CHAPTER XI
HOPALONG NURSES A GROUCH
After the excitement incident to the affair at Powers' shack had dieddown and the Bar-20 outfit worked over its range in the old, placid way,there began to be heard low mutterings, and an air of peevish discontentbegan to be manifested in various childish ways. And it was all causedby the fact that Hopalong Cassidy had a grouch, and a big one. Itwas two months old and growing worse daily, and the signs threatenedcontagion. His foreman, tired and sick of the snarling, fidgety,petulant atmosphere that Hopalong had created on the ranch, anddriven to desperation, eagerly sought some chance to get rid of the"sore-thumb" temporarily and give him an opportunity to shed hisgenerous mantle of the blues. And at last it came.
No one knew the cause for Hoppy's unusual state of mind, although therewere many conjectures, and they covered the field rather thoroughly; butthey did not strike on the cause. Even Red Connors, now well over allill effects of the wounds acquired in the old ranch house, was forced toguess; and when Red had to do that about anything concerning Hopalong hewas well warranted in believing the matter to be very serious.
Johnny Nelson made no secret of his opinion and derived from it a greatamount of satisfaction, which he admitted with a grin to his foreman.
"Buck," he said, "Hoppy told me he went broke playing poker over inGrant with Dave Wilkes and them two Lawrence boys, an' that shoreexplains it all. He's got pack sores from carrying his unholy licking.It was due to come for him, an' Dave Wilkes is just the boy to deliverit. That's the whole trouble, an' I know it, an' I'm damned glad theytrimmed him. But he ain't got no right of making _us_ miserable becausehe lost a few measly dollars."
"Yo're wrong, son; dead, dead wrong," Buck replied. "He takes hisbeatings with a grin, an' money never did bother him. No poker game thatever was played could leave a welt on him like the one we all mourn, an'cuss. He's been doing something that he don't want us to know--made afool of hisself some way, most likely, an' feels so ashamed that he'ssore. I've knowed him too long an' well to believe that gambling hadanything to do with it. But this little trip he's taking will fix himup all right, an' I couldn't 'a' picked a better man--or one that I'drather get rid of just now."
"Well, lemme tell you it's blamed lucky for him that you picked him togo," rejoined Johnny, who thought more of the woeful absentee than hedid of his own skin. "I was going to lick him, shore, if it went onmuch longer. Me an' Red an' Billy was going to beat him up good till heforgot his dead injuries an' took more interest in his friends."
Buck laughed heartily. "Well, the three of you might 'a' done it ifyou worked hard an' didn't get careless, but I have my doubts. Now lookhere--you've been hanging around the bunk house too blamed much lately.Henceforth an' hereafter you've got to earn your grub. Get out on thatwest line an' hustle."
"You know I've had a toothache!" snorted Johnny with a show ofindignation, his face as sober as that of a judge.
"An' you'll have a stomach ache from lack of grub if you don't earn yoreright to eat purty soon," retorted Buck. "You ain't had a toothache inyore whole life, an' you don't know what one is. G'wan, now, or I'llgive you a backache that'll ache!"
"Huh! Devil of a way to treat a sick man!" Johnny retorted, but hedeparted exultantly, whistling with much noise and no music. But he wassorry for one thing: he sincerely regretted that he had not been presentwhen Hopalong met his Waterloo. It would have been pleasing to lookupon.
While the outfit blessed the proposed lease of range that took him outof their small circle for a time, Hopalong rode farther and fartherinto the northwest, frequently lost in abstraction which, judging by itseffect upon him, must have been caused by something serious. He had notheard from Dave Wilkes about that individual's good horse which had beenloaned to Ben Ferris, of Winchester. Did Dave think he had been killedor was still pursuing the man whose neck-kerchief had aroused suchanimosity in Hopalong's heart? Or had the horse actually been returned?The animal was a good one, a successful contender in all distances fromone to five miles, and had earned its owner and backers much money--andHopalong had parted with it as easily as he would have borrowed fivedollars from Red. The story, as he had often reflected since, was as oldas lying--a broken-legged horse, a wife dying forty miles away, and ahorse all saddled which needed only to be mounted and ridden.
These thoughts kept him company for a day and when he dismounted beforeStevenson's "Hotel" in Hoyt's Corners he summed up his feelings for theenlightenment of his horse.
"Damn it, bronc! I'd give ten dollars right now to know if I was ajackass or not," he growled. "But he was an awful slick talker if helied. An' I've got to go up an' face Dave Wilkes to find out about it!"
Mr. Cassidy was not known by sight to the citizens of Hoyt's Corners,however well versed they might be in his numerous exploits of wisdom andfolly. Therefore the habitues of Stevenson's Hotel did not recognize himin the gloomy and morose individual who dropped his saddle on the floorwith a crash and stamped over to the three-legged table at dusk andsurlily demanded shelter for the night.
"Gimme a bed an' something to eat," he demanded, eyeing the three menseated with their chairs tilted against the wall. "Do I get 'em?" heasked, impatiently.
"You do," replied a one-eyed man, lazily arising and approaching him."One dollar, now."
"An' take the rocks outen that bed--I want to sleep."
"A dollar per for every rock you find," grinned Stevenson, pleasantly."There ain't no rocks in _my_ beds," he added.
"Some folks likes to be rocked to sleep," facetiously remarked one ofthe pair by the wall, laughing contentedly at his own pun. He bore allthe ear-marks of being regarded as the wit of the locality--every hamlethas one; I have seen some myself.
"Hee, hee, hee! Yo're a droll feller, Charley," chuckled Old JohnFerris, rubbing his ear with unconcealed delight. "That's a good un."
"One drink, now," growled Hopalong, mimicking the proprietor, andglaring savagely at the "droll feller" and his companion. "An' mind thatit's a good one," he admonished the host.
"It's better," smiled Stevenson, whereat Old John crossed his legs andchuckled again. Stevenson winked.
"Riding long?" he asked.
"Since I started."
"Going fur?"
"Till I stop."
"Where do you belong?" Stevenson's pique was urging him against theethics of the range, which forbade personal questions.
Hopalong looked at him with a light in his eye that told the host he hadgone too far. "Under my sombrero!" he snapped.
"Hee, hee, hee!" chortled Old John, rubbing his ear again and nudgingCharley. "He ain't no fool, hey?"
"Why, I don't know, John; he won't tell," replied Charley.
Hopalong wheeled and glared at him, and Charley, smiling uneasily, madean appeal: "Ain't mad, are you?"
"Not yet," and Hopalong turned to the bar again, took up his liquorand tossed it off. Considering a moment he shoved the glass back again,while Old John tongued his lips in anticipation of a treat. "It isgood--fill it again."
The third was even better and by the time the fourth and fifth hadjoined their predecessors Hopalong began to feel a little more cheerful.But even the liquor and an exceptionally well-cooked supper could notseparate him from his persistent and set grouch. And of liquor he hadalready taken more than his limit. He had always boasted, with truth,that he had never been drunk, although there had been two occasions whenhe was not far from it. That was one doubtful luxury which he could notafford for the reason that there were men who would have been glad tosee him, if only for a few seconds, when liquor had dulled his brain andslowed his speed of hand. He could never tell when and where he mightmeet one of these.
He dropped into a chair by a card table and, baffling all attemptsto engage him in conversation, reviewed his troubles in a mumbledsoliloquy, the liquor gradually making him careless. But of all thejumbled words his companions' diligent ears heard they recognized andretained only the bare term "Winchester"; and their conjectures werelimited on
ly by their imaginations.
Hopalong stirred and looked up, shaking off the hand which had arousedhim. "Better go to bed, stranger," the proprietor was saying. "Youan' me are the last two up. It's after twelve, an' you look tired andsleepy."
"Said his wife was sick," muttered the puncher. "Oh, what you saying?"
"You'll find a bed better'n this table, stranger--it's after twelve an'I want to close up an' get some sleep. I'm tired myself."
"Oh, that all? Shore I'll go to bed--like to see anybody stop me! Ain'tno rocks in it, hey?"
"Nary a rock," laughingly reassured the host, picking up Hopalong'ssaddle and leading the way to a small room off the "office," hisguest stumbling after him and growling about the rocks that lived inWinchester. When Stevenson had dropped the saddle by the window anddeparted, Hopalong sat on the edge of the bed to close his eyes for justa moment before tackling the labor of removing his clothes. A crash anda jar awakened him and he found himself on the floor with his backto the bed. He was hot and his head ached, and his back was skinneda little--and how hot and stuffy and choking the room had become!He thought he had blown out the light, but it still burned, andthree-quarters of the chimney was thickly covered with soot. He wasstifling and could not endure it any longer. After three attempts heput out the light, stumbled against his saddle and, opening the window,leaned out to breathe the pure air. As his lungs filled he chuckledwisely and, picking up the saddle, managed to get it and himself throughthe window and on the ground without serious mishap. He would ridefor an hour, give the room time to freshen and cool off, and come backfeeling much better. Not a star could be seen as he groped his wayunsteadily towards the rear of the building, where he vaguely rememberedhaving seen the corral as he rode up.
"Huh! Said he lived in Winchester an' his name was Bill--no, BenFerris," he muttered, stumbling towards a noise he knew was made by ahorse rubbing against the corral fence. Then his feet got tangled up inthe cinch of his saddle, which he had kicked before him, and after greatlabor he arose, muttering savagely, and continued on his wobbly way."Goo' Lord, it's darker'n cats in--_oof_!" he grunted, recoiling fromforcible contact with the fence he sought. Growling words unholy he felthis way along it and finally his arm slipped through an opening and hebumped his head solidly against the top bar of the gate. As he rightedhimself his hand struck the nose of a horse and closed mechanically overit. Cow-ponies look alike in the dark and he grinned jubilantly as hecomplimented himself upon finding his own so unerringly.
"Anything is easy, when you know how. Can't fool me, ol' cayuse," hebeamed, fumbling at the bars with his free hand and getting them downwith a fool's luck. "You can't do it--I got you firs', las', an' always;an' I got you good. Yessir, I got you good. Quit that rearing, you ol'fool! Stan' still, can't you?" The pony sidled as the saddle hit itsback and evoked profane abuse from the indignant puncher as he riskedhis balance in picking it up to try again, this time successfully. Hebegan to fasten the girth, and then paused in wonder and thought deeply,for the pin in the buckle would slide to no hole but the first. "Huh!Getting fat, ain't you, piebald?" he demanded with withering sarcasm."You blow yoreself up any more'n I'll bust you wide open!" heavingup with all his might on the free end of the strap, one knee pushingagainst the animal's side. The "fat" disappeared and Hopalong laughed."Been learnin' new tricks, ain't you? Got smart since you beentravellin', hey?" He fumbled with the bars again and got two of themback in place and then, throwing himself across the saddle as the horsestarted forward as hard as it could go, slipped off, but managed to savehimself by hopping along the ground. As soon as he had secured the griphe wished he mounted with the ease of habit and felt for the reins."G'wan now, an' easy--it's plumb dark an' my head's bustin'."
When he saddled his mount at the corral he was not aware that two of thethree remaining horses had taken advantage of their opportunity and hadwalked out and made off in the darkness before he replaced the bars, andhe was too drunk to care if he had known it.
The night air felt so good that it moved him to song, but it was notlong before the words faltered more and more and soon ceased altogetherand a subdued snore rasped from him. He awakened from time to time, butonly for a moment, for he was tired and sleepy.
His mount very quickly learned that something was wrong and that it wasbeing given its head. As long as it could go where it pleased it coulddo nothing better than head for home, and it quickened its pace towardsWinchester. Some time after daylight it pricked up its ears and brokeinto a canter, which soon developed signs of irritation in its rider.Finally Hopalong opened his heavy eyes and looked around for hisbearings. Not knowing where he was and too tired and miserable to givemuch thought to a matter of such slight importance, he glanced aroundfor a place to finish his sleep. A tree some distance ahead of himlooked inviting and towards it he rode. Habit made him picket the horsebefore he lay down and as he fell asleep he had vague recollectionsof handling a strange picket rope some time recently. The horse slowlyturned and stared at the already snoring figure, glanced over thelandscape, back the to queerest man it had ever met, and then fellto grazing in quiet content. A slinking coyote topped a rise a shortdistance away and stopped instantly, regarding the sleeping man withgrave curiosity and strong suspicion. Deciding that there was nothinggood to eat in that vicinity and that the man was carrying out a fellplot for the death of coyotes, it backed away out of sight and loped onto other hunting grounds.