A DISAGREEABLE TASK
Two men, Hall and Frisco, sat with their backs against the wall of the
hut, weaponless, wounded, nervous, one sullen and enraged, the other
growling querulously to himself about his numerous wounds. The third
prisoner, the Mexican, was pacing to and fro with restless strides,
vicious and defiant, his burning eyes quick, searching, calculating.
It seemed as though he was filled with a tremendous amount of energy
which would not let him remain quiet. When his companions spoke to him
he flashed them a quick glance but did not answer; thinking, scheming,
plotting, he missed not the slightest movement of those about him.
Wounded as he was he did not appear to know it, so intent was he upon
his thoughts.
Hall, saved from the dangers of the last night's fight, loosed his
cumulative rage frequently in caustic and profane verbal abuse of his
captors, his defeat, his companions, and the guard. Frisco, courageous
as any under fire, was dejected because of the wait; merely a
difference of temperament.
The guard, seated carelessly on a nearby rock, kept watch over the
three and cogitated upon the whole affair, his Colt swinging from a
hand between his knees. Twenty paces to his right was a stack of
rifles and Sanchez, lengthening his panther stride with barely
perceptible effort, drew nearer to them on each northward lap. He
typified the class of men who never give up hope, and as he gained
each yard he glanced furtively at the guard and then estimated the
number of leaps necessary to reach the coveted rifles. His rippling
muscles were bunching up for the desperate attempt when the guard
interfered, the sharp clicks of his Colt bringing the Mexican to an
abrupt stop. Sanchez shrugged his shoulders and wheeling, resumed his
restless walk, being careful to keep it within safe limits.
Hall, lighting his pipe, blew a cloud of smoke into the air and looked
at the guard, who was still cogitating.
"How did you fools finally figger we was out here?"
Hopalong looked up and smiled. "Oh, we just figgered you fools would
be here, and would stay up here. Yore friend Antonio worked too hard."
Hall carefully packed his pipe and puffed quickly. "I knowed he'd
bungle it, d----d Greaser. It was th' Greasers that busted up th'
game. Sixteen men an' four of 'em Greasers. By G-d, if we was all
white men we'd 'a given you fellers a hot tune to dance to. Greasers
are all cowards, any--"
"You lie!" snapped Sanchez, stepping forward.
"Stop it!" shouted Hopalong, half arising, his Colt on the two. "You
keep peaceful--there's been too much fighting now. But if them other
Greasers had been like this one here I reckon you wouldn't 'a lost
nothing by having 'em."
"What happened to Cavalry an' Antonio?" asked Hall. "Did you get 'em
when you came up?"
"They got down th' way we came up--Doc trailed th' Greaser an' got him
at that water hole up north," Hopalong replied. "Don't know nothing
about th' other feller. Reckon he got away, but one don't make much
difference, anyhow. He'll never come back to this country."
"Say, how much longer will it take yore friends to do th' buryin'
act?" asked Frisco, irritably. "I'm plumb tired of waiting--these
wounds hurt like blazes, too."
"Reckon they're coming now," was the reply. "I hear--yes, here they
are."
"I owe you ten dollars, Hall," Frisco remarked, trivial things now
entering his mind. "Reckon you won't get it, neither."
"Oh, pay me in h--l!" Hall snapped.
"Yes," Buck was saying, "he shore was white. He knowed he was going
an' he went like th' man he was--saving a friend. 'Tain't th' first
time Frenchy McAllister's saved my life, neither."
Frisco glanced around and his face flashed with a look of recognition,
but he held his tongue; not so with Curtis, who stared at him in
surprise and stepped forward.
"Good G-d! It's Davis! What ever got you into this?"
"Easy money an' a gun fight," Davis, alias Frisco, replied.
"Tough luck, tough luck," Curtis muttered slowly.
"D--n tough, if you asks me," Frisco growled.
"What happened to th' others?" Curtis asked, referring to three men
with whom he and Frisco had punched and prospected several years
before.
"Little Dan went out in that same gun fight, Joe Baird was got by th'
posse next day, an' George Wild an' I got into th' mountains an' was
separated. I got free after a sixty-mile chase, but I don't know how
George made out. We had stuck up a gold caravan an' killed two men
what was with it. They was th' only fellers to pull their guns against
us."
"Well, I'm d----d!" ejaculated Curtis. "An' so that crowd went bad!"
"Say, for th' Lord's sake, get things moving," cried Hall, angrily.
"If we've got to die make it quick--or else shoot that infernal
Greaser--he's got on my nerves with his tramp, tramp, tramp! Wish I'd
'a gone with Shaw 'stead of waiting for my own funeral."
Buck surveyed them. "Got anything to say?"
"Not me--I've had mine," replied Frisco, toying with a bandage. Then
he started to say something but changed his mind. "Oh, well, what's
th' use! Go ahead."
"Don't drag it out," growled Hall. "Say, you got _my_ rope there?" he
demanded suddenly, eying the coils slung over Skinny's shoulder. "No,
you ain't. I want my own, savvy?"
"Oh, we ain't got time to hunt for no ropes," rejoined Skinny. "One's
as good as another, ain't it?"
"Yes, I reckon so--hustle it through," Hall replied, sullenly.
"Go ahead, you fellers," ordered Hopalong as some of his friends went
first down the trail after the two sent to the camp for the horses.
"Come on, Sanchez! Fall in there!"
When the procession reached the bottom of the trail Buck halted it to
wait for the horses and his prisoners took one more look around.
"Say, Peters, where's th' cayuses we had in that corral?" asked Hall,
surprised.
"Oh, we got them out th' first night--we wasn't taking no chances,"
replied the foreman. "They're somewhere near th' camp now."
As the horse herd was driven up Sanchez made his last play. All were
intent upon tightening cinches, the more intent because of the
impending and disagreeable task, when he slipped like a shadow through
the group and throwing himself across a likely looking pinto (he knew
the horse), headed in a circular track for the not too distant
chaparral.
"_Take_ him, Red!" shouted Buck, who was the first to recover.
Red's rifle leaped to his shoulder and steadied; in three more jumps
the speedy pinto would have shielded Sanchez, clinging like a burr to
the further side; but the rifle spoke once and the fleeing Mexican
dropped and lay quiet on the sand.
Hopalong rode out to him and glancing at the still form, wheeled and
returned. "Got him clean, Red."
* * * * *
A group of horsemen rode eastward towards the chaparral and as it was
about to enclose them one of the riders bringing up the rear turned in
his saddle and looked back at two dangling forms outlined against the
darker background of the frowning mesa, two where he had expected to
see three.
"Well, th' rustling is over," he remarked. "Say, that Greaser wasn't
no coward. I reckoned Greasers was all yaller dogs."
"Have you known many of 'em?" asked Skinny, quietly.
"No," replied Chick. "Didn't ever see none till I came down here.
Reckon there ain't many up in Montanny. But I heard lots about 'em.
_He_ was all grit! I allus reckoned they was coyotes, an' mostly
scared."
"If you stay down here for long you'll meet some more that ain't
cowards," Skinny replied. "I have--more'n once. A Greaser is a man,
same as me an' you, an' I've known some that would look th' devil
hisself in th' eye an' call him a liar."
"Gee!" exclaimed Chick, thoughtfully.