HOPALONG MEETS MEEKER
When Meeker was within a mile of the line he met Curley, told him what
had occurred and that he was going to find Hopalong. Curley smiled and
replied that he had seen that person less than ten minutes ago and
that he was riding towards the peak, and alone.
"We'll go after him," Meeker replied. "You come because I want to face
him in force so he won't start no gun-play an' make me kill him.
That'd set hell to pop."
Hopalong espied Johnny far to the east and he smiled as he remembered
the celerity with which that individual had departed after glancing at
the coin.
"There ain't no flies on th' Kid, all right," he laughed, riding
slowly so Johnny could join him. He saw Curley riding south and looked
over the rough plain for other H2 punchers. Some time later as he
passed a chaparral he glanced back to see what had become of his
friend, but found that he had disappeared. When he wheeled to watch
for him he saw Meeker and Curley coming towards him and he shook his
holster to be sure his Colt was not jammed in it too tightly.
"Well, here's where th' orchestry tunes up, all right," he muttered
grimly. "Licked th' Greaser, plugged Doc, an' sent word to Meeker to
come up if he wasn't scared. He's come, an' now I'll have to lick two
more. If they push me I'll shoot to kill!"
The H2 foreman rode ahead of his companion and stopped when fifty
yards from the alert line-rider. Pushing his sombrero back on his
head, he lost no time in skirmishing. "Did you chase my broncho-buster
out of yore valley, cut his face with yore quirt, an' shoot Doc? Did
you send word to me that you'd kill me if I showed myself?"
"Was you ever an auctioneer," calmly asked Hopalong, "or a book
agent?"
"What's that got to do with it?" Meeker demanded. "You heard what I
said."
"I don't know nothing about yore broncho-buster, taking one thing at a
time, which is proper."
"What! You didn't drive him out, or cut him?"
"No; why?" asked Hopalong, chuckling.
"He says you did--an' somebody quirted him."
"He's loco--he wasn't in th' valley," Hopalong replied. "Think he
could get in that valley? Him, or any other man we didn't want in?"
"You're devilish funny!" retorted Meeker, riding slowly forward,
followed by his companion, who began to edge away from his foreman.
"Since you are so exact, did you chase him off yore range an' push
him over th' line at th' point of yore gun?"
"You've got me. Better not come too close--my cayuse don't like
gettin' crowded."
"That's all right," Meeker retorted, not heeding the warning. "Do you
mean to tell me you don't know? Yore name's Cassidy, ain't it?" he
asked, angrily, his determination to avoid fighting rapidly becoming
lost.
"That's my own, shore 'nuf name," Hopalong answered, and then: "Do you
mean that cross-eyed, bone-yard of a yellow-faced Greaser I caught
stealing our range?"
"Yes!" snapped Meeker, stopping again.
"Why didn't you say so, then, 'stead of calling him yore
broncho-buster?" Hopalong demanded. "How do I know who yore
broncho-buster is? I don't know what every land pirate does in this
country."
"Then you shot Doc--do you know who I mean this time?" sarcastically
asked the H2 foreman.
"Oh, shore. He didn't get his gun out quick enough when he went after
it, did he? Any more I can tell you before I begins to say things,
too?"
Meeker, angered greatly by Hopalong's contemptuous inflection and the
reckless assertiveness of his every word and look, began to ride to
describe a circle around the Bar-20 puncher, Curley going the other
way.
"You said you'd kill me when you saw me, didn't you, you--"
Hopalong was backing away so as to keep both men in front of him,
alert, eager, and waiting for the signal to begin his two-handed
shooting. "I ain't a whole lot deaf--I can hear you from where you
are. You better stop, for I've ridden out of tighter holes than this,
an' you'll shore get a pass to h--l if you crowd me too much!"
Adown th' road, an' gun in hand,
Comes Whiskey Bill, mad Whiskey Bill--
This fragment of song floated out of a chaparral about twenty yards
behind Hopalong, who grinned pleasantly when he heard it. Now he knew
where Johnny was, and now he had the whip hand without touching his
guns; while the youngster was not in sight he was all the more
dangerous, since he presented no target. Johnny knew this and was
greatly pleased thereby, and he was more than pleased by the way
Hopalong had been talking.
The effect of the singing was instant and marked on Meeker and his
companion, for they not only stopped suddenly and swore, but began to
back away, glancing around in an endeavor to locate the joker in the
deck. This they failed to do because Johnny was far too wise to
advertise his exact whereabouts. Meeker looked at Curley and Curley
looked at Meeker, both uneasy and angry.
"As I was sayin' before th' concert began," Hopalong remarked,
laughing shortly, "it's a pass to h--l if you crowd me too much. Now,
Meeker, you'll listen to me an' I'll tell you what I didn't have time
to say before: I told that shifty-eyed mud-image of a Greaser that
th' next herd of yourn to cross th' line should be brought in by you,
'less you was scared to run th' risks yore men had to take. He said
you'd kill me for that message, an' I told him you knew where you
could find me. Now about Doc: When a man pulls a gun on me he wants to
be quicker than _he_ was or he'll shore get hurt. I could 'a killed
him just as easy as to plug his gun arm, an' just as easy as I could
'a plugged both of you if you pulled on me. You came up here looking
for my scalp an' if you still wants it I'll go away from th' song bird
in the chaparral an' give you th' chance. I'd ruther let things stay
as they are, though if you wants, I'll take both you an' Curley,
half-mile run together, with Colts."
"No, I didn't come up here after your scalp, but I got mad after I
found you. How long is this going to last? I won't stand for it much
longer, nohow."
"You'll have to see Buck. I'm obeyin' orders, which are to hold th'
line against you, which I'll do."
"H'm!" replied Meeker, and then: "Do you know my girl?"
Hopalong thought quickly. "Why, I've seen her ridin' around some. But
why?"
"She says she knows you," persisted Meeker, frowning.
The frown gave Hopalong his cue, but he hardly knew what to say, not
knowing what she had said about it.
"Hey, you!" he suddenly cried to Curley. "Keep yore hand from that
gun!"
"I didn't--"
"You're lying! Any more of that an' I'll gimlet you!"
"What in h--l are you doing, Curley?" demanded Meeker, the girl
question out of his mind instantly. He had been looking closely at
Hopalong and didn't know that Curley was innocent of any attempt to
use his Colt.
"I tell--"
"Get out of here! I've wasted too much time already. Go home, where
that gun won't worry you. You, too, Meeker! Bring an imitation bad-man
up here an' sayin' you didn't want my scalp! Flit!"
"I'll go when I'm d----d good and ready!" retorted Meeker, angry
again. "You're too blasted bossy, you are!" he added, riding towards
the man who had shot Doc.
A-looking for some place to land----
floated out of the chaparral and he stiffened in the saddle and
stopped.
"Come on, Curley! We can't lick pot-shooters. An' let that gun alone!"
"D--n it! I tell you I wasn't going for my gun!" Curley yelled.
"Get out of here!" blazed Hopalong, riding forward.
They rode away slowly, consulting in low voices. Then the foreman
turned and looked back. "You better be careful how you shoot my
punchers! They ain't all like Doc, an' they ain't all Greasers,
neither."
"Then you're lucky," Hopalong retorted. "You keep yore cows on yore
side an' we won't hurt none of yore outfit."
When they had gone Hopalong wheeled to look for Johnny and saw him
crawling out of a chaparral, dragging a rifle after him. He capered
about, waving the rifle and laughing with joy and Hopalong had to
laugh with him. When they were rid of the surplus of the merriment
Johnny patted the rifle. "Reckon they was shore up against a marked
deck that time! Did you see 'em stiffen when I warbled? Acted like
they had roped a puma an' didn't know what to do with it. Gee, it was
funny!"
"You're all right, Kid," laughed Hopalong. "It was yore best play--you
couldn't 'a done better."
"Shore," replied Johnny. "I had my sights glued to Curley's shirt
pocket, an' he'd been plumb disgusted if he'd tried to do what you
said he did. I couldn't 'a missed him with a club at that range. I
nearly died when you pushed Meeker's girl question up that blind
canyon. It was a peach of a throw, all right. Bet he ain't remembered
yet that he didn't get no answer to it. We're going to have some
blamed fine times down here before everything is settled, ain't we?"
"I reckon so, Kid. I'm going to leave you now an' look around by West
Arroyo. You hang around th' line."
"All right--so long."
"Can you catch yore cayuse?"
"Shore I can; he's hobbled," came the reply from behind a spur of the
chaparral. "_Stand still, you hen!_ All right, Hoppy."
Johnny cantered away and, feeling happy, began, singing:
Adown th' road, an' gun in hand,
Comes Whiskey Bill, mad Whiskey Bill;
A-looking for some place to land
Comes Whiskey Bill.
An' everybody'd like to be
Ten miles away behind a tree
When on his joyous, achin' spree
Starts Whiskey Bill.
Th' times have changed since you made love,
Oh, Whiskey Bill, oh, Whiskey Bill;
Th' happy sun grinned up above
At Whiskey Bill.
An' down th' middle of th' street
Th' sheriff comes on toe-in feet,
A-wishing for one fretful peek
At Whiskey Bill.
Th' cows go grazin' o'er th' lea--
Pore Whiskey Bill, pore Whiskey Bill;
An' aching thoughts pour in on me
Of Whiskey Bill.
Th' sheriff up an' found his stride,
Bill's soul went shootin' down th' slide--
How are things on th' Great Divide,
Oh, Whiskey Bill?