The patrons of the Oasis liked their tobacco strong. The pungent smokedrifted in sluggish clouds along the low, black ceiling, following itsupward slant toward the east wall and away from the high bar at theother end. This bar, rough and strong, ran from the north wall to withina scant two feet of the south wall, the opening bridged by a hingedboard which served as an extension to the counter. Behind the bar wasa rear door, low and double, the upper part barred securely--the lowerpart was used most. In front of and near the bar was a large roundtable, at which four men played cards silently, while two smaller tableswere located along the north wall. Besides dilapidated chairs there werehalf a dozen low wooden boxes partly filled with sand, and attentionwas directed to the existence and purpose of these by a roughly letteredsign on the wall, reading: "Gents will look for a box first," which the"gents" sometimes did. The majority of the "gents" preferred to aimat various knotholes in the floor and bet on the result, chancing theoutpouring of the proprietor's wrath if they missed.
On the wall behind the bar was a smaller and neater request: "Leave yourguns with the bartender.--Edwards." This, although a month old, stillcalled forth caustic and profane remarks from the regular frequenters ofthe saloon, for hitherto restraint in the matter of carrying weaponshad been unknown. They forthwith evaded the order in a manner consistentwith their characteristics--by carrying smaller guns where they couldnot be seen. The majority had simply sawed off a generous part of thelong barrels of their Colts and Remingtons, which did not improve theiraccuracy.
Edwards, the new marshal of Perry's Bend, had come direct from Kansasand his reputation as a fighter had preceded him. When he took up hisfirst day's work he was kept busy proving that he was the rightful ownerof it and that it had not been exaggerated in any manner or degree.With the exception of one instance the proof had been bloodless, for hereasoned that gun-play should give way, whenever possible, to a crushing"right" or "left" to the point of the jaw or the pit of the stomach.His proficiency in the manly art was polished and thorough and bespokeearnest application. The last doubting Thomas to be convinced came tofive minutes after his diaphragm had been rudely and suddenly raisedseveral inches by a low right hook, and as he groped for his bearingsand got his wind back again he asked, very feebly, where "Kansas" was;and the name stuck.
When Harlan heard the nickname for the first time he stopped pulling thecork out of a whiskey bottle long enough to remark, casually, "I allusreckoned Kansas was purty close to hell," and said no more about it.Harlan was the proprietor and bartender of the Oasis and catered to theexcessive and uncritical thirsts of the ruck of range society, and hehad objected vigorously to the placing of the second sign in his placeof business; but at the close of an incisive if inelegant reply from themarshal, the sign went up, and stayed up. Edwards' language and deliverywere as convincing as his fists.
The marshal did not like the Oasis; indeed, he went further andcordially hated it. Harlan's saloon was a thorn in his side and he wasonly waiting for a good excuse to wipe it off the local map. He was theLaw, and behind him were the range riders, who would be only too gladto have the nest of rustlers wiped out and its gang of ne'er-do-wellsscattered to the four winds. Indeed, he had been given to understandin a most polite and diplomatic way that if this were not done lawfullythey would try to do it themselves, and they had great faith in theirability to handle the situation in a thorough and workmanlike manner.This would not do in a law-abiding community, as he called the town, andso he had replied that the work was his, and that it would be performedas soon as he believed himself justified to act. Harlan and his friendswere fully conversant with the feeling against them and had become alittle more cautious, alertly watching out for trouble.
On the evening of the day which saw Pete Wilson's discomfiture most ofthe habitues had assembled in the Oasis where, besides the card-playersalready mentioned, eight men lounged against the bar. There was somelaughter, much subdued talking, and a little whispering. More whisperingwent on under that roof than in all the other places in town puttogether; for here rustling was planned, wayfaring strangers were"trimmed" in "frame-ups" at cards, and a hunted man was certain to findassistance. Harlan had once boasted that no fugitive had ever been takenfrom his saloon, and he was behind the bar and standing on the trap doorwhich led to the six-by-six cellar when he made the assertion. It wastrue, for only those in his confidence knew of the place of refuge underthe floor; it had been dug at night and the dirt carefully disposed of.
It had not been dark very long before talking ceased and card-playingwas suspended while all looked up as the front door crashed open and twopunchers entered, looking the crowd over with critical care.
"Stay here, Johnny," Hopalong told his youthful companion, and thenwalked forward, scrutinizing each scowling face in turn, while Johnnystood with his back to the door, keenly alert, his right hand restinglightly on his belt not far from the holster.
Harlan's thick neck grew crimson and his eyes hard. "Looking fersomething?" he asked with bitter sarcasm, his hands under the bar.Johnny grinned hopefully and a sudden tenseness took possession of himas he watched for the first hostile move.
"Yes," Hopalong replied coolly, appraising Harlan's attitude and look inone swift glance, "but it ain't here, now. Johnny, get out," he ordered,backing after his companion, and safely outside, the two walked towardsJackson's store, Johnny complaining about the little time spent in theOasis.
As they entered the store they saw Edwards, whose eye asked a question.
"No; he ain't in there yet," Hopalong replied.
"Did you look all over? Behind the bar?" Edwards asked, slowly. "Hecan't get out of town through that cordon you've got strung around it,an' he ain't nowhere else. Leastwise, I couldn't find him."
"Come on back!" excitedly exclaimed Johnny, turning towards the door."You didn't look behind the bar! Come on--bet you ten dollars that'swhere he is!"
"Mebby yo're right, Kid," replied Hopalong, and the marshal's noddinghead decided it.
In the saloon there was strong language, and Jack Quinn, expert skinnerof other men's cows, looked inquiringly at the proprietor. "What's upnow, Harlan?"
The proprietor laughed harshly but said nothing--taciturnity was his oneredeeming trait. "Did you say cigars?" he asked, pushing a box acrossthe bar to an impatient customer. Another beckoned to him and he leanedover to hear the whispered request, a frown struggling to show itself onhis face. "Nix; you know my rule. No trust in here."
But the man at the far end of the line was unlike the proprietor and heprefaced his remarks with a curse. "_I_ know what's up! They want JerryBrown, that's what! An' I hopes they don't get him, the bullies!"
"What did he do? Why do they want him?" asked the man who had wantedtrust.
"Skinning. He was careless or crazy, working so close to their ranchhouses. Nobody that had any sense would take a chance like that,"replied Boston, adept at sleight-of-hand with cards and very much indemand when a frame-up was to be rung in on some unsuspecting stranger.His one great fault in the eyes of his partners was that he hated todivvy his winnings and at times had to be coerced into sharing equally.
"Aw, them big ranches make me mad," announced the first speaker. "Tenyears ago there was a lot of little ranchers, an' every one of 'em hadhis own herd, an' plenty of free grass an' water for it. Where are thelittle herds now? Where are the cows that _we_ used to own?" he cried,hotly. "What happens to a maverick-hunter now-a-days? By God, if a manhelps hisself to a pore, sick dogie he's hunted down! It can't go onmuch longer, an' that's shore."
Cries of approbation arose on all sides, for his auditors ignored thefact that their kind, by avarice and thievery, had forever killed theoccupation of maverick-hunting. That belonged to the old days, beforethe demand for cows and their easy and cheap transportation had boostedthe prices and made them valuable.
Slivers Lowe leaped up from his chair. "Yo're right, Harper! Dead right!_I_ was a little cattle owner once, so was you, an' Jerry, an' most ofus!" Slivers found
it convenient to forget that fully half of his smallherd had perished in the bitter and long winter of five years before,and that the remainder had either flowed down his parched throat or beenlost across the big round table near the bar. Not a few of his cows werebanked in the east under Harlan's name.
The rear door opened slightly and one of the loungers looked up andnodded. "It's all right, Jerry. But get a move on!"
"Here, _you_!" called Harlan, quickly bending over the trap door,"_Lively!_"
Jerry was half way to the proprietor when the front door swung open andHopalong, closely followed by the marshal, leaped into the room, andimmediately thereafter the back door banged open and admitted Johnny.Jerry's right hand was in his side coat pocket and Johnny, young andself-confident, and with a lot to learn, was certain that he could beatthe fugitive on the draw.
"I reckon you won't blot no more brands!" he cried, triumphantly,watching both Jerry and Harlan.
The card-players had leaped to their feet and at a signal from Harlanthey surged forward to the bar and formed a barrier between Johnny andhis friends; and as they did so that puncher jerked at his gun, twistingto half face the crowd. At that instant fire and smoke spurted fromJerry's side coat pocket and the odor of burning cloth arose. As Johnnyfell, the rustler ducked low and sprang for the door. A gun roared twicein the front of the room and Jerry staggered a little and cursed as hegained the opening, but he plunged into the darkness and threw himselfinto the saddle on the first horse he found in the small corral.
When the crowd massed, Hopalong leaped at it and strove to tear his wayto the opening at the end of the bar, while the marshal covered Harlanand the others. Finding that he could not get through. Hopalong sprangon the shoulder of the nearest man and succeeded in winging the fugitiveat the first shot, the other going wild. Then, frantic with rage andanxiety, he beat his way through the crowd, hammering mercilessly atheads with the butt of his Colt, and knelt at his friend's side.
Edwards, angered almost to the point of killing, ordered the crowdto stand against the wall, and laughed viciously when he saw two mensenseless on the floor. "Hope he beat in yore heads!" he gritted,savagely. "Harlan, put yore paws up in sight or I'll drill you clean!Now climb over an' get in line--quick!"
Johnny moaned and opened his eyes. "Did--did I--get him?"
"No; but he gimleted you, all right," Hopalong replied. "You'll come'round if you keep quiet." He arose, his face hard with the desire tokill. "I'm coming back for _you_, Harlan, after I get yore friend! An'all the rest of you pups, too!"
"Get me out of here," whispered Johnny.
"Shore enough, Kid; but keep quiet," replied Hopalong, picking him up inhis arms and moving carefully towards the door. "We'll get him, Johnny;an' all the rest, too, when----" The voice died out in the direction ofJackson's and the marshal, backing to the front door, slipped out and toone side, running backward, his eyes on the saloon.
"Yore day's about over, Harlan," he muttered. "There's going to be somefew funerals around here before many hours pass."
When he reached the store he found the owner and two Double-Arrowpunchers taking care of Johnny. "Where's Hopalong?" he asked.
"Gone to tell his foreman," replied Jackson. "Hey, youngster, you letthem bandages alone! Hear me?"
"Hullo, Kansas," remarked John Bartlett, foreman of the Double-Arrow. "Icome nigh getting yore man; somebody rode past me like a streak in thedark, so I just ups an' lets drive for luck, an' so did he. I heard himcuss an' I emptied my gun after him."
"The rest was a-passing the word along to ride in when I left the line,"remarked one of the other punchers. "How you feeling now, Johnny?"