend while he
admired his skill.
Hopalong waded the stream and looked carefully around on both side of
the tracks where they left the water. Motioning Tex to come ahead, he
grinned as the other obeyed. "Did n't want to splash no fresh water
around here till I saw if th' water Dave splashed was all soaked up. It
is; but th' spots is moist. An' another thing: see th' prints o' that
hoof where he takes up an' sets down--where is he lame?"
"Shoulder," replied Tex with instant decision.
"Shore is. An' he 's been a-gettin' lamer every step. Bet he ain't an
hour ahead, Tex."
"Won't take you--an' he 'll be above us all th' way till we cross th'
top of th' range, so we better keep under cover as much as we can," Tex
replied. "We 've trailed worse men than Dave, a whole lot worse, an'
far better shots; but he ain't really due to miss twice in two days.
Th' Pass ain't so far ahead now--there it is, with th' blasted pine
stickin' up like a flag-pole. Half an hour more an' we 'll be in it."
Ahead of them, toiling up the Pass on a tired and limping horse rode
Dave, not so fresh as he might have been with the four hours' sleep he
had secured in the open at dawn. The night ride over strange, rough
country had been hard and his rage at the shabby trick played upon him
by the horse dealer had not helped him any. To win up to the point
where success was almost his; and then to have a half-breed horse
coper--one who had absolutely no connection with the game--threaten to
defeat him! To fool all the players, to gain, as he thought, a big
handicap and then to be delayed by a man who sought only to gain a
little money and be well rid of a poor horse! Dave's temper was like
that of a rattler hedged in by thorns and the rougher part of the
mountain trail had been saturated with profanity. There was not much
chance of meeting any one on that trail and by the time he reached a
place where he could get another horse, the need for one would have
gone. Let him see a horseman and he knew who would ride the horse. He
struck the limping gray savagely as it flinched over a particularly
rough part of the trail and he was growling and swearing as he rounded a
turn in the Pass and came to a place where, by climbing a boulder just
above him, he could get a good view of the way he had come.
Dismounting, he made the climb and looked back over the trail. Miles of
country were below him, the trail winding across it, hidden at times and
then running on in plain view until some hill concealed it again. The
sun was half down in the western sky and he swore again as he realized
how much farther he should have been--how near the end of his ride.
"A hundred an' forty miles in ten hours!" he snarled, squirming back to
descend to his horse. "No wonder Bad Hawkins got caught! Served th'
d--n fool right; an' it 'd serve me right for being such a----" the
words ceased and the speaker flattened himself to the rock as he peered
intently at a hill far down the trail, waiting to be sure his eyes had
not deceived him.
The slanting sun had made a fairyland of the rugged scenery, bathing the
rocks until they seemed to glow, finding cunningly hidden quartz and
crystals and turning them into points of flame. The fresh, clean green
coat that Spring had thrown over the crags as if to hide them, softened
the harsher tones and would have thrilled even Dave, who was sated with
scenery, if it had not been for his temper and the desperate straits in
which he found himself. He lay like one dead but for the straining
eyes. An eagle, drifting carelessly across the blue, missed him in its
sharp scrutiny, so well did his clothes blend with the tones of the
rock.
"H--l!" he muttered, for far below him something moved out into the
trail again where it emerged from behind the hill, and two mounted men
came into sight, riding rapidly to take advantage of the short run of
level country.
Dave could not make them out--they were only two men at that distance,
but he wasted no time nor gave heed to any optimism. He wriggled
backwards, dropped to the trail, and looked around for a place to hide
his horse. Not seeing one at hand he mounted again and forced the
limping animal forward until he saw a narrow ravine cut into the
mountain side by the freshets of countless years. Leading the gray into
this and around a turn in the wall, he picketed the animal and then
hastened back, scurrying to and fro in search of a hiding place that
would give him a view of the trail for the greatest distance. His mind
worked as rapidly as his feet. The coming horsemen might be innocent of
all knowledge of him or of his need. If so, he preferred to ride behind
them. If they were in pursuit--and he could not believe it to be a mere
coincidence that any but an enemy would be following him so close
through Lone Tree Pass--they had not started from the town he had just
quitted--unless they had traced him by telegraph! Dave cursed softly
and settled himself a little more at ease in his ambush.
Hopalong and Tex, enjoying that friendship that sets no embarrassment on
silence, rode forward side by side when the trail permitted it, grim,
relentless, dogged. They represented that class of men who can pursue
one thing to the exclusion of all tempting side leads, needing nothing
but what they themselves can supply; who approach all duties with cool,
level-headed precision and gain their goal without a thought of reward
and with small regard for danger. Danger they had both met in all the
forms it took on the range and trail, dance-hall and saloon; both had
mastered it by the speed and certainty of their hands and guns, and
neither found anything exciting or fearful in this game of follow and
take; on the other hand it was tiresome to have to follow, and one man,
at that. If some bold, daring stroke of strategy or a reckless dash
could have been hoped for, it would have made the game interesting. So
they jogged on toward the opening of the pass, taciturn and sombre, but
with the cold patience of Indians.
The trail narrowed again and Tex took the lead. "Closer now," he
remarked, more to himself than to his companion, whose reply was a
grunt, presumed to be affirmative. When they entered the pass itself it
was Hopalong who led, and to see him as he sat slouching in his saddle,
apparently half asleep, one would have wondered that a man whose
wariness was the basis of so many famed exploits could ride thus
carelessly, allowing his horse to pick the way. But in the shadow of
his straight-brimmed hat, two hard, keen eyes squinted through the
narrow lids, among the wrinkles, and missed nothing that could be seen;
under the faded red shirt sleeve was an arm ready for the lightning draw
that had never yet been beaten, and the hand-worn butt of the heavy Colt
rubbed softly against the belt-strap of its holster.
Hopalong rolled a cigarette and took advantage of the movement to speak:
"Goin' back to Texas, Tex?"
"Why," replied Tex, pausing to reflect. "Why, I said as how I would to
all yore boys, but I reckon mebby Buck needs me worse'n you do. What
think?"
"Stay up here an' run for sheriff," was the crisp reply. "This country
's sick with crooks."
"Reckon so."
"Good place for undertakers, while th' boom is on," continued Hopalong,
smiling grimly at the truth in his jest. He knew Tex Ewalt.
"Th' boom 'll be busted flat afore you go home," Tex responded. "It's
fallin' now. Dave was its high-water mark."
They were riding side by side now and Hopalong growled a suggestion: "Go
slow, Tex; mebby he 's holin' up on us, like he did on Buck. He ain't
more 'n a million miles ahead of us now."
"Uh-huh; an' if he is he ought to get us easy in this place. Got to
take a chance, anyhow. Gimme a match--_Look out_!"
As he spoke he hurled his horse against Hopalong's and his left arm
dropped to his side with a bullet through it, while his right hand
flashed to his hip, where a pungent cloud of smoke burst out to envelop
his horse's head. Off his balance from the unexpected shock, Hopalong's
shot went wide, but the next five, directed at Dave's head-long rush as
he came crashing down through the underbrush, gave promise of better
aim.
[Illustration: As he spoke he hurled his horse against Hopalong's, while
his right hand flashed to his hip]
"I owed him that, anyhow," muttered Tex, his ears ringing from the
fusillade so close to him. "An' I owed you th' play, Hoppy, ever since
that day in th' brush--"
"You don't owe me nothin' now, Tex; that's as close as any in ten
years," returned Hopalong. "Well, he showed hisself a d--d ambushin'
snake just as we thought he would. He could a' got us both if his
nerves had n't got th' chills an' fever. We was some careless!"
"We was a pair of blasted kids," Tex remarked. "Now what 'll we do with
him? We can't take him back, an' buryin' in solid rock ain't been in my
schoolin'."
"We can cover him with rocks, I reckon, but we ain't got time--besides,
how'd he leave Buck?" demanded Hopalong sharply. "Why, he got you, Tex!
Here, you close-mouthed fool, lemme fix that hole."
Tex stood quietly thoughtful until Hopalong had finished his task. "We
'll just chuck him off th' trail, Hoppy; then we won't have to answer no
question or shoot sense into no thick skulls. How 'bout it?"
"Uh-huh, go ahead," grunted Hopalong and the two walked over, picked up
the unresisting bulk and placed it in a fissure in the rock wall.
"By th' Lord!" swore Tex: "Five shots out of five when you got yore
balance--_that's_ shootin'! _You_ better run for sheriff."
"I had n't ought to 'a' done it when I knowed th' second got him--but he
kept a-comin' an' I was a-thinkin' of Buck. Come on, let's get goin'."
He mounted and waited impatiently for Tex, who was still standing beside
his horse as if unwilling to leave the scene. "His pot-shootin' is
over, so let's start back."
"Uh-huh," muttered Tex, still lost in thought. Hopalong waited, having
acquired increased respect for his friend's brain capacity in the last
few days.
"Hoppy, why did Dave ambush Buck an' have to run, just when he was goin'
to skin Schatz for a pot of money?"
"Give it up," answered Hopalong.
"Well, why did n't Schatz turn up when everything was set for the play?"
"Got to pass again, Tex," was Hopalong's indulgent reply.
"Dave had plenty of chances to kill Buck--better chances than that
one--an' no need to run, if he was careful. Th' Twin River trail is
travelled some--it was shore risky--no time to waste in Wayback waitin'
for Schatz after that, huh?"
"Mebby th' kid did n't get it right," suggested Hopalong.
Tex nodded his head convincingly. "Yes, he did. Told a straight story.
Hoppy, Dave knew Schatz was n't comin'. Hoppy, I got--I got a
feelin'--Hoppy, what 'll you bet Dave ain't got th' money right now?"
"By G--d!" exclaimed Hopalong, staring at his friend, his mind racing
along the scent like a hound to the kill. "By G--d!" he repeated,
softly, as he dropped from the saddle and became hidden in the crevice.
"No money, Tex; only a few--"
"Where's his horse?" demanded Tex, eagerly.
"_Yo 're_ goin' to run for sheriff," came the retort, and Hopalong
followed the track of Dave's horse and turned into the ravine, out of
sight of Tex, who waited impatiently.
Tex was surprised at the result of the quest when a crazy man came
buck-jumping into sight, yelling like an Indian and frantically waving a
tightly grasped saddle pad of sacking. He would have come out with more
dignity if the money had been his, but belonging as it did to his old
foreman, the big-hearted man who had been for so long a time on the
verge of despair and defeat, allowed himself the luxury of free
expression to the bubbling joy within him.
"Come on, Tex!" he cried. "Th' h--l with goin' back--we 'll take a
chance of meetin' th' Dutchman as Dave Owens' personal executors an'
ambassadors. If Schatz has got a wad like this, he 's th' man I want to
see. Come on! We 'll bust all Montana records for hold-ups--come on,
you wise old devil!"
"Now who 's goin' to be sheriff?" grinned Tex, and then allowed himself
the relief of working off his joy in a short jig, which informed him
that Dave had made a hit; not a bull's eye, but a hit just the same.
"Here, you drunk Apache," Hopalong cried, "let's count up an' see what
we got."
Had any one drifted along a minute later he would have been torn between
duty and discretion: duty to provide a sane guardian in himself for that
part of the Government treasury strayed to the wilds of these western
mountains, and discretion in facing the two capable-looking highwaymen
who sat crossed-legged on the trail with guns on the ground close to
their hands.
"Um-m-m," murmured Tex, who knew of the size of the joint account.
"Schatz is lucky if he 's got carfare--th' capital of th'
Peters-McAllister-Schatz combine is spread reckless under our gloatin'
eyes; all except th' few miserable bills that Dave spent. Come on, you
greedy hog--we 'll let Schatz have his two-bits an' be glad to get rid
of him. I 'd hate to shoot any man as fat as him--no tellin' what 'd
happen. Stick yore roll where it won't jar loose, load that right-hand
gun, an' see that nobody holds you up."
"I 've allus been plumb a-scared o' hold-ups," grinned Hopalong,
facetiously. "We all was. Lead costs money, an' there ain't no use
wastin' it." The grin disappeared and a hard look focussed in his clear
eyes as he thought of what a lovely time any hold-up squad would have
when Buck's money was at stake.
They mounted and rode away down the pass. As they came to the first
bend, Tex glanced back and saw Big Gray peacefully cropping the scanty
vegetation along the trail by the ravine. He was without bridle or
saddle and Tex glanced covertly at the happy man at his side who could
put five bullets in a falling enemy without a pang, and immediately
after release a limping horse so that it could live and grow strong, to
roam free among the mountains.
Hopalong rolled both guns at once to end the celebration, the bullets
striking a rock down the trail as fast as one could count and at
intervals as regular as the hammer-stroke of a striking clock. To a man
who looked upon a gun only as a weapon to be pointed and discharged at
an object, this would have been sufficiently wonderful, but to a real
gun-man, one acquainted with the delicacy of manipulation and absolute
precision required to effect this result, it was far more wonderful.
There are many good gun-men who never have acquired this art, and the
danger of practising it is enough to deter most men from attempting it.
To hold a six-shooter by a finger slipped through the trigger guard and
make it spin around like a pinwheel, firing it every time the muzzle
swung out and away from the body, is risky; and when two guns are going
at once, it is trebly risky, while accuracy is almost impossible.
Hopalong was accurate, so was Johnny, but the latter could work only one
gun. Tex, being something of a master of gun-play, was capable of
appreciating the feat at its true worth and his eyes glowed at the
exhibition. To him came the memory of a day far back in the years when
this dexterity had worked to his dishonor, yet it brought with it no
malice and it was with the deep affection that a man has for a man
friend--and usually for only one--that he playfully advised his
companion to "load 'em up again." "Hoppy, there 's only one hand I ever
see that I 'm more afraid of than that 'n o' yourn," he remarked.
Hopalong looked at him in mild surprise: "Whose is that?" he asked.
"Yore other one," and Tex grinned at his jest.