HOPALONG RIDES SOUTH
The morning broke clear and showed a clean, freshened plain to the men
who rode to the line house on the Peak, there to take up their
quarters and from there to ride as scouts. Hopalong sent Red to ride
along the line for the purpose of seeing how things were in that
vicinity and, leaving the others to go where they wished, struck south
down the side of the hill, intending to hunt Antonio on his own
ground. Tied to his saddle was the shovel and in his pocket he carried
the brass button, his evidence for Meeker. As he rode at an easy lope
he kept a constant lookout for signs of rustling. Suddenly he leaned
forward and tightened his knee grip, the horse responding by breaking
into a gallop, while its rider took up his lariat, shaking it into a
long loop, his twisting right wrist imparting enough motion to it to
keep it clear of the vegetation and rocks.
A distant cow wheeled sharply and watched him for a moment and then,
snorting, its head down and its tail up, galloped away at a speed not
to be found among domesticated cattle. It was bent upon only one
thing--to escape that dreaded, whirling loop of rawhide, so pliant
and yet so strong. Hopalong, not as expert as Lanky, who carried a
rope nearly sixty feet long and who could place it where he wished,
used one longer than the more common lariats.
The cow did its best, but the pony steadily gained, nimbly executing
quick turns and jumping gullies, up one side of a hill and down the
other, threading its way with precision through the chaparrals and
deftly avoiding the holes in its path. Closer and closer together came
the pursued and pursuers, and then the long rope shot out and sailed
through the air, straight for the animal's hind legs. As it settled, a
quick upward jerk of the arm did the rest and there was a snubbing of
rope around the saddle horn, a sudden stopping and dropping back on
haunches on the part of the pony, and the cow went down heavily. The
rider did not wait for the horse to get set, but left the saddle as
soon as the rope had been securely snubbed, and ran to the side of his
victim.
The cow was absolutely helpless, for the rope was taut, the
intelligent pony leaning back and being too well trained to allow the
least amount of slack to bow the rawhide closer to the earth.
Therefore Hopalong gave no thought to his horse, for while cinches,
pommel, and rope held, the small, wiry, wild-eyed bundle of galvanic
cussedness would hold the cow despite all its efforts to get up.
"Never saw _that_ brand before, an' I've rid all over this country for
a good many years, too," he soliloquized. "There sure ain't no HQQ
herd down this way, nor no place close enough for a stray. Somebody
is shore starting a herd on his own hook; from th' cows on this range,
too.
"By th' great horned spoon! I can see Bar-20 in them marks!" he cried,
bending closer. "All he had to do was to make a H out of th' Bar,
close up th' 2, an' put a tail on th' O! Hum--whoop! There is H2 in
it, too! Close th' 2 an' add a Q, an' there you are! I don't mind a
hog once in a while, but working both ranches to a common mark is
shore too much for me. Stealing from both ranches an' markin 'em all
HQQ!"
He moved up to look at the ears and swore when he saw them. "D--n it!
That's all I want to know! Mebby a sheriff wouldn't get busy on th'
evidence, but I ain't no sheriff--I'm just a plain cow-punch with good
common sense. Meeker's cut is a V in one ear--here I finds a slant
like Skinny saw, an' in both ears. If that don't cut under Meeker's
notch I'm a liar! All framed up to make a new herd out of our cows.
Just let me catch some coyote with a running iron under his saddle
flap an' see what happens!"
He quickly slacked the rope and slipped off the noose, running as fast
as he could go to his pony, for some cows get "on the prod" very
easily, and few cows are afraid of a man on foot; and when a
long-horned Texas cow has "its dander up," it is not safe for an
unmounted man to take a chance with its horns, unless he is willing to
shoot it down. This Hopalong would not do, for he did not want to let
the rustlers know that the new brand had been discovered. Vaulting
into his saddle he eluded the charge of the indignant cow and loped
south, coiling up his rope as he went.
Half an hour after leaving the HQQ cow he saw a horseman ahead of him,
threading his way through a chaparral. As Hopalong overtook him the
other emerged and stopped, uncertain whether to reach for his gun or
not. It was Juan, who had not gone to Mesa overnight, scouting to
learn if any new developments had taken place along the boundary. Juan
looked at the shovel and then at the puncher, his face expressionless.
Hopalong glanced at the other's cuff, found it was all right, and then
forced himself to smile. "Looking for rustlers?" he bantered.
"_Si._"
"What! There ain't no rustlers loose on this range, is there?" asked
Hopalong, surprised.
"_Quien sabe?_"
"Oh, them sleepers were made by yore own, lazy outfit, an' you might
as well own up to it," Hopalong grinned, deprecatingly. "You can fool
Meeker, all right, he's easy; but you can't throw dust in my eyes like
that. On th' level, now, ain't I right? Didn't you fellers make them
sleepers?"
Juan shrugged his shoulders. "_Quien sabe?_"
"That '_Quien sabe_' is th' handiest an' most used pair of words in
yore cussed language," replied Hopalong grinning. "Ask one of you
fellers something you don't want to tell an' it's '_Quien sabe?_'
ain't it?"
"_Si_," laughed the Mexican.
"I thought so," Hopalong retorted. "You can't tell me that any gang
that would cut a dam like they did ourn wouldn't sleeper, an' don't
you forget it, neither!"
Juan's face cleared for a moment as he gloated over how Antonio's
scheme had worked out, and he laughed. "No can fool you, hey?" Then he
pressed his knee tighter against his saddle skirt and a worried look
came into his eyes.
Hopalong took no apparent notice of the action, but he saw it, and it
sent one word burning through his brain. They were riding at a walk
now and Hopalong, not knowing that Juan had left the H2, suggested
that they ride to the ranch together. He was watching the Mexican
closely, for it would not be unusual for a man in Juan's position to
try to get out of it by shooting. The Mexican refused to ride south
and Hopalong, who was determined to stay with his companion until he
found out what he wanted to know, proposed a race to a barranca that
cut into the plain several hundred yards ahead. He would let Juan beat
him, and all the way, so he could watch the saddle flap, and if this
failed he would waste no more time in strategy, but would find out
about it quickly. Juan also declined to race, and very hurriedly, for
the less his saddle was jolted the better it would be for him. He knew
Hopalong's reputation as a revolver fighter and would take no chances.
"That ain't a bad cayuse you got there. I was wondering if it could
beat mine, what's purty good itself. Is it very bronc?" he asked,
kicking the animal in the ribs whereupon it reared and pranced.
Juan's left hand went to the assistance of his knee, his right grasped
the cantle of his saddle, where it was nearer the butt of his Colt,
and a look of fear came into his eyes.
Hopalong watched his chance and as the restive animal swung towards
him he spurred it viciously, at the same time crying: "Take yore hand
from off that flap, you d----d cow-lifter!"
The command was unnecessary, for a thin, straight rod of iron slipped
down and stuck in the sand, having worked loose from its lashings.
Mexican-like, Juan had put off until to-morrow to heat it and bend a
loop in one end for more secure fastening.
At the instant it fell Juan leaned back and dropped over on the far
side of his horse, his right leg coming up level with his enemy, and
reached for his gun, intending to shoot through the end of the holster
and save time. But he went farther than he had intended, not stopping
until he struck the earth, his bullet missing Hopalong by only a few
inches.
The Bar-20 puncher slipped his Colt back into the sheath and, leaning
down, deftly picked up the iron and fastened it to his saddle. Roping
the Mexican's horse he continued on his way to the H2, leaving Juan
where he had fallen.
When he arrived at the ranch he turned the horse into the corral and
started to ride to the bunk house; but Salem, enjoying a respite from
cooking and washing dishes, saw him and started for him on an awkward
run, crying:
"Where'd you git that hoss? Where'd you clear from, an' who are you?"
"Th' cayuse belongs to Meeker--Juan was riding it. Is anybody around?"
"I'm around, ain't I, you fog-eyed lubber! Where's th' Lascar? Who are
you?"
"Well, Duke, I'm from th' Bar-20, an' my name is Hop--"
"Weigh anchor an' 'bout ship! You can't make this port, you
wind-jamming pirate!"
"I want to see yore foreman. This is his shovel, an' I--"
"Then where'd you get it, hey? How'd you get his--"
"Hang it!" interrupted Hopalong, losing his patience. "I tell you I
want to see Meeker! I want to see him about some--"
"An' where's th' coolie that rid that hoss?" demanded the cook,
belligerently.
"You won't see that thief no more. That's one of th' things I want
to--"
"Hooray!" cried Salem. "Was he drowned, or shanghaied?"
"Was he what? What are you talking about, anyhow? Where did you ever
learn how to talk Chinese?"
"What! Chinese! You whale-bellied, barnacle-brained bilge pirate, I've
got a good notion--"
"Say, is there anybody around here that ain't loco? Are they all as
crazy as you?" Hopalong asked.
Salem grabbed up one of the bars of the corral gate and, roaring
strange oaths, ran at the stranger, but Hopalong spurred his horse and
kept clear of the pole while Salem grew short winded and more profane.
Then the puncher thought of Mary and cantered towards the ranch house
intending to ask her where he could find her father, thus combining
business with pleasure. Salem shook the pole at him and then espied
the saddled horse in the corral. He disliked horses as much as they
disliked him, so much, in fact, that he said the only reason he did
not get out of the country and go back to the sea was because he had
to ride a horse to do it. But any way was acceptable under the present
exigencies, so he clambered into the saddle after more or less effort
and found it not quite roomy enough for one of his growing corpulency.
Shouting "Let fall!" he cantered after the invader of his ranch,
waving the pole valiantly. He did not see that the ears of his mount
were flattened or that its eyes were growing murderous in their
expression, and he did not know that the lower end of the pole was
pounding lustily against the horse's legs every time he waved the
weapon. All he thought about was getting his pleasant duty over with
as soon as possible, and he gripped the pole more firmly.
Hopalong looked around curiously to see what the cook was doing to
make all that noise, and when he saw he held his sides. "Well, if th'
locoed son-of-a-gun ain't after me! Lord! Hey, stranger," he shouted,
"if you want him to run fast, take hold of his tail an' pull it three
times!"
He was not averse to having a little fun at the tenderfoot's expense
and he deferred his visit to the house to circle around the angry cook
and shout advice. Instead of laying the reins against his mount's neck
to turn it, Salem jerked on them, which the indignant animal instantly
resented. It had felt all along that it was being made a fool of and
imposed upon, but now it would have a sweet revenge. Leaping forward
suddenly it stopped stiff-legged and arched its back several times
with all the force it was capable of; but it could have stopped
immediately after the first pitch, for Salem, still holding to the
pole, executed a more or less graceful parabola and landed in a
sitting posture amid much dust.
"_Whoof!_ What'd we strike?" he demanded dazedly. Then, catching sight
of the cause of his flight, which was at that moment cropping an
overlooked tuft of grass as if it were accustomed to upsetting
pole-waving cooks, Salem scrambled to his feet and ran at it, getting
in one good whack before the indignant and groping pony could move.
"There, blast you!" he yelled. "I'll show you what you get for a trick
like that!" Turning, and seeing Hopalong laughing until the tears ran
down his face, he roared, "What are you laughing at, d--n you?"
A rope sailed out and tightened around Salem's feet and he once more
sat down, unable to arise this time, because of Hopalong's horse,
which backed slowly, step by step, dragging the captive, who was now
absolutely helpless.
"Now I want to talk to you for a few minutes, an' I'm going to,"
Hopalong remarked. "Will you listen quietly or will you risk losing
th' seat of yore pants? You've _got_ to listen, anyhow."
"Wha--what----go ahead, only stop th' headway of yore craft! Lay to!
I'm on th' rocks!"
Laughing, Hopalong rode closer to him. "Where's Antonio?"
"In h--l, I hope, leastwise that's where he ought to be."
"Well, I just sent his friend Juan there--had to; he toted a running
iron an'--"
"Did you? Did you?" cried Salem in accents of joy. "Why didn't you say
so before! Come in an' splice th' main brace, shipmate! That cross
between a nigger an' a Chinee is in Davy Jones' locker, is he? Hey,
wait till I get these lashings cast off--yo're a good hand after all.
Come in an' have some grog--best stuff this side of Kentucky, where it
was made."
"I ain't got time," replied Hopalong, smiling. "Where's that Greaser
broncho-buster?"
"Going to send _him_ down too? D--n my tops'ls, wish I knowed! He
deserted, took shore leave, an' ain't reported since. Yo're
clipper-rigged, a regular AB, you are! Spin us th' yarn, matey."
Hopalong told him about the dam and the shooting of Juan and gave him
the shovel and button for Meeker, Salem's mouth wide open at the
recital. When he had finished the cook grabbed his stirrup and urged
him towards the grog, but Hopalong laughingly declined and, looking
towards the ranch house, saw Jim Meeker riding like mad in their
direction.
"What do you want?" blazed the foreman, drawing rein, his face dark
with anger.
"I want to plug Antonio, an' his friend Sanchez," Hopalong replied
calmly. "I just caught Juan with a running iron under his saddle flap
an' I drilled him for good. Here's th' iron."
"Good for you!" cried Meeker, taking the rod. "They've jumped, all of
'em. I'm looking for 'em myself, an' we're all looking for coyotes
toting these irons. I'm glad you got one of 'em!"
"Antonio scuttled their dike--here's th' shovel he did it with,"
interrupted Salem eagerly. "An' here's th' button off th' Greaser's
jacket. He left it by th' shovel. My mate, here, is cruising to fall
in with 'em, an' when he does there'll be--"
"Why, that's _my_ shovel!" cried Meeker. "An' that's his button, all
right."
Hopalong told him all about the attempt to cut the dam and when he had
ceased Meeker swore angrily. "Them Greasers are on th' rustle, shore!
They're trying to keep th' fighting going on along th' line so we'll
be too busy to bother 'em in their stealing. I've been losing cows
right an' left--why, they run off a herd of beef right here by th'
houses. Salem saw 'em. They killed cows down south an' covered my
range with sleepers an' lame mothers. How did you come to guess he
had an iron?"
Hopalong told of the HQQ cow he had found and, dismounting, traced the
brand in the sand, Meeker bending over eagerly.
"You see this Bar-20?" he asked, pointing it out, and his interested
companion interrupted him with a curse.
"Yes, I do; an' do _you_ see this H2?" he demanded. "They've merged
our brands into one--stealing from both of us!"
"Yes. I figgered that out when I saw th' mark; that's one of th'
things I came down to tell you about," Hopalong replied, mounting
again. "An' Red an' me found a Bar-20 calf with a V ear notch, too.
That proves what th' dam was cut for, don't it?"
"Why didn't I drop that coyote when I caught him skulking th' other
morning!" growled Meeker, regretfully. "He had just come back from
yore dam then--had yaller mud on his cayuse an' his stirrups. Out all
night on a played-out bronc, an' me too thick to guess he was up to
some devilment an' shoot him for it! Oh, h--l! I thought purty hard of
you, Cassidy, but I reckon we all make mistakes. Any man what would
stop to think out th' real play when he found that shovel is square."
"Oh, that's all right. I allus did hate Greasers, an' mebby that was
why I suspected him, that an' th' button."
Meeker turned to the cook. "Where's Chick an' Dan?" he asked,
impatiently. "I ain't seen 'em around."
"Why, Chick rid off down south an' Dan cleared about an hour ago."
"What! With that leg of hissen!"
"Aye, aye, sir; he couldn't leave it behind, you know, sir."
"All right, Cassidy; much obliged. I'll put a stop to th' rustling on
_my_ range, or know th' reason why. D--n th' day I ever left
Montanny!" Meeker swore, riding towards the ranch house.
"Say, I hope you find them Lascars," remarked Salem. "Yo're th' boy
that'll give 'em what they needs. Wish you had caught 'em all four
instead of only one."
Hopalong smiled. "Then they might 'a got me instead."
"No, no, siree!" exclaimed the cook. "You can lick 'em all, an' I'll
gamble on it, too! But you better come in an' have a swig o' grog
before you weighs anchor, matey. As I was saying, it's th' best grog
west of Kentucky. Come on in!"