CHAPTER VIII
RED BRINGS TROUBLE
After a night spent on the plain and a cigarette for his breakfast,Hopalong, grouchy and hungry, rode slowly to the place appointed for hismeeting with Red, but Mr. Connors was over two hours late. It was nowmid-forenoon and Hopalong occupied his time for a while by riding outfancy designs on the sand; but he soon tired of this makeshift diversionand grew petulant. Red's tardiness was all the worse because the erringparty to the agreement had turned in his saddle at Hoyt's Corners andloosed a flippant and entirely uncalled-for remark about his friend'sideas regarding appointments.
"Well, that red-headed Romeo is shore late this time," Hopalongmuttered. "Why don't he find a girl closer to home, anyhow? Thank theLord I ain't got no use for shell games of any kind. Here I am, withoutanything to eat an' no prospects of anything, sitting up on this locoedlayout like a sore thumb, an' can't move without hitting myself! An'it'll be late to-day before I can get any grub, too. Oh, well," hesighed, "I ain't in love, so things might be a whole lot worse with me.An' he ain't in love, neither, only he won't listen to reason. He getsmad an' calls me a sage hen an' says I'm stuck on myself because somefool told me I had brains."
He laughed as he pictured the object of his friend's affections. "Huh;anybody that got one good, square look at her wouldn't ever accuse himof having brains. But he'll forget her in a month. That was the life ofhis last hobbling fit an' it was the worst he ever had."
Grinning at his friend's peculiarly human characteristics he leaned backin the saddle and felt for tobacco and papers. As he finished pouringthe chopped alfalfa into the paper he glanced up and saw a mounted mantop the sky-line of the distant hills and shoot down the slope at fullspeed.
"I knowed it: started three hours late an' now he's trying to make it upin the last mile," Hopalong muttered, dexterously spreading the tobaccoalong the groove and quickly rolling the cigarette. Lighting it helooked up again and saw that the horseman was wildly waving a sombrero.
"Huh! Wigwagging for forgiveness," laughed the man who waited. "Oldson-of-a-gun, I'd wait a week if I had some grub, an' he knows it.Couldn't get mad at him if I tried."
Mr. Connors' antics now became frantic and he shouted something at thetop of his voice. His friend spurred his mount. "Come on, bronc; wakeup. His girl said 'yes' an' now he wants me to get him out of histrouble." Whereupon he jogged forward. "What's that?" he shouted,sitting up very straight. "What's that?"
Red energetically swept the sombrero behind him and pointed to the rear."War-whoops! W-a-r w-h-o-o-p-s! Injuns, you chump!" Mr. Connors appearedto be mildly exasperated.
"Yes?" sarcastically rejoined Mr. Cassidy in his throat, and thenshouted in reply: "Love an' liquor don't mix very well in you. Wake up!Come out of it!"
"That's straight--I mean it!" cried Mr. Connors, close enough now tosave the remainder of his lungs. "It's a bunch of young bucks on theirfirst war-trail, I reckon. 'T ain't Geronimo, all right; I wouldn't behere now if it was. Three of 'em chased me an' the two that are left arecoming hot-foot somewhere the other side of them hills. They act sort ofmad, too."
"Mebby they ain't acting at all," cheerily replied his companion. "An'then that's the way you got that graze?" pointing to a bloody furrow onMr. Connors' cheek. "But just the same it looks like the trail left by awoman's finger nail."
"Finger nail nothing," retorted Mr. Connors, flushing a little. "But,for God's sake, are you going to sit here like a wart on a dead dogan' wait for 'em?" he demanded with a rising inflection. "Do you reckonyo're running a dance, or a party, or something like that?"
"How many?" placidly inquired Mr. Cassidy, gazing intently towards thehigh sky-line of the distant hills.
"Two--an' I won't tell you again, neither!" snapped the owner of thefurrowed cheek. "The others are 'way behind now--but we're standing_still_!"
"Why didn't you say there was others?" reproved Hopalong. "NaturallyI didn't see no use of getting all het up just because two sproutedpapooses feel like crowding us a bit; it wouldn't be none of _our_funeral, would it?" and the indignant Mr. Cassidy hurriedly dismountedand hid his horse in a nearby chaparral and returned to his companion ata run.
"Red, gimme yore Winchester an' then hustle on for a ways, have anaccident, fall off yore cayuse, an' act scared to death, if you knowhow. It's that little trick Buck told us about, an' it shore ought towork fine here. We'll see if two infant feather-dusters can lick theBar-20. Get a-going!"
They traded rifles, Hopalong taking the repeater in place of thesingle-shot gun he carried, and Red departed as bidden, his facegradually breaking into an enthusiastic grin as he ruminated upon theplan. "Level-headed old cuss; he's a wonder when it comes to planning orfighting. An' lucky,--well, I reckon!"
Hopalong ran forward for a short distance and slid down the steep bankof a narrow arroyo and waited, the repeater thrust out through the densefringe of grass and shrubs which bordered the edge. When settled to hiscomplete satisfaction and certain that he was effectually screened fromthe sight of any one in front of him, he arose on his toes and lookedaround for his companion, and laughed. Mr. Connors was bending verydejectedly apparently over his prostrate horse, but in reality wasswearing heartily at the ignorant quadruped because it strove with mightand main to get its master's foot off its head so it could arise. Theman in the arroyo turned again and watched the hills and it was notlong before he saw two Indians burst into view over the crest and galloptowards his friend. They were not to be blamed because they did notknow the pursued had joined a friend, for the second trail was yet somedistance in front of them.
"Pair of budding warriors, all right; an' awful important. Somebody must'a' told _them_ they had brains," Mr. Cassidy muttered. "They're justat the age when they knows it all an' have to go 'round raising hell allthe time. Wonder when they jumped the reservation."
The Indians, seeing Mr. Connors arguing with his prostrate horse, andtaking it for granted that he was not stopping for pleasure or to viewthe scenery, let out a yell and dashed ahead at grater speed, at thesame time separating so as to encircle him and attack him front and rearat the same time. They had a great amount of respect for cowboys.
This manoeuvre was entirely unexpected and clashed violently with Mr.Cassidy's plan of procedure, so two irate punchers swore heartily attheir rank stupidity in not counting on it. Of course everybody thatknew anything at all about such warfare knew that they would do justsuch a thing, which made it all the more bitter. But Red had cultivatedthe habit of thinking quickly and he saw at once that the remedylay with him; he astonished the exultant savages by straddling hisdisgruntled horse as it scrambled to its feet and galloping away fromthem, bearing slightly to the south, because he wished to lure hispursuers to ride closer to his anxious and eager friend.
This action was a success, for the yelling warriors, slowing perceptiblybecause of their natural astonishment at the resurrection and speed ofan animal regarded as dead or useless, spurred on again, drawing closertogether, and along the chord of the arc made by Mr. Connors' trail.Evidently the fool white man was either crazy or had original andstartling ideas about the way to rest a horse when hard pressed, whichpleased them much, since he had lost so much time. The pleasures of thewar-trail would be vastly greater if all white men had similar ideas.
Hopalong, the light of fighting burning strong in his eyes, watched themsweep nearer and nearer, splendid examples of their type and seeming tobe a part of their mounts. Then two shots rang out in quick successionand a cloud of pungent smoke arose lazily from the edge of the arroyoas the warriors fell from their mounts not sixty yards from the hiddenmarksman.
Mr. Connors' rifle spat fire once to make assurance doubly sure and hehastily rejoined his friend as that person climbed out of the arroyo.
"Huh! They must have been half-breeds!" snorted Red in great disgust,watching his friend shed sand from his clothes. "I allus opined that'Paches was too blamed slick to bite on a game like that."
"Well, they are purty 'lusive an
imals, 'Paches; but there areexceptions," replied Hopalong, smiling at the success of their scheme."Them two ain't 'Paches--they're the exceptions. But let me tell youthat's a good game, just the same. It is as long as they don't see thesecond trail in time. Didn't Buck and Skinny get two that way?"
"Yes, I reckon so. But what'll we do now? What's the next play?" askedRed, hurriedly, his eyes searching the sky-line of the hills. "The restof the coyotes will be here purty soon, an' they'll be madder than evernow. An' you better gimme back that gun, too."
"Take yore old gun--who wants the blamed thing, anyhow?" Hopalongdemanded, throwing the weapon at his friend as he ran to bring up thehidden horse. When he returned he grinned pleasantly. "Why, we'll go onlike we was greased for calamity, that's what we'll do. Did you reckonwe was going to play leap-frog around here an' wait for the rest of thempaint-shops, like a blamed fool pair of idiots?"
"I didn't know what _you_ might do, remembering how you acted when I metyou," retorted Red, shifting his cartridge belt so the empty loops werebehind and out of the way. "But I shore knowed what we ought to do, allright."
"Well, mebby you also know how many's headed this way; do you?"
"You've got me stumped there; but there's a round dozen, anyway," Redreplied. "You see, the three that chased me were out scouting ahead ofthe main bunch; an' I didn't have no time to take no blasted census."
"Then we've got to hit the home trail, an' hit it hard. Wind up thatfour-laigged excuse of yourn, an' take my dust," Hopalong responded,leading the way. "If we can get home there'll be a lot of disgustedbraves hitting the high spots on the back trail trying to find a wayout. Buck an' the rest of the boys will be a whole lot pleased, too. Wecan muster thirty men in two hours if we gets to Buckskin, an' that'stwenty more than we'll need."
"Tell you one thing, Hoppy; we can get as far as Powers' old ranchhouse, an' that's shore," replied Red, thoughtfully.
"Yes!" exploded his companion in scorn and pity. "That old sieve of ashack ain't good enough for _me_ to die in, no matter what you thinkabout it. Why, it's as full of holes as a stiff hat in a melee. Yo're onthe wrong trail; think again."
Mr. Cassidy objected not because he believed that Powers' old ranchhouse was unworthy of serious consideration as a place of refuge anddefence, but for the reason that he wished to reach Buckskin so hisfriends might all get in on the treat. Times were very dull on theranch, and this was an occasion far too precious to let slip by.Besides, he then would have the pleasure of leading his friends againstthe enemy and battling on even terms. If he sought shelter he andRed would have to fight on the defensive, which was a game he hatedcordially because it put him in a relatively subordinate position andthereby hurt his pride.
"Let me tell you that it's a whole lot better than thin air with ahard-working circle around us--an' you know what that means," retortedMr. Connors. "But if you don't want to take a chance in the shack, whymebby we can make Wallace's, or the Cross-O-Cross. That is, if we don'tget turned out of our way."
"We don't head for no Cross-O-Cross or Wallace's," rejoined his friendwith emphasis, "an' we won't waste no time in Powers' shack, neither;we'll push right through as hard as we can go for Buckskin. Let themfellers find their own hunting--our outfit comes first. An' besidesthat'll mean a detour in a country fine for ambushes. We'd never getthrough."
"Well, have it yore own way, then!" snapped Red. "You allus was ahard-headed old mule, anyhow." In his heart Red knew that Hopalong wasright about Wallace's and the Cross-O-Cross.
Some time after the two punchers had quitted the scene of their trap,several Apaches loped up, read the story of the tragedy at a glance, andgalloped on in pursuit. They had left the reservation a fortnight beforeunder the able leadership of that veteran of many war-trails--BlackBear. Their leader, chafing at inaction and sick of the monotony ofreservation life, had yielded to the entreaties of a score of restlessyoung men and slipped away at their head, eager for the joys of raidingand plundering. But instead of stealing horses and murdering isolatedwhites as they had expected, they met with heavy repulses and werenow without the mind of their leader. They had fled from one defeat toanother and twice had barely eluded the cavalry which pursued them. Nowtwo more of their dwindling force were dead and another had been foundbut an hour before. Rage and ferocity seethed in each savage heart andthey determined to get the puncher they had chased, and that other whosetrail they now saw for the first time. They would place at least onevictory against the string of their defeats, and at any cost. Whips roseand fell and the war-party shot forward in a compact group, two scoutsthrown ahead to feel the way.
Red and Hopalong rode on rejoicing, for there were three less Apachesloose in the Southwest for the inhabitants to swear about and fear, andthere was an excellent chance of more to follow. The Southwest hadno toleration for the Government's policy of dealing with Indians andderived a great amount of satisfaction every time an Apache was killed.It still clung to the time-honored belief that the only good Indianwas a dead one. Mr. Cassidy voiced his elation and then rubbed anempty stomach in vain regret,--when a bullet shrilled past his head,so unexpectedly as to cause him to duck instinctively and then glanceapologetically at his red-haired friend; and both spurred their mountsto greater speed. Next Mr. Connors grabbed frantically at his perforatedsombrero and grew petulant and loquacious.
"Both them shots was lucky, Hoppy; the feller that fired at me did iton the dead run; but that won't help us none if one of 'em connectswith us. You gimme that Sharps--got to show 'em that they're taking bigchances crowding us this way." He took the heavy rifle and turned in thesaddle. "It's an even thousand, if it's a yard. He don't look very big,can't hardly tell him from his cayuse; an' the wind's puffy. Why don'tyou dirty or rust this gun? The sun glitters all along the barrel. Well,here goes."
"Missed by a mile," reproved Hopalong, who would have been stunned bysuch a thing as a hit under the circumstances, even if his good-shootingfriend had made it.
"Yes! Missed the coyote I aimed for, but I got the cayuse of his offpardner; see it?"
"Talk about luck!"
"That's all right: it takes blamed good shooting to miss that close inthis case. Look! It's slowed 'em up a bit, an' that's about all I hopedto do. Bet they think I'm a real, shore-'nuff medicine-man. Now gimmeanother cartridge."
"I will not; no use wasting lead at this range. We'll need all thecartridges we got before we get out of this hole. You can't do nothingwithout stopping--an' that takes time."
"Then I'll stop! The blazes with the time! Gimme another, d'ye hear?"
Mr. Cassidy heard, complied, and stopped beside his companion, who wasvery intent upon the matter at hand. It took some figuring to make ahit when the range was so great and the sun so blinding and the windso capricious. He lowered the rifle and peered through the smoke at theconfusion he had caused by dropping the nearest warrior. He was said tobe the best rifle shot in the Southwest, which means a great deal,and his enemies did not deny it. But since the Sharps shot a specialcartridge and was reliable up to the limit of its sight gauge, a matterof eighteen hundred yards, he did not regard the hit as anything worthyof especial mention. Not so his friend, who grinned joyously and loosedhis admiration.
"Yo're a shore wonder with that gun, Red! Why don't you lose thatrepeater an' get a gun like mine? Lord, if I could use a rifle like you,I wouldn't have that gun of yourn for a gift. Just look at what you didwith it! Please get one like it."
"I'm plumb satisfied with the repeater," replied Red. "I don't miss veryoften at eight hundred with it, an' that's long enough range for mostanybody. An' if I do miss, I can send another that won't, an' right onthe tail of the first, too."
"Ah, the devil! You make me disgusted with yore fool talk about thatcarbine!" snapped his companion, and the subject was dropped.
The merits of their respective rifles had always been a bone ofcontention between them and one well chewed, at that. Red was very wellsatisfied with his Winchester, and he was a good judge.
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sp; "You did stop 'em a little," asserted Mr. Cassidy some time later whenhe looked back. "You stopped 'em coming straight, but they're spreadingout to work up around us. Now, if we had good cayuses instead of thesewooden wonders, we could run away from 'em dead easy, draw their bestmounted warriors to the front an' then close with 'em. Good thing theircayuses are well tired out, for as it is we've got to make a stand purtysoon. Gee! They don't like you, Red; they're calling you names in thesign language. Just look at 'em cuss you!"
"How much water have you got?" inquired his friend with anxiety.
"Canteen plumb full. How're you fixed?"
"I got the same, less one drink. That gives us enough for a couple ofdays with some to spare, if we're careful," Mr. Connors replied.New Mexican canteens are built on generous lines and are known aslife-preservers.
"Look at that glory-hunter go!" exclaimed Red, watching a brave who wasriding half a mile to their right and rapidly coming abreast of them."Wonder how he got over there without us seeing him."
"Here; stop him!" suggested Hopalong, holding out his Sharps. "We can'tlet him get ahead of us and lay in ambush--that's what he's playing todo."
"My gun's good, and better, for me, at this range; but you know, I can'thit a jack-rabbit going over rough country as fast as that feller is,"replied his companion, standing up in his stirrups and firing.
"Huh! Never touched him! But he's edging off a-plenty. See him cuss you.What's he calling you, anyhow?"
"Aw, shut up! How the devil do _I_ know? I don't talk with my arms."
"Are you superstitious, Red?"
"No! Shut up!"
"Well, I am. See that feller over there? If he gets in front of us it'sa shore sign that somebody's going to get hurt. He'll have plenty oftime to get cover an' pick us off as we come up."
"Don't you worry--his cayuse is deader'n ours. They must 'a' beenpushing on purty hard the last few days. See it stumble?--what'd I tellyou!"
"Yes; but they're gaining on us slow but shore. We've got to make astand purty soon--how much further do you reckon that infernal shack is,anyhow?" Hopalong asked sharply.
"'T ain't fur off--see it any minute now."
"Here," remarked Hopalong, holding out his rifle, "stencil yore mark onhis hide; catch him just as he strikes the top of that little rise."
"Ain't got time--that shack can't be much further."
And it wasn't, for as they galloped over a rise they saw, half a mileahead of them, an adobe building in poor state of preservation. It wasPowers' old ranch house, and as they neared it, they saw that there wasno doubt about the holes.
"Told you it was a sieve," grunted Hopalong, swinging in on the tail ofhis companion. "Not worth a hang for anything," he added bitterly.
"It'll answer, all right," retorted Red grimly.